A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,28
could ask Bessie about it.
* * *
The day passed without Lucy being able to corner Bessie about the beautiful lacquered case. Slippery, she was, almost as if she did not want to speak to Lucy. Before supper, Lucy stretched to light the tall dining room tapers, one foot on a small embroidered stool, the other balancing carefully behind her.
“Don’t move!” a man shouted from behind her.
Startled, Lucy began to turn around. “What—?”
“No, don’t look at me! As you were, at the candle.”
Surprised into obeying, Lucy turned her gaze back to the hearth.
“Keep that candle up!”
Foolishly, she stared at a cobweb, thinking Mistress Hargrave would probably like that removed. From behind her, she heard the sound of someone rummaging through a bag. “Dash it all, I’ve not got my sketching pens here,” the man said. Then, exasperated, he added, “I would lose the light in a moment anyway. You may as well set the candle down.”
Doing as he demanded, Lucy stepped down and looked at the man. He was lithe and lean, with vigorous black curls falling below his shoulders. He looked exotic, his coloring Italian and perhaps African, his dress brighter than what most men wore, even in the more colorful Cavalier households. This must be Del Gado, she supposed. Cook had told her a famous painter would be dining with the family.
“And who are you, my little beauty?” he murmured, moving just an arm’s length away.
Lucy bobbed a quick curtsy. “Lucy, Master Del Gado. I am one of Mistress Hargrave’s maids.”
“Indeed. A maid.” His dark gaze traveled over her slowly. His familiarity made her freeze and then warm inexplicably. “Why is it you and I have never met before?”
“I don’t know, sir. I have been with the Hargraves for just under two years.”
“They did well to hide you from me, I think. Such a sweet little nymph you are.”
Lucy shifted impatiently. Another guest who would be too handy. Her encounter with Richard had made her even more skittish around men. She started to edge away.
Del Gado laughed. “Perhaps you might consider posing for me? I should like so much to paint you. You could even wear this sweet little apron,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “although I should not like you to wear much else, I’m afraid.”
Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Ah, my little one. I have shocked you. You think I am a rogue, do you not? Oh, do not answer. You will be a great charmer in a few years, I daresay, and I should just like to capture the moment when the innocent lass knows what it means to be a woman. Perhaps I can help that moment along, if you like.” He chuckled again.
Unable to move, Lucy just stared at him. Mistress Hargrave stepped into the dining room at that instant, taking in the painter’s cheeky grin and Lucy’s flushed face. She laid a hand, almost protectively, on Lucy’s arm. Her voice tight and clipped, she said, “All right, Lucy, very good. Now, run along to help Cook with supper.”
Before the door had shut completely behind her, Lucy heard the mistress say in a low tone. “Now, Enrique, you really must behave. Lucy is a good girl, and I won’t have her spoiled by you.”
“Not when her mistress needs to be spoiled!” he responded, adding a few words that Lucy did not hear as she fled to the kitchen, her ears burning fiercely.
Supper was an odd meal. The mistress talked breathlessly and gaily with Master Del Gado, her manner unguarded. The painter, fawning over the mistress, responded courteously enough but seemed watchful and a bit tense, content to listen to his patron’s nonsense. The master, by contrast, was particularly taciturn, commenting from time to time on some aspect of the fare. Adam seemed more brooding than usual, and Lucas was nowhere to be seen.
Passing a platter of bread, Lucy heard the magistrate quietly ask Adam about Lucas. Seeming to realize her ward’s absence for the first time, Mistress Hargrave looked up.
“And where is Lucas?” she asked.
“Lucas and I”—Adam paused—“had a difference of opinion with some men at the pub.” He picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat.
Del Gado snickered behind his handkerchief. The magistrate glared at him.
The mistress just looked at Adam expectantly. “And?” she prompted.
Finishing chewing, Adam said, “I fear Lucas is a bit indisposed and is resting upstairs. He’ll not be down for supper.”
“Oh, dear,” Mistress Hargrave said. “Shall I send for the physician?”