The Masque of a Murderer (2 page)

“Still, it is wonderful that thou hast found such an occupation,” Sarah said. “I can see that it agrees with thee well.”

Again Lucy caught that same note of longing. “I should very much like to hear more of your travels,” she said. “Alas, now I must return to work. Master Aubrey is not one to beat us, but I should not like to anger him by larking about.” She began to take the type letters out of the press and return them to their appropriate cases, since Master Aubrey wanted them to be ready to set and print
The Lady’s Lament
in two days’ time.

“Oh, but that’s why I’m here. Father said I might invite thee to dine with us. Cook has the most delicious meal planned.”

Lucy smiled at Sarah doubtfully but did not speak. The magistrate had always been gentle and courteous to her, and would on occasion take a meal with his servants. Nevertheless, it was very unlikely that even a man of Master Hargrave’s sort would formally extend an invitation to dine with his former chambermaid. She gently said as much to Sarah.

“Oh, pfft,” she replied, tossing her hair in her old way. Or she would have, had the stern cap not kept her hair in place. “We Quakers do not recognize such divisions among us. We are all equal in the eyes of the Lord.”

Her eyes shining, Sarah looked almost as Lucy remembered. Then a new expression passed into her eyes, taking on a distant forlorn quality that made Lucy’s heart ache. “Please, Lucy. I know Father respects thee. And truly, I have no other friends now, at least none who would feel welcome in a magistrate’s home.” She lowered her voice so that Lach would not hear her. “Ever since I returned home, Father has seemed so angry and disappointed in me for not coming home sooner. For traveling to the New World. For being a Quaker.” Her eyes were pleading. “I would feel more comfortable if thou wert beside me. Even just for a few hours.”

“Even if that were so, I cannot just leave the shop,” Lucy protested. She continued to put the letters back in their cases. “I should not like to rile Master Aubrey in such a way.”

Lach looked up then. “So you’re a Quacker now, hey?” he said to Sarah, apparently having heard everything. He put his hands to his armpits and began to flap his arms like wings. “Quack! Quack! Quack!”

“Lach!” Lucy exclaimed, embarrassed by his antics. “Sarah is a Quaker, not Quacker. Do not call her that ridiculous name.”

“So you quake, then?” Lach asked, ignoring Lucy’s retort. “You do not quack?”

For the first time, a slight smile tugged at Sarah’s lips. Lucy was glad to see that Sarah seemed more amused than anything at Lach’s jests. “I don’t think I have ever quacked,” she said.

Thankfully, they were spared any more of Lach’s nonsense when Master Aubrey appeared in the doorway of the shop. Despite the cold weather, the rotund printer was sweating from the exertion of his walk.

Taking off his hat, the master printer greeted Sarah warily. “Miss Hargrave,” he said, throwing Lucy a warning glance. “I am glad that the good Lord has seen fit to bring you safely back from your long voyages. I hope that you will extend my best wishes to your father as well.” He held open the door and beckoned outside. “However, I should like Lucy to resume her work now, and it is time for you to return home.”

“Ah!” Sarah said brightly. “Lucy’s work is why I am here.” She pulled out a pocket from underneath her skirts. “My father gave me this purse. It is full of coins. Even though I told him I need little in the way of worldly goods.”

“Ah, yes,” Master Aubrey said, clearly perplexed by the idea of not needing worldly goods. Still, he nodded his head. “I see.”

From the corner, Lach bugged out his eyes, pretending to be a madman, before mouthing the word “Quacker.” Fortunately, Sarah did not see the gesture.

“So I thought,” Sarah continued, “that even if I need nothing, I might purchase a few recipes for Cook—I know that she already has Culpeper’s
Herbal
. Perhaps another of the same sort?”

“Yes, yes,” Master Aubrey said, rubbing his hands, his earlier surliness gone. “We have a number of recipes. Lach, you imp!” he shouted, boxing Lach lightly on his ear. “Go bring up the bag of herbals and recipes from the cellar.”

Murmuring under his breath, Lach slunk off.

Sarah was not done. “I had thought perhaps to get Father a copy of”—she consulted a piece of paper—“William Dugdale’s
Origines Juridiciales.
My brother told me that most copies were burnt in the Fire, but that perhaps thou wouldst know where one might be found.”

“Most, but not all. I happen to have a few in my possession. Leather bound. Very rare! I shall go get the Dugdale from my private collection. Nothing but the very best for your father, naturally!”

At that point, Sarah produced a letter sealed in red wax, which she handed to Master Aubrey along with the coins for the book and tracts. “From Father,” she said.

Coins in hand, Master Aubrey had grown jovial. Scanning the note, he chuckled. “Lass,” he said to Lucy, “Master Hargrave has asked you to dine with his daughter. I suppose he has paid enough for you to take a few hours off.”

“Thank you, sir!” Lucy cried, grabbing her cloak from the hook by the wall. As Sarah pulled her from the shop, Lucy could not refrain from sticking her tongue out at Lach, who, as always, made a disgusting face at her in return.

2

A few steps along the street, their giddiness passed, and once again Sarah took on her somber demeanor. “’Tis a strange thing,” she said, stepping aside to let an old woman pass them by. The woman moved slowly, nearly doubled over by the great pack on her back. “To see London. When I lived here before, I did not see what I see now.”

Lucy cocked her head, trying to see what Sarah saw. The Great Fire had not reached these streets where they were currently walking. On that fateful day last September, the winds had shifted, and the blaze had turned back upon itself, saving the areas to the west and north of the old city walls.

“The Great Fire stopped before it reached these parts,” Lucy said, puzzled. “It was more to the east.” She pointed in that direction. Where once all the great church pinnacles had illuminated the skyline, now there was an unusual expanse of gray sky.

Sarah nodded. “I know. I walked a bit through the ruins today, including where St. Paul’s had once stood. How fearful I once was, sitting in those pews, reminded every day of my weak and foolish spirit.” She looked at an old man holding out a tin cup, his eyes rheumy from sickness and the cold. She took out a penny and pressed it into the man’s hands as she passed. “What I mean is that now I see the despair and filth and dirt, in a way I never did before the Inner Spirit moved me.”

Pausing, she turned toward Lucy. “Do you know, I was still in the Massachusetts Bay Colony when we heard tell of the Great Fire. Of course, by that time, it was all over. God’s plan it was, for the Fire to burn away the sinners of London.”

Lucy nodded. The Lord’s will had been done, to be sure. Still, tensions about what had caused the Fire had not dissipated, and she’d seen fisticuffs brought about by a single word on the topic. She’d heard many people speak about the causes of the Great Fire. Some people blamed the French, while many more blamed the Catholics. “Those dirty papists!” she’d oft heard the cry. Many had blamed the confused watchmaker Robert Hubert, who had indeed been hanged for the crime. Lucy thought it was just as likely to have been the Fariners, who might well have failed to bank the coals of their bakery.

“So many have lost so much,” Lucy said. “I hope that they will all one day find justice. I know that is what Adam believes the new Fire Court will accomplish. To help restore order and to ensure that landlords receive their just due when the streets of London are plotted and built.” For a moment she felt so proud of Adam that she did not even realize she was smiling until she saw Sarah glance at her curiously.

“That is the first time I have ever heard thee address my brother in such a familiar way, Lucy,” Sarah said.

A painful flush flooded Lucy’s cheeks. “I meant, Master Adam. Er, Mr. Hargrave. I beg your pardon for the familiarity.”

Sarah waved away Lucy’s consternation. “Hearing thee speak of my brother in such a fashion, I should almost imagine that thou hast
feelings
for him.” Her tone was sympathetic, not judgmental.

Lucy had heard such sympathy before. Sometimes, as with Sarah, it was heartfelt and well intentioned, although at other times, it rang false and was mocking in nature. Either way, the message was clear. Falling in love with the master’s son—even if she no longer worked for the magistrate—was a pitiful plight for a servant.

Without replying, Lucy simply turned her face so that the bitter wind would cool her cheeks. She could guess what so many people assumed—that Adam had bedded her when she was serving in his father’s household. That she foolishly believed he would marry her. How many ballads had been set to this same tune? Surely, Master Aubrey made many a coin on this very tale. The handsome gentleman wooing the comely maid. Depending on who wrote it, the story became a bawdy joke or the recipe for a young woman’s ruin.

The truth was far different, although Lucy had never told anyone.
I am not the besotted fool they all think me to be,
Lucy thought. Certainly Adam had never forced himself upon her; such a dishonorable act would have been vile to him. However, during the Fire, when passion and emotion had overcome them both, Adam had declared his love for her and pledged his troth. For a short while, Lucy had lived and dreamed in a happy haze, thinking that all would be well.

Yet even as the shock and aftermath of the Fire continued to numb and overwhelm the people of London, for Lucy the smoke in her eyes had gradually cleared. The old world that she once knew—where servants marry servants and gentry marry gentry—had begun to right itself.

Now, when Adam spoke of marriage, Lucy put him off as new worries and doubts began to surface. What would such a marriage look like? Certainly, he was handsome and good—her breath still caught when she thought of the lengths to which he had gone to right some terrible wrongs. What former servant could ever even hope to wed a man like him? Most women in her position would have dragged him to the church the moment his declaration of love had been made, being assured income, property, and a good name for their children. But for Lucy, therein lay one of the greatest problems.

Would Adam come to be embarrassed by her humble upbringing? Could he overcome the fact that she had been a chambermaid, cleaning up his own family’s slops? His mother had served Queen Henrietta, as a young lady-in-waiting in the court of King Charles I. Her parents had been poor tenant farmers, and before that, in service. Adam claimed he did not care about such differences, but it was hard to believe that one day he would not wake up and resent her for her low station. His father, the magistrate, had even given his blessing, but surely that, too, could change when everyone’s senses were restored.

And what of Lucy’s newfound occupation? Adam had said that he would not want her to give up her training as a printer and bookseller, but surely she would have to, once a babe or two came along. Indeed, many servants and tradesmen she knew waited to get married and have children until their midtwenties, for precisely this reason. At twenty-one, Lucy had hoped to wait a few more years before getting wed, so that she could build her dowry and develop her livelihood. Of course, the gentry married earlier, and Adam was a few years older than she was already. He was eager to marry and get their lives in order.

That was the worst part about it. If Lucy was to be completely honest, she was not even sure whether it was Adam she wished to marry. Certainly Lucy had adored him almost from the moment they met, and indeed their love had flourished during a time of terrible stress. Yet as she had come to realize, Adam was also one of the only young men she had ever spoken with at length, and she had had no opportunity to meet other potential suitors.

That had changed, however, when Lucy left the magistrate’s household and became better acquainted with Constable Duncan, a man who also seemed to respect and admire her. Though she had not seen him recently, the constable occupied her thoughts in a way that both pleased and distressed her.

Sarah continued on, unaware of Lucy’s musings, speaking now about the Fire Court. “For my part, I do not put much stock in earthly courts, or the men that use the law to better their own ends.” She looked at Lucy. “How I have shocked thee. Thou art thinking that I have impugned the vocation of my father and my brother.” Her laugh was more sorrowful than bitter. “Perhaps I have. They will never understand the suffering that the law of this earthly realm has caused my spiritual brothers and sisters.”

Her words disturbed Lucy, causing an unexpected lump to form in her throat, as she thought of how the magistrate and his son revered the law and the pursuit of justice. Sarah’s words seemed to tarnish what they cherished. She did not know what to reply, and so remained silent for the remainder of the walk.

*   *   *

A short while later, Lucy took a deep bite into a piece of meat pie, savoring the well-seasoned meat, leeks, and potatoes. Indeed, the warmth of Master Hargrave’s kitchen embraced her, and she looked about in pleasure. Cook and her husband, John, the master’s all-around Jack, had worked for the magistrate for nearly twenty years. Cook’s niece, little skinny Annie, had come to them only a year and a half before, after Lucy had found her half starved, begging on the streets. In time, she had taken on Lucy’s old duties as chambermaid. Right now, Cook and Annie bustled about while John sat in the corner, sharpening knives. For an instant, Lucy felt as if she had never left Master Hargrave’s employment. Sarah seemed to be enjoying herself as well, her earlier discontent forgotten.

As Lucy had expected, the magistrate did not join the servants for their meal, but given what Sarah had said about their strained relationship, perhaps that was for the best.

Annie was now plying Sarah with questions about her travels. She had pulled out a pamphlet that Lucy had given her called
A True Narrative of the Splendors of the New World.