A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,44

just always thought about these girls. Must be on account of me having a daughter myself.” Pausing to add ink to a press, Master Aubrey added, “It will cost a crown for the lot.”

“A whole crown?” Lucy gasped. “But they’re old!”

“Murder always sells, my dear. Adam would know this. Shall I just send them by your master’s house later, then? He can pay my apprentice.”

“Oh, no! I mean, he sent the money along.” Turning away, Lucy quickly pulled her pocket out of her skirts and looked at her last few coins ruefully. She had intended to buy her mother a present. This is far more important, she told herself, handing over the money.

Coin in hand, the printer disappeared into the back of the shop. As she had done when she first visited the shop two months before, Lucy looked around the drying racks, reading the titles, looking at the woodcuts.

“‘A Recipe for a Good Wife,’” she read out loud. The piece was accompanied by its rejoinder, “‘A Recipe for a Good Husband.’” Looking it over, she blushed at the bawdy advice.

The thought of a husband seemed so distant to her, and yet Lucy knew she would marry in a few years. What her future husband—this nameless, formless figure—would look like was anybody’s guess. She had no expectation of his appearance. He was as likely to be fat and bald as he would be young and handsome. As long as he does not beat me, she supposed, although in her heart, she wished for love.

So long as he is not in one of the animal trades, she thought, her nose wrinkling. Though it might be a blessing to have meat on the table regularly. Yet the thought of a man climbing into her bed every night smelling of blood and gristle turned her stomach.

Beyond that, she barely dared imagine. Her mother, she knew, would not force her to marry, but she would be expecting that banns be read by the time Lucy was twenty-five, an age when servants commonly scraped together enough money to marry, or when men had finished their apprenticeships. Otherwise, she’d surely be seen as a dried-up spinster, and her options would grow scarce. Lucy knew her mother was especially eager to see her settled before she passed.

As she gazed at the silly woodcut images, several faces of men she knew passed through her mind. Richard, leering at her at the Embrys’ Easter masquerade. The painter’s eyes, first warm and caressing, then hard and cruel. She shivered, repulsed again. Lucas, his ready grin and red cheeks. Adam, his amused smile in the drawing room, sharing a joke with his father. His hands cupping her face, so close to his own … but kissing Judith a few hours later …

Lucy came to her senses. Stupid! she scolded herself. She forced herself to think of his bloody hands, the blood on his shirt. Remember why you are doing this!

Master Aubrey was just returning with a tied packet. Opening the door, he said, “I don’t know why Adam wanted these now. We’re planning to meet in a few hours anyway, as we’ve some things to catch up on.”

A freezing cold passed through Lucy. She managed to shrug, trying to look casual. “Oh, those gentry,” she said. “Who can understand their passing fancies?”

“Indeed,” the printer agreed, not paying her any more attention. “Ho there!” she heard him call to his apprentice as she scurried out of the shop. “Mind how you set that type!”

Hurrying down the street, Lucy scolded herself again. “Stupid sow!”

What if Master Aubrey told Adam that she had purchased the woodcuts and folios in his name? She did not know what she could say. Maybe he will not find out, she comforted herself. Indeed, why would he?

So upset was she that she had not thought her ridiculous plan through, she almost forgot about Annie and Lawrence. Luckily, she spotted them, huddled together by the Crowing Cock, clutching a small bag each. Chagrined, she rushed over to them, muttering to herself, “Lucy, you do not have two licks of sense. Two feckless deeds in just one hour!”

Waiting for a cart to pass her in the road, she continued to chastise herself. What will the magistrate say when he sees these two waifs? she wondered, putting her worries about Adam and the woodcuts firmly out of her thoughts.

Mustering a smile, she greeted the two children shivering on the corner. Like Annie, Lawrence looked scrawny and underfed, and he favored his right