A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,50
as carefree as she had been before Bessie’s death. She looked about; a few other people were walking back from market, but none that she knew.
“Hey there, young lady,” the man called. She began to walk faster. The man tried again. “Lass, please wait. Thee dost work in the house of Adam Hargrave, dost thee not?”
Hearing the peculiar form of address and the mention of Adam, Lucy stopped and turned warily around. Breathing heavily, she regarded the man. He was dressed in sober woolen clothes, a nondescript gray. His beard was neatly shaved in a good somber fashion, shading a careworn face. She thought he was likely about forty years old, but his gaunt frame aged his body even more. He looked and sounded for all the world like a Quaker. His next words seemed to confirm her guess.
He held up both hands. “I have no wish to harm thee. I am a Friend. ’Tis Lucy, is it not?” Seeing her surprise that he knew her name, the man smiled, looking years younger. “Adam Hargrave said thee art a good and loyal lass, and that thee could be trusted, should I ever need to send him a message.”
Flattered by the unexpected compliment, Lucy held out her hand for a note. “What is the message, sir?”
He shook his head. “’Tis not a message I dare write down. Pray tell Adam that we are set for tonight. When the moon is high. By Jamison’s paddock. Will thee remember that?”
Lucy repeated the words dutifully. “I’ll remember to tell him, sir.”
“And Lucy?”
Something about the man’s grave and humble stance commanded her respect. “Yes, sir?”
“This message is for Adam only, dost thee understand?”
She gave a quick bob before walking thoughtfully home.
* * *
Later, Lucy lay in bed, huddled in her brown muslin dress, having foolishly made up her mind to follow Adam that night. When she had delivered the message to Adam that afternoon, he had simply nodded and then bent back over his thick law volume. Clearly, he was not interested in continuing any conversation with her.
She cracked open her shutters, peering down at the cobblestone street below. The rising moon was bright. Her heart beat quickly as she thought about leaving the safety of the house. For Bessie’s sake, she would do it. Her dreams of late had been restless. In them, Bessie kept coming to her, dressed in her green taffeta. Rather than the beautiful girl Lucy remembered, this specter had long jagged scars down her body and entrails spilling from her gown. Each time, the specter would stretch out her arms, searching, pleading. Lucy! Help me, please!
The last time Lucy had awoken, breathing heavily and sweating, a sheet wrapped around her neck like a shroud. To Lucy, the message of the dreams was clear. No matter her own fear, no matter who the murderer turned out to be, truth must out—and she had to play a role in its discovery. If Bessie’s murderer turned out to be Adam … Lucy shook her head. She didn’t know what to think. What could he be doing, so secretly, this late at night?
“He simply can’t be a Quaker,” she said out loud. The magistrate would throw his son into jail if he took up with that wretched sect. “It’s easier to believe him a murderer than a Quaker.” She laughed, without mirth, to herself. Yet, of course, it wasn’t easy at all to think Adam had killed Bessie. Because he was the magistrate’s son. Because he had once been kind. For other reasons, too, that she knew would be too heartbreaking to face.
Though Lucy could barely keep her eyes open, her patience was finally rewarded when she saw a furtive shadow slip from the house. Hurriedly, she laced up her shoes and tiptoed down the stairs. Hearing the reassuring sound of Cook’s and John’s snores from the kitchen, she pushed open the back door. As she stepped out, she made a small prayer that no one would awaken in her absence.
Lucy raced lightly down the street, thankfully bathed in moonlight, hoping that Adam was still heading in the direction she had glimpsed from the window. She was not sure where Jamison’s paddock was and was relieved when she caught sight of Adam’s tall, wiry form walking swiftly down the road. Lucy caught her breath. He was moving toward the fields where the tinker had found Bessie’s body. What was he doing?
Adam moved toward a farmer’s paddock, where Lucy saw that several people were already