A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,27

see his sinning ways before it is too late. A good man will not string a woman along.” Seeing Lucy sniff, he added, “Oh, but you are frowning. You’re not thinking about Will, are you? My dear Lucy, is there someone you are pining after who has not been faithful to you?”

“Oh, no,” she said hastily. “No sweetheart. No one like that.”

“Good,” Lucas said, his face flushed. “I should not like to see you give your heart away, especially to some fickle lad who doesn’t deserve it. Or,” he said, leaning closer, “to someone from a family you can never marry into.”

Lucy looked up sharply, catching his troubled look.

“It is the way of the world, I’m afraid. Like marries like.” He shook his head ruefully. “Of course, that’s the good thing about someone like me,” he said, his eyes suddenly intent. “I can marry whom I please. Perhaps some charming wench who will conjure up a cakebread whenever I ask.” He stood up. Without warning, he kissed her forehead, just below her cap. “Don’t change, my sweet. I’m off now, nary a crumb to be found, so we will not face the wrath of Cook.”

The door slammed behind him, and Lucy sat on the bench Lucas had just vacated. The way of the world, indeed, Lucy thought. She looked around the happy kitchen in sudden distaste. Why did the walls feel like a prison?

7

Upon waking the next day, Lucy could see that Bessie had already slipped out to start her morning work, eager to finish lacing one of the mistress’s fine underskirts. The good mistress had promised her several of her old petticoats if she made haste and had these ready for spring. “I shall affix a fine braid of silver fringe that will show when my skirts part, like so,” Bessie had confided to Lucy a few days before. “When I am through, my underskirts shall be as fine as the Queen Mother’s own!” Bessie had then laughed at Lucy’s shocked face. “Oh, Lucy, don’t be such a stick. I saw Mistress Embry with her skirts like so, in church even!”

“Well, that I cannot protest,” Lucy had demurred. “For she might be doing us all a great service.”

“I did not know you had such a fondness for Mistress Embry, Lucy,” Bessie had said, giving her a sidelong glance.

Lucy had laughed, a bit wickedly. “Well, ’tis true enough. But I was thinking that perhaps the sight of her skirts would shock the good minister into silence. Surely that would be an act of benevolence itself.”

Her teeth chattering now, Lucy forced herself out of bed. She cast about for her heavy stockings before remembering she had left them in the kitchen to dry after yesterday’s shower. “I wonder if Bessie would mind if I borrowed her gray worsted stockings,” she said to herself. “They are so much heavier and warmer than my own.”

Lucy began to rummage through Bessie’s clothes chest. To her surprise, she felt something hard wrapped up in a soft summer petticoat. Removing the light muslin wrap, she found a beautiful red lacquered case that Bessie had never shown her. Kneeling on the hard wood floor, Lucy ran her finger along the red trim, enchanted by the workmanship of the meticulously painted curlicues. Only the mistress owned anything so fine.

She shook it slightly. It was heavy, but nothing rattled. Craning her ear toward the hallway, she did not hear anyone in the corridor outside their room. Making a quick decision, she flipped open the lid and stared.

Two beautifully crafted combs and a brush lay neatly within the purple satin that lined the box. A gold mirror was inlaid into the top of the box, allowing a woman to view herself easily as she dressed her hair. Intuitively, Lucy knew this was what Bessie had hoped to hide from her the night of Lady Embry’s Easter dance.

Where could Bessie have gotten such a fine piece? Such an item would surely cost dear. Who could have given it to her? Mistress Hargrave, as kind as she was on occasion, would not have given her so fine a gift. Nor would Sarah. Bessie’s family could ill afford it.

A sickening thought occurred to Lucy then. Could she have stolen it? Even as the idea flashed into her mind, she banished it as impossible. Silly for finery as Bessie was, she did not have it in her nature to steal. Thoughtfully, Lucy wrapped the fine lacquered case back in the petticoat, wondering how she