* * *
Lucy felt her head had barely been on the pillow a minute when she heard a flurry of activity in the household. The full morning sun was streaming through the windows of Annie’s tiny room. When she came down, she met Master Hargrave coming out of his son’s chambers.
When he saw Lucy, he smiled. “Adam’s faring much better and he’d like to see you, Lucy. You may go in.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Giving a little knock, she walked in. Adam was sitting at his little table, fully dressed. He still had the bandage around his ear, but his color looked much better than it had three days before.
“Hello, Lucy,” he said. “Got ourselves in another scrape again, didn’t we?”
Shakily, she nodded. “Yes, I guess we did. How are you feeling?”
“Like a gun exploded in my face,” he said wryly. He gestured to the other chair. “Please, Lucy, will you sit down? I’ve something to say.”
When she sat down, he reached across the small table and took her hands in his. “Lucy, these last few months have been overwhelming. Truly. The things we’ve seen. What we’ve gone through. The plague, the Fire. So much death. So much violence. Sometimes the world around us seems so completely mad. I’ve never been so aware how short life is.”
Lucy nodded, searching his face. “I know.”
“But when I’m with you,” he went on, “none of that matters. Life is fine. I’ve told you before that I want to spend my life with you. No, please,” he said, as she started to speak. “Let me finish. My father told me about your worries about your station. You must believe me,” he tightened his hands over hers, “even if I ever thought that way, I do not now. And I would never let such a thing stand in the way of our happiness.”
“Adam, I—” Lucy tried to speak again.
He smiled at her. “I’m almost done. Then it’s your turn, I promise. But these last few months, I’ve realized something too. About you. How contented you are in your new position, working with Master Aubrey. You so enjoy being a printer’s apprentice, writing books and selling them. And I think you’re good at it.” He laughed, fondly. “And you like solving puzzles. I could never take you from that. Both Father and I agree. Sometimes we think you can do anything you set your mind to, and we’d like to see what lies ahead for you.”
“I would like to own my own press one day,” Lucy whispered, her eyes tearing a bit. She’d never even admitted this to Will. “Create my own books. I don’t know if I can ever be licensed, but Master Aubrey told me that the only reason he could even take me as an apprentice at all is because the guild rules have been growing soft. Certainly there have been other female apprentices, but they may not agree to let me in. I’d have to prove myself to them first.” She touched his arm. “But you know how deeply I care for you. How much I would like to be your—” she could not bring herself to say the last word. “Wife.”
Adam nodded, looking slightly sad but not surprised. “Let us wait a while. Stay on with Master Aubrey. I’ll court you properly too, when you’re ready. I can’t let that constable think you’re available. When I saw him around you, I didn’t know what to think.” There was a strong undercurrent of feeling when he said this last part.
“He knows I’m not available,” she whispered, sounding more confident than she felt. She quickly kissed Adam’s cheek as she stood up to leave. “I should probably get back to Master Aubrey’s then. What he must think of me!”
As she turned to go, Adam caught her hand and raised it to his lips in farewell. “Lucy, I will see you soon.”
23
“You’ve swept that same spot three times now,” Lach said to her over his shoulder. He was seated at the printing press, carefully laying letters. “We’ve got lots to do before Guy Fawkes festivities tonight, and you’re not helping too much.”
“What? Oh, right,” she said, returning the broom back to its customary place in the corner.
More than a week had passed since she left the magistrate’s house. Although she felt gratified that Adam had been so understanding, there was a tiny ache inside her, as she wondered how long he would truly want to wait for her.
Lucy tried to keep her mind on her work, but to no avail. Stacks of pamphlets, still unfolded, were strewn about her workspace. All day she’d managed to fill only two bags. Master Aubrey would not be pleased when he returned tomorrow from his journey to Kent. Because she’d missed so much work this past week, tending to Adam, she felt she owed Master Aubrey some good sales. Besides, she really didn’t feel much like celebrating Guy Fawkes Day, a reminder of the day Parliament had nearly been blown up by a papist.
“Here’s a new ballad,” Lach said, bringing over the stack he’d been cutting. He handed her a broadside. “You’ll have to tell me what you think of it.”
“An Earl’s Bloody Disgrace…” she read the title aloud. “What?” Quickly she scanned the bit of doggerel. The ballad described, fairly accurately, Lady Cumberland’s hand in the murders, and the Earl’s disgrace. His gambling debts had been quite severe it seemed, and this scandal had closed him off from his normal avenues. The ballad also suggested that the Earl had forged his inheritance. “Not noble born, just a gent roughly shorn.”
Jonesie and Burly played a role in the ballad too, the henchmen who did the Earl’s bidding. At this point, she looked up. “Whoever wrote this piece?”
Lach shrugged. “Anonymous. As usual.”
“Wait a minute,” she said suspiciously, pointing to the last bit of doggerel, which she read aloud. “‘’Twas all due to a young printer’s maid, that these crimes were unearthed! No thanks to the bumbling constable, who only provided mirth…!’” Lucy threw the paper down. Reaching over she grabbed Lach’s thumb and forefinger of his right hand. There was the same telltale mark she often wore on her own hand. “You wrote this!” she exclaimed. “Admit it!”
“Can’t prove it was me! Came under the door, like usual.” Lach grinned cheekily. “Even though I think this ‘Anonymous’ chap is a mighty discerning fellow. After all, you did do all the constable’s work.”
“That’s not true!” Lucy protested. “Anyway, I can’t sell this!”
“I’ll sell it then. Make a pretty penny too, I will.” Lach laid them in his pack and set off. “I’ll see you later. No curfew tonight, so I’m aiming to have a bit of fun after I sell these.”
As Lach walked out, he tipped his hat cheekily to Miss Water who was entering the shop.
“I’ve come to see how you are,” the woman said, “and how Adam has fared since our ordeal.”
For a moment Lucy wanted to confide in her, but she just couldn’t. “Better. I suppose,” she said. “He’s having trouble hearing, but the physician hopes that he will soon improve.”
Miss Water looked at her shrewdly and then grabbed her arm. “Come on. Let’s go outside. We can eat at the Cross Keys. The Lord Mayor lifted the curfew, just for tonight. That tavern will have some life in it, that’s for sure.”
Lucy gestured at the pile of work on the table. “I can’t. I still have all this. Master Aubrey won’t be happy if I don’t bring back some coins.” She looked at the darkening sky. “Although it’s so late already.” She sighed. “I don’t want to go too far.”
Miss Water folded the last few pieces rapidly and stuffed them in Lucy’s sack. “Done. Where are we going?”
“Oh, maybe St. Martin-in-the-Fields again, I suppose. So many people taking up residence over there. Hopefully I can sell a few right quick.”
“Wonderful,” Miss Water said. “If I could relieve myself first?”
Lucy gestured to the back room, where they kept the refuse bucket. “I’ll wait in front.”
Standing in the doorway, Lucy watched a cart pass by full of effigies to be sold at market. Officially, of course, the Lord Mayor had banned the effigies, for fear of fire, but no one seemed to be heeding the ordinance. Off to Covent Garden no doubt, for the evening Guy Fawkes bonfires and dancing. As a cool breeze chilled h
er, a line from Darius’s poem unexpectedly crossed her mind again. Hearty pineapples, even in the first freeze of autumn.
The first freeze of autumn. Surely, he meant around this time of year? Because she’d thought so much about the poem, the next line followed, unbidden. Rose, my love—Even kings can wrong a fey duet. Suddenly, a preposterous thought occurred to her. She went back inside the shop, taking one of Master Aubrey’s quills and a bit of ink from his desk. Then she proceeded to write the entire poem by memory, her fingers flying in her excitement.
As she’d done before, Lucy removed the letters spelling out “C-O-V-E-N-T-G-A-R-D-E-N.” All of them were there. She stared expectantly at the letters that remained. Thoughtfully, using the method Master Hargrave had taught her to solve anagrams, she spelled out G-U-Y-F-A-W-K-E-S. All the letters containing the doomed papist’s name were present. Four letters remained. “I-N-N-E.”
In her mind, she rearranged the letters. Nine! “Nine o’clock!” she said out loud. Was it possible that Darius would actually be there, waiting for his love? After crumpling up the piece of paper, she wrote a quick note to Duncan, telling him what she had deciphered. She put that note in her pocket. In that instant, she didn’t want to show the last part of the anagram to Miss Water. No need to get her hopes up. “Ready!” she called to Miss Water. “I changed my mind! We’re going to Covent Garden!”
* * *
When they arrived, great throngs of people were already milling about, buying and selling wares. Except for the darkness, it could have been a mid-morning Saturday market. Tall torches started to be carefully lit, casting odd flickering shadows on the merrymakers below. Lucy was glad to see that more soldiers than ever were on hand—the first night without an early curfew was not one to be taken lightly.
As they strolled about, Lucy sang “True News from Tewksbury,” keeping a careful eye out. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but she thought the best thing to do was to keep Miss Water as visible as possible, should anyone be searching for her. She didn’t see the constable. He hadn’t been at the makeshift jail when she stopped by, but Hank was there, guarding two rough sorts, and he’d promised he’d give the note to Duncan. “Nine at Covent Garden. Near the man who sells pineapples!” she’d written quickly.
The bellman called seven o’clock and then eight o’clock. The crowd had been steadily growing, and Guy Fawkes effigies were starting to be tossed about. As Lucy had suspected, not everyone was going to heed the Lord Mayor’s ban. Peddlers and hawkers were still selling their wares, not wishing to lose the rare night of free spending and carousing.
Miss Water, she was grateful to see, seemed happy enough to help her exchange coins for the penny pieces. At one point, Lucy thanked her for her help.
“If Father should see me now,” Miss Water sighed. “I don’t know what he would do to me.”
Lucy stopped short. “By all means, please cease your assistance to me. I shouldn’t like to see you in trouble.”
“Truly, Lucy, it’s the least I can do for you. Right now I feel you’re my only friend.” She flushed in embarrassment. “I suppose that’s not the sort of thing a lady should admit to another.”
“Perhaps ladies do not speak of their feelings, but friends certainly do.” Lucy paused. “I hope you know I always try to be true with you.” Glancing at the sky, she thought it must be nearing nine o’clock. Her heart started pounding nervously. “I’ve sold everything, and I’m craving some refreshment. Let us go this way,” she said, pulling Miss Water in the direction of Master Greenleaf’s fruit cart. “I’ve the oddest hankering for a pineapple.”
“You are a strange girl.” Miss Water laughed. “Alright, I’ve yet to try such a delicacy although Darius told me once I should…” Her voice trailed off. She stopped. “Covent Garden. Pineapple. You know something—?”
Shifting her pack to her left arm, Lucy linked her free arm in Miss Water’s. “I did figure something else out,” she whispered. “Guy Fawkes Day. At nine.” She faltered. Master Greenleaf’s cart was in view. “I don’t know if he’ll be there…”
But Miss Water didn’t heed her words. Instead, she clutched Lucy’s arm. “Lucy! Is that—? I think that’s…” her voice trailed off. A man was standing quietly by the fruit cart. “Darius!” she whispered. “Can it be? Lucy, can it be?”
As if he heard her little sigh, the man turned around. “Nasrin!” he called, holding his arms wide. Wordlessly, Miss Water walked into Darius’s arms.
Lucy turned away from the pair, a slight mist covering her eyes. Seeing the lovers reunited was almost too much to bear. She could hear Miss Water crying. “For so long, I thought you were dead! Now, here you are!”
“I did not know if you would decipher my riddle.” Lucy heard Darius say to Miss Water. “I have not heard from that rascal Tahmin for almost two months now. What was I to think when I did not receive your reply? I told him to return with your message. Then, when I heard of the Great Fire, I feared the worst. But I could not leave Persia, you understand, until my obligation to the Shah was complete. That’s why I sent Tahmin.”
“Oh Darius!” Miss Water pulled away slightly. “We must talk. No, Lucy, wait!” she said, seeing Lucy start to move away. “Please help me explain to Darius all that has happened.” She gulped, a pleading look in her eyes. Please help me tell him what happened to Tahmin.
The young man turned toward Lucy with a gentle smile. His wavy hair and eyes were black, and his skin was darker than that of most people of her acquaintance. He reminded her somewhat of some of the Arab traders she’d met before at market. When he spoke, his voice was deeply cultured and rich, sounding even more refined than Master Hargrave.
“Nasrin, I should very much like to meet your friend. Miss—?”
“Campion,” Miss Water supplied.
“Miss Campion,” he said to Lucy with an elegant bow. The gesture made her smile; she’d never felt so important. A breeze blew again, and both women shivered.
“Let us go near one of these bonfires. We can talk there easily enough,” Darius said. He also bought them mugs of steaming wormwood from a man ladling the drink from a small cauldron over a small fire.
Sighing, they sat down on the ground, still close by Master Greenleaf’s fruit cart. All about them revelers strolled or danced about with their effigies and bonfires.
Darius grinned at them, his white teeth gleaming in the light of the fire. “When I wrote you that letter, dear Nasrin, I never truly imagined Covent Garden would be like this. How long did it take for you to decipher my anagram?”
Miss Water gulped, looking helplessly at Lucy. She seemed incapable of speech.
“We just figured the whole message out,” Lucy said slowly. “Just a few hours ago.”
“Just a few hours ago? How can that be?” Darius asked, looking from Lucy to Nasrin in surprise. “Tahmin was supposed to let you know which lines held the clue, in case you could not sort it out. Where is Tahmin anyway?” He looked around, as if expecting his old friend to emerge from behind a vendor’s stall.
Reluctantly, Lucy explained all that occurred since the night of the Fire, what they had pieced together of Tahmin’s last hours, of the aftermath they’d experienced when Lucy innocently published the poem. As she spoke, Darius’s face grew ashen, and for a moment he seemed quite overcome. Lucy looked away, while he laid his face on Miss Water’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never suspected this would happen.”
“Why did you say you were here? In your anagram?” Miss Water asked, pulling away slightly. The first few blissful moments were forgotten as evidently she remembered her months of distress and worry.
“My intention was to come with Tahmin, but I was delayed by affairs at the Shah’s court. He was dying, and I could not leave him.” He paused. “Forgive me, my dear. Forgive this little game I had planned. It’s just that I’ve had a surprise long planned for you. I had heard of the famous Covent Garden from an English ballad that was pas
sed around at the Palace.” He looked ruefully about. “What can I say? I thought we might try pineapple together.” He leaned toward Miss Water. “I had heard of your Londoner’s love of this Guy Fawkes celebration, and I thought I would be here by then.”
“You just couldn’t stay away, could you, Darius?” A figure stepped into the light of the bonfire.
Miss Water gasped, pulling away from Darius. “Father! What are you doing here?”
“What do you think?” Master Water held up a careworn copy of From the Charred Remains. “Child’s play. I deciphered Darius’s poem months ago. After I heard you and Miss Campion here talking that day in Oxford, I knew that Tahmin was simply the messenger, and Darius your lover.” He spat the last word out at them. “I never dreamed you’d figure out the rest of the poem on your own. I thought I would be able to just meet Darius myself.”
Darius stood up, his chest heaving with emotion. “Do you know who killed Tahmin?” he asked Master Water, the pain at asking that question evident. “Did you kill my friend?”
Miss Water turned a shocked face toward Darius. “Darius! That’s not possible! Why ever would you ask my father such a dreadful thing?”
“Because I asked him to send your father a letter in Oxford when he arrived in London, asking to see him.” A shadow crossed Darius’s face. “I told him to say that he would like to pay his respects personally, but not to say that he was there on my behalf.” He stared at Master Water. “Did you meet him?”
“No, that’s not possible. Tell him, Father, that’s not possible,” Miss Water exclaimed again. “You weren’t at the Cheshire Cheese that night! You weren’t even in London!”
“But he was,” Lucy said slowly, remembering what she’d learned about that ill-fated game from Tilly, Durand, Mister Hendricks, and even the Earl.
From the Charred Remains (Lucy Campion Mysteries) Page 28
