From the Charred Remains (3 page)

At the sight of the corpse, a great buzzing began to rise in Lucy’s ears. Annie said something, but Lucy could not hear her. For a moment, the vision of a different gruesome death she had recently witnessed rose before her eyes, and she began to shake. Lucy forced herself to speak. “We must summon a constable,” she heard herself say. Her voice sounded tinny and flat.

No one moved.

“We have to get the constable!” Lucy repeated, her voice sharpening. She looked about at the handful of people who had gathered. Annie looked a bit queasy but, like Lucy, she had seen far too much death in her young life to be very moved by a corpse. Murder, though, that was different. Lucy put her hands on Annie’s shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Annie, you must fetch a constable. Or a watchman. Quickly.”

Fortunately, Annie seemed to regain her senses. She had lived long enough in the magistrate’s household to know better. “Right, miss,” she said, unconsciously deferring to Lucy, before running off.

The crowd began to murmur among themselves. Most were the people Lucy had been working alongside all week, but there were a few she hadn’t met.

“Looks like a foreigner. Probably a sailor.”

“Dunderhead!”

“Poor man. What a way to go.”

“Like as not, he had it coming.” This verdict came from a small rotund man, who Lucy remembered from before the Fire. He used to sell perfumes and spices in the market. “A chap don’t get knifed through the chest for no reason.”

“Where’s his finger pointing?” a former seller of pies cried, balancing a babe on her hip. “He’s surely pointing to the one who done him in.” Everyone knew that victims who had been monstrously killed would point to their murderers. A few people nodded, but others scoffed.

“Daft woman,” the perfume-seller spoke again. “Can you see his hands?”

“Now how can I? They’re all tucked up inside the barrel, ain’t they?”

“Well, dump him from the barrel then. See where he points.”

Hearing the crowd hum its approval, two men moved to dump the corpse out. But that would mean the murderer was there. It made no sense.

“Wait!” Lucy called out, finally finding her voice. “I don’t think we should move the body!” She could almost hear the physician Larimer complaining, as he had many a time while supping at the magistrate’s household. “Bloody fools! I need to look at the body where it lays to determine cause of death.” She shook her head. The cause of death here looked easy to see; the big knife through his chest was a dead giveaway.

As if reading her thoughts, the man standing at the barrel frowned at Lucy. “He’s dead, ain’t he? Not going to hurt him none, are we?”

Lucy thought quickly. “Yes, well, his soul might not like being disturbed. He might decide to haunt you.”

At that thought, a few people crossed themselves quickly, the gesture a holdover from their distant Catholic past, and backed away. No one wanted a spirit following them home, especially with so few crossroads that could confuse the ghost and send it in the wrong direction.

Luckily, the constable arrived just then, Annie at his heels, panting slightly. A second man, a soldier, followed them both. Lucy recognized the constable. Duncan. Lucy had first met him two years ago when he had brought news to the magistrate of a terrible murder. And just two weeks ago, on the night of the Great Fire, she had stood before him, sobbing out the story of another terrible death that had occurred.

Taking in the scene at once, Constable Duncan spoke, his Yorkshire accent setting him apart from the Londoners around him. Though young, he commanded respect. “Who found the body?” he demanded.

Lucy pushed the two young boys forward. “These two, Constable Duncan. They were playing atop the barrels.”

Duncan glanced at her, his face registering slight surprise at seeing her there. “Indeed, Miss Campion? Alright then. The rest of you. Back to work.”

Grumbling, sneaking glances over their shoulders, the small group returned to their shovels and carts, resuming the seemingly endless restoration of London. The soldier moved closer, keeping an eye on their work. Lucy noticed that Sid seemed to have disappeared. Not surprising, seeing how he disliked any representative of the law.

Duncan looked sternly at the boys. “Now, lads, tell me how you came to find the body.”

In sullen tones, Sir Dungheap explained. “We was just playing, climbing about on the barrels. Just there.”

They followed his finger. A few more barrels were still stacked against a bit of a stone wall. The rest of the dwelling must have been made of wood, as only a few burned timbers remained. The stone wall, probably once connected to a much older structure that had survived the flames, must have protected the barrels stacked alongside.

“We was rolling on top of the barrels. Dunno there was a stiff in it,” the boy said sullenly.

Duncan held out his thumb, looking in the distance first at the ruins of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and then did the same thing to the remains of St. Faith’s. Turning, he did it a third time, looking at the structures at the end of Fleet Street that were still intact, having been just out of reach of the Fire.

“What are you doing?” Lucy could not help but ask.

“Measuring distances,” Duncan said. “A trick I learned from painters. They call it ‘perspective.’”

“Why?”

“Well, Miss Campion, I’m trying to determine which tavern this was. There were several on Fleet Street.”

“How do you know it was a tavern?”

Duncan pointed at the barrels. “Those are malt barrels.”

Lucy frowned, trying to remember what the street had looked like before the Fire. Surely, she had walked along here enough times, to and from the market. Right now, without the shops with their signs, she was at a bit of a loss.

Duncan, however, had figured it out. “The Cheshire Cheese!” he said.

With a flash, Lucy remembered the old sign that had hung out front. She couldn’t remember ever having been inside, not because she didn’t enjoy a pint from time to time, but because that tavern hadn’t seemed to draw the most respectable sorts. She said as much to the constable.

“Hmmm,” he said, not listening to her. “Now the question is, when was this poor sot put in the barrel? I assume before the Fire, since the soldiers have been patrolling this area. But how long before?”

“The physician should be able to tell you that,” Lucy said. “What he can’t tell you, though, is who murdered the poor man. Or why.”

2

Later, as the sky grew dark, all the Fire workers were given a few coins and sent home. The Lord Mayor had imposed a curfew on the City to help restrict lawlessness. He had also temporarily restricted travelers from carrying lanterns, for fear another fire would start again. The fog and smoke still lingered, making the early-September evening look as black as a smithy’s forge.

Feigning a bravery she did not feel, Lucy took Annie’s arm. “Come on. We’ve got to get home within the hour, lest we break curfew.”

As they walked, the two young women clung together, making their way cautiously through the dark. Lucy had never longed so deeply for a lantern. Fortunately, some kind souls had placed candles in their windows to ease the path of nighttime travelers. This charitable act allowed them to keep to the main paths fairly easily. Only when they approached the last desolate field they had to pass through before reaching the magistrate’s home did Lucy feel a bit anxious.

Hearing a step behind them, they both froze. “Did you hear that?” Annie whispered, gripping Lucy’s arm painfully.

“Who’s there?” Lucy called, trying to keep her voice from wavering. For a long moment, she held her breath. When a man stepped out of the shadows, they both gasped. Instinctively, Lucy pushed Annie behind her.

“Afraid are you?” a familiar voice asked. “Nay, calm your fears. ’Tis only me.”

“Sid!” they cried out in unison.

Though she relaxed a bit, Lucy was still wary. She had learned the hard way that a friendly grin could easily mask a murderous heart. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

Sid’s grin was wide as he regarded them. “I wanted to talk to you some more. Get to know you a bit.”

Clearly relieved, Annie smiled back. “What about that stiff today?” she asked, seemingly eager to make conversation. “Gaw! That nearly scared me witless.”

Lucy shot her a reproachful glance, and the younger woman fell silent. “Where’d you get to, Sid?” Lucy asked, frowning at the young pickpocket. “Earlier? When the body was found? I looked around and you were nowhere to be seen.”

“You were looking for me?” His tone was suggestive.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Lucy said, annoyed. “Enough already!” She took the younger woman’s arm again. “Come, Annie. We must make haste.” To her vexation, Sid started walking with them. “Hey, what are you doing? You know we’re almost at curfew. We’ll hear the bellman toll the warning any moment.”

Sid had fallen into step with Annie, and seemed intent on walking with them. “Oh, I was going this way anyway,” Sid said, pointing vaguely in the direction they were going. “I’ll just keep you company. You need a man to make sure you are alright.”

Lucy ignored Annie’s gratified look, and pressed him a bit. “And where are you living these days, Sid?”

Sid had no cheeky reply. “Nowhere, truly,” he mumbled.

Lucy sighed. “You lost your home in the Fire, didn’t you?”

Annie squealed. “Oh, Lucy, Sid should come home with us. Right, Lucy? Surely, he could use a bite to eat. The master won’t mind.” To Sid, she added, “The master’s a magistrate, you know. We live in a fine house. Though not as fine as the house we used to live in.”

At Annie’s mention of the magistrate, Lucy saw Sid grimace. A pickpocket staying under the magistrate’s roof. An absurd idea. Apparently, Sid had come to the same conclusion. He gave Lucy a sidelong glance. “But I have been a bit starved of late. I’ll have a bite, and then I’ll be on my way. Quick as a wink.”

Lucy relented, and soon they were relaxing around the kitchen fire in the magistrate’s new home. Fortunately, the magistrate and Adam were both out for the evening, having been invited to dine by the Lord Mayor, Thomas Bloodworth. Cook had taken one look at Sid and thrust some lye soap at him, gesturing toward a small basin that she had filled halfway with water. Grimacing slightly at the rancid smell, he nevertheless rubbed his face vigorously with the bit of cloth she’d handed him. Clearly, Cook had not let him use the more precious soap she made with lavender; instead, he had been given the more pungent soap that smelled like dog piss.

The grime gone, they could see he had light whiskers on his chin. While they ate, Sid launched into a full tale of life in the streets, largely embellished, Lucy thought, for Annie’s benefit. Seeing Annie hang on the pickpocket’s words made Lucy vaguely nervous. At twenty, she felt far older than both of them.

Right now, Annie was teasing Sid about his coat. “Just look at those rips, here and there. It shan’t take me but a moment to sew these. Give me your coat.”

Lucy studied his coat. “Those don’t look like rips. They look like someone cut through the jacket. Could it be so you’d have extra pockets?”

Sid closed his arms protectively around his coat. “It’s alright, isn’t it? Who do I need to look all spruced up for? I ain’t no gentleman.”

“That may be so,” Lucy agreed. “However, Sid, given that the magistrate has provided you with a meal, in his very home, at his own table, I think a bit of honesty is in order. Don’t you? Are you, by chance, hiding something?” She leaned forward, examining the front of his coat.

Sid jerked away. “I didn’t take nothing,” he growled.

“No one says you did,” Lucy soothed him. “Come, like Annie says, let’s have your coat off.”

Grunting a bit, Sid eased off his coat. Quick as he was, Lucy still caught him slipping something from an inside coat pocket, into a pocket of his shirt. She exchanged a glance with Annie.

“I knew you were hiding something,” Annie crowed. “Come on, show us.”

“Yes, Sid,” Lucy added more sternly. “Surely you’d like to enjoy the magistrate’s fire and food a little longer. If not, I’m sure John would be happy to escort you out.” More likely, put you out on your arse, she thought to herself.

Sid glanced at his mug, now drained of the warm mead. Catching the hint, Annie ladled some more of the hot drink from the pot she’d removed from the hearth just moments before.

For good measure, Lucy added another biscuit to his plate as well. “Show us,” she said firmly. Both women looked at him expectantly.

Sid made a face. “As you like.” He tossed a leather bag out onto the table. “Nothing much here. I already poked inside.”

Lucy picked up the leather pouch. “Where did you get this?”

Sid yawned.

“Did you pick it?”

“Nah, I don’t pick pockets no more.”

Lucy wasn’t sure if she believed that, but seeing that he was a bit down on his luck, she didn’t pursue it. “Well, where did you get it then?”

“In the barrel. Well, alongside it,” he muttered, adding defensively. “I found it.”

“You found it at the Fire site? Oh, Sid!” Annie cried. “You’ve broken the law!”

Lucy rubbed her chin, unconsciously adopting the magistrate’s gesture when he was puzzling over an idea. “Are you saying, Sid, that you found this pouch with the dead body? When did you take it?”

Sid grinned wanly. “I’m quick, ain’t I?” He looked from one to the other, clearly expecting to be turned out any moment. “It was at the edge of the barrel, just beside the poor fool. No one noticed when I nicked it.”

“You know you can’t keep it,” Lucy warned. “We’ll take it to the constable first thing in the morning.” She ignored Sid’s dour look.

“We can still see what’s inside the bag,” Annie pleaded, curiosity getting the better of her. “No harm in looking, right?” Without waiting for Lucy to agree, she shook the little leather bag, dumping an odd assortment onto the wooden table.

Against her better judgment, Lucy leaned closer, peering at the hodgepodge of objects. Some playing cards, an elephant elegantly carved in translucent green stone, a ring, a few coins which Sid immediately snatched up, a fluff of wool, and a small oilskin packet that seemed to have been once sealed with wax. Lucy turned the packet over in her fingers, while Annie pulled at the fluff.