A Death Along the River Fleet (16 page)

Even though she could see that Miss Belasysse had begun to breathe faster, Lucy continued on. “How is that your father felt no such compunction? Why was it so important for you to see him before he left for his post? Why, in the name of heaven, would your uncle have thought it proper to bring two gentlewomen such as yourselves into the city at such a time, when anyone who could kept away?”

“I do not know!” Miss Belasysse replied, moving her hand to the Bible. “I remember seeing the sick and dying,” she whispered. “When we four arrived in London, gathered by the churches, they were. I was fearful, I remember now. Uncle Harlan said it was not the plague that was making them sick, but another sickness that followed. So long as we stayed away from them, he said, we would be fine.”

“Do you remember seeing your father then?” Lucy asked.

“I do not remember anything more!” Miss Belasysse said through clenched teeth. Then, without warning, she pitched the heavy Bible as hard as she could across the room, so that it struck the wall and crashed loudly to the wood floor.

For a moment, both women stared at the leather-bound volume lying facedown, its pages terribly crumpled. Lucy could almost hear the minister intone from the Book of Isaiah:
Thus saith Hezekiah, This day is a day of trouble, and of rebuke and of blasphemy.
Without saying a word, Lucy knelt down to pick up the Bible.

Miss Belassyse sank to the floor. “Good Lord, I am accursed. I know it now to be true.” And she began to sob.

After smoothing out the yellowed pages the best she could, Lucy placed the Bible gently back on the table and then helped the woman back into her bed. She then poured the last of the tisane into the woman's cup.

“Drink this,” Lucy said. When the woman's sobs had subsided, she said, “I shall ask Dr. Larimer to mix you up another batch. Please just lie down now while I fetch it.”

As she was about to walk out the door, Miss Belasysse weakly called her name. “Lucy,” she said. “Please, I beg you. Do not tell anyone that some of my memories have returned. Promise me.”

Against her better judgment, Lucy nodded and hurried out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

When Lucy entered Dr. Larimer's study a few moments later, she found the physician and Mr. Sheridan in quiet conversation. They looked up expectantly when she came in. The woman's sad plea in her thoughts, she simply told them that another tisane was likely needed. “She is quite agitated, sir. I have been unable to calm her.”

“I will look after her,” Mr. Sheridan said, picking up a recently made elixir. “Clearly, Lucy is not up to the task.” With that, he stalked out of the room.

“I am sorry, sir! I have done my best with her—” Lucy began to say, but stopped when Dr. Larimer held up his hand.

“Do not mind Mr. Sheridan,” the physician said. “This woman affects him deeply, and I do not know why.” He stared at the door through which his assistant had just left. Clearly, he was puzzled by Mr. Sheridan's behavior. In a lower tone, to himself, he added, “There is a guilt there.”

“A guilt, sir?” Lucy asked.

“Ah, Lucy. I was just musing to myself.” He sat down at his desk and dipped his quill into a small jar of ink. “We have another task at hand. I should like to send a note to the constable. The disappearance of Henry Belasysse is no small matter, and the Lord Mayor should also be informed.”

Lucy waited while Dr. Larimer scribbled out a note and handed it to her. “Please take this to Constable Duncan. Since Sheridan is with our patient, I give you short leave from your duties.”

 

12

Shortly after, as Lucy approached the makeshift jail on Fleet Street, she encountered Duncan and Hank just as they were leaving. Hank was pushing a large wheelbarrow.

“Good day,” she called, looking at the wheelbarrow curiously. “I have much news.”

“Lucy, we have an important matter to attend to,“Duncan replied. “Might you tell me your news later? Indeed, I will need to stop by Dr. Larimer's soon, and you can tell me then.”

“This cannot wait,” she said. “Which direction are you traveling? I can walk with you for a short spell, before I must return.”

“Very well, then,” Duncan said, firmly shutting the jail door. “We are venturing back to Holborn Bridge. Now tell me your news.”

Quickly, Lucy recounted everything that had occurred since she had seen him the day before. About the Belasysses' visit to the physician's home. About the circumstances surrounding Octavia's “death.” About Miss Belasysse regaining her sense of identity. “Though she still could not recall where she has been this past year, and I think there is rather something odd about that,” Lucy added, before letting on what she had heard Lady Belasysse say to her brother by the carriage.

Hank gave a sharp whistle.

“That is not the last of it, either,” she added, handing Duncan the note from Dr. Larimer. “Her brother seems to be missing as well. Henry Belasysse. He's an MP,” she added for Hank's benefit. “Dr. Larimer wishes you to inform the Lord Mayor as well.”

“Indeed?” Duncan frowned, exchanging a glance with the bellman. “That is unfortunate. I asked Hank here to search the ruins by Holborn Bridge more thoroughly, after what you and I had discovered there yesterday.” He paused.

Hank jumped in. “Found a body, I did. Stabbed through and through.”

“Oh, no!” Lucy cried. “A man's body?”

Hank nodded in grim satisfaction. “Covered over with bricks and stones from the rubble, he was. Been dead for a few days, at least. Maybe a week.”

“Well, Dr. Larimer will have to say for sure. I was going to fetch him later so that he could examine the corpse, but given your news, I think it would be best if I alert him now,” Duncan replied. “I will hold off informing the Lord Mayor, until we know for certain the identity of the dead man.” He looked meaningfully at Lucy. “I think we must be prepared for this man to be Henry Belasysse.”

“Who would have killed him, do you think? The tanner's wife? Or perhaps another member of his family?” Lucy asked. “I think there were many who were angry that he was pardoned and did not face punishment for his crime.”

Duncan raised his eyebrow. “That would not surprise me either. I shall look into them, should this indeed prove to be Susan Belasysse's missing husband.”

When they reached the street that veered off toward Dr. Larimer's, Hank continued on to Holborn Bridge, where the man's corpse lay, while Constable Duncan accompanied Lucy back to the physician's residence.

Hearing of the grim discovery, Dr. Larimer sighed. “You were right to bring this to my attention, Constable. Mr. Sheridan and I should like to see the corpse ourselves. If he has indeed been murdered, we shall bring him back here to examine him more thoroughly.” He looked at Lucy. “I ask that you do not allow our patient to be on hand when we bring the body in.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy replied.

“And Lucy,” he said, his eyes now looking upward at the ceiling, “let us pray that this body is not the brother of that poor woman upstairs.”

*   *   *

When Lucy entered Miss Belasysse's bedchamber, she expected to find the woman had grown calm. Instead, Lucy was taken aback by the renewed fury in her eyes. All of their earlier intimacy seemed forgotten.

“Get out!” the woman cried. “To think that I trusted you!”

“What is the matter?” Lucy asked. Could she already have heard of the corpse that was being brought to Dr. Larimer's?

But Miss Belasysse's next words proved she was referring to something else entirely. Miss Belaysse held up Lucy's copy of William Drage's
Daimonomageia
and waved it about in the air. “I found this! You think I am accursed! You think I am possessed by demons. You have been plying me with elixirs because you believe me beset with a devil's curse.”

“No, miss,” Lucy said, speaking lightly although she was annoyed that the woman had looked through her belongings in her absence. “I do not believe you to be accursed. That is just a tract I had in my possession. Indeed, the real devil of this story is Lach, my master's apprentice. He is the one who slipped it into my satchel before I came here. Only a jest, to be sure.”

“Why would he do that?” The woman, she was glad to see, was starting to lose the terrifying look in her eyes, as a more natural curiosity overcame her.

Lucy shrugged. “'Tis his way, I suppose. He is rather mad himself, I now suspect.” Seeing that Miss Belasysse was starting to calm down, she began to tell her stories about Lach, as much to distract herself from the body as anything. “One time, as I recall, we were setting a new piece called
Strange News from Kent: The True Story of a Monstrous Dog Born with Two Heads.
Lach and I had been arguing about whether a dog with two heads would need to eat twice as much. I said not, but Lach said—” and she continued the story, which ended with Lucy being sent out to sell, because Master Aubrey could not bear their bickering.

Finally, Miss Belasysse smiled reluctantly, her earlier anger overcome. “Tell me more,” she said, sipping her mead.

Glad that she seemed calm, Lucy began to tell her some of the stories that she would sell on the street corners. Ordinarily she would point to the woodcuts as she talked, but Miss Belasysse did not seem to care, asking her questions both about the penny pieces and her trade.

Even as she spoke, though, Lucy could not stop thinking about what the constable and the physicians were doing. Was the murdered man Henry Belasysse? Finally, after an hour had passed, she heard the distant sound of men's voices from the corridor below. She suspected that Dr. Larimer and Duncan had returned.

“Let me take these dishes back to the kitchen,” Lucy said to Miss Belasysse. “There might be a bit of pie or some cheese to round out your supper.”

“Oh, heavens above, Lucy. Is that not what Molly is employed to do?” Miss Belasysse said, rinsing her hands at the basin. Her voice sounded a bit petulant. “I should like to hear a few more of your little stories.”

“I am supposed to check in with Dr. Larimer,” Lucy said quickly. “To see if he would like you to take any tonic or a tisane before your nightly slumbers.”

“It is hardly time for my slumbers,” Miss Belasysse grumbled. “Still, you might ask if he can add a little sugar to the tonic. The last was so very bitter.”

Lucy hid a little smile as she bobbed her head before leaving the bedchamber. Sugar indeed! Even for Dr. Larimer, sugar was a costly good that was not just added willy-nilly to a drink. A bit of honey was possible.

As she descended the stairs, she was just in time to see Duncan and the physician talking in the corridor. Dr. Larimer said something to the constable before disappearing into his study.

Lucy moved quickly toward the constable. “Was it Henry Belasysse?” she whispered, darting a quick look down the corridor to make sure she had not been heard.

The constable shrugged. “I do not know. He could be the right age, and his hair is the right color. Dark brown. But the man looks rather unkempt, and is not of slender build, as I have heard tell Henry Belasysse is.” He looked around. “Hank will be bringing him along in the wheelbarrow any moment. We came ahead so as to have the room prepared for the body's arrival.”

Still whispering, Lucy asked, “And the manner of his death? Stabbed, as Hank said?”

The constable frowned. “Yes, several blows.” He pulled out a knife. “With this, I presume. Found it nearby, near an offal pit. Like someone tossed it that way.”

Gingerly, Lucy took the knife the constable held out to her. The knife was the kind with a spring that could be folded over and kept in a coat pocket, common among tradesmen and laborers. It was simple but sturdy, probably intended for the everyday cutting needs a man might encounter in his day's work. Her own brother, Will, had a serviceable knife just like this one.

This one had been well handled and used with some regularity. Opening it, she frowned as she took in the brownish stain along the metal surface. “The tip is broken,” she commented, running her finger along the blade's edge. It was dull. “Not been sharpened for some time.”

Lucy was about to hand it back to him when something about the wrought metal handle caught her eye. An insignia had been cut inexpertly into it, near the hilt. “A. B.,” she read. “The initials of the blacksmith who made the knife?” she asked, looking up at the constable.

“More likely the initials of the owner,” he replied. “The blade smith would have added the symbol of the guild, I would think, not a personal insignia.”

Lucy handed the gruesome object back to the constable. “Perhaps they are the initials of the murderer,” she said.

He shrugged. “If I could be so lucky. I will keep a lookout for a man named A. B., I suppose.” He consulted his pocket-watch. “Hank should be here shortly with the body.”

“Constable,” Lucy said, hesitating, “do you think—?”

“That Miss Belasysse may have had something to do with the man's death? Lucy, I do not know. Given the state in which you found the woman, I think we cannot rule out that possibility.”

Lucy thought of the woman upstairs. Could she be responsible for such a hideous deed? It was hard not to remember the blood on her dress. The cuts on her hands that Dr. Larimer thought might have been self-inflicted. The fit that Miss Belasysse had fallen into when she saw the bloodstained dress.

“Not to mention the coins,” she murmured, half to herself.

“What?” the constable asked. “What coins?”

Quickly, Lucy explained about the coins that had been inexpertly sewn into the gown. Seeing him frown, she added, “But I can assure you, the woman's fear is true. She does not sleep well, and her melancholy strikes me as quite a real and terrible burden.”

Duncan took a step closer. Lowering his voice, he stated the very thought she dared not speak. “That woman upstairs—Miss Belasysse—could be a murderess. You realize that, do you not?”