“Do you think she was trying to get away, then?” Lucy asked.
“No, I never saw her go off alone. He was with her all the time.” She burped loudly. “Never saw the amulet either.”
Lucy and Duncan exchanged puzzled glances. “Maybe she kept it hidden,” Duncan said to Hetty.
At that, all the servants in the room, including Lucy, smiled. A noblewoman of Miss Octavia’s sort could no more easily hide a trinket from her maid than she could hide a bear from its tamer. A lady’s maid knows everything. This meant that Miss Belasysse must have gotten the amulet at a later point.
“You should return to your meal,” Duncan said. “Lest they wonder where you are.” Before she left, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, so that the others could not hear. “And remember, not a single one of them can measure up to you.”
18
When Lucy returned to the dining room, she was directed by Mrs. Larimer to her seat along with the others. To her credit, Mrs. Larimer was quite gracious, and gave no sense of discomfort over having a former chambermaid turned printer’s apprentice at her dining table.
As Molly and Mrs. Hotchkiss began to bring out the first course, Dr. Larimer and his wife positioned themselves on either side of the long table. Two men and two women sat on either side, so that Lucy was between Master Hargrave and Mr. Boteler, with Mr. Sheridan in front of her.
To Lucy’s disappointment, Adam was seated to Mrs. Larimer’s right, and beside Octavia, with Susan Belasysse across from him. Master Hargrave and Lady Belasysse were seated on either side of Dr. Larimer.
Not sure what she should do or say, Lucy took a sip of the Rhenish wine that Molly had just poured, still thinking about the amulet. If what Hetty said was true, and it likely was, then Miss Belasysse had not acquired the amulet before her so-called death and disappearance. But judging by Miss Belasysse’s lack of response to her family’s questions about the amulet, she must have already figured this out for herself.
Lucy nearly choked on her sherry as realization flooded over her. Octavia Belasysse must have some awareness of how she had come by the piece. Had she remembered? If she remembered that, then what else did she remember? Although Lucy wished more than anything she could question Miss Belasysse about her newly formed suspicions, she remained silent, carefully listening to the conversations going on around her.
“What a miracle it is that your daughter has been returned safely to you,” she heard the magistrate say across the table to Lady Belasysse.
“Indeed,” Lady Belasysse said, glancing across the table at her brother. He was speaking rather animatedly to Mrs. Larimer and Susan Belasysse. “We are rather at a loss to explain where she has been these last ten months. My dear child is a bit muddled, you see. Always has been, ever since she was a child.”
Overhearing her comment, Mrs. Larimer clucked her teeth. “Such a shame, and a worry for you, too. So hard to have someone so afflicted in one’s own family, I should think.”
“Indeed,” Lady Belasysse murmured. “I do not deny that it has been a trial, one which my husband and I have borne these many years. Although naturally we are quite relieved to discover that she is safe and well.”
“I see,” the magistrate replied. “And to think you even believed her to have died. How did such a strange thing transpire?”
“You are well informed, I see,” Lady Belasysse said, draining her goblet, while Harlan Boteler gave much of the same account they had heard a few days before.
As the magistrate listened in his thoughtful way, he picked up the decanter and poured generous amounts of wine into the goblets around him, adding only a few drops to his own. The side conversations stopped as they all listened to Mr. Boteler.
“It is quite a strange thing,” Miss Belasysse said. “To think others believed me to have passed on.” She smiled at Mr. Sheridan. “James, am I not flesh and blood?” She touched the physician’s hand, a gesture as forward and intimate as her use of his first name at the dining table.
Lucy was amused to see Mr. Sheridan flush and stammer. “Yes, Miss Belasysse, yes, most certainly you are.”
“Octavia! Daughter!” Lady Belasysse hissed, her smile stretching across her teeth. “Such nonsense you speak.” She began to cut her beef vigorously
“Is it nonsense, Mother?” Octavia asked, her voice overly sweet. “Something strange certainly occurred, and I am hoping you can help me determine the cause.”
Susan Belasysse downed her goblet of wine then. Glancing at her, Lucy could see the young woman’s cheeks were growing quite flushed. She began to speak loudly across the table. “Dr. Larimer, I am of the mind you should call in, call in, who should he call in?” She thumped her hand on the table. “Oh, yes, Valentine Greatrakes. Have you heard of him?”
“Greatrakes?” Dr. Larimer asked, his jaw tight. “That Irish quacksalver?”
“Yes,” she replied, not heeding the physician’s words. “I am certain he could heal her. He has been known to cure people just by laying his hands upon them. Since my dear sister-in-law has not yet been relieved of her affliction, despite being in your care, it might be helpful to bring him in.” She hiccupped.
“Madam,” the physician replied, his expression blackening, “I can assure you, that fraud’s work is not recognized by the College of Physicians.”
“He passed himself off as a healer,” Mr. Sheridan explained to the others, sounding a bit nervous. “I think it is best if we do not discuss—”
“But is he not at the court of King Charles himself?” Susan Belasysse interrupted. “Surely, being under the protection of the king must say much of his legitimacy?”
Dr. Larimer’s face was growing an uncomfortable shade of purple. He turned to Master Hargrave. “Thomas, if you would.”
Master Hargrave replied, “I am familiar with the fantastical words of this individual. The tract is called A Brief Account of Mr. Valentine Greatrakes and Divers of the Strange Cures by Him Lately Performed.”
“See?” Susan hiccupped again. “‘The strange cures performed.’”
“I am also aware,” Master Hargrave continued, “that the tract in question contained fifty-one pages of testimonials—all written by himself!”
Everyone laughed, except Susan, who picked up her glass again sullenly. “I was just trying to help my dear sister,” she said. “Someone needs to!”
“Who would like some lamb?” Mrs. Larimer said quickly. “Dear, it is time to carve.” Still scowling, Dr. Larimer accepted the carving knives from Molly.
Mrs. Larimer, still trying to smooth over the tension, turned toward Adam. “Mister Hargrave, I have heard tell that you work in the Fire Court. How interesting that must be.”
Adam began to talk about his work, explaining how he would take the testimony of those who had lost their property in the Great Fire, as well as detail the quibbling that had ensued between landlords and their tenants.
“I see that the lines of the new streets are starting to be laid out,” Mr. Boteler commented. “Should be rather grand when it is complete.”
“Yes, it is my understanding that Christopher Wren’s plan was of an even grander scale, but the king did not wish to fund such a masterful and expensive project,” Master Hargrave commented.
The men proceeded to speak for a few more minutes about the rebuilding efforts in the city. Lucy was quite fascinated, listening to the plans, and forgot temporarily about what they were supposed to discover.
Susan Belasysse, evidently bored by the conversation about the Great Fire and its aftermath, downed another goblet of red wine. Lady Belasysse was watching her daughter-in-law, too, a tight smile on her face, even as she listened politely to what Dr. Larimer was saying beside her.
Adam picked up the jug of wine and poured more into the goblets of others near him. Like his father, he did not add anything to either his own cup or that of Octavia Belasysse, who was speaking now to Mr. Sheridan.
Lucy heard Susan Belasysse giggle as she thanked Adam for the
wine.
“Not at all,” he said courteously. Catching Lucy’s eye across the table, he smiled at her.
Susan Belasysse giggled again, speaking again to Adam. “Mr. Hargrave, you are not yet married, are you?” The flirtatious quality of her question was hard to miss, and Lucy found herself clenching her napkin under the table.
“No, I am not,” he replied, putting a forkful of meat into his mouth.
“That astonishes me. Does that astonish you?” Susan Belasysse asked Mrs. Larimer, who murmured something that Lucy could not catch. Such personal comments were not appropriate in mixed company, and certainly not while dining together.
But Susan Belasysse would not be deterred. “A man with political aspirations such as yourself must have a wife that will bring the right people to you. That is how it is with me and my husband, Henry. He is an MP, you know.”
“How fortunate for you,” Adam said.
“Susan is my brother Henry’s second wife,” Octavia said then, turning away from Mr. Sheridan. Lucy did not even know she had been paying attention to the conversation. “She supplied him a pretty fortune.”
“That is the nature of politics,” Susan said, speaking more loudly. “I heard tell, Adam”—here Lucy saw Mrs. Larimer flinch at the young woman’s use of Adam’s first name—“that you have been wooing a chambermaid. And that she was too busy cleaning other people’s dung to pay you any mind.”
She laughed loudly, not heeding the shocked faces around her, as the other small conversations stopped. “I cannot imagine how such an odd rumor started, but is that not diverting? To think that Adam Hargrave might marry a scullery maid? Such a thing is laughable indeed.” Now she was outright simpering. “Perhaps my husband has run off for good. I can annul my marriage, as we have not yet had children.” The look she gave Adam was suggestive.
“Susan!” Lady Belasysse hissed at her daughter-in-law. “Cease your immodest words!”
“I was just asking a question,” Susan Belasysse said. She took another swallow of her wine. “It’s all so ridiculous, surely you can see that. How could someone like him choose to be with such a lowly sort?”
Lucy swallowed hard, not meeting anyone’s eyes, the sound of buzzing bees filling her head.
Master Hargrave coughed. “I am certain that whomever my son chooses to marry will suit him well, in disposition, modesty, and spirit.”
“Hear, hear!” Octavia Belasysse cried. “It is my fervent hope for the scullery maid—whoever she may be—that she marries a man worthy of her, whether he be gentry or common.”
“Pffft,” Lady Belasysse said. “Such nonsense you speak, Daughter.”
Octavia Belasysse laughed. Standing up, she raised her goblet. “I should very much like to make a toast,” she said.
Puzzled, they all raised their goblets, except for Susan Belasysse, who had petulantly slumped back in her chair.
“To my family,” Miss Belasysse said, “who loved me enough to bury me in an empty casket.”
Everyone set down their goblets abruptly.
“Dearest niece,” Mr. Boteler said, trying to sound jovial, “we have explained to you how that odd travesty occurred. We are grateful that you have returned to us.”
Octavia Belasysse would not be put off. Still standing, she said, “Mother, Uncle—did you know that when Lucy discovered me, I was covered in blood? And that the blood was not mine?”
When heads turned toward her, Lucy nodded. The Hargraves, she noticed, were alert, paying attention to the responses of everyone at the table.
“Wh-whose blood was it?” Susan Belasysse whispered.
Miss Belasysse shrugged. “Who knows? Although the constable has some idea, I’m afraid. It seems that a man was found dead—stabbed—very near where Lucy discovered me.”
“A man? Killed?” Susan Belasysse faltered, looking about desperately. “Who was he? Was he—?”
“Oh, do not worry, my dear sister-in-law,” Miss Belasysse replied. “He was not your husband. I know because I actually looked at the dead man’s face, and I knew that to be so,” she said pointedly, looking at her uncle. She turned back to her sister-in-law. “I hope that does not disappoint you, Susan. I have seen you cavorting with my uncle, and now throwing yourself at Adam Hargrave, so I imagine it would be easier for you if you were no longer tied to my brother.”
“Octavia!” Lady Belasysse cried out. “Apologize and retire at once. You are clearly not well.”
“Oh, Mother, I am very well. I believe I have been well taken care of. It is a strange thing, though, to think I killed a man. Or did I?” She began to laugh. “I can only hope that His Majesty would be good enough to pardon me as he did my brother.”
“Miss Belasysse,” the magistrate said sternly, drawing on his full weight of the authority of the court. “Are you admitting, in the presence of nine witnesses, including a magistrate and a member of the Fire Court, that you murdered the man who was found by the River Fleet, this Friday past?”
“I am admitting no such thing!” she replied. “I just thought my family would like to know that I shall likely be arrested for murder.” Lucy could see her hands were trembling; she was not nearly as composed as she was pretending to be.
Adam set down his napkin. “Now, Miss Belasysse,” he said. “I do not think there has been enough evidence to arrest you. Constable Duncan would not—”
“Constable Duncan?” Lady Belasysse interrupted. “He would not dare arrest a Belasysse. I shall set that doddering fool straight.”
“Constable Duncan is a good man! And no fool either!” Lucy burst out. Everyone turned toward her. Feeling uncomfortable, she continued. “As Mr. Hargrave has said, he is willing to wait until there is more direct proof that Miss Belasysse was involved in the crime.”
Lady Belasysse wiped her mouth with a linen napkin and set it down on the table. “It is time for us to say our farewells,” she said. She looked at Mrs. Larimer, who seemed more fascinated than repelled by the exchange.
“As you please, Mother,” Octavia Belasysse said, walking out of the room.
Lucy scrambled after her. She was surprised to see the woman halfway up the stairs already, bent over. To her great surprise, the woman was laughing.
“That went about as I had hoped,” Octavia said, and swept on toward her bedchamber without looking back.
19
Lucy leaned against the wall, near the top of the stairs, her thoughts racing. It was all so puzzling. What could Miss Belasysse have meant? Why was she taunting her family by bringing up her possible arrest? What had she expected from that little scene?
It was difficult, too, to keep from thinking about what Susan Belasysse had said about her, or what Adam had thought when she spoke so warmly of the constable. For a moment, she buried her face in her hands.
Then she straightened her back. “Nothing I can do about it now,” she said to herself. “Little said, soon mended.” Adam would understand.
She was about to follow Miss Belasysse into her bedchamber when Susan Belasysse came stumbling up the stairs. “Lucy,” she called. “I should like to speak with you.”
“Is there something you need?” Lucy asked, a heated feeling coming over her. She did not know that she could hold her tongue, should the woman hurl more comments related to the lowly scullery maid and the magistrate’s son. She continued to mount the stairs. “I need to tend to your sister-in-law.”
Susan Belasysse followed her, putting her hand on Lucy’s elbow when they had reached the top of the steps. “Wait, please,” she said, stumbling against Lucy, her face so close that Lucy could smell the wine and lamb on her breath. “I did not know to whom I could speak,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
“What is it?” Lucy asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Despite what you just witnessed, I do truly care about my sister-in-law. I thought, since you have been taking care of her, you might help me make sense of something peculiar.” The woman sank down on the floor, the wine evidentl
y overcoming her again. “First, I need to sit.”
Sighing, Lucy sank down beside her. The woman’s furtive movements were making her uneasy. “What do you need to tell me?”
“Over the last few months, my husband has been receiving odd notes, brought to him by a messenger not clad in livery. These notes claimed to be from someone who said his sister was alive. He showed one of the notes to me. An ill-formed script, written on cheap paper. I, too, was certain that it was from a person best left ignored.”
“Why did he not heed them?” Lucy asked. “If he had been receiving them for several months?”
Susan Belasysse sighed. “My husband has been set upon before. Threatened by blackmailers. He has also been beset by those angered by the king’s pardon for his earlier crime—you heard Octavia’s rude speech on the subject, just a few moments ago.”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, I heard tell of how he mistakenly murdered a tanner and was pardoned for it.” She tried to speak matter-of-factly, but she could hear the edge in her voice. It was hard when her brother was a simple tradesman, too, and moreover had not been accorded such leniency when presumed to be guilty himself of a terrible crime.
But she did not want to stop Susan Belasysse from speaking further, so she forced herself to keep her tone even. “So it was sensible that he did not pay them any heed. What changed his mind?” she asked.
“A week ago, my husband received a different letter. When he read it, he told me that someone was now impersonating his dead sister. He didn’t show it to me, but he crumpled it up and threw it in the fire. ‘I am going to put a stop to this!’ he told me, before he packed a small valise for the journey.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?” Lucy asked.
“No, he didn’t say. When he wasn’t looking, naturally I fished the letter out. I could see that it was like his sister’s hand, but the letters formed in a more wavering way.”
“What did it say?” Lucy asked, leaning forward now.
A Death Along the River Fleet Page 18
