A Murder at Rosamund's Gate (31 page)

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?”

“I haven’t decided,” she said, sailing out the door. For a moment, she felt triumphant; then, in the next, unbearably sad.

22

Dawn had not yet broken when Lucy slipped out of the household. She knew it was folly, but she had to go back to St. Peter’s. On her way out, she had whispered to Cook where she was going, lest the household be unduly alarmed by her disappearance.

“I do not like it, Lucy,” Cook said, trying to focus on Lucy’s face. “What can you possibly learn by sneaking around in the church? At least wait till light, and tell Lucas. Have him look out for you. What if the reverend catches you, poking about his things?”

“He shan’t catch me,” Lucy said. “I must find out what else may be there. Please, I have to go!”

She walked briskly, hoping she would not encounter anyone she knew. The branches above were still thick and green. Although it was early September, the leaves had not yet taken on the hues of fall. Once she thought she heard someone behind her, but when she spun around, no one was there.

She almost felt relieved when she saw St. Peter’s looming before her. Without dousing her light, she slipped in through the rear church chamber and into the vestry, where she knew Reverend Marcus, and sometimes Lucas, resided. There was a closed door to the west of the rectory, where she imagined they slept.

Looking about, Lucy tried to imagine how the deeply recessed main room might have looked. She knew that during the plague, thirty or forty people might have set up pallets in here, tending their sick and dying family members. She thought about how a ten-year-old might have scampered about, before he got too sick to move, perhaps hiding in an untended corner, trying to flee the sickness.

There—in a shadowy corner, she spied a few trunks, which she immediately hastened toward. Kneeling down to unlatch them, she had to wipe away heavy cobwebs and layers of thick dust. None of them had been opened for months, and the smell of camphor and cedar wafted toward her nostrils. The first contained bedding, and the second a number of old, fairly filthy clothes.

In the third, she spied a bit of bright cloth hidden under some moldy blankets. Bessie’s reticule! What could it mean? She opened the small bag with shaking fingers.

There, on the top, were Bessie’s fan and her pocket and a small lace kerchief that she had painstakingly embroidered when she was but fourteen. Underneath, something glinted in the lantern’s soft glow. Lucy pushed back the cloth. The Hargraves’ missing silver!

She stepped back, frowning. She thought about what she knew of the reverend. Could he have—

She heard steps echo in the passageway. A voice came from behind her. “I’m sorry you found that, Lucy.” Lucas moved toward her from the shadows. “I saw your lantern and I wondered who was here.”

“Lucas?” Lucy asked, her voice faltering. “Did you know Bessie’s things were here?”

He slapped the wall. “I would have made a life with you, Lucy! I would have lifted you from being a servant. Something our Adam would not do.”

As he spoke, he edged nearer to her. His hand shot out and pulled her cap off. The face she had so long trusted seemed suddenly to slip away, as though a vizard had fallen to the floor. His features looked cold and hard and something less definable. Lucy stood completely still, frozen to the ground.

Lucas began to loosen her long hair, entangling his fingers in her tresses. “Oh, Lucy, I knew Adam wanted you. Sometimes I thought it was endearing, the way he resisted his feelings for a servant. So honorable, our Adam. Any other man would have just taken you, as I’m sure you know. But don’t fool yourself, my dear. Our Adam knows the lay of the land; he’ll marry his precious heiress and have everything he ever wanted. He’d keep you on the side, too, if he weren’t so conflicted about your honor!”

Lucy stepped back into the shadows, feeling the wall behind her, trying to move away.

“You should have seen him that day in the pub! When that lout Richard talked about you! Adam, our errant knight, leaped to defend your honor. I don’t know who was more surprised, though, us or him.” Lucas chuckled at the memory. “Oh, ‘How can I have feelings for a serving girl?’ he would say to me. ‘She’s so sweet and good,’ he would say. ‘Do you know, Lucas,’ he said once, ‘she taught herself to read? Do you know what kind of mind she must have? A man could go a long way ere he met a woman like her! But a servant, no less!’”

Lucy listened, dumbfounded, barely noticing that his hand had caught hold of her sleeve. “Then, you see, when that oaf Richard spoke of your attributes, thinking that Adam, as the master’s son, had already tasted your wares, they all laughed at Adam championing your virtue as if you were a fine lady. Only I knew William to be your brother, so I kept my thoughts silent!” He licked his lips, his gaze darting about. “There’s something I must show you, Lucy. I need you to understand.”

“Understand what, Lucas?” she asked, her voice faltering.

“Understand why he was driven to kill those hoydens, I suppose?” asked a voice from behind them.

They spun around. Reverend Marcus!

The reverend continued. “I’d long wondered, Lucas, since I had of course seen you with a few of those girls before their … unfortunate demises.”

Lucy’s mouth gaped open, her fingers still holding Bessie’s pocket. She heard a lot of noise in the church, muffled shouts and then the church bells tolling. In the far reaches of her mind, she dully wondered what was going on, given the earliness of the hour.