A Murder at Rosamund’s Gate, page 24
* * *
Still troubled the next morning, Lucy moved slowly about her morning chores, stopping to refill mugs of hot cider for Master Hargrave and Adam. Looking keenly into her face, the master asked if she were well.
“Yes.” Lucy hesitated.
The magistrate lifted his eyebrows. Adam set his cup down on the table, waiting. Keeping her head down, Lucy murmured, “It’s just that I dreamed of Bessie last night.”
“Ahh,” the magistrate said, taking another sip. “There are many ghosts here now, I fear.”
He sounded sad. Lucy wondered how well he had been sleeping these many nights since they had returned home.
Lucy took a deep breath. “It’s more than that, sir. In my dream, I felt her soul is still lost. I’m troubled, I am.”
The magistrate nodded understandingly. “Because we never brought her justice, you mean.”
She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.
“Well, my dear Lucy,” the magistrate said, his voice gentle, “no one has come forward with news. Indeed, it is as like as not that her murderer is long gone or dead from the plague. It may be that our Bessie will not get justice in our temporal courts on earth, but indeed, she shall find justice in the next.”
His words offered some comfort, but Bessie’s forlorn face still weighed heavily in Lucy’s thoughts.
* * *
The first day of September, the household set off to St. Peter’s to hear Lucas—newly returned from Oxford—deliver his first sermon.
The magistrate had mentioned that Lucas would be sharing the Reverend Marcus’s pulpit duties, a necessity with so many people seeking solace from the madness around them.
Thankfully, the church still possessed its sense of timeless strength and grace, a virtue so necessary in this tumultuous time. Every week, Lucy recognized more faces as the parishioners slowly returned to London, although there were many people she did not know. Nearly all looked haggard and grim, as if they had been at war. The practice of families staying in carefully kept rows had been abandoned. Lucy remembered how when they first had returned, they had discovered another family sitting in the magistrate’s family pew.
Without a word, Master Hargrave had simply moved to another pew and, after letting Adam slide in, had sat down. The magistrate had then patted the seat beside him. “Here, Lucy,” he had said. “With us.”
Although surprised, Lucy had slid in beside the master, and next to her came Annie, Cook, and John. Cook had shrugged, and John had grinned a bit, but both took the change in stride. No more standing for hours at the end of the pew.
Today, Lucy waved to Avery, who gave her a slow answering grin in return. She had been so glad to find that Avery had survived the plague. He had found new clothes and no longer looked the dull-witted ex-soldier as when she had first met him. Indeed, as she had since learned, the church had hired him to maintain the graveyard in exchange for his keep in a little lean-to out back.
With a pang, Lucy could not help noticing that Judith Embry, still resplendent in her finery, was also there. Her face was drawn as she sat stiffly beside her parents, her eyes flitting to Adam. She could not see if Adam was also watching Judith.
Cook clutched Lucy’s arm. “Look there!” she whispered. She pointed at a woman with great blond curls across the aisle, several pews up. “She looks like our Bessie, don’t you think?”
“Yes. I saw her once at the market. I wonder who she is.”
To her greater surprise, Lucy saw Del Gado enter the church and sit down beside the woman, saying something in her ear. Marie, his old companion, was nowhere to be seen, but certainly she might have been among the thousands who had not survived the plague.
The reverend stepped out to signify the beginning of the service. Beside her, Annie gave an excited squeal. “Look, Lucy,” she whispered. “It’s Lucas.”
Watching Lucas, she thought he seemed different. He had not the reverend’s fire, but his words were earnest, sincere—compelling. He looked to have taken to his new calling. Perhaps, like herself, he had lost a bit of the tenderness of youth, having witnessed so much death and misery over the past year.
* * *
After the service was over, the family waited outside to congratulate Lucas on his sermon. As she waited, Lucy noticed Constable Duncan and a soldier approach Del Gado, the woman who so resembled Bessie still clinging to his arm. Lucy could see that the constable, while still handsome, looked far older than his years. The last year had not been easy on him; that was plain enough.
Lucy nudged Cook, who got the hint. They sidled closer, trying to hear the constable’s conversation with the painter. Lucy noticed that Adam also seemed to have moved closer as he conversed lightly with an old acquaintance.
“No, I hadn’t seen Marie since before the babe was born,” Lucy heard Del Gado telling Constable Duncan. “She most certainly had left before then. No doubt to be with the baby’s father, as the babe most assuredly was not mine.”
Constable Duncan coughed politely. “Miss, if you would excuse us? I’d like a private word with Master Del Gado.”
Nodding, the woman stepped away, nervously rubbing her hands on her skirts. The three men moved down the path, out of earshot.
Lucy and Cook looked at each other. Cook nodded toward the woman, a question in her eyes. Adam, having sauntered over, caught their wordless exchange. “What?” he demanded. “Tell me.”
“It’s her cloak,” Lucy whispered behind her sleeve. “Bessie’s.”
He glanced at the woman’s cloak. “How can you possibly know that?” Adam asked. “There must be a hundred cloaks like that—”
Cook added, “Look at the burned patch. There, above the hem.”
As Adam peered closer, Lucy recalled that day with a start. Bessie had come in from the cold, her eyes intensified by the blue of her cloak, her cheeks rosy. It was not long after Bessie had met Will, Lucy remembered. Even when they realized her cloak had caught a spark, Bessie had just laughed when John stamped it out.
“How did she get it? The cloak, I mean?” Cook wondered out loud. “It disappeared from the house along with her other clothes.”
The suspicion that had been gnawing at Lucy would be held in no longer. “Del Gado?” she murmured, thinking about her suspicions from so long ago.
They all watched as Del Gado took his leave of the constables, without a backward glimpse at the woman he had accompanied to St. Peter’s.
“I wonder what brought him to this parish,” Lucy murmured, watching the woman disappear back into the church. “Perhaps he’s moved out of Putney-on-the-Green.”
Adam nodded. “We must find out.”
“I’ll go and see him,” Lucy said.
Adam turned on her fiercely. “You’ll do no such thing!”
Cook cocked her head, her expression inscrutable. “I must head back, lest dinner not be ready for the magistrate. Lucy, don’t do anything foolish.”
Lucy shrugged. “Fine. You talk to Del Gado, then,” she said to Adam. “I’ll talk to her. Find out about that cloak.”
21
Lucy moved back into the empty church. The woman was sitting alone in a pew, her head bent in prayer. Casually, Lucy sank into a pew a few rows back, thinking about how she could best approach her. Only a few people remained in the church, and she did not want to draw attention to their conversation.
“Lucy?” Lucas asked, standing beside her. “Are you all right? I saw you come in here.”
She smiled and patted the place beside her. “Oh, I’m fine, Lucas.”
“I was so glad to know that you had survived the Black Death,” Lucas continued, sliding into the pew. “You’re looking well. Tired, though.” He also inquired after her brother, adding, “’Twas a miracle that he was acquitted of the crime.”
Lucy smiled, feeling comforted by Lucas’s presence. “Yes, ’twas helpful that Richard discovered his conscience, and in such a timely way!”
“Yes, indeed,” Lucas said. “I have not seen you since I stopped by that fateful day. I’ve long thought about you, though, hoping you were well. I was quite distressed when I learned that Mistress Hargrave had succumbed to the dreadful illness. I also heard that you did not spare yourself in taking care of the family. How do you fare now, Lucy?”
“I am well.” She glanced over at the woman, who was still praying, her mouth moving. “Your sermon was wonderful.”
“Do you really think so, Lucy?” Lucas asked, seizing her hand in both of his. “I’ve missed our little chats. You’re so different from other girls. Not like a—” He stopped.
“A servant.” She could not keep the bitterness from her tone.
“Lucy, what’s wrong? You know I never treated you like that, right? That may be how Adam and the magistrate view you, but I never did, did I? When I lived at the house? We were friends then, weren’t we? I sometimes wished—” His hands tightened.
The young woman got up, bowing respectfully before the altar. Lucy started to stand up, but Lucas pulled her back down. “I’ve thought about you a lot, you know, Lucy,” he said.
Lucy watched the woman pause to light a candle on her way out, missing whatever Lucas said next.
“Lucy?”
“Oh, sorry, I was just woolgathering.” She paused. “Lucas, do you know that woman there?”
He glanced at the young woman. “Oh, yes, that’s Maud Little. She stayed here at the church during the sickness. She lost her parents and brother to the plague, she did. I’m surprised she came here today, I must say. She usually attends a different parish.”
“I saw her talking to Del Gado outside.”
She thought back to what she had overheard the constable say to Del Gado, thinking about the sinewy woman he had lived with at Putney-on-the-Green. “What happened to Marie, do you know?”
“Well, it looks obvious, doesn’t it? Del Gado, no doubt, tired of poor Marie when she became pregnant with his child. It seems likely, knowing the man to be an utter cad, that he then kicked her out when a more comely wench came along.”
“Do you think that the painter may have”—she lowered her voice—“done away with Marie? I think she is missing. I heard Constable Duncan asking Master Del Gado about it.”
Lucas put a finger to her lips. “It’s best not to speak of such things in the house of the Lord.” Unexpectedly, he asked, “Lucy, have you given much thought to your own future?”
Her future. That was something she thought little enough about. “No, I haven’t.” She sighed.
“Well, you might come along and join the Embry staff, I suppose, but Miss Judith may not take too kindly to a servant as comely as yourself.”
“Mistress Embry?” Lucy asked, a pit in her stomach. She felt like she had been eating too many of Cook’s sweetmeats.
“Oh, and I thought servants knew everything,” he teased, not noticing her hands tighten in her lap. “Yes, I expect to be given the nod soon to read the banns for her and Adam. For some reason, though, Adam hasn’t finalized the agreement.”
Lucy’s smile felt frozen on her face. It was one thing to assume this would come to pass, and another to actually know it to be true. She felt sick and wanted to leave the church.
Lucas went on, oblivious to her discomfort. “So, you may stay on with the magistrate, of course, but I’ve heard that he’s looking to return to the country estate. That would be hard, to be so far from your brother and London life, I suspect?”
She sought to change the subject. “Come, let us take a turn outside. There is something I should like your opinion on.” As they started to walk, she quickly she told him about the dream. “It’s true. It has occurred to me that Bessie’s soul may be lost. Her murderer has still not been brought to justice.”
Lucas took her arm. “I do believe her soul is with God, so please do not fret on that account. But,” he said, seeming to echo the magistrate’s words, “I also believe God’s vengeance will be served, even if not on this earthly plane.”
They walked through the graves, stopping at Bessie’s headstone. ELIZABETH ANN CAMPBELL, BELOVED DAUGHTER AND SISTER, 1644–1665.
“Dear friend,” Lucy added softly, feeling a tremor in her heart.
“Let us say a small prayer,” Lucas suggested. As they bent their heads, Lucas quickly said a few words. “Amen,” he finished, taking her arm again. He led her carefully among the gravestones, far more plentiful than before the plague. “Just remember, Lucy,” he said. “’Tis as the magistrate said to me after the death of my mother. Hard though it may be, we must honor and respect the dead, but we must live. That is what the good Lord wants from us.”
His words comforted her. She touched his arm, liking that he seemed to brighten. “You must come to the house to dine, Lucas. I’m sure the magistrate would like to see you.”
Lucas took a deep breath. “Lucy, you know, I care about you and—” His face grew red. “Well, you know I make a good living here, and, well, you know, a minister’s wife has some position in society. Perhaps—” His voice dropped off, his eyes saying more than his words.
Ducking her head to avoid seeing his hopeful expression, Lucy quickly shrugged into her cloak. “I’m sorry, Lucas, I must be getting home.”
“Of course,” Lucas said. He seemed stunned, and she was sure he was still staring at her as she hurried from the church.
* * *
Lucy came out of St. Peter’s just in time to catch Maud Little ambling down the main path. The hood of her cloak had fallen back, revealing her gold hair.
“Miss?” Lucy called, not even sure what she was going to say.
The woman turned around. “Yes?”
There the resemblance to Bessie stopped. Her eyes were brown, not blue, and rather than sparkling with merriment, they were set deep in her gray, pockmarked face. Indeed, she exuded death more than life. Like so many of the survivors drifting through London’s streets, she bore scars that were vivid reminders of the havoc the plague had wreaked upon the city’s woeful inhabitants.
“I noticed you,” Lucy stammered. “I mean, I noticed your cloak earlier. It’s lovely.”
Maud looked down, as if surprised to see what she was wearing. She smoothed the folds. “Oh, yes,” she said vaguely, then waited.
Lucy started speaking quickly. “I mean, I was wondering where you had got it; the cloth is so fine. I should like to get one for my sister. Holland cloth, I’ve heard it called.”
Maud frowned. “Well, I don’t really know, now do I?”
Her dark, liquid eyes seemed confused, haunted even, like so many who had lost so much during the plague. What had those eyes witnessed? For a moment, Lucy felt she was drowning and tore her gaze away. “The painter, did he give it to you? The cloak?”
“The painter?” She seemed confused. “Master Del Gado? Is that who you mean?”
Lucy nodded, holding her breath.
“No, I just met Enrique. Someone told me that he might like to paint me, give me a few crowns if I posed for him. But no, this I got when I was at St. Peter’s during the sickness.”
“You got the cloak at the church?” Lucy’s mind began to spin. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled distantly. “My little brother found it, way in the back room, you know, where the reverend works. He’d gone exploring, you see—he was but ten—before he got the sickness.”
The woman was looking fearful and perhaps a little ashamed. “Why, does the reverend want the cloak back? I never told him I took it. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken it?” she stammered. “I’m sure he wanted me to have it.”
“Of course,” Lucy said, her thoughts whirling. Something was not quite right.
* * *
Adam was sitting by the fire when she came home, her mind still aflutter. She busied herself with tasks, setting the table before dinner. She hoped to avoid him, but he followed her into the kitchen. “Did you talk to that woman?” he asked. “Who was wearing Bessie’s cloak?”
Lucy nodded, pulling dishes noisily onto the table. “Yes, her name is Maud Little, and she said the most surprising thing—”
Adam wasn’t listening. “Well, I went to see Del Gado. Do you know what I learned?”
Lucy polished the inside of a cup with her skirt, caught off guard by his anger.
He spoke deliberately, as if he had been tossing the words over in his mind for hours. “I learned two things. For one thing, he seemed genuinely perplexed, and a little frightened, that so many of his models had ended up dead. I think I actually believed him. I also learned that you promised to pose for him,” he spat. “To think I worried about you with a scoundrel like him.”
“Your own mother posed for him!” Lucy snapped back. “Besides, I suppose it makes no difference to you that it has been nigh on a year since he asked me to pose for him. I never said I would!”
“You didn’t say you wouldn’t,” Adam countered angrily. “Just don’t think Father will keep you here if you are ruined. He’s got an image to maintain, you know.”
“As do you, I suppose,” Lucy said, her hands on her hips. Words she had held back for so long finally tumbled forth. “Your Mistress Embry will help preserve your reputation.”
Adam looked like he had been struck. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “I must wish you all good luck on your impending nuptials.”
“Lucy, those banns have not been read and you know it.”
“Sir, you do not need to explain yourself to me.” Lucy took a deep breath. “I can tell you now, I will not be coming to work for the new Mistress Hargrave.”
Unexpectedly, he seemed somewhat amused. “Well, now, I should not expect you to do so.”
His reaction was not quite what she had expected. “As I might be getting married myself, you know.”
Adam lifted a brow. “Indeed. Anyone I know?”
How she wanted to erase that smirk from his face. “Well, Lucas has asked me.” She thought back on the conversation from earlier that afternoon. “I think.”
That did wipe away his smile, but she could not tell what he was thinking. “Well, I should think that a woman would know if an offer of marriage had been made. What did you tell him?”
