A Murder at Rosamund's Gate

5

Easter arrived, and as soon as they returned from the church on Sunday, the women began to prepare for the Embrys’ masquerade that evening. Lucy knew that the magistrate didn’t really approve of the Embrys holding such an extravagant affair on a holy day, but he didn’t wish to refuse his wife and daughter the delights of the ball, and of course no one wanted to be viewed as a Puritan these days. Even the servants would be allowed to share in a bit of the festivities, though naturally they wouldn’t be mixing with the Embrys’ guests. Only Lucas would not be attending the masquerade, having decided to help the reverend with the Easter evening service instead.

Lucy did not dare touch the shining silk brocades that Bessie had spent several hours ironing to perfection. Instead, she brushed shoes, smoothed petticoats, and found Sarah’s tiny silver combs. Finally, Mistress Hargrave, her hair curled and dress pressed, waved Lucy and Bessie away with a smile. “Go,” she said. “Make yourselves gorgeous.”

Once in their own room, Bessie helped Lucy pull on her only dress suitable for such an affair, a heather blue taffeta that Miss Sarah had given Bessie the year before. Slight watermarks had stained the sleeves and the skirt but no longer showed after Bessie’s expert alterations. Bessie’s dress was a soft mossy green taffeta that emphasized her well-formed figure.

Lucy twirled in her dress, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against her body. Bessie had also loaned Lucy her second-best petticoat, a black one that was full enough to let the skirt flare out softly.

Bessie sniffed her underarms. “Yuck,” she scowled. With a bit of cloth, she lightly powdered each armpit with alum. “You want some?”

“No, thank you,” Lucy said. Better to have a little sweat under the arms than to have that unpleasant tingling all night.

“How about this?” Bessie uncorked a small bottle of scent, dabbing a few drops of the liquid behind her ears. She handed the vial to Lucy. “For your complexion, my lady,” she said, mimicking the gypsy’s wheedling tone. “Tonight, when you meet the man of your dreams, he will be unable to withstand your charms.”

Laughing, Lucy put a few drops behind her ears, careful not to spill on her beautiful dress. Why not? Indeed, Bessie’s own skin glowed, and she was flushed and lovely in the twilit room. To be sure, she looked like a princess, or at least like one of the king’s lady loves. For a moment, Lucy was filled with great admiration and love for this girl who had become like a sister.

“Oh!” Bessie recalled herself with a start, becoming a well-trained servant again. “I forgot! The vizard! The mistress wanted me to fix it. And I must still do my hair.” She pulled out one long blond curl forlornly. “Perhaps it is good that Will shall not see me so.”

The vizard was a harlequin mask that the women would use to court mystery and mischief at the ball. It would not do for the mistress to appear without hers, and several feathers still needed to be attached.

“Oh, I can take care of it,” Lucy reassured her. “I know where it is. You finish getting ready.”

Lucy ran lightly down the stairs, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury of taffeta against her skin. It was not silk, of course, but it was a great improvement over the wools and heavy cottons to which she was accustomed.

Retrieving the vizard, Lucy rushed out of the mistress’s chamber, keeping her head down so as not to put her foot through her skirts. In her haste, she collided with Adam walking swiftly down the narrow corridor, smashing her nose on his book. The book and vizard flew in the air. Losing her balance, Lucy stumbled backward, hovering over the steps.

For a dizzying moment, Lucy felt she was going to plunge backward down the hard steps and break her neck. Frantically, blindly, she grasped for Adam. The next instant, he had grabbed her arms and swung her safely back to the landing. She leaned into him, breathing hard.

“Lucy!” Adam exclaimed, still gripping her tightly. “Are you all right?” Managing to nod, she stepped back, a little unsteady on her feet.

“Easy, there!” he said. “You’re liable to plunge right back down the stairs. I’d like to avoid that.” Then he looked at her closely. “Hey! Your nose is bleeding.”

“Oh, no!” Lucy wailed, putting her hand to her face. It felt strange, swollen. She started to move past him.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait a minute, Lucy.” Removing a handkerchief from the pocket of his new plush-lined cloth suit, Adam raised her chin, holding the linen lightly to her nose. “Here, tilt your head back. That should stanch the blood.”

Lucy could smell the slight, pleasant aroma of tobacco, soap, and something else. Suddenly, she was acutely aware that they were alone in the hallway, standing not even a pace apart. No man, not even her brother, had ever held her face.

Their eyes met. For the first time, she realized that his eyes were a deep blue-gray, not the brown that she always supposed. Now something flickered in them as he gazed down at her intently. He dropped his hand abruptly.

She flushed, taking a step back, smoothing her dress. Reaching for the cloth with a trembling hand, she stammered, “Thank you, sir. I’m fine. I’ll wash out your kerchief.”

Adam nodded, seeming to be searching for words. Seeing the vizard, which had fallen to the floor, he picked it up, smiling slightly. “Yours?”

“No, sir, it belongs to my mistress. Your mother, I mean.” She looked down at her simple taffeta. The elaborate mask was not something servants would wear. He might have followed her thoughts.

“Indeed. Well.” Adam’s manner grew brisk. “Have a care tonight. Mind you’re not running down hallways at the Embrys’. I doubt they’d like it much.” He turned abruptly on his heel, leaving Lucy alone with her flurried thoughts.

* * *

Moments later, her nose still aching, Lucy pushed open the door to her chambers to find Bessie rummaging through her wooden chest. Bessie started, hiding something under her spring muslin dress. Why did Bessie look guilty? Lucy wondered. She looked like she’d been caught eating the master’s own mutton pie.

Then Bessie caught sight of Lucy’s face, and nothing else was important. “Oh, dear, Lucy! What happened to you? Why’s your nose all red and swollen?”

Adam’s face flashed into Lucy’s thoughts, and just as quickly she put the image away. She didn’t want to share the odd moment with anyone, even Bessie. Besides, if Bessie could have secrets, then so could she. “I ran into something,” she hedged, “but, oh! I must look awful!”

Wordlessly, Bessie pulled out the tarnished old looking glass that the mistress had allowed them to use for the evening. Horrified, Lucy looked at her nose, which looked misshapen and huge. She groaned, sure that her lovely night would be ruined.

Instantly, Bessie’s arm came around her, comforting and sweet. “Oh, Lucy! Don’t you worry. We’ll have Cook prepare a poultice. You’ll feel better right quick!”

In the kitchen, Cook took one look at her and began to bustle about. From one stone jar, she pulled a piece of dried fruit off a medlar. She crushed it into a fine powder, then mixed in the juice of red roses, adding a few cloves and nutmeg.

Lucas, quite comfortably eating a bit of cold turkey pie by the fire, gave a low whistle when he saw Lucy’s face. “Been in a scrap?” he teased. “Your conk’s out of sorts!”

Her nose now throbbing, Lucy responded tartly, raising her hand. “Yea, and you keep laughing at me, you’ll be getting a right knock across your kisser!”

Lucas grinned at her country expression. “Is that so? Then come here. I could use a knock across my kisser, particularly if it came from you. You look lovely, even if your nose is fast looking like a goose’s egg.”

Startled, Lucy looked at him. Though he was joking, the compliment seemed real. Then he winked at her, continuing to chew. Cook tousled his hair and wagged her finger at him. “None of your nonsense, now,” she said, and then to Lucy, “Don’t ye worry, lass—I’ve just the thing.” Adding a crust of old bread and some water to the fragrant concoction, Cook soon had a paste, which she then smoothed gently around Lucy’s tender nose. “This will do the trick.”

After washing her face in cold rainwater a little while later, Lucy surveyed herself critically in the cracked looking glass. She could not compare to Bessie’s plump loveliness, with her dimpled cheeks and full lips that begged for a kiss. Even so, she thought her own dark lashes were wonderfully long and framed her brownish green eyes nicely, and when she moved her head just so, her brown hair glinted with golds and reds like the setting sun.

Then her mother’s voice came dancing to her ears. The devil loves a looking glass. She put the mirror down abruptly.

* * *

Later that evening, Lucy and a few of the maids from the Embry household peered from behind the curtain into the great room at the feast and the dancing. The festivities of Lady Embry’s Easter masquerade in the great room were being mimicked happily by the servants in the lower kitchens and the servants’ dining hall. Barrels of beer and ale were flowing freely among the servants, while near fifty guests in fancy costumes and masques dipped their mugs into open barrels of Rhenish and French wine.

The musicians hired for the occasion played fashionable new pieces from France on beautiful stringed instruments. Lady Embry’s newly imported spinet and harpsichord were widely admired at their prominent location by the great fire. Men and women danced gracefully together in sets of sixes and eights, the ladies holding their masks and fans coyly to their faces, the men leading confidently through the intricate steps. Jewels winked softly in candlelight, and a number of lovers, some acknowledged, others not, laughed and murmured together in the shadows.

From her vantage point of the hidden balcony, Lucy found herself looking for the Hargraves. The magistrate was deep in conversation with three dour-looking men, all of whom looked like they’d rather be in someone’s home, sipping sherry, than caught in this gorgeous and flamboyant display. Lucy recognized them as frequent visitors to the house. Two were members of Parliament; the other was a justice of the peace.

Mistress Hargrave was sitting with several other matrons, watching her daughter whirl from one handsome partner to the next and allowing herself to be fanned by a young whelp. Adam was listening politely to a beautiful young heiress who, if the whispers in the alcove could be believed, had just been presented at court, her vizard held to one side so he could see her fine features. As Lucy watched, the young woman daringly laid her hand on Adam’s sleeve and, with great pleasure evident in her face, allowed him to lead her into the next set.

Others had been watching Adam, too. “He’s really the best dancer of the lot,” one of the maids said with a sigh.

“I wonder what else he’s good at?” asked another young woman, grinning wickedly. Lucy recognized her as one of Lady Harrington’s lady’s maids. “I may aim to find out, one of these days!”

“I expect he’s already had his way with you, Lucy?” Janey asked, her smile bright but her features hard. Seeing Lucy flush, she continued, “Do tell, did he have you over the kitchen table? Or spread your skirts as you bent to pick up his linens?”

“Not when Bessie’s around for the taking, I’d say!” chimed Mariah, Janey’s companion.

“I’d trouble myself to have a brat with him!” a much younger girl added. Lucy did not know her. “He’d be one to take care of his own, I wager.”

“Stupid git!” Janey said. “Them that think like nobles think themselves too fine for the likes of us. It’s all sweet talk till they get the chit with child, and that’s the end of it.”

Janey’s fierceness chilled Lucy a bit. The sorry fate of a serving lass done in by her master was all too well known a tale, usually ending with the mistress casting her out of the house, with nary a reference but with plenty of names for the girl and her babe—hoyden and bastard but two.

“He’s not like that,” Lucy said. “Neither is the magistrate.”

Janey sneered. “You must not be pleasing enough for them, then.”

“Oh, poo!” Bessie’s voice sounded in her ear. Lucy had not heard her under the taunts of the other girls. “Who wants to watch them dancing! Come, Lucy, they’ve started dancing downstairs, and I mean for us to have some fun!”

They made their way downstairs, and there to the servants’ dining hall, which connected to the Embry’s large kitchen. Lucy found a quite different party. The servants had moved the tables and benches out of their dining hall, creating a cramped but lively dancing area. Several couples were already whirling about, the weariness of their dreary servant’s days forgotten, while others clapped and stamped their feet in time with the old familiar country dances. When Bessie and Lucy walked through the door, each was seized about the waist by a young man eager for a partner to bounce about with in merry confusion.

Breathless with laughter and the quickness of the steps, both girls found themselves passed playfully among a number of different men. Some of the men she knew from houses along the Hargraves’ street; others she did not know. These Lucy assumed were members of the Embrys’ extensive livery and household.

After she grew tired of dancing, Lucy moved into the kitchen, where men and women, young and old, perched about the room, trading quips and jests. Some couples began stumbling out of the kitchen, flagons of ale in their hands. Young serving girls, freed from their normal routines, flirted outrageously.

Squeezing onto a bench, Lucy smiled at the woman next to her, holding a sleeping babe in her lap. Lucy marveled at the baby’s ability to sleep through the good-natured revelry. Accepting a mug of ale, Lucy laughed along with the others as jokes and outrageous stories continued to fly. She saw Bessie in the corner, flirting a bit with some men from the Embrys’ stable. Looking at Bessie, laughing and happy, it was hard to see the moody girl she’d been these last few weeks.

Richard, one of the Embrys’ liverymen, heaved himself up onto the edge of the wooden table, his tongue clearly loosened by ale. “I heard tell of an old thief, Jack Grubb, who was to meet with the hangman one fine morning,” Richard began. “When the hangman placed the noose around his neck, our good man Jack said, ‘Nay, good sir! Do not bring the rope too near my throat. For I am,’ says he, ‘so ticklish about that place that I shall hurt myself, laughing so hard, that the rope will like to throttle me!’”

Everyone roared and clinked their pewter mugs. A strumpet snuggled beside Richard, slipping under his arm. When he put his arm around her waist, she smirked at the other girls, for Richard was easily one of the most handsome men there.

Yet a few minutes later, he came over to Lucy and poured more ale into her mug.

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him.

Richard caught her look and seated himself beside her on the long low bench. “Oh, little minx,” he said, taking a hearty swig of ale. “I did not catch your name. I’m Richard.”

Lucy murmured her name, her head beginning to swim from her three cups of ale. Richard covered her free hand with his and spoke in a caressing tone. “Lucy. What a lovely name to match a lovely face. Are you enjoying yourself, my little sweet?”

Not sure what to say, Lucy nodded and managed a tremulous smile. As the man began to whisper things in her ear that made her blush, she felt confused and stood up. The room wavered around her. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself, saying, “I think I’m off, then.”

Moving toward the door, Lucy paused as the room spun around her. Once she was outside, the fresh night air welcomed and soothed her, and she was glad to leave the noisy din behind. Shouts of laughter and music drifted from the house. She saw a man stride out of the main door, a woman following after him. Squinting, she sighed when she saw Adam and Judith Embry.

Lucy stepped quickly into the shadows of a gracious elm tree, so that she would not be seen. A chill breeze blew, reminding her she had left her wrap inside. Not wanting to return to the house just yet, she wrapped her hands around her bare arms.

Judith’s voice carried in the still air, allowing Lucy to catch snatches of their conversation. “Father, you know, believes—” Lucy heard Judith say, but her words were lost in the light wind that had arisen. Although unsure why, Lucy moved closer, keeping care to keep her figure hidden in the bushes.

Adam appeared to pull away slightly. “Yes, I’m well aware of what your father thinks.”

“Oh, Adam,” Judith continued. “You can do anything you want. Father doesn’t think lawyers really are too important.”

Hearing her brittle little laugh, Lucy shuddered.

“Indeed?” Adam asked idly, lazily.

This time, Judith seemed to sense that she had gone too far. “Oh, dear,” Judith said soothingly, caressing his arm. “I’ve made you angry, Adam. Come, let’s have a kiss and make up.”

Lucy watched as Adam regarded Judith. She could not tell what he was thinking. She wondered if he liked what he saw. He paused. “Why not?” she heard him say.

Averting her gaze, Lucy crept away, a deep dismay rising up inside her. Adam deserves better than her, she thought. As if on cue, her nose began to throb, painfully reminding her of the odd encounter with Adam on the stairs.

Suddenly desperate to go home, she stumbled away, only to quickly become disoriented as the fog grew heavier. Without a lantern, she could not find the path. A hand on her arm made her jump.

It was Richard. “Are you lost, my sweet?” he asked, smiling. “I know that I lost you, and I came out here to see if I could find you.”

“I was on my way home.”

“Home? Nonsense! The evening is still young! No one goes home until the morning chores are to be done! ’Tis the night for servants to frolic and play as lords! Come, be my lady, and sit with me a bit.”

Still smiling, Richard began to pull her toward the Embrys’ stable. She did not object when he put his arm firmly around her waist. When she stumbled over a root and his grip around her tightened, she heard him laugh, a deep sound that rumbled from his chest. She laughed, too, suddenly giddy. Richard opened the stable door, kicking aside some straw as they entered. Lucy halted in confusion, but he deftly maneuvered them inside.

For the second time that day, a man held her face in his hands. This time, however, his eyes did not meet hers, and he planted his lips hungrily on her mouth. He pulled the door shut behind them, and she heard the latch click. At that, something inside her began to sound an alarm, like church bells proclaiming fire.

Fear making her stomach lurch, Lucy tried to pull away, but Richard pressed her tightly against the stable wall with his body, his hands fumbling at the strings on her bodice. Lucy began to fight in earnest, her hands flailing, trying to push at his chest. The ale that had emboldened him had sapped her strength. He pinned her arms back, pressing his body against hers. His mouth, impatiently tasting hers, muffled her cries, even as the flavors of mutton and stale ale made her want to retch. The horses in nearby stalls began to stamp, catching wind of her distress.

Weaker, she tried in vain to bat at the hand seeking to hike up her skirts. Wrenching her head to one side, she managed to scream once but was again cut off by Richard striking her across the face.

“Shut up, you whore,” he hissed. “You asked for this, with all your simpering and prancing about. I’m just giving you what you want.”

Her head spinning from the drink and the blow she had been dealt, Lucy thought distantly that she had heard someone shout. The next moment Richard abruptly released her, and she slumped to the ground. There she lay, quivering in relief and terror, barely taking in the angry voices from the door.

“The lass and I were just talking!” she heard Richard say. “’Tis no business of yours—” The sound of a fist hitting flesh stopped him midsentence.

“She is my business,” came the improbable reply. “Now remove yourself before I get you sacked.”

She heard Richard swear angrily and then stalk off. Lucy sagged back into the hay, still whirling from drink and fear.

A quiet voice came from the stable doors. “Lucy?”

She looked up, barely stifling a groan. She could see Adam standing there, his figure a shadow. He was half turned away, looking at the dancing lights of the Embrys’ mansion and rubbing his knuckles. She felt a hot flush of shame pass through her body, mortified that he would see her this way.

“Are you all right?” he asked, still not looking at her.

Lucy nodded shakily and stood up. “I think so.” Her dress was torn a bit, but she hoped in the dark he could not see anything. She wiped her face.

“Come on, then. I’ll see you home. I’ve had enough of this affair anyway.” His voice was curt, expressionless.

They started off down the path. She tripped a little, and he grabbed her elbow to steady her. She recoiled, still feeling Richard’s touch on her body. Adam did not move to touch her again.

Fueled by anger and shame, she recalled the shadowy figures at the front of the house. “Why are you not with your lady? She will surely be missing you.”

Adam frowned. “I bid Judith good night. I’ve had enough of dancing and politics. I was on my way home when I saw my father’s silly little serving girl—” He broke off.

What?! Lucy thought. You saw your silly little serving girl get manhandled by a brute? Or show her brazen ways? She wanted to defend herself, but she didn’t know of what exactly she was standing accused.

The silence hung heavily between them. Lucy bit her lip, feeling young and foolish. For the second time that evening, she realized that she did not have her wrap. She shivered. Adam shrugged out of his cloak and dumped it around her shoulders, without saying a word. Lucy did not look up to thank him but hugged it gratefully to her cold body.

As they walked and her head cleared, she grew calmer. The moon was gleaming through a soft haze, which fell around them like a blanket. She gazed upward. The stars numbered in the thousands, tiny pinpricks of light among a mat of darkness. She wished she were floating among them, keeping her far away from the pain she was feeling. Although she was still sniffing a little, her tears had stopped falling.

Adam appeared deep in thought. When he finally spoke, it was not to say what she was expecting. His voice was quiet, musing. “Two comets, they say, passed each other in the night sky. Directly over the city, just two weeks ago.”

Lucy remained quiet, trying to envision the spectacle. She was grateful he hadn’t said anything more about Richard.

He went on, waving his hand expansively toward the stars, looking like crystals affixed to a deep violet tapestry. “One comet was dull and languid, the other sparkling and furious, moving through the sky like a great flame. Some say it was a message from the Almighty.”

“A message?” Lucy asked. “To say what?”

“An omen, perhaps? That his judgment would be upon us? That a scourge is coming?” Adam looked down at her then, searching her face. “You choose.”

Lucy scratched her nose. He grinned in response, the tension between them spent. She smiled back. A scourge seemed very far away, not something to worry about, when she was walking beside the magistrate’s son in the moonlight, wearing his cloak. Unconsciously, she slowed her pace.

After a moment, he asked her another odd question. “Lucy, do you believe in free will?”

Though again this was not what she was expecting, she pondered the question carefully. “I believe my thoughts are my own, if that’s what you mean. I believe I can choose to do good or evil.”

“So, you believe we have control over our own actions, over our own fate?” He pulled a branch back from the path.

She stepped through, and he let the branch go. “Yes, perhaps, to a point,” she said. “Can I choose to go to market, or to the plays for that matter, whenever the whimsy strikes me? No, I may do such things only when your mother, or Cook, says that I may.”

He looked at her then, regarding her intently. She wondered for a second what a looking glass would reveal, since she could feel her hair was completely loose and she had no cap. Her face was probably smudged with dirt, her skirts in disarray. She would never look as poised and graceful as Judith Embry.

Yet she found she did not care as she went on. “I’m not sure I understand what scripture would say, but I suppose men, and women, must make their own destiny. We can, for example, decide who we love, even if the ability to act on that love is determined by others.” With a little snort Lucy added, “That’s if we understand politics, sir, which I’m sure I do not.”

Adam looked at her in surprise but stayed silent. They crossed the last field and walked down the street to their home.

When they approached the house, his mood seemed to change. “You’re a good lass, Lucy,” he said slowly. “Unusual, even.” He stopped, seeming to struggle with what he was about to say. Then he was once again a member of the gentry, scolding and arrogant and sure of himself. “Certainly you’re too young to touch the spirits in such immoderate measure. I may not be around next time to step in.”

Lucy’s face flamed. “I didn’t ask you to!” she cried, the calm the walk had brought her destroyed. “’Twas not your concern, it was my evening off. I’m not a child, I’m eighteen! I don’t need you to look after me!” Tearing off his cloak, she handed it to him with shaking fingers.

He scowled. “And just what do you think a man like that wanted with a foolish little girl like you, anyway?” Adam asked coldly. “You are a member of my father’s household. I would not have the reputation of his servants besmirched.”

His words stung her like a slap. The image of Richard’s leering face and roving hands on her body burned her. Ducking her head, Lucy ran inside to the solace of her little chamber at the top of the house.

The comfort of sleep did not come quickly. When she did finally drift off, she dreamed that someone was lightly holding her face and moving in to kiss her lips. Somehow, though, Adam’s concerned face was replaced by Richard’s angry countenance, causing her to awake, her heart pounding in fear, excitement, and something else.