A Murder at Rosamund's Gate (10 page)

As Lucy refilled mugs of ale, she thought at times Adam seemed to be directing baleful looks at
her,
although she could not fathom why. As if she had been the one to pour spirits down poor Lucas’s throat, she thought, miffed by his inexplicable anger.

After she had finished serving supper that night, Lucy passed into the drawing room to ready the room for dessert. Bessie had disappeared again, so Lucy was left alone. Spreading a fine Holland cloth over the sideboard, she saw that Master Del Gado had left his large case in the corner. A small peek couldn’t hurt, she thought. The knotted cords seemed simple enough to untangle. She untied them quickly, keeping her ear attuned to the dining room, in case the mistress should require her.

Opening the case, she murmured in delight. The first sketch was of Mistress Hargrave looking stately in a beautiful blue gown. Wrapped around her slim neck was her favorite jewelry—a necklace the magistrate had given her last Christmas. The mistress was indeed captivating.

Lifting a piece of fine velvet, Lucy saw more sketches underneath—still of the mistress, but in these her long hair flowed around her face and bare shoulders. In the next pictures, the mistress’s clothes seemed to be dropping off her body, exposing all her womanly parts as she lay supine on the bed in her chamber. She seemed to stare right into Lucy’s eyes, a teasing look that rather unsettled the girl. Hardly daring to breathe, Lucy pulled the last piece of velvet up to expose other nude women, each caught in varying states of repose.

Once her initial shock had subsided, Lucy could see that these women, in all their rosy flesh, were beautiful. Though untrained, she could glimpse an ugliness, too. The painter had clearly caught their beauty, but there was a grimness to several that suggested a waning of youth and vitality. As she looked at one more closely, her heart began pounding like a baker working his dough. It was Bessie! Bessie, posing like Venus rising, blond hair flowing about her body. When had Bessie done this?

Hearing Cook call her to help with dessert, Lucy hastily stuffed all the sketches back into the painter’s case, hoping that he wouldn’t know that she had been snooping through his drawings. She regarded the cords uneasily, quickly tying a few knots in a way that might look similar to his. A moment later, the family entered the drawing room. Nervously, Lucy served the dessert, trying to avoid the avid gaze of Master Del Gado. He sat with his case, fingering the knots carefully.

“Oh, Enrique, we’re ever so eager to see your sketches. Are we not, dear?” the mistress asked.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” the magistrate answered. Settling into a large cushioned chair, he smiled indulgently at his wife. “By all means, Enrique. Please show us. Although I warn you, my wife can never be more beautiful than how I see her every day.”

Lucy felt her throat tighten, hoping the master was not being cuckolded. Del Gado’s next words sent a shock of fear through her. “Hmmm. I seem to have tied my knots differently than usual. I have a system, you know.”

Lucy stiffened, waiting for him to accuse her. She might get sacked then and there. Even if the master did not believe she had stolen anything, he might not appreciate her going through his guest’s belongings. Even if that guest did flirt shamelessly with his wife. She held her head high and still, waiting for him to denounce her.
Mistress and Master Hargrave,
she expected to hear,
you have a spy in your midst … and she’s standing right there!

Fortunately, no accusation came; indeed, he just laughed. He pulled out the top sketches, leaving the others hidden from view. No doubt waiting for a more private showing, Lucy thought grimly. She still wondered about the sketches of Bessie.

Master Hargrave was smiling proudly at the sketches of his wife. “Your jewels do you great credit, my dear, but by God, I have a lovely wife.” He kissed her hand.

*   *   *

Later, as Lucy returned the clean dishes to the dining room cabinet, Master Del Gado entered the room. He moved toward her rapidly, backing her against the table. Her heart constricted, making her feel caged. Leaning into her, he whispered in her ear. “Do not be afraid, my lovely one. You are afraid I will brand you a thief and have you thrown from the house, are you not?”

She nodded, too afraid to speak.

Del Gado continued. “Rest assured. I shall not do so. You were just curious, were you not? And why not? I am curious myself. That is why I sketch. I am curious about life, about love, about women. I shan’t tell anyone that you looked through my things, for indeed I should not like the content of some of those sketches known. Especially, your master might not like it.” He took her hands, caressing them gently. “My dear, there are many things that I should like to do to you, and painting you in your burnishing youth is just one of them. However, if you ever look through my belongings again, or speak of what you saw to anyone”—abruptly his fingers squeezed her hand—“I will not be so nice. Do you understand?”

Lucy nodded mutely, tasting the tears in her throat. She wanted to slap him but was afraid, since he was a guest.

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, he kissed her mouth lightly and stepped away, smiling, the flash of anger gone as quick as it had come. “Consider my offer. There is much I can provide you, and I know girls like their trifles. Until, my dear, we meet again.”

*   *   *

Although it was nearly midnight, Lucy still had not gone to bed. Like most servants, she usually stayed up until the master and mistress had retired. She moved slowly about the house, blowing out candles and banking the coals in the hearths, readying the house for the morning. In the kitchen, she washed the cup and plate Lucas had used when he finally descended from his chamber, looking a little worse for wear. Lucy could not help teasing him about his absence at supper.

“Didn’t want to see Del Gado,” Lucas had confided. “He’s a cad, and a fraud at that. Posing as one of Van Dyck’s students, while he’s probably from the gutters of Seville. Don’t know why our good mistress is so taken with him!” Changing his tone he had added, “Get me a bite, would you, Lucy dear? I’m famished.”

Knowing that Lucas shared her poor opinion of the painter comforted her somewhat. Like the still-warm embers, her cheeks burned painfully whenever she thought about the painter. Lucy tried not to think of the mistress’s own pictures, or of the master, who might feel chagrined to find he had such a wayward wife. Or perhaps he knew? She put that thought from her mind. It wasn’t her place to question the doings of the master and mistress.

Mounting the stairs a short while later, Lucy decided to wake Bessie and ask her outright what in heaven’s name had possessed her to pose for Del Gado. The question died on her lips, though, when she found the tiny chamber she shared with Bessie to be completely silent.

Puzzled, Lucy crept back down to the mistress’s chamber and put her ear to the door. She heard the master say something in a low voice to the mistress, and the mistress laugh in response. Clearly, Bessie was not in there.

Making a face, she continued down the hall, putting her ear first to Lucas’s door and then to Adam’s. Surely, Bessie would not be the first comely maidservant to be led astray, but the thought made her sick. She was relieved, though, not to hear any movement behind either door.

Slipping back down the stairs, Lucy quickly looked in every room. She heard Cook and John snoring in their small room behind the kitchen. Peering out the kitchen shutters assured her that Bessie was not out in the courtyard. Bessie had been known to cull morning’s first dew from the leaves in the garden, rubbing it on her face, thinking it gave her skin a lustrous sheen. A light snow had begun to fall, but there was no sign of Bessie.

Lucy grew angry. Clearly, Bessie had left the house without permission sometime after the supper dishes had been cleared. “And left me to make her excuses again, I wager,” Lucy muttered. “She might have at least warned me.”

Four times that night, until the gray morning light finally began to seep through the house, Lucy tiptoed down the stairs and peered out the heavy oak windows. First angry, then alarmed, she became increasingly worried and desperate over Bessie’s absence. The magistrate would not take kindly to the disruption of his orderly household.

Finally, with a heavy spirit, Lucy opened Bessie’s chest. She stared down in growing dismay. It was completely empty. Everything Bessie owned was gone, including the mysterious box with the combs and brush. She had even taken Lucy’s stockings and petticoat. Lucy had thought Bessie was going to mend them, and instead she took them.

Lucy sank back, leaning against the bedpost. She looked up, her gaze falling on the shelves above. Bessie had left her jars and scents, and even more shockingly, her Bible. Lucy picked up the book and ran her finger along its spine. “Oh, Bessie!” She bit into her knuckles. “Don’t tell me you forsook God as well as family!”

8

By morning, it was impossible to hide the fact that Bessie had left the household. Wringing her hands and sniffling a bit, Lucy told Cook and John first, where they sat having their morning mead.

At the news, Cook set her mug down on the table. “I don’t believe it,” Cook said. “Maybe the mistress sent her on an errand.”

Lucy shook her head. “In the middle of the night?”

“Well, maybe—”

“All her clothes are gone. Some of mine, too.” Lucy said flatly. “She’s left us.”

“Stupid cow,” Cook muttered through tight lips. A tear may have glistened in her eye. “She’s sure to be discharged now. What will become of her?” Throwing up her hands, she added, “You’d best tell the magistrate and mistress.”

Wretchedly, Lucy informed the Hargraves and Lucas about Bessie’s disappearance when they met for breakfast. Adam was not around.

“Stupid girl!” Lucas muttered, unconsciously echoing Cook’s words. He was clearly unhappy.

The master looked solemn but said little. The mistress was surprisingly calm. “Go check if anything is missing,” she commanded Lucy.

Trudging on heavy feet, Lucy went to count the silver in the sideboard. When she pulled open the drawer, she just stared down, her mouth agape. All of the mistress’s silver, some of it imported from Spain and Holland, was gone. She felt sick. Tearfully, she informed the master and the mistress. Both seemed pale.

The muscles in the magistrate’s face tightened. He seemed to find it hard to speak for a moment. “John, send for the constable.”

With a grim set to his face, John took off. He returned not a half hour later, bringing Constable Duncan and their local bellman in tow. Lucy did not know the bellman, Burke, very well, although she had seen him about from time to time, stopping drunkards on the street and banging pickpockets’ heads together. He was a stout man in his early forties, his hair already gray. Much older than the constable, he had the air of a man who had spent some time in the army, battering down enemy charges.

After hearing the magistrate’s account of Bessie’s disappearance, Constable Duncan asked to question Lucy. The mistress slipped out then, to soothe her scattered nerves. Lucy was grateful that the magistrate stayed nearby, seating himself on a low bench by the wall. His presence was watchful but not interfering.

Duncan peppered her with questions until her head was spinning. When had she last seen Bessie? Had Bessie seemed happy? Had she ever spoken of leaving? Of starting a new life? Of ending her current life?

She stayed silent. At the last question, Lucy looked up. “Bessie would never kill herself. Why would she?”

“All right,” Duncan said and tried to soothe her. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? When did you last see Bessie?”

Lucy tried to recall. Surely, she had seen Bessie just before supper, but she had not seen her afterward when it was time to clear the table. She was certainly not around when Lucy was fending off Del Gado.

Her mind drifted again.
Why did you go, Bessie?
she wondered for the hundredth time.
Why would you steal the silver?

She almost missed the constable’s next question. “Did Bessie have a young man in her life?”

Lucy hesitated. She could feel the magistrate’s penetrating gaze upon her. She thought about the painter’s sketches, which she was not supposed to have seen, and she thought about her brother. Reluctantly, she gave the constable Will’s name. She cringed when Duncan and Burke exchanged a knowing glance.

Duncan twirled his quill pen. Lucy found herself looking at the nub, not so carefully sharpened as the magistrate’s or Adam’s would have been. It looked straggly and out of place, although she could see he had borrowed the magistrate’s ink.

A silence loomed as Lucy’s head began to spin. Had she missed another question? They seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

Lucy looked hopelessly at the magistrate. She felt like a mouse trapped in one of Cook’s baskets. “Will has done nothing wrong.”

The magistrate leaned forward in his chair, reaching to pat her hand, which gripped the table. “Don’t worry, my dear. The constable is just doing his job, gathering information. We will get this cleared up soon.”

Gulping, Lucy gave him Will’s address. They all watched the constable scratch something in a little chapbook. He paused, squaring his shoulders with the manner of a man asked to taste something he knew would not sit well on his tongue. “I understand you also have a son, sir. Is he in the house?”

The magistrate glanced at John before he answered the constable’s question. “I believe he had a late night with friends, so I do not think it is necessary to get his testimony about a disappearing maid, or a bit of missing silver.”

Burke smirked but instantly tried to suppress it under the magistrate’s stern gaze.

His manner bland, Duncan said, “Oh, of course. Well, I doubt we need to talk to him, then. I shall go question the neighbors and see if they know anything about this. If you remember anything else, sir, do let us know.”

As John ushered them from the house, Lucy saw the magistrate put his head down in his hands. For a moment, he looked older than she had ever known him.