The Masque of a Murderer (20 page)

“Deborah!” Joan called to her as she descended the stairs. “Please come in.”

Esther came out behind her. “We are about to start readying for supper now. Lucy, wouldst thou care to join us? Though it be meager fare, thou art most welcome to stay.”

“Thank you. You are most kind. I fear, though, I must return to Master Aubrey’s to fix his evening meal. Lach has likely burnt the roast, which will make my master very cross indeed.”

“We do not want thy printer to be cross. One day, perhaps, thou wilt not have to call another man your master.” Esther smiled, and then, to Lucy’s surprise, the woman embraced her warmly. “Thou art welcome any time. Sarah has said that thou wert once like a sister to her. I know we should be very glad to see that dear acquaintance resumed.”

To her delight, Sarah smiled at her as well. “Any time, Lucy. Thou art a good friend, and as Esther says, a sister, too. Let us not have my differences with my father come between us.” As they embraced, Lucy felt a glad tiding rising in her heart.

Moving from the warm companionable house into the increasingly blustery wind, she felt something that was almost akin to loss. What would it be like to experience such companionship? Such friendship? Such a sense of spiritual equals? Pulling her cloak closer, Lucy could only wonder.

*   *   *

A heavy fog had descended, making the narrow street far darker and more fearful than she expected. She was thinking about returning to the Whitbys’ home and requesting a lantern when two figures emerged at the end of the road. Since the dark often brought out cutthroats and thieves, she thought it prudent not to draw attention. Lucy pressed herself behind a tree, thinking to let the figures pass her by before she resumed her journey home.

As they drew nearer, she recognized Sam and Gervase, conversing in low tones. She was about to step from her hiding place when she caught a snippet of their conversation.

“I am rather afraid that Sarah’s companion, Lucy, has learned something she ought not to have,” she heard Sam say. “We must hope she will not tell the magistrate.”

Lucy felt the blood drain from her face. What was it they thought she knew? Their next words made her almost fall, and it was all she could do to refrain from shaking. She was wary of cracking a single stick beneath her feet.

“Esther seems to trust her. So we must, too. At least thou hast dealt with that searcher,” Gervase said. “The nonsense that woman speaks!”

“Oh, the Lord will stop her evil tongue,” Sam replied, tapping his leg. The two men were within three feet of her now. “Of that, we can be certain.”

To her surprise, Gervase laughed then, a deep, resonant sound. “That is so.”

As they moved away from her, Gervase spoke again, sounding more serious. “Sam, let us stay silent about thy dealings with the searcher,” he said. “I should not like to further burden our sister Esther, for she is already quite overcome with grief and fear. She might not understand what thou hast done.”

Sam said something, but Lucy lost his words in the wind. She stared at the retreating figures, sickened by what she had heard. It was all she could do to refrain from running to the door and demanding Sarah return with her. Instead, she stumbled away, with only glimpses of the moon to guide her home.

13

As she waited for Annie to meet her at Covent Garden the next day, Lucy could not dispel the sense of unease she’d been feeling since leaving the Quakers. The conversation she had overheard between Gervase and Sam disturbed her greatly. Several times during the night, she had thought about writing a note, but she did not know what to say, or, truth be told, whether she should send it to Adam or Duncan or one to each man. So she sent no notes at all.

Even the first hints of spring could not lift her low mood. Most of the recent snow and slush had finally disappeared. The temperature was milder, the great fog had finally lifted, and the sun was shining brighter than it had in days.

Idly, she watched a woman heavy with child trying to sell letter-writing supplies to passersby who were largely ignoring her. Since the Fire, the city was still in desperate need of poor relief, more than what the parishes could provide.

“Buy a wax or wafers!” the woman called breathlessly, the loud chant obviously a strain to her body. Wincing, she put a hand to her back, brushing away a tear. Catching Lucy’s eye, she asked weakly, “Buy a pen, miss?”

Lucy sighed. The woman was unlikely to be licensed by the Stationers Company, yet given her state, Lucy could not bring herself to turn away from her pleading gaze. Without thoroughly examining them, Lucy bought one pen for a penny.

Annie came up then, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a basket of hot coddlings in her haste. As they began to walk among the stalls and carts, Annie’s bright chatter helped dispel Lucy’s anxious feelings.

Finally Annie realized that her conversation was one-sided. “Lucy, what ails you?” she asked.

“I am terribly worried about Sarah,” Lucy confided.

Annie’s face fell. “I still can’t believe that Miss Sarah has gone to live with the Quackers, I mean, Quakers.” Her voice dropped. That Sarah had defied the magistrate in such a fashion clearly still awed Annie.

“She cannot stay with them! I know that now. But she can be so stubborn. She thinks she is helping Esther,” Lucy said, beginning to walk faster, moving past the vegetable stalls. Her thoughts were moving even more rapidly. “There are some questions we never asked.”

“What questions? What are you talking about? Hey—Lucy! Where are you going?” Annie called, panting after her. “I’ve barely anything on my list. Cook will kill me if I forget the raisins and ginger. She’s making—”

Lucy interrupted her. “Annie, please, will you come with me? I need to speak with someone, and I promised”—she paused, remembering Adam’s fervent words—“someone that I would not look into these things on my own.” Without waiting for Annie to agree, Lucy began to move out of the market, back onto the muddy cobblestone street. Annie followed behind her, a bit helplessly, her empty straw basket swinging on her arm.

As they walked, Lucy told Annie about Jacob Whitby and his sister, everything she had learned so far. She also told her how Sarah believed that it was her duty to safeguard Esther, because of her promise to Jacob. She even told Annie about the conversation she overheard between Sam and Gervase the night before. All the while, Annie listened openmouthed, but did not say anything.

“We need to know what Julia Whitby knew,” Lucy declared. “What was she going to tell her brother?”

“She was going to tell him the name of the impostor,” Annie said, stating the obvious with authority.

Lucy threw her arm around Annie’s bony shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. “Yes, I think that is right,” she said, smiling. It felt so good to share all of her worries with someone else who understood the family. “Perhaps there was something else, too. Something more to discover, which will shed light on this question.”

They turned down the street where Julia Whitby’s family lived. In a tremendous stroke of good luck, a familiar figure was out front. It was Evie, Mrs. Whitby’s maid. She was clearing away the ruined rush matting from the street in front of their house. All the traffic from the carts and carriages had destroyed the matting, and the recent icy sleet had made it a slippery mess.

“Ho there!” Lucy called amiably. “How does your mistress fare?”

Straightening up, Evie squinted at her, taking in her bookseller’s pack. Lucy could see that her eyes were still red from weeping. She looked at Annie, too, who gave her a friendly smile. Puzzled, she asked, “You were the one who came here the other day? With the gentleman?”

Lucy nodded.

“I must thank you, then, miss,” Evie said, giving a little bob. “For helping with the mistress the other day. A blessing it was.” She gave a little sniff. “A sore week it’s been.”

Lucy smiled gently at her. “I’m sure the blessing is in the care you have taken of your mistress.” She set her pack down heavily. “Ah! It’s nice to set this down.”

“You’re a peddler?” Evie asked.

“Bookseller, and printer’s apprentice,” Lucy replied, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. “Annie here works for the magistrate, you know, the Whitbys’ old friends. She holds the same job I once held. Chambermaid.” She held her breath when she said the last. She was gambling that Evie would feel more comfortable speaking to one of her own station. She knew, too, that the opposite was sometimes true as well. Servants could be even snobbier than their masters, looking down on those who did the most menial tasks. She knew she was taking a chance. To her relief, Evie seemed to relax when Lucy revealed her former occupation, rather than holding it against her.

“Terrible news about Miss Julia,” Lucy said, kicking a bit of the rush matting toward the pile that Evie had been creating with her broom.

“Gar!” Evie replied. “That it was. When the constable came to tell the mistress, I never seen her take on so.” She continued sweeping, a bit harder now, her face growing red with the effort. “Awful the way Miss Julia died.” That she didn’t add any details showed the girl was not a gossip.

Lucy murmured something in consolation, even as a sharp memory from the past overcame her. Almost two years ago Constable Duncan had appeared at the magistrate’s own door, bearing equally distressing news. That was the first time she had met him. So much had happened since then.

She could see now that the girl was trying not to cry. Annie, who had been watching, quietly took the broom from the maid’s bare hands and continued the task of pushing away the rush matting. Lucy held out a small linen cloth she kept tucked away in her skirts. Evie accepted it with a watery smile and blew her nose loudly.

“My head ached so,” Evie said. “The mistress was wailing and the master was shouting. All the while they kept asking me questions. What did I know? I didn’t know anything. Cook said they’d toss me out if they found I wasn’t telling the truth. I told them over and over I didn’t know anything. She only wrote that note. I couldn’t even read it.” Tears began to threaten again. “Only the constable was kind. He spoke in a nice soft voice. Didn’t yell at me.”

“He is kind,” Lucy agreed, with what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “Did you tell him anything?”

Evie shook her head. “Didn’t know anything. I’d have liked to have talked to him more, though.” She made a funny clucking sound. “He’s a handsome sort, ain’t he? No tongue-pad, trolling about, that’s for certain. A good man, I could tell.”

“Evie,” Lucy said, trying to ignore the girl’s simpering, “could you tell me something? The other day, when I was helping tend to your mistress, you told me that you thought Miss Julia had received some letters of late. Letters that had put her in a strange state. Could you tell me more about them? Where’d they come from? Who sent them?”

Evie looked back up, her eyes suspicious again. “Why do you want to know that? What business is it of yours?”

“Please,” Lucy said, seeing how skittish the young woman was growing. This could be the only chance she had to speak with her. “You must not feel you are betraying Miss Julia by telling me what you know. Indeed, you are doing her the greatest service, if you can help bring her murderer to justice. I am sure the constable would appreciate it.” Even though she felt a quick flush of shame over using the girl’s obvious interest in the constable, Lucy continued to look at her steadily.

The servant’s face had grown pinched. “Do you think those letters had something to do with what happened to Miss Julia?” she asked. “They just kept asking me if she’d said anything to me. I told them the truth. She hadn’t said anything. My mum always said I couldn’t put two thoughts together; always said the Lord had not given me a whit of good sense.” She looked at Lucy in great consternation. “I should have told the constable, do you think?”

“Perhaps. I don’t know,” Lucy said, trying to contain her excitement, mindful of the maid’s fragile emotions. The girl could know more than she realized. “Please, Evie. Who gave you the letters?”

Evie hesitated. “They were not letters. Not really. Printed pages, though. Like the kinds you buy.”

Lucy pulled a tract out of her bag and showed it to Evie. “Like this one?”

Evie nodded.

“Could you tell us who gave them to you?” Lucy asked.

At Lucy’s encouraging smile, the young servant sighed. “I told Miss Julia that there had been a knock at the door, and when I opened the door the letter was there, under a rock.” She looked down, red rising up in her sallow cheeks.

Annie and Lucy exchanged a knowing glance over her head. “Someone gave them to you, to give to her?” Lucy asked gently. When Evie didn’t answer, she continued. “Was it a man?”

The tears that had threatened to break now dripped down Evie’s face in earnest. She began to sob out something about a man who’d approached her in the market several times. Though the lass was scarcely coherent, Lucy managed to piece it together. Three times a man had passed one of the tracts to Evie to give to her mistress, the last time right before Miss Whitby had left in a state.

“Did you look at them?” Lucy asked.

“Nah, he told me not to. He promised me things, laces, ribbons, and the like, if I gave them to her without telling anyone.” She frowned at the memory. “She told me not to speak with the man again. Even though
she
was not giving me extra coins or such fancy trappings. So I lied and said they’d been pushed through the door. When I asked her if I should take them to her father, she grew quite affrighted and remorseful like.”

“What did the man look like?” Lucy asked, holding her breath.

The servant pursed her lips. “Handsome. Kept a wrap around most of his face—it was so cold, you know. Shopkeep, I’d wager. He’d been out selling different things. One day spices, the next day perfumes. From the Orient they were. Struck me as odd, it did. He was a sweet talker, though.” Evie frowned. “Said he was an admirer of Miss Julia. Nearly knocked me over when he said that. Being that she was a dried-up old spinster and all.”

“Have you seen him recently?” Lucy asked. “Is he here now?” She gestured toward some of the street-sellers at the end of the street.