A Murder at Rosamund's Gate - By Susanna Calkins Page 0,74

a long way off, she already resented her future husband for taking her away from the security and happiness she found living with the magistrate.

She heard someone calling her name, interrupting her reverie. “Who’s there?” she asked, peering among the white alabaster angels that gracefully protected the bones of long-dead parishioners.

Avery popped his head from behind one of the graves. Fingers on his lips, he waved her over.

“What’s wrong, Avery?” she asked. “Did you lose your kitten again? I’m sorry, I’ve no time to help you to find her today.”

He shook his head. “Kitty is here.” He patted his pocket. Sure enough, there was a movement, and a little white head popped out. Lucy petted it. “I’m to tell you, someone wants to talk to you.”

Lucy studied him. His gray hair was matted about his face, but his eyes seemed clear. “I’m waiting for Lucas right now, Avery. Who wants to speak with me?”

“I don’t know her,” he said. “It’s about your brother. Me and Kitty, we’re so sorry, miss, that he’s in Newgate.”

“My brother? What news?”

“Will was with me,” said a woman, flouncing toward them, “the night that the cheap vixen was killed.”

The orange seller! From the theater! Lucy grew excited. “He was with you? When? What is your name, by the way? I’m sorry my brother never told me—”

The woman sniffed. Up close, Lucy could see she was not as young as she had appeared when she was bantering with customers at the Globe. She could see lines around the woman’s mouth and a single gray strand in her brown hair. Avery faded away, leaving them alone.

“Name’s Maggie Potts.” She licked her lips. “That’s right, I was with Will all day, all night. Your brother, he’s a swell lad. I shouldn’t like to see him swing, especially for a daft git such as her that got herself killed.”

Lucy frowned. “When? He was with Bessie—I’m sorry, but it’s true—and then at the Muddy Duck, which is where he was, sousing himself silly, until Richard came back to the pub, and they seem to have had a bit of a brawl. Many people saw it, I heard tell—”

Maggie put her hands on her hips. “Well, it was after that. No matter. I’ve got some girls who can swear to the same.”

“So he was with you?” Lucy pressed. “That night?”

The woman smirked. “Sure. For a few sovereigns, I can say whatever.”

“A few sovereigns?” Lucy echoed, startled.

“Pay me five and I’ll even testify in court. I can be real convincing.” She swung her bodice a bit. “I can get them jurors to like me, no problem. They’re just men, right? I should have been a player myself, not just selling stupid oranges all day.”

Lucy hesitated.

“Look,” Maggie said, pulling out a flimsy pamphlet. “Do you want Will to end up like this poor sod?”

With shaking fingers, Lucy pulled open the crumpled bit of paper. “‘Order Regained, or The Last Dying Speech of Robert Preswell, convicted of murdering Jane Hardewick of Lincoln Fields, before he was hanged at the Tyburn Tree.’”

Lucy skimmed the document, feeling a bit faint. Apparently, several neighbors had heard Preswell confess to fathering Jane Hardewick’s child, while another neighbor testified that he had borrowed a knife just that morning and “had an evil glint in his eye when he did ask for it.” While even in his last dying speech Robert denied murdering her, everyone agreed that justice had been achieved, and order restored.

“Hanged Friday last, he was,” Maggie said, looking at Lucy. Her eyes seemed to gleam.

Lucy could only shake her head helplessly. “I don’t understand. If you were with Will, you must come forward! ’Tis the honorable thing to do. Please! If you care two bits for my brother.”

“I’ve given you my terms. Five sovereigns.” Maggie looked around. “I’ll be serving at the Anchor tomorrow night. Don’t tell anyone.”

Before Lucy could speak again, Maggie melted away as Lucas appeared.

“Ah, Lucy,” he said, holding out his arm. “Shall we take a turn here in the churchyard?” He looked ruefully at the stones that lay cracked and fallen all about them. “Morbid though it may be, there are some interesting words among them to be read.”

Lucas grinned in the old way, pausing before a modest gravestone.

“Here’s my favorite,” he said.

Lucy read the inscription aloud. “‘Here lies dearest mother, who was verily poisoned by her serving maid who she had beaten for many a year, who then herself fell into the hearth and died.’” She looked at Lucas. “This is your