A Murder at Rosamund's Gate (4 page)

“R,” Bessie breathed. “Who could that have been?”

Lucy read through the account carefully. “‘The local constable who found her said that
R
may have referred to one Robert Preswell, who had of late pressed his suit upon her, despite being “of the married state himself.” However, it was just as likely that she may have been set upon by ruffians or highwaymen.’

“Oh, look!” Lucy exclaimed. “Here’s something about Sir Herbert.” She read, “‘The good Dr. Larimer, a royal physician, examined her and duly avowed, “She was not heavy with child, but no doubt was expecting a babe in arms in four or five months’ time.’”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” Cook clucked. “What else does it say?”

Only that the Eltons’ neighbor, one Goodwife Croft, had long warned that the trollop would come to no good end. Lucy thought about that for a moment. Every community seemed to have a Goodwife Croft or a Janey, women who carried tales, whispered stories, and always assigned the most sinister of motives to the most innocent of actions.

Lucy turned back to the account. The author, identified only as J.L., wrapped up by offering several opinions about the murderer’s motives. He seemed certain that “R” had most likely murdered Jane to conceal their liaison from his wife. On the other hand, as J.L. jested, “‘R’s wife had threatened to take a rolling pin to his head, if he did not take care of his mistress.’”

Lucy raised her eyebrow. “His wife asked him to kill off his mistress in such a way? Does that even make sense?”

John chuckled. “A mistress and a wife? The man would do better to kill himself.”

“Think that’s funny, do you?” Cook asked, frowning at her husband. “I ought to take a rolling pin to you.”

Ignoring Cook and John’s playful squabbling, Lucy skimmed the last paragraph of the broadside. Here, J.L. delivered his judgment on the criminal and offered his readers a customary warning.

On a whim, Lucy climbed upon the bench, mimicking Master Aubrey’s expression. “‘R must be apprehended. He must be brought to justice.’” With a great flourish of her hands, she read the final words. “‘He must be hanged—
ere he strike again
!’” Stepping down to mock applause, she caught sight of Bessie’s expression.

Bessie’s rosy cheeks had completely drained of color. “Make fun, will you?” Bessie asked. “Poor, poor Jane. She was one of us.”

*   *   *

Lucy could tell that Jane’s murder continued to weigh heavily on Bessie’s thoughts. Throughout the next day, every time she saw Bessie pull the broadside out and look at it, she felt her friend’s rebuke sting her heart. When she tried to express her sorrow, Bessie had just shaken her head. “Don’t you understand, Lucy? Jane Hardewick had her whole life in front of her, and now it’s gone. And no one cares, because they think she deserved it.”

“I didn’t think she deserved it—” Lucy began, but Bessie cut her off.

“There’s Evensong,” Bessie said, hearing St. Peter’s bells chime. “Time to ready supper. The Embrys have been invited to dine.”

Already out of sorts because of her tiff with Bessie, Lucy felt her mood sink even lower knowing the Embrys would be joining the family for supper. When Lord Embry and his friends had visited before, they’d spent most of the evening drinking the magistrate’s finest madeira, with no care to depleting his stores. She’d also spent most of the evening fending off their roving eyes and hands in the corridors; when out of sight of the Hargraves, they’d try to catch her unaware.

Their noble status notwithstanding, Lucy wondered what the magistrate saw in the Embrys. Lord Embry did not seem clever or interesting, and indeed often said things that she could see made the magistrate flinch. To her surprise, Mistress Hargrave asked her to bring out the best pewter goblets and plates and the real silver emblazoned with the family’s mark.

She understood later, though, when she overheard a whispered conversation between the mistress and Sarah. “Lord Embry is bringing his wife and daughter,” the mistress said. “Your father is hoping that Adam will get on with Lady Judith.” She pressed her hand to her forehead, sounding ever so slightly puzzled. “I suppose since her father is so important in the House of Lords.”

Ah, that’s it,
Lucy thought.
They are hoping a match with the Embrys’ daughter will help advance Adam’s career.
Such arrangements were customary among the gentry, of course, but she could not help but curl her lip for a man who would make a match for such reasons.

Although nervous of grasping fingers, Lucy quickly realized that Lord Embry was all courtesy and good manners before his wife and daughter. As she filled goblets and plates, Lucy studied the Embrys under her lashes.

Lady Embry was crisp and polite, sitting straight-backed in her chair. Judith was lovely, her blond hair pulled on top of her head, revealing fine, if icy, features. Her teeth were even but overlarge, Lucy thought, somewhat crossly. She did not like how mother and daughter looked about in a calculating way. When they thought no one was watching, they seemed to be appraising the magistrate’s furniture, the flagons on the table, the tiny silver spoons. Throughout supper, Sarah twisted the linen in her lap, obviously disconcerted by the elegance of the Embrys, and the mistress kept a distant smile on her face, inclining her head courteously to Lady Embry. Lucas chatted amiably enough with Judith while Adam spoke with his father and Lord Embry.

When the company moved to the drawing room, Sarah tried to engage Judith, but Judith seemed more interested in talking brightly to Adam. “This is lovely wine,” Judith said, looking meaningfully at the jug in Lucy’s hand.

“Oh, let me fill that for you,” Lucy said, moving across the room. In her haste, a bit of wine sloshed onto Judith’s silk dress.

“Stupid!” Judith exclaimed, jerking back in her chair. “Look what you’ve done!”

“Oh, miss, I’m so sorry!” Lucy stammered, her face red. She looked about for a bit of linen to dab at Judith’s dress.

“I should say you are,” Judith said, smoothing her skirts, conscious that the men had stopped talking. To Mistress Hargrave she said, “Your servant has spilled the wine. In our household, she’d be discharged for such sloppiness. So uncommon is it for us, I daresay it surprises us when we come upon it elsewhere.”

“Yes, my dear,” Lady Embry purred, with a quick glance at her daughter, “but we should not expect servants to be so well trained as ours. We get ours early on indeed, sometimes as young as nine or ten, and train them from the start. This way, they know how to handle themselves in the presence of their betters. A few were even from the palace, where such happenstance is unheard of.”

Lucy looked down, her cheeks burning.

Master Hargrave coughed slightly. “Indeed,” he said, smiling at Lucy. “Such accidents are rare here, too. In any case, we should not like to sack a lass like Lucy, for such loyal and trustworthy servants are worth far more than the trouble a few drops of wine can bring.”

“Moreover,” his wife put in, “I know how to take that stain out.” Mistress Hargrave then dabbed a clean piece of linen into her goblet before carefully rubbing at the stain on Judith’s dress. As if she had performed an act of sorcery, the stain disappeared. “See, the white Rhenish wine takes out the red straight away.” She laid the linen on the table. “A little trick I learned at the palace.”

Judith and her mother exchanged glances. “At the palace?” Lady Embry asked, her haughty tone catching a bit.

“Yes, when I was one of Her Majesty’s own ladies-in-waiting. I was but a young girl, of course, not much over twelve when I first came.” The mistress smiled blandly at her guests. Lucy could have hugged her. “And I can tell you, during the time of Charles and Henrietta, there was no small amount of wine spilled at the palace, by nobles and servants alike.”

The mistress sat back, dabbing her mouth daintily. Lucy could have sworn she was hiding a smile but was far too well bred to show it. To have served the queen as a beautiful lady-in-waiting was no small honor. Few could say the same, and this was quite a triumph. Lady Embry nodded slightly, acknowledging the added status of her hostess, and seemed to lose her chill somewhat.

The rest of the night passed pleasantly enough with Master Hargrave pulling out the fiddle and passing it around for the household to play a merry tune. He had long insisted his children and ward learn to play. Sarah was quite good, Lucy noted with a little smile. Sarah’s music teacher had been attractive enough to keep her interest. Lucas, too, though coming to the instrument a bit late, played a few quick jigs passably.

Dutifully, Adam took his turn, his eyes half shut, ignoring Judith’s rapt attention. He seemed neither interested nor disinterested in the piece but played with little of the fervor she had seen in him on some evenings. Indeed, he seemed distracted.

Placing the violin back in the case, he caught Lucy’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, and he gave a little shrug.
I do not perform for strangers,
he seemed to say.

Especially ones that insult a hardworking lass in his household,
Lucy added mentally on his behalf. Whether that gallantry was true, she did not know.

*   *   *

The next morning, Bessie and Lucy stepped out of the magistrate’s house, eager to have a day off. The mist today was tentative, a few wisps that the wind easily chased away. Since both were visiting their families south of London, the girls planned to walk together as far as Southwark. Although they didn’t admit it, neither wanted to walk alone. There were several long, lonely fields ahead of them, and Jane Hardewick’s death reminded them how vulnerable they were on their own.

Lucy was glad that their tiff had smoothed over, and Bessie seemed to feel the same way. By unspoken agreement, neither mentioned the murder again.

“Shall we pass through Aldgate?” Bessie asked.

“Aldgate?” Lucy asked, surprised. “That will add nearly three-quarters of an hour to our journey.”

“Well, I thought perhaps your brother, Will, might have the day off, too,” Bessie said, a trifle too carelessly. “We could all journey through Lambeth together.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. She knew Will had taken Bessie to the plays a few times, but she also knew that her brother had a roving eye. “He did not mention his next day off, so I do not know his plans,” she said.

Seeing Bessie smirk out of the corner of her eye, Lucy added, “However, I’m sure if he
is
free today, he will be quite eager to see Cecily, his sweetheart from home. They are all but promised, you know.” She wasn’t trying to be unkind, but she did hope to dampen Bessie’s hopes about Will.

“I don’t think they are promised,” Bessie said.

Lucy snorted, but pretended she had sneezed when she saw Bessie’s hurt expression. “You may be right,” she said, trying to make amends.

“I am right,” Bessie said smugly. “You’ll see.”

*   *   *

When they arrived at the smithy, Lucy was irritated to see that Will, indeed, was waiting for them. Clearly, he and Bessie had arranged to meet, and neither of them had told her. For a little while Lucy pouted, but then gave up when neither seemed to notice. Finally, when Will stopped to buy them some apples, Bessie linked her arm in Lucy’s. “Do you mind? About Will?” Her blue eyes seemed enormous in their worry as she waited for Lucy to respond.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lucy whispered.

Bessie shrugged. “I should have. You are my own true sister.” She paused. “There’s something else, too,” she began, but broke off when Will tossed them both an apple.

By and by, Lucy gave in to the pleasure of spending time with her brother. She could not help but eye him happily. Truly William, with twenty years behind him, was fast becoming the handsomest man she knew. His boots were of fine black leather, and his cloak was of soft spun linen.

When she remarked upon his finery, he laughed. “Yes, my master often allows us to trade our services to men in town. He let me work for Master Brumley, whose good wife made me this cloak. I brought something for Mother, too.” This spoke well of Will, for most guildsmen were strict about allowing their apprentices to work for themselves.

The three continued on, chattering all the while. Several young men, making merry with a leather flask, passed by them, no doubt off to the playhouses for a bit of afternoon fun. Since the Puritan ban on theatergoing had been lifted four years ago, plays were even allowed on the Lord’s Day and during Lent.

Lucy sighed, wishing she could spare the three shillings required to attend, but such coins came dear. Will went frequently, but she suspected that he might have been less drawn to the plays and more to the actresses who cavorted about. The only time he’d taken her to the Globe, he’d also pointed out a comely orange seller who might have been another of his lady loves. Perhaps, Lucy thought, in that regard Bessie would be good for her brother, although she could not imagine he’d be ready to settle down.

When they reached London Bridge, Lucy caught herself humming a few words of a popular song.

London Bridge is broken down,

Dance over my Lady Lee,

London Bridge is broken down,

With a gay lady.

Not for the first time, Lucy wondered what poor Anne Boleyn had been thinking as she was being carted to death across this very bridge. What had it been like, knowing that her husband, the king, had ordered that her head be chopped off once she reached the other side? Had she cried on the shoulder of her faithful attendant, Lady Margaret Lee? How despairing she must have felt, that God had not seen fit to give her a male heir. That pitiful queen would never know, of course, that her daughter, dear Queen Bess, would bring such an era of peace and prosperity to England.

As they neared the south end of the bridge, Lucy willed herself not to look up. She knew, from the few other times she had passed through the south gate, that the rotting heads of criminals were set on pikes, warning all who would commit crimes against the king and the people of the realm. It sickened her, hearing the crowd jest and make fun.