A Murder at Rosamund's Gate

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?”

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