Mrs. Fisher tilted her head. “I have never thought of it that way.”
“Most women don’t. That is what makes us easy prey for men like Wilkes. He knows a woman’s desires perhaps better than she does. And he uses them to manipulate and control her to his own ends.”
“What you described is what happened to me,” Mrs. Fisher admitted in a low voice. “Michael drew forth my darkest fantasies, things that shocked me just to think of them. At first, it was titillating and exhilarating to explore such passions, to embrace my basest needs. I became infatuated with him, adored him for being my guide down that sensual path. Then things took a turn for the worse.”
“How?”
“He became controlling and possessive,” Mrs. Fisher said flatly. “In sexual matters, I…I enjoyed relinquishing control. I was managing so many things with the business, and it felt, well, freeing to let go. But that was only in the bedroom and only a fantasy. In reality, I had no desire to give up my autonomy.
“Michael, however, started taking over more of my life. At first, I thought he was trying to be helpful with his suggestions for my company, but then it became clear that he expected his presence in my bedchamber to give him a say in how I ran my bakeries. We began to fight. And his personality changed overnight. He went from showering me with trinkets and affection to being demeaning and cruel. One night, we had an argument, and the bounder…he struck me.” Mrs. Fisher’s voice trembled. “I realized then what a monster I had let into my life. The next time I saw him, I brought along armed footmen. I ended things and told him that I would make him pay if he tried to hurt me again.”
Fi was impressed by Mrs. Fisher’s wherewithal.
“And you didn’t hear from him again?” Charlie asked.
“Surprisingly, no. I lived in fear that he would come back and try to extort me over our affair. Instead, he disappeared. It wasn’t until von Essen began blackmailing me with those letters that I began to wonder if Wilkes might turn up again like a bad penny. I don’t know how von Essen got his hands on those letters, but my intuition tells me that Wilkes was involved.”
“If Wilkes was involved, why wouldn’t he just blackmail you himself?” Charlie asked.
“I wondered the same thing. Perhaps he feared that, with the resources at my disposal, I would make good on my threat to retaliate. Von Essen had less to fear from me, given his wealth and status.” Mrs. Fisher paused. “Wilkes is also a proud bastard who believes he is God’s gift to womankind. He thrives on adulation and knows how to manipulate women to get what he wants. It would gall him to have to resort to blackmail. He would be far more likely to give von Essen the letters out of spite, a desire to retaliate, and he would not be above taking a cut.”
“Do you know where we might find Wilkes now?”
“Back then, he practically lived at a public house. A seedy place in St. Giles called the Lyon’s Den. The owner, Mrs. Lyon, fawned over Wilkes, and treated him like royalty.” Mrs. Fisher’s fingers interlinked in a tight ball. “He and I played a game where I would go there, disguised as a trollop, and he would pretend to hire me for the eve. I cannot tell you how ashamed I am for participating in such degradation.”
“You had the opportunity to explore a fantasy that hurt no one, and you took it,” Charlie said. “The problem was that you gave your trust to the wrong man. But you survived and now you have the power to free someone else caught in his snare.”
“I was lucky—I had resources to protect me from that predator. If I hadn’t…” Mrs. Fisher exhaled. “Whoever this young woman is, I hope you find her and free her from the bastard’s clutches.”
The Lyon’s Den was located in the heart of the Seven Dials. Squished between two equally ramshackle buildings, the pub looked like a drunk being held up by other drunks. Inside, the place was smoky and spacious, with a central stairwell that led up to a ring of rooms on the upper floor. The Angels snagged a table in the corner, ordering drinks and food from a surly barmaid.
“You were right about Vera’s artistry, Fi.” Livy spoke under her breath as she surveyed the rowdy crowd. “No one is giving us a second glance.”
Vera Engle, Lillian’s friend and fellow actress, had shown up at Charlie’s that afternoon, looking for work. As a demonstration of her skills, she’d helped Livy, Pippa, Fiona, and Glory with their disguises this eve. She’d transformed them into male dock workers, and Charlie had hired her on the spot.
“Thank goodness.” Pretending to take a swig from a greasy tankard, Fi said in hushed tones, “The last thing we want is to attract attention from this crowd.”
“Public house is a rather polite term for the establishment,” Glory agreed.
The place was a flash-house populated by the criminal underclass. On their way in, Fi had observed that the patrons were armed to the teeth…those who had teeth, anyway. Mrs. Lyon, the owner, was a brassy-haired mort with mean eyes. She screeched at the scrawny, terrified children who darted between the scarred tables, picking up empty cups and plates. As she was unlikely to give up Wilkes, the Angels had opted to surveil the premises incognito.
“No sign of Lillian and Wilkes in the crowd, but they could be staying up there.” Beneath her cap, Pippa’s eyes were trained on the closed doors along the perimeter of the upper floor. “It won’t be easy getting up there without being seen.”
The only way up was the stairwell in the middle of the room. Once upstairs, there was no cover; the Angels’ activities would be exposed to anyone watching from the ground floor. The openness of the flash-house, Fi realized, served as a security measure.
“If we cannot go up,” Livy murmured, “then we need whoever is up there to come down. Glory, are the devices ready?”
“Ready and waiting.” In her dirt-smudged face, Glory’s eyes lit with glee as she gave her battered leather satchel a discreet pat.
“We need to cover the exits to see everyone who leaves the building.” Fi scanned the room. “There are doors front and back. And probably less obvious escape routes…underground tunnels and such.”
“We’ll assign the main exits to Hawker and Mrs. Peabody,” Livy said. “The rest of us can split into pairs to monitor the street in case there are exits through the adjacent buildings. Fi and I can take the street in front, Glory and Pippa the back lane.”
“Can I set up the diversion now?” Glory asked eagerly.
“I’ll go with you,” Pippa volunteered. “To, um, make sure everything goes smoothly.”
Thank heavens,Fi thought.
