A Death Along the River Fleet

by Susanna Calkins

  “I expected as much,” she said hazily. “I wonder what my family will say.” Tears began to slip down her cheeks. “Please, I cannot go to prison. I will not survive the shame of it.”

  “Now, now,” Dr. Larimer said. “Let the elixer lead you to sleep.” He left as well.

  Lucy sat beside her. “The man who brought this medicine to you,” she said, watching Miss Belasysse’s face. “He said he was an apothecary. And he knew what you needed. Do you know who he might be?”

  But the medicine was already taking effect, and she sank back against her pillow. As she drifted off, Lucy heard her whisper, “Please help me. Please. I must escape this place. Help me fly, fly away.”

  17

  Just after two o’clock, Lucy put the final touches on Miss Belasysse’s hair, in preparation for the family’s Easter dinner. The woman had slept heavily since drinking from the vial, seemingly without dreaming, for she had not moved or uttered even the smallest of grunts during her slumbers. Now Lucy had successfully managed to sweep her hair into several ringlets, dangling at the side of her neck in the French fashion. She straightened Miss Belasysse’s dark green gown so that the pointed bodice no longer bunched up and the long pleats of her skirts fell evenly from her waist. This was not such an easy task, for Miss Belasysse kept pacing about, wringing her hands, peeking out the window.

  “What shall I say to them?” she kept asking. “What can I say?” She put her hand to the base of her head. “Oh, my head pains me so.”

  “Shall I send your excuses to Mrs. Larimer?” Lucy asked. “Tell them your headache has overcome you?”

  “No, I must see them,” Miss Belasysse said, grimacing. “There is still much I need to know.” She touched her bare neck.

  The amulet was missing. “I thought the chain was pleasing to you, and”—Lucy hesitated—“the amulet seems to bring you such comfort.”

  Miss Belasysse touched her neck and throat again. She seemed to be considering something before she spoke. “Truth be told, I had forgotten about it,” she said lightly. “I removed it for my bath. But yes, it is lovely. Let us restore it to its proper place. It is in the drawer.”

  How odd, Lucy thought. To have forgotten her amulet, when she reached for it so frequently, seemed strange. But Lucy’s long years as a servant kept her from pointing out the oddity of the woman’s claim. Instead, she silently retrieved the amulet from the drawer.

  Miss Belasysse sat back on the low embroidered bench so that Lucy could affix the amulet around her neck. Reaching up, the woman gently rubbed the bloodstone between her forefingers so that it gleamed against her skin. “I must say, Lucy, I feel better already with it around my neck. The protection it provides warms me.” She then said something to herself that Lucy did not quite catch. She thought, though, that the woman said, “They need to know what they have done.”

  “Miss? I did not hear what you said.”

  But Miss Belasysse only laughed. Her mood seemed to be changing, as the excitement of the evening ahead overcame her. “Oh, nothing of consequence, I can assure you. Why do you not go on downstairs, Lucy? I will join you shortly. My head still aches a bit, so I would like to spend a little time by myself, to gather myself together.”

  She laughed again, as if another merriment had been told her.

  Silently, Lucy poured a few drops of the apothecary’s elixir into a small cup and handed it to her. She did not like this new airiness about Miss Belasysse; her gaiety seemed forced. Even the moroseness seemed preferable to this jittery excitement.

  Having nearly half an hour before the Larimers’ guests would arrive, Lucy headed toward the kitchen, wondering if Constable Duncan had come yet.

  Lucy smoothed her skirts before entering the kitchen. She was wearing her best Sunday dress, but it was nothing compared to the Easter finery that the other women would surely be wearing. Mrs. Larimer could be generous to the daughter of a baron who had arrived on their doorstep without a frock to her name, but it would never have occurred to her to lend a former servant a nicer gown for the occasion. Sometimes Lucy wished that she had accepted the dresses that Master Hargrave had offered her after his wife passed away, but she felt by all rights that they should go to his daughter. The problem with dear Sarah, though, was that she had given up her worldly goods when she became a Quaker, and had sold off several of the gowns to fund her return voyage to the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

  Passing into the kitchen, she found Constable Duncan sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in front of him. He was not wearing his characteristic red coat, but rather a suit that might have once belonged to a slightly larger man. He stood up when he saw her.

  “Lucy!” he said, his eyes regarding her with warm appraisal. “How wonderful you look!”

  She pushed a stray hair behind her ear. “Do you mind?” she said hurriedly to the constable without any greeting. “Dr. Larimer asked me to join the family for dinner this afternoon. Well, truly it was Miss Belasysse who asked me to join them. As you know, Mrs. Larimer intended that I would serve them—” Here she dropped off, looking guiltily at Mrs. Hotchkiss and Molly. “I do beg your pardon.”

  Molly tossed her head. “You are not one of them, you know.” She smiled coyly at Duncan. “But we are fine without you here.”

  Lucy turned back to Duncan, trying to ignore Molly. “With any luck, you will be able to loosen Hetty’s tongue.”

  “He could loosen mine,” Molly said, winking at him.

  Mrs. Hotchkiss pinched Molly’s arm. “Enough of that.” She pointed to a great jug of red wine on the table. “Dr. Larimer is quite kind to us servants on Easter,” she said. “We will be merry enough, I am certain. Tongues will be loosened, never you fear.” She practically pushed Lucy out of the door. “Go now. There is no place for you here.”

  * * *

  Finding the drawing room empty, Lucy wandered about, straightening the pewter. She was slightly bothered by the way Mrs. Hotchkiss and Molly had spoken to her just now, and for a moment, she wished she could just be dining and drinking wine in the kitchen with the others.

  Still waiting, Lucy began to arrange the jars of bluebells so that the delicate petals did not look wilted. She did not otherwise know what to do with herself, and was quite glad when the Hargraves arrived a bit early.

  With a shy smile, Lucy greeted Master Hargrave and Adam.

  “You look lovely, my dear,” Master Hargrave said to her, and to her delight gave her a little bow. She giggled, and her shyness fled. Adam pressed her hand as well. “I like seeing you here,” he whispered to her.

  Dr. Larimer and his wife entered then as well, the men greeting each other with handshakes and much clapping of arms.

  “Is Miss Belasysse all right?” Dr. Larimer asked Lucy in a low tone.

  “She said her head pains her,” Lucy replied, “but she is planning to join us in a few minutes’ time.” Mr. Sheridan frowned, having caught her words as he entered the room.

  “I will look in on her,” Mrs. Larimer said to her husband. “I should not like her family to think we have not tended to her properly.”

  Lucy flushed, not sure if the words of the physician’s wife had been a rebuke. Miss Belasysse had asked to be alone, after all.

  To her surprise, Dr. Larimer leaned forward and whispered, “Do not worry, Lucy. You have done a fine job tending to our guest. My wife just has visions of dining at the baron’s home one day, and she should not like the opportunity to pass her by.”

  “I am looking forward to meeting this mysterious guest of yours, Herbert,” Master Hargrave said to Dr. Larimer, an amused look in his eye. “Octavia Belasysse, believed to be dead for ten months, but instead discovered by our Lucy, near Holborn Bridge. Adam has told me something about this odd tale.”

  “Thomas, indeed, it is rather a strange affair. I must admit, I invited you and Adam here today with the hopes of discovering a bit more about her whereabouts,” Dr. Larimer said.

  “Was she well tended these last ten month
s?” Master Hargrave asked.

  Dr. Larimer exchanged a glance with Mr. Sheridan. “It is difficult to say. She arrived at my doorstep with a variety of recently sustained injuries. She bore the marks of being bound in ropes. Yet it was clear that she has been eating; the flesh on her bones was not loose and pulling, and her color has been mainly good. She has had some bloodletting done on her neck, carried out—I presume—to lessen the regularity of her fits or perhaps to treat her memory. She has not been living in the rubble—that much I can say with certainty.”

  “Dashed odd,” the magistrate said.

  At a knock at the door, Dr. Larimer arose from his chair to greet Lady Belasysse, Susan Belasysse, and Harlan Boteler. Hetty, it seemed, had already been led by Mrs. Hotchkiss back to the servants’ dining area by the kitchen.

  After making introductions, he turned to Susan Belasysse. “I take it there has been no word from your husband?”

  The younger woman nodded. “No, he has not yet returned.” She glanced at Lady Belasysse, who sniffed.

  “I daresay my son will rejoin us soon,” Lady Belasysse said. “I imagine that my daughter-in-law simply misunderstood when my son informed her of where he was going.” She turned to look down the long bridge of her nose at Susan Belasysse. “I wonder if you were too busy with your new frocks, my dear, and did not attend to what he told you.” Ignoring her daughter-in-law’s offended expression, she continued. “My son sometimes will journey to visit friends, or attend to political matters. Sometimes life in the country can be a bit dreary for his taste, I am afraid.”

  Lady Belasysse looked around the room then, her eyes landing on Lucy, taking in her best Easter frock and, without a doubt, her lack of apron. Her eyebrow rose. “My daughter’s nurse is to dine with us, I see.” She paused. “How good of you. My maid, Hetty, will be joining your other servants in the kitchen for her Easter dinner.”

  Dr. Larimer was spared having to reply, for Octavia Belasysse swept into the room then, importantly escorted by Mrs. Larimer.

  “Mother, Susan,” Miss Belasysse murmured, kissing each woman on the cheek in turn, before extending her hand to her uncle.

  After a few more pleasantries, Dr. Larimer turned to the Hargraves and Mr. Boteler. “I have an excellent fine-flavored claret in my study. Let us partake before we sit down for our dinner.”

  After the men assented, Mr. Sheridan followed the others out with a pinched and miserable look on his face.

  Lucy watched as the other four women closed together then in a tight circle, naturally formed as they began to admire each other’s dresses and hair. With a pang, she felt their combined beauty keenly. Although she wished to flee the room, she forced herself to stay.

  Seeing that the sherry had been decanted on the sideboard, she thought she might make herself useful. “Shall I pour the sack, mistress?” she murmured to Mrs. Larimer.

  The physician’s wife gave her a quick appreciative smile. “Ah yes, Lucy. That would be lovely.”

  Lucy lined up several small goblets and began to pour out the sherry—el vino de Xeres, as she had once heard a bottler call it. After she handed everyone a goblet, she hesitated. Should she pour one for herself? Then, without looking at anyone, she quickly poured herself a glass and stepped away from the sideboard, taking a sip of the sweet white wine.

  No one was paying attention to her anyway for, at that moment, Lady Belasysse turned to her daughter, eying the amulet that lay against her bare skin. “Octavia, wherever did you get that exquisite necklace?” she asked. “Borrowed it from our most generous hostess, I presume?”

  The physician’s wife smiled, acknowledging the compliment. “Ah! I wish I could claim such a lovely object as my own. No, I offered her silver pendants for her ears, but she only wanted to wear her amulet, her only possession. Well, at least the only possession she had upon her when she arrived at our doorstep.”

  Lady Belasysse pursed her lips. “That amulet is yours, Octavia? Pray tell, who gave it to you?” She stepped forward to examine the piece.

  “I cannot tell you, Mother,” Octavia Belasysse said, tapping the side of her head. “I am afraid it is all muckety-muck in here, as you know.”

  A few steps away, Susan Belasysse was staring at the amulet. Lucy, sipping her sherry, watched her. “Do you know something of the amulet, Mrs. Belasysse?” she asked her softly.

  “Whatever do you mean?” Susan Belasysse replied, crossing her arms. “Why would I know anything about Octavia’s amulet?”

  The others turned to stare at them. “Oh!” Lucy replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I thought Miss Belasysse might have acquired it at a London market—Covent Garden, perchance?—before she disappeared. There are some tradesmen in London who sell this sort of piece.”

  Susan Belasysse gulped. “No, I remember no such thing.”

  “I wonder what else you may not be remembering about my disappearance, Sister,” Octavia Belasysse replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

  “I am sure I do not know what you mean,” Susan replied.

  Again Octavia smiled. “The amulet was filled with rosemary. I imagine that someone hoped to protect me from something, but I know not what. Perhaps I was kidnapped by fortune-tellers, and you have forgotten about that sad tale.” Her smile grew wider. “Or perchance a group of Catholics, lost on their pilgrimage, took me on their grand quest.”

  “Octavia,” her mother said, a warning note in her voice. “Such untruths should not be said, even in jest.”

  “Still, this amulet proves that someone cared for me,” Octavia replied, now holding her fingers before her, idly regarding her nails. She must have borrowed Mrs. Larimer’s little nail scissors to make them less jagged. She looked back at Lady Belasysse. “Is that not so, Mother?”

  Lady Belasysse did not respond.

  Feeling the odd undercurrents in the room, Mrs. Larimer clapped her hands. “I shall summon the men now. It is high time we have our dinner.”

  “I shall let Mrs. Hotchkiss know,” Lucy murmured to Mrs. Larimer, taking the opportunity to slip off to the kitchen. When she entered, she found everyone sitting around the table, with their tankards in front of them, the jug of wine opened. Duncan was evidently just finishing a humorous story, for Molly and Mrs. Hotchkiss were giggling. Hetty still looked dour, her hands wrapped defensively around her tankard as if fearful someone would take it from her.

  Lucy leaned against the doorframe, watching them. She liked it when Duncan dropped his watchful reserve. Without his uniform, too, he seemed lighter in spirit than she had usually seen him. He looked up then, the smile still on his lips.

  Molly and Mrs. Hotchkiss both stopped laughing when they saw her. Lucy felt a sudden chill come over the room.

  “Yes, miss?” Mrs. Hotchkiss asked. “Is there something you need?”

  Molly looked at her with an insolent lift of the brows.

  “I am sorry to break up this merry scene,” Lucy said uncomfortably. Turning to the housekeeper, she added, “Mrs. Larimer is ready for you to start serving dinner now.”

  Mrs. Hotchkiss nodded. “All right, Molly, let us start with the soup, then.”

  The servants began to ladle soup into bowls, banging everything about far more than was necessary. Duncan caught Lucy’s eye, then nodded his head meaningfully toward Hetty, who looked a bit sullen.

  Sliding onto the bench next to Duncan so that she could face Hetty, Lucy said to the others brightly, “The ladies have been enjoying their sherry, and the men their claret.”

  “Fa dee da!” Hetty said, taking a gulp of her wine. “Chase you out, did they?”

  Mrs. Hotchkiss and Molly both tittered a bit, and Duncan shifted in his chair.

  “Why, no,” Lucy said, fully sensing the unfriendly feeling in the room.

  “Don’t know why they gave you a place at the table,” Hetty said, her words already slurring a bit. “I have been tending to the Belasysse family for twenty years, and I have never been invited to dine with them. Not once!�
� Her obvious bitterness subdued the room. Then she snorted. “Spreading your legs for the master, are you?”

  Lucy flushed deeply, but was gratified with the roar of outrage from both Duncan and Mrs. Hotchkiss at once.

  The housekeeper batted the back of the woman’s head. “No call for that kind of filth in here. No one will say a word against my master, especially not when dining at his table!”

  Duncan stood up. “Nor shall you say such a thing about Lucy, whom I know to be of the most good and virtuous sort!” He was about to continue, but Lucy cut him off.

  “No, Duncan,” Lucy said. She decided to ignore Hetty’s ugly insinuation and respond with the truth. “It was Miss Belasysse who asked me to join the family at the dinner. Quite honestly, Mrs. Larimer was against it, but she went along with Miss Belasysse’s request.” Hoping to smooth out the bad feelings in the room, she added, “Truth be told, I do not fit in there.”

  Duncan still looked annoyed, but her honesty seemed to mollify the others.

  “Do not worry, dear,” Mrs. Hotchkiss said. “You shall not be in that position much longer.”

  “Octavia always was a bit willful,” Hetty conceded. Though she did not smile, the explanation seemed to help somewhat.

  “What are they talking about?” Molly asked, a bit breathless to hear more of the gossip coming from the drawing room.

  Her question gave Lucy the opening she needed. “They were quite intrigued with Miss Belasysse’s beautiful amulet,” she explained, trying to sound as friendly and casual as she could. “They were wondering at what market she might have bought it.” Turning to Hetty, she asked, “Do you remember where Miss Belasysse got the amulet? It would have been before she disappeared, of course.”

  The lady’s maid, her cheeks a bit flushed from the wine, wiped her mouth. “She did not go to any markets,” she said. “Miss Octavia wanted to, but her uncle would not let her.”

  “Why not?”

  “I do not know. He was afraid of her wandering off, I think. Having a fit in public, with no one to help her. He would not let her out of his sight.”