A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,63

she needed from the magistrate. “Indeed, sir, ’twas no trouble. I’m sorry you’ve been up all night, sir.” Lucy fidgeted a moment, looking at the map on the wall behind him. The details were hard to make out from across the room.

“Yes, Lucy?” the master inquired politely, shifting the papers on his desk. He followed her gaze. “Ah, you are looking at the map of London.”

“Oh, well, sir, the map, sir,” she stumbled. “Well, I’ve never really looked at a map up close, sir. I’ve never put it all together.”

The magistrate put down the quill he had been rolling in his fingers and shook his head. “We must rectify this situation immediately. Come here, Lucy, let me show you how it all fits together.” He beckoned to her, and she shyly stood beside him.

“I don’t want to be a bother, sir. I can see you have work to do.”

“Pah!” he exclaimed. “I should rather talk about this map anytime.” He pointed to the middle of the map. “First, let me show you the Thames, one of the most important rivers in Europe. And here, you see”—he moved his hand toward the middle left—“is the original Old London, Londontown as the Romans called it.” As he talked, he grew more excited. “Have you ever seen the Roman wall? No? You must stop by, the next time you are at market. I would show you myself, had I the time. But I shall show you how to find the original fortresses.”

Quickly he pointed to the different parts of London, showing her the Tower of London, Whitehall, Buckingham Palace, St. Giles, and the main thoroughfares, Fleet Street, Newmarket, and Burrough High Street. “Here on the other side of the Thames, to the south”—he pointed at the bottom of the map—“is Winchester Palace, St. Mary Overy, Shakespeare’s Globe, and the Rose.”

“Where,” Lucy broke in, “would one find Lambeth Palace?” After he showed her, she ventured, “And how would one get there? Take London Bridge, I suppose?”

“Aye,” he agreed. Then he looked at her, his face grave. “How is your brother William holding up?”

Tears blurred her eyes. “He didn’t do it, sir! I know he didn’t.”

He nodded. His eyes were kind, but Lucy could tell he didn’t believe her.

* * *

As she walked to Southwark, Lucy worked out her story, munching on a bit of bread and cheese from a sack, thinking through her plan. Although a godly respectable household would be unlikely to take in a stranger with no references—indeed, even in the city, people looked askance at strangers outside the local community—she had thought of a way to get around that natural distrust.

Lucy had decided she would tell them her mum had died. Even thinking this terrible thought made her cross her heart and look for forgiveness toward the heavens. The fog that swirled about her was an ever-present witness to her feckless acts.

Before long she had crossed the Thames into south London. After pausing a moment to admire Lambeth Palace, she finally found her way to Walworth. She was terribly thirsty but had not seen any public wells along the way. She fingered the coins in her pocket. She hated to use them so frivolously, but she thought she might find a place to stop in for a pint and cool off.

There were a few shops and taverns, and she soon found the Elephant and Castle. A little nervous about being in a public house by herself, she scooted into a table in a dimly lit corner.

A tavern girl, little older than herself but far more worn in spirit, approached her with a friendly smile. “What will it be, miss?”

Lucy ordered a pint of ale and pulled out her bite of bread and cheese. Looking around the dimly lit pub, she saw there were only a handful of people in the room. There were a few women, Lucy was grateful to see, for she did not think her mother would approve if she could see her right now. A snatch of conversation from a group of young men in the corner caught her attention. Although they were not in scholars’ robes, she guessed they were students from Cambridge or Oxford.

“This was most certainly a stop in Canterbury Tales,” one man said, gesturing to the room. “Chaucer’s pilgrims were definitely here.”

Lucy looked around the room, noting the careworn timbers and uneven stone floor. She’d heard of Canterbury Tales, from listening to Sarah’s tutor. Indeed, these young men reminded her of him—young, passionate, conversant