From the Charred Remains (17 page)

“Father is coming. Please leave me. There is nothing more I can tell you.”

“Tell me who Tahmin was,” Lucy said. “Please! His last name! He’s been buried in an unmarked grave in Houndsditch. Carted away by the raker! Don’t you think his family, his parents, deserve to know what happened to him?”

Miss Water quivered, her eyes filling with tears. “I am heartfelt sorry. Truly, I am. I would send a letter if I could, but I have no idea where to send it. Oh!” she suddenly sounded a bit scared. “Here’s Father!” she whispered. In a louder voice, “I’ve nothing else for you!”

Lucy gave a quick bob as she passed Master Water on her way out of the graveyard, but did not speak to the man. He looked annoyed.

“Who was that?” she heard him ask his daughter. “Did you know that young woman?”

“No, Father! She was just seeking a bit of silver, for which I did not oblige.”

“Good girl, Rhonda,” Lucy heard him reply. “The Fire’s brought too many beggars to Oxford. We must not indulge them, or we’ll never be rid of them.”

*   *   *

Lucy’s cheeks were still flaming as she marched up to Duncan where he stood with Annie by the church’s great stone entrance. Beggar indeed!

“Hey, slow down!” the constable said. “What did you find out about Darius?”

“He’s not Darius, for one thing,” Lucy said, without slowing down.

“What?” Duncan said, scrambling after her. “What did she say?”

“Lucy!” Annie called. “Wait for us!”

Striding down High Street, back toward the Scholar’s Head, Lucy could not help but think about Miss Water’s pale, tear-stained face. “She seemed so scared of her father,” Lucy said, finally slowing down. “He did not approve of his daughter’s love.”

Lucy kicked a rock on the road, watching it ricochet into the carcass of a dead rabbit, before sinking into the decaying pulp of flesh and fur. She looked away in disgust. “A wasted trip, I’m afraid. We’re no closer to bringing a murderer to justice.” She looked at Duncan, daring him to disagree.

“Why do you say that, Lucy?” he asked patiently. “I’ve not understood a single thing you’ve said, this whole way back from the church.”

Beside him, Annie nodded her head emphatically in agreement. “Yes, Lucy, what did she tell you?”

Having reached Ivan and the cart, Lucy stopped. She looked squarely back at Duncan. “I had told her she could have the contents of the bag back and—what?” she broke off, seeing Duncan’s face tighten.

“You told her what?” he roared.

Annie gaped at him a moment before climbing back into the cart. Ivan continued to placidly brush his horses, in preparation for their long journey back to London.

“I thought she should have the contents of the bag back,” Lucy said, defiantly. The constable’s reaction was not what she had expected.

“You had no right to tell her that!” Duncan exclaimed. “We don’t even know those items rightfully belong to her anyway! Especially since you said the dead man wasn’t Darius at all.” Something flickered in his face just then. “How did you know that?” he asked, a bit reluctantly. “What did she say?”

She told him quickly about the rook, and Miss Water’s conviction that the man could only have been Darius’s faithful friend Tahmin.

After that, Duncan didn’t say anything, but started untying the horses from the post. His disappointed silence suddenly made Lucy angry.

“If it were not for me, I dare say you wouldn’t have known anything about this crime! You wouldn’t have known about Darius, or Miss Water, or Tahmin, or Jacques Durand! Not anything!” She couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. “I gave up two days to go on this ridiculous journey. Everyone’s questioned why I’ve been helping you so much, and I have to say, I don’t know!”

The constable seemed at a loss for words then. She glared at him, before turning away.

Lucy spent the next three hours gazing stonily at the passing scenery along the London road. She wouldn’t even look in Duncan’s direction in case he turned around. Consequently she developed an ache in her neck from her strained position.

Only when they finally stopped at a coaching inn to exchange horses did Duncan try to make stilted amends for his harsh words. “I’m sorry, Lucy,” he had said, watching her rub the crick in her neck. “I was angry because I thought you told Miss Water about the items because you didn’t think we’d catch Darius’s—well, Tahmin’s—killer.”

“I would never think that way.”

“I know.” Duncan ran his hand through his dark hair. “My superiors want me to drop my pursuit of this murderer, to turn my attention to other matters. I can’t rest easy until I do. Every day that passes, the murderer will be harder to catch.”

Lucy nodded, the bitterness somewhat lessened between them. She climbed back into the cart. As she settled in, Duncan stood beside her. “I appreciate your help, Lucy. I do. You’ve got a keen mind. I’m utterly capable of admitting that you’ve helped me think through this crime. You’ve discovered some helpful information.” He paused. He glanced at Annie, who seemed to have been rocked to sleep by the steady clip-clopping of the horses. “I know, too, that not everyone in your acquaintance is happy that you’re helping me.”

Adam’s face flashed through her mind and she looked away.

“I certainly don’t want to cause you any problems. Nor do I want any strife between us.” Duncan touched her arm where it rested on the wagon. “I hope you will accept my apology.” He moved away then, to reclaim his seat next to Ivan.

Annie opened her eyes. “You’ll forgive him, right?”

Lucy swatted at her. “Wretched girl. Were you awake the whole time?”

Annie smiled. “The constable needs us. We can’t let him down.”

11

The next morning, back in London, Lucy finished inking a new piece called
A True Account of Joan Little, Moll Cut-Purse
. Even though she was not supposed to run the press by herself, she laid one of the pieces of paper carefully on top.

“Master Aubrey will be so surprised when he returns, and Lach too!” she said, smiling to think of the looks on their faces. Using the long lever she pressed with all her might, bringing the great lid on top of the paper and type.

To Lucy’s dismay, she heard a sickening crunching sound from within the press. Quickly raising the cover back up, she tore off the paper and looked at the typeface in consternation. The woodcut she had used, the one Master Aubrey preferred for pieces that portrayed an ill-bred woman, had completely shattered.

Swearing, Lucy began to extract the delicate slivers of a woodcut from the press. “Must have tightened it too much so that it popped out a bit!” she muttered. “Dolt!” she berated herself. Thank goodness neither Master Aubrey or Lach were around. She could only imagine what the printer would say when he saw the broken woodcut. Deduct the cost from her wages, that was certain. Even worse, how Lach would smirk. She grimaced even thinking about how the apprentice would mock her.

Her mood didn’t improve when Sid walked into the shop. Lucy groaned. “Truly, Sid, I have no time for your nonsense right now.”

“Is that a kind way to speak?” Sid asked. “Here I come with a note for you from the magistrate, with nary a thought for myself, and you only have harsh words for me.”

“A note? From the magistrate?” Lucy stood up, wiping her hands on her apron. Annie had mentioned that Sid was still hanging about the magistrate’s household, doing odd jobs here and there. It seemed that the magistrate had begun to trust the former pickpocket with more personal duties. “What’s it say?”

“Dunno,” Sid said, shuffling his feet. “I never went to no Dame’s school.”

“Oh, Sid, you must learn to read.” Lucy said, taking the note gingerly, careful that her ink-stained hands not mar the letter. She had never received a note from the magistrate before.

“Dear Lucy,”
the magistrate had written in his eloquent script.
“I hope this letter finds you well. Annie told me a bit of what you learned in Oxford, and I am sorry that your inquiry is at a standstill. I have taken it upon myself to invite Lord Cumberland to my home for supper this evening, as well as the physician Larimer, and their wives.
Lucy smiled. Trust the magistrate to figure out the next step. She continued reading, “
I had heard he was in London for a spell, checking on his rents. I just received word that he is pleased to join me. Annie is a delightful child, but has nowhere near the experience you have with waiting upon nobility. I hope you would not take it amiss if I asked you to help us serve this evening at six o’clock. Pray forgive the short notice. I shall be quite beholden to you. Yours in haste, Thomas Hargrave.
”

Lucy smiled as she turned the note over. Carefully, she wrote. “
Dear Sir, I would be happy to oblige. Yours faithfully, Lucy Campion.
” She handed the note to Sid. “No dawdling now, Sid. You must return to Master Hargrave straightaway, you understand me?”

After Sid left with his customary swaggering step, Lucy returned to her struggle with the broadside. As she pulled out the tray of woodcuts, hoping to find one that would similarly depict a vixen or hoyden, she picked up a piece about two inches wide all around with the image of a princess. Sometimes they used this woodcut with ballads or pamphlets that jeered the French royals. She was about to set it aside when she looked at the piece more closely. The woman was wearing a fanciful French hat, a great necklace, and rings on every finger. “I wonder what princesses truly look like,” she wondered. “Do they really have fingers dripping with jewels?”

As she set the woodcut aside, she began to think of beautiful jewelry she’d seen, and her mind flashed to the brooch that had been found with Tahmin’s body. Not too many people owned ivory jewelry, she thought. “If only we could take it to the comb-seller,” she said out loud. “I bet he’d know who had crafted the piece.” Too bad his shop had burned down in the fire. She’d spent some time looking for it the other day.

Who else would know about ivory, she wondered. As she continued to reset the type, her mind turned to supper that night. Maybe she could show the ivory brooch to Sir Larimer, she thought, since he would be dining with Master Hargrave that night. She’d overheard enough conversations with the physician to know that he fancied himself a man of the world, knowledgeable in many things, in the manner of that long-dead Italian fellow, Da Vinci. He was also a lover of luxurious things, and might be familiar with the artisan who had crafted the brooch. At the very least, he might know who traded in such luxury items. Perhaps that would give the constable a lead on who had owned the brooch.

Lach returned then, and helped her finish the run. He didn’t notice that she had switched the woodcuts, and she was certainly not going to tell him. Not straightaway at least.

“Master Aubrey said you’re to sell at Tyburn today,” he said to her, lifting his eyebrow. He knew her brother had almost been sentenced to be hanged at the infamous gallows. Or the “Tyburn tree,” as Londoners affectionately called the grisly site. “You haven’t hawked the murder ballads there yet. They’ve rebuilt them you know.”

“I know,” Lucy muttered. She’d been dreading having to sell at Tyburn. Even though Newgate and the Fleet had been destroyed during the Great Fire, the executions had not been ceased for long. It made sense, though, to sell there. The crowds that gathered to see the day’s hangings would have a hankering to buy the most sensational and gory pieces they had in stock.

Thoughtfully, Lucy put together her pack. Last April’s hanging of Jack Parr and his wife for cozening their master out of a good deal of money. A recent poisoning. A few last dying speeches and the “True Confession” of Robert Hubert, the watchmaker who’d confessed to setting Fariner’s bakery—and London—on fire.

*   *   *

Before walking over to Tyburn, Lucy first stopped at Duncan’s jail to ask him about the brooch. The whole way over she’d argued with herself whether she should continue to help the constable or not, especially after their words the day before. “I want justice to prevail,” she told herself firmly. “I’m not doing this for the constable. After this, I won’t help him anymore. Or go see him.”

When she’d entered the jail, she tried not to notice how the constable’s face brightened when he saw her. “Lucy!” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

Again? Or so soon? Lucy couldn’t help wonder. She plunged right in to the purpose of her visit. “I was just thinking about the brooch. When my acquaintance saw it, you know, that first night we looked at it, he said it didn’t come from oak, cherry, or ash. I think it’s ivory. I’d say take it to the comb-seller, but his shop burnt down. So, I thought that perhaps Dr. Larimer could look at the brooch. It may be from Persia, of course, but I thought he might know something about the craftsman or the guild. Or, maybe he would know someone who trades and sells in ivory.” She looked at Duncan expectantly.

“Oh?” Duncan said. “Dr. Larimer knows that sort of thing, does he? That’s a good idea. I’ll send my bellman around to Larimer with a note.” He looked at her expectantly. “Is there something else?”

Lucy twisted her hands. “Actually, I’ll be seeing the physician. Tonight. I’ll be at Master Hargrave’s. I could ask him about it, if you like.”

“I see.” He didn’t say anything else for a long moment. As he pulled out the brooch from the little bag, he asked, “You’ve decided to keep helping me?” Was his tone hopeful? Rueful? Lucy couldn’t tell.

“I want to help see justice done.” Hearing the bellman call the hour, she added. “It’s late. I’m off to the Tyburn tree.” She gestured to her pack. “I’m to sell a few horrid pieces there.”

“At a very horrid site.” He hesitated before handing her the brooch. He looked at her closely. “Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” she said hastily, taking the brooch. His concern made her uneasy. “I’ll let you know if Dr. Larimer can tell us anything about the brooch.”

*   *   *

After she left the jail, the rose brooch carefully hidden beneath her skirts, Lucy began to make her way slowly over to Tyburn. Before the Fire the walk would not have taken long at all, but now she had to cross through much of the area ravaged by the inferno. While a great deal of the rubble had been cleared, new dwellings were being constructed everywhere, which made navigating the streets quickly a challenge. At least the buildings were all going to be made of stone and brick now. That was one of the first recommendations that Christopher Wren had put forth to the King after the Fire.