From the Charred Remains (Lucy Campion Mysteries)

by Susanna Calkins

  “Careful, man!” the physician admonished, checking the man’s eyelids again. “He’s in enough pain as it is!”

  Duncan looked a bit chagrined. He turned to Lucy without meeting her eyes. “There’s no room in the cart. I’ll accompany you back to Aubrey’s.”

  “Of course,” Lucy said. She watched the cart rattle off. She looked up at Duncan. “Does this mean I’m not under arrest anymore?”

  “I suppose.” He grinned. “You know I never truly arrested you. But you can tell everyone you are still under suspicion of Tilly’s murder. I am still collecting evidence.”

  “You no longer think the murderer will come after me?” Lucy asked. “Even though you did before?”

  Duncan ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly he looked much younger, less sure of himself. He started walking, and remained silent for most of the walk. As they approached Aubrey’s shop, he said, “I just wanted to make sure someone was protecting you. You said Aubrey would be back today?”

  Darting a glance at him, she caught a look on his face that she’d seen more and more frequently. Her voice caught. “Yes. I’d best be off. Master Aubrey will be waiting for me.”

  20

  The next evening, Lucy set one of her new quills back in a little ink jar, appraising the scribbling in front of her. She had just finished writing a true account of Tilly’s murder and she didn’t completely know how she felt. Satisfied, that she had captured the story in a way she hoped would engage her listeners. Sad, that even a mean and blackmailing tavern maid like Tilly had her life cut short. But perhaps the story would serve as a means to memorialize Tilly in some way, and perhaps it would even be the means to avenge her death. Master Aubrey would be sure to print it.

  Lucy frowned. That is, if the printer did not mind reading through all her scratched-over words. “Best copy it again,” she sighed. The physical act of writing still hurt her hand a bit, and her script was nothing like the elegant hand of the magistrate or his son.

  She was still copiously copying the words onto a new sheet of milled paper when Will arrived home from work. She eyed him. At least he’d come home instead of returning to his most recent sweetheart. Laurel, she thought Will had said her name was, but truly it was hard to keep straight.

  “What are you writing?” her brother asked, as he seated himself on the low bench by the fire. He pulled out one of his tools and began to polish it with a bit of soft sheepskin.

  “Oh,” Lucy hesitated. “A True Account.” She wasn’t sure how to bring up Tilly’s murder without also mentioning the fact that she’d spent the previous night in jail.

  Luckily, she was spared from having to offer more details because someone began to knock loudly on the shop’s shuttered windows. Flinching, Lucy could not help but remember the night before, when Duncan had appeared at the shop. Could it be the constable again? She wondered. Tonight’s pounding was equally insistent.

  When she didn’t move, Will went over to the window and peered through a crack that Lach had cut in the shutters.

  “Hmm,” Will said, with a backward glance at Lucy. “One of your suitors.” He then went over and pushed up the bar that kept the door shut. “Come in, Sir.”

  The visitor turned out to be Adam. Barely acknowledging her brother, he came straight over to Lucy, who had stood up in alarm. “What in heaven’s name have you been doing?” he demanded. “I just learned from Dr. Larimer that you’d been arrested for murder?!”

  “What?” Will slammed the door shut and stared at Lucy. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

  “I was going to tell you—” Lucy began.

  Adam cut her off. “He also said you spent the night in jail? You visited the site of that poor woman’s murder? Lucy, what is going on?”

  Will was looking increasingly confused. “Hang on. Who was murdered?”

  “Tilly Baker,” Lucy and Adam said at the same time.

  Will scratched his head. “Tilly Baker? Tilly Baker? That name’s familiar.”

  “Well, you met her,” Lucy reminded her brother. “Remember? The barmaid at the Fox and Duck.”

  “Ah, that one. Right, I remember.” Will eyed his sister. “You didn’t actually kill her, did you?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. “No, I most certainly did not. Moreover, Duncan didn’t truly arrest me.” Seeing Adam cross his arms, she added hastily, “Duncan thought I should stay at the jail for my own protection. He was concerned that the real murderer might come after me, but if it were known that I was the one who had been arrested, well, then the murderer would be able to relax, maybe let his guard down. While keeping me protected at the same time. Apparently,” Lucy added with a smile, “he did not think much of Lach’s abilities to protect me, should the real murderer come my way.”

  Will protested. “I’d have taken care of you.”

  “You weren’t here,” she said gently.

  Her brother had the grace to flush when he discerned her meaning. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “I could kill that constable,” Adam said, glaring at them both. “Why in heaven’s name didn’t you send word to Father? He’d have had you out of that bloody jail in an instant!”

  Lucy tried to explain. “Lach was afraid to break curfew, afraid to carry a note to your father. Moreover, Duncan said that we should not put the magistrate in the position of looking like he was harboring a murderess in his household. I have to say I agreed with him.” She stuck out her chin, even though her body betrayed her by trembling. Her actions no longer seemed to have made as much sense as they did the night before, in the light of Adam’s anger.

  Adam frowned. “I can’t say I like it, but it was certainly smart,” he admitted at last, grudgingly. “Still, were you planning to tell me?”

  “Or me?” Will echoed. “You’ve been a little mouse, tonight, haven’t you? Keeping this tidbit to yourself?”

  Lucy gestured to the broadside she had been writing. “I was going to let you read my True Account,” she teased, holding up the paper she’d been writing, trying in vain to lighten the tension in the room. “You’d have found out soon enough when Master Aubrey set this piece for tomorrow’s printing.”

  “You-were-going-to-let-us-read-your-true-account?” Will said in a strangled voice. He and Adam exchanged an incredulous glance.

  Both men stood shoulder to shoulder then, joined in their indignation toward Lucy. That was the first time they had ever looked alike. Will so fair, Adam so dark, but akin in their shared ire. Lucy wanted to giggle, but refrained. “Yes, it’s all here. Quite fascinating, if I may be so immodest.”

  “This isn’t a lark, Lucy.” Adam frowned. “Murder’s no jest.”

  “Of course it isn’t!” Lucy snapped, suddenly weary. “I suppose you think I enjoyed being escorted by the constable to the jail? I could see them staring. Everyone, as we passed them in the street. Do you think I liked being in the jail? All night?”

  “He locked you up? In the jail?” Adam glanced at Will, both of them remembering the terrors of Newgate. She could read their thoughts. Even a makeshift jail was likely to be quite awful.

  “Well, no, actually.” She hesitated. “I slept in Duncan’s—the constable’s—bed, in his rooms. He was very kind.” She searched Adam’s face, which had grown cold again.

  Hearing Will tsk-tsk, she glared at her brother. At her searing look, he edged backward, retreating to his seat, far in the shadows. This was clearly a conversation he no longer wanted to take part in. She looked back at Adam. “Duncan stayed in another room, of course.” She rushed on, “The next morning, Dr. Larimer performed the dissection and then he wanted me to come with him and—” she broke off, seeing Adam’s perplexed expression. “What is it?”

  Adam sighed, a weary sound. “Lucy, I’ll be honest. I’m confused. Why did you feel you had to speak to Tilly again at all? Why didn’t you just go tell the constable about your suspicions? Why in the world did you confront her? What if she had killed you?”

  “Adam, I—�
�� She stopped. The pain in his voice chastened her. She had not meant to worry him so. Distantly, Lucy heard Will quietly go upstairs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think before I went to Tilly. I don’t know why I did it.”

  “Well, I do know why. It’s because you care about people. And you care about justice. I like those things about you. I’m just afraid you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  She touched his hand. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  He took her hand and gave her a weak smile. “Enough about that. You may as well tell me the rest. Dr. Larimer performed the dissection and—?”

  Eagerly, Lucy told him all about what they’d learned about Tilly’s corpse, their visit to the Fox and Duck, and finding Jacques Durand. Adam sat down on the low bench, watching her face, occasionally asking her questions, but mostly listening. Throughout, Adam’s expression was thoughtful, reminding her a bit of the magistrate.

  When she was done, to her relief, Adam smiled at her fondly, his earlier annoyance now dissipated. “I’ve no doubt, if you’d been born a man, you’d be a constable yourself. Or a lawyer. I believe you truly enjoy puzzling through the minds of criminals.”

  Lucy smiled back, gesturing at the True Account. “And writing about them too. I don’t want their victims to be forgotten, just because they may be without family, wealth, or connections. Tahmin and Tilly deserve better. As do the living. Miss Water. Mister Hendricks. They all deserve justice.”

  “I understand, Lucy. Truly, I’m beginning to understand.”

  She gazed into his deep blue eyes, warming at their renewed closeness. It seemed a very long time since she had last been able to look at him in such a way.

  Adam broke the silence. “Father told me he gave you a book the other day,” he said, changing the subject. “For your birthday.”

  “Oh yes!” Lucy said. “The Two Gentlemen of Verona. I will treasure it.”

  “I have the feeling that he felt he had to remind me about your birthday,” he said. “As if I’d forgotten.” He paused. “I do have something for you. I’m sorry it’s a little late. From his pocket, he withdrew a silver bracelet, which he clasped around her wrist. “I just wanted to give it to you in person.”

  “Oh, Adam, it’s lovely,” she breathed. “Thank you.”

  When she touched his cheek, he held her hand there for a moment, gazing down at her. “I truly regret being unable to see you on your birthday,” he said. “Our survey work has been overwhelming, Lucy. So much misery. So many people who have lost so much. I don’t like to speak of it, because I would shield you from such suffering if I could.”

  She shook her head. “Adam, you can’t shield me from such things, nor should you. I’m no fine lady eating grapes on a pedestal.”

  “Eating grapes on a pedestal?” He laughed. “Is that what fine ladies do?”

  She swatted at him, but then became serious once more. “Adam, I share your need to help others. That’s why I can’t rest until I see their murderers unmasked,” she said, picking up her True Account again. “I believe the Earl had something to do with Tahmin’s death. Maybe Tilly’s too. We know the Earl was being blackmailed. We know Tilly wrongly pointed Tahmin out to the Earl’s men the night of the card game. Perhaps he had Tahmin killed.”

  Adam sat up straight, still not letting go of her hand. “You think the Earl had something to do with these deaths? Lord Cumberland? Oh, sweetheart, that’s a grave accusation to make.”

  “Yes, I understand that. I think there is something odd about the Earl. Your father thinks so as well. I just know it. I think we should talk to the Earl, find out what he’s hiding.” She held up her hand. “I know that you think this is the constable’s duty, and you are right. Yet you know as well as I do that Duncan will never be able to gain admittance into the Earl’s house.”

  Adam nodded. His lips twisted ruefully, as he fingers tightened over hers. “I take it you have a plan?”

  Lucy squeezed his hand in return. “As a matter of fact, I do!”

  21

  Lucy’s plan was simple. So simple that Adam didn’t even think it would work when she first told him. Neither had the constable, but he hadn’t said not to do it. Indeed, she knew that if he didn’t come up with something soon, he would have to drop the investigation altogether. “I’ll be nearby,” he told her. “This may be foolish, but you might be able to get some useful information.”

  Now, two days later, she was standing outside Lord Cumberland’s London residence beside Adam, with Miss Water at her side. Master Hargrave had sent a note around to the Earl, asking if his son could call on them. The Earl had responded readily enough, inviting them to dine that Saturday evening. And here they were. Bringing Miss Water in had been easy enough, although Adam had objected to Lucy’s suggestion that she pose as his fiancé. “What about you?” he had asked. “Why can’t you pose as my wife?” She had smiled, patting his arm. “Miss Water is more believable. It makes more sense that I’d be her maid. Besides, this way I can speak to the servants.”

  They stared at the Earl’s home. The place was grand enough to be sure, but had a neglected, cast-off feel.

  Miss Water seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “The Earl doesn’t visit here very often, does he?” she said in a low voice.

  “Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Adam said, reaching for the elaborate lion’s head door knocker. He rapped smartly.

  Lucy felt a momentary misgiving when Adam and Miss Water were welcomed by Lady Cumberland, as they stepped through the great stone doorway together. If not beautiful, Miss Water was elegant and kind, and Adam had decided to be charming. Excitement had brought a shine to her eyes and a flush to her cheeks. Lucy felt downright dull in comparison, clad neatly in her servant’s gray wool dress. The feeling worsened when Adam slipped Miss Water’s wrap from her shoulders, as her betrothed would, and handed it to Lucy.

  “I see you brought along a maid. I hope you did not think we would be short-staffed,” Lady Cumberland said, her smile tight. She looked as sallow as she had when she had supped at the Hargraves, yet even more pinched, if that were possible.

  “No indeed,” Miss Water responded, smiling sweetly in return. “I find even these short journeys to be taxing, and no one comforts me so well as my own dear Reenie.”

  She nodded at Lucy, who kept her head ducked down. Lucy was hoping that Lady Cumberland, like most nobles, had not looked too closely at Lucy when they had come to dine at Master Hargrave’s household those few weeks before. Calling her “Reenie” they hoped would secure the illusion.

  Lady Cumberland waved a lace-clad sleeve toward one of her own servants, a plump young woman with carefully bound red hair and an abundance of freckles. “Sulwen will look after your girl, give her something to eat. She can help with supper and clean up later, I suppose.”

  Taking Adam’s proffered arm, Miss Water nodded at Lucy. “Go along then, Reenie. I’ll ring if I need you.”

  Bobbing a quick curtsy to Lady Cumberland, Lucy followed Sulwen meekly to the kitchen, not daring to look at Adam as she passed into the cold dark entranceway.

  As they walked through the passage, Lucy looked about curiously. While the walkways were swept, no one had taken care to wipe away the cobwebs or to sweep away the crumbs that had dropped from an earlier meal. Lucy shuddered. They may as well invite the rats to come take up residence. A faint unpleasant smell hung in the air, as if some meat had been left spoiling in the sun. When they passed the grand drawing room, she could see that no one had cleaned out the fireplace in some time. Even the kitchen, larger than Master Hargrave’s current home, contained surprisingly few servants.

  In fact, she saw only one woman, for just an instant. The woman stooped a bit, glanced at her, and then disappeared up the stairs.

  “Do the servants have the night off?” Lucy asked Sulwen, as they passed down the long dusty corridor. It was unusual for servants to be allowed off on a Saturday night, to be sure, but sometimes a more benevolent master
would let them go if there was some rare merriment to be had, such as at Michaelmas, or Bartholomew’s Fair.

  Sulwen looked at her in surprise. “Nay, we are but four servants here.” Like her master, her voice contained a bit of a brogue that marked her from the distant northwest.

  “Four servants for the entire household?!” Lucy was shocked. Even Master Hargrave used to have five servants, and his was not even so grand an estate as the Earl’s London residence. Moreover, the magistrate most certainly was not an earl.

  Sulwen shrugged, her lips wrinkling slightly. “The master’s tight with his money.”

  Tight with money could mask a number of things. Debt, shriveling finances, failed business ventures. Or even, in some cases, a rare Puritanical streak, although judging from the Earl’s propensity to gamble, she did not think this last to be the case. “Who was that woman, who just passed upstairs?” Lucy asked.

  “That’s Theresa. My lady’s personal maid. She was her nurse-maid when she was still a child, and has stayed with her ever since. We also have Jones, Theresa’s nephew I think, who attends to the Master, and Burly, who is our all-around jack. I think he’s also related to Theresa, too. I’m not sure. I don’t talk to them much.” She looked at Lucy, a bit defiantly. “That’s all we need.”

  Though doubtful, Lucy nodded. Something still seemed off. Once in the kitchen she watched Sulwen carefully prepare the plates for supper. She searched for an opening gambit. “Have you been with the Earl very long?” she asked.

  Sulwen fished a stray hair out of the soup. “Not very long. Just a few months now.” She hesitated. “I was hired to replace a girl. She’d been dismissed from Lord Cumberland’s household.”

  “Oh?” Lucy asked offhandedly. She didn’t want to make Sulwen suspicious with too many questions. “Now, how can I help you? Give the pot a stir? Bone some fish?”

  Sulwen checked a small chicken that was roasting on a spit. “No fish tonight. Just the fowl. If you could do the carving?” She pulled the chicken off and laid it in front of Lucy. “If you would, Reenie.”