A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,4

stranger, no one raised a hand to help her.

Shocked, Lucy turned to Adam. Had he witnessed it? It seemed he had.

“Come on. There’s no constable about.” His tone, like his face, was flat. “No bellman at hand, no soldiers. There is nothing to be done.”

Her uncertain protest quelled, Lucy picked up her basket again. She could not stop looking back at the woman, who had begun to weep openly. With her purse and day’s purchases gone, she might have little left. Her husband or master, unless he was a particularly forgiving man, might well beat her for her loss. Or worse. Lucy shuddered.

When they turned the corner, though, Lucy noticed that one of the young pickpockets had circled back, slinking among the crowded stalls. Without saying anything to Adam, she kept her head down, watching the lad as he helped himself to an apple here, a scrap of cloth there. He stood for a moment before an enormous leg of mutton. For a crazy moment, Lucy thought he was actually trying to figure out how to get the gamy leg inside his knapsack. The woman’s purse, she imagined, was still inside his doublet.

“I’m to get some eggs and a bit of coffee,” she told Adam, her eyes not leaving the boy.

Adam nodded, looking toward Fleet Street. Lucy had rarely been on the long, winding street where the printers and booksellers lived and hawked their wares.

“See that shop there?” Adam asked, pointing halfway down the narrow road. “The fifth one in from the corner? ’Tis Master Aubrey’s. Join me there in a quarter hour’s time, and I shall see you home.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, distantly wondering at his grim tone. Right now, she was thinking about something else. Seeing that Adam was waiting for her to respond, she added, “Yes, sir. A quarter hour. I’ll be there.”

When Adam had walked away, Lucy looked again at the boy. She did not see his partner, but that was better for what she was about to do. Saying a soft prayer to her patron saint, she opened her pocket as if searching for a coin, walking straight toward the boy. An instant later, she collided with him, her hands right on his chest, then slipping easily into his shirt, where she seized the woman’s purse and whisked it from view.

“Oh, my,” Lucy said, so he could feel the full effect of her gaze. His frown was replaced by a look of confusion, under the onslaught of her smile. Lucy spent little time before a looking glass, but his somewhat dazed response gave her an unexpected sense of satisfaction. “I’m so sorry. I should have been paying more attention,” Lucy said, tucking a loose strand of hair back under her muslin cap. For a moment, she wished she had Bessie’s great blond curls, but no matter, she seemed to be doing fine.

The boy rubbed his hand against his shirt. “Oh, yes, miss, I mean, no, miss,” he stammered. “A comely lass like yourself, you must watch for cutthroats. There’s them that would take advantage of you, burying your nose down like that.”

Lucy widened her eyes. “Oh, my. I hadn’t thought of that. Cutthroats! In the market! To be sure, my dear aunt always says I must take more care, lest something dreadful happen.”

“Indeed, you must, miss.” He looked her up and down, taking in her servant’s garb. He seemed to like what he saw, and he took a step closer. Lucy had to keep herself from stepping back, for his teeth suddenly looked a little sharper, a little more predatory, than they had a moment before. He went on, puffing up his chest. “Shall I walk with you a bit? Perhaps you’d like an ale? The Cheddar Cheese is just ahead.”

Protect me from the likes of you, Lucy thought spitefully. Out loud, she said, “Oh, I don’t think so. I don’t even know your name, and my auntie—”

“My name’s Sid, miss. Sid Petry, miss.” He squeezed her upper arm.

His sudden liberty made her feel afraid and anxious to get away. What if Sid discovered what she had done? She looked about. “I have a friend meeting me, and he’ll be wondering where I am. Sorry again, Sid, for being so careless.”

It took all she had to get away from Sid’s wheedling, and she was afraid he would follow her. Moving quickly through the stalls, Lucy stepped over piles of dung and refuse that lay scattered across the cobblestones. Looking about, she finally spied Sid’s victim,