A Death Along the River Fleet (19 page)

“You went to see Duncan?” Adam sat back in his chair, pulling away from her slightly.

“Well, yes.” Looking down into her lap, Lucy pulled idly at a thread on her skirt. Then she continued. “Miss Belasysse—though we did not know for certain that was her name—swore she did not know the man who claimed to be her husband. Of course we know that to be true. I asked about his papers and—”

“Oh, Lucy,” Adam groaned. “You challenged him?”

Hearing the worry in his voice, she touched his arm. “I am sorry, Adam. I do not mean to trouble you.” Trying to divert him, she continued on more brightly. “Do you not think it was suggestive that someone came after Miss Belasysse as he did? I think now that the man may have known who she was. If so, what did he want with her?”

Once again, Adam's eyes grew speculative. “Ransom? She is quite wealthy, of course. Or perhaps he had seen her in her addled state and thought it would be easy enough to have his way with a woman he could lay claim to as a wife.”

Lucy cringed. She had not thought of that. She thought back to the man's shifty demeanor, and inwardly agreed that such a disgusting thing might have been on his mind.

“Well, we cannot dwell on that man right now. We have a more pressing matter at hand.” She paused. “I was thinking. If she were indeed involved with that man's death, what if Miss Belasysse were not in her right mind when the murder occurred? If she were witless at the time of the crime, as she is now?”

Adam shook his head. “Very difficult to prove insanity, without a witness.”

“And if she had been defending herself?” Lucy persisted. “Would that alter anything?”

“Such an act would be considered at best accidental killing, and at worst manslaughter,” Adam explained. “If the former, she would not likely be hanged. If the latter, well, I cannot say. It would depend upon the nature of the judge and jury. Even if she were not hanged, she likely would still live out her days in prison. Hardly a better sentence, as you well know.”

Lucy shivered. “Her brother, Henry Belasysse, killed a man. In a tavern. He was pardoned for the crime. Perhaps she might be as well.”

Adam stroked his chin. “That happened a few years ago, did it not? I recall that event. I do not mind saying that both Father and I were unhappy with that decision by His Majesty. As you and I both know, there are many others who deserved a pardon for their alleged crimes, and killing a man should not be such an easily pardoned offense.”

Lucy looked around, hoping that no one was passing by. His words bordered on treason. She did not know Molly or Mrs. Hotchkiss well enough to know where their loyalties lay. Seeming to realize this, he lowered his voice. “Indeed, her brother's pardon may bode poorly for her, as I remember there was quite a cry when people learned of it.”

“I see,” Lucy said. She recalled her brother's anger when he heard tell of the pardon. A jury might well feel similarly, as might a judge. “Could we find a witness to the murder? Maybe someone saw what truly happened to that man.”

“How do you propose we do that?” he asked, a wariness appearing in his eyes.

“I was thinking to return to where I found her, by Holborn Bridge. The constable said the body was half buried under a pile of rubble not too far away. And I know people are living out there. Someone must have seen something, I believe that to be true. I think the people who are living there might be more likely to speak to me than to the constable. If I could just go and talk to them—Adam, what is the matter?”

Adam had tensed at her words. “Lucy!” he exclaimed. “Do you hear what you are saying? What you are proposing could get you killed!”

“Adam, I—”

“Please, Lucy. Enough,” he said, putting up his hand in his characteristic way. “I cannot allow you to traipse about the ruins looking for a witness to a murder! Heaven only knows what might befall you!”

Lucy clasped her hands together in frustration but did not say anything. Instead, she moved to the window, staring blindly out into the street. A moment later, Adam came behind her and gently turned her toward him. “I did not mean that I would not help you. If you can get an hour away from your nursing duties, I will accompany you to the site myself. See what we may discover.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

As they were talking, Mrs. Larimer entered the room. “Why, Adam Hargrave,” she said, extending her hands. “Whatever are you doing here?” She glanced at Lucy. “Are you here to speak to my husband?” She linked her arm in his. “He is working, but allow me to bring you to him. Tell me, you and your father
will
be able to dine with us tomorrow evening, do say that it is so. Ever since your dear mother passed, I feel that I do not see you nearly as often as we ought.”

“Yes, we are very pleased to dine with your family,” he said, throwing an apologetic look at Lucy over his shoulder.

“We have the most interesting guest staying with us,” Lucy heard Mrs. Larimer say, as they moved down the hallway toward her husband's study.

Lucy watched them, feeling a faint flush rise in her cheeks.
Stupid!
She berated herself.
No one would understand Adam Hargrave with Lucy Campion, former chambermaid. Such a thing can never occur.
Even if she was no longer sure about the depth of her feelings for Adam, the slight still stung.

Nevertheless, she followed them down the hallway in time to hear Dr. Larimer greet Adam. “Ah, Mr. Hargrave, it is good to see you. I trust Lucy has filled you in about our rather surprising patient?”

Adam nodded. “She has.” He glanced at Lucy. “She also informed me that the constable might feel duty-bound to arrest the poor woman. What say you?”

Dr. Larimer scratched his nose. “Oh, blasted Jupiter! I do not wish to see it happen, but the dress was all bloody, and she has cuts on her hands. Those cuts suggest to me she had been using a knife recently. I have seen them on the hands of butchers, you see. Moreover, the man was probably killed a day or two before Lucy found her wandering about in her mad fugue. By her actions and demeanor, she has as good as admitted that she killed the man.”

“But why? Who is he? What do we know of the victim?” Adam asked.

“We know very little of the man. His nose was broken, and he looks to have had a number of injuries, long healed. Nothing recent, except the stab wounds.” Changing the subject, he asked, “And will you be joining us for a late Easter dinner tomorrow afternoon? At three o'clock? You received my note?”

“Yes, indeed,” he said. “I am sure Father will confirm on our behalf.” Glancing at Lucy, he said, “I daresay, I am rather intrigued by this whole matter. I might walk over to Holborn Bridge and explore the area a bit more myself. See what might be seen.” Without hesitating, he added, “I thought Lucy might accompany me.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Larimer asked, her brow rising. “How odd.”

“I find it a sensible notion,” Dr. Larimer said. “Lucy can show you where the woman was found. Besides, she has proved to be a very observant lass. She may see something else of interest.”

Mrs. Larimer gaped at her husband. She drew him away from the others, but Lucy could still hear her whisper to him, “Have we not employed Lucy to look after Miss Belasysse?”

“Molly can watch her for a spell,” he assured his wife. For him, the matter was decided. “And Mr. Sheridan should be finished with his patients, should Miss Belasysse need a physick. Truly, my dear, it is in all our best interests to get this matter resolved.”

“What if it turns out that we have been harboring a
murderess
?” Mrs. Larimer hissed back.

“Then the easier it will be for me to breach my compact with her, as her physician,” he replied. To Lucy and Adam, he said, “Go inform Molly that she must keep an eye on our patient. I have given you a few hours' leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lucy replied, before heading off to find Molly.

She found the servant polishing silverware, in preparation for the Easter dinner. Although Molly greeted her with a smile, that smile fell away when Lucy stated her request. “It will be just a short while, I promise,” Lucy said.

But Molly was unconvinced. “Devil duty,” she muttered. “That is what you are asking of me! It is not natural. Accursed, she is.”

Lucy, however, was prepared for this resistance. She sidled closer to Molly. “How about for a red ribbon?”

Molly's eyes lit up, but remained wary.

“Two?” Lucy asked, looking quickly around. “They will look very pretty in your hair. You could wear them to Easter service. 'Tis a day for finery, after all.”

Molly held out her hand, looking triumphant. Lucy hid a smile. She had another ribbon in her pocket and a penny as well, which she had been prepared to give up had Molly held out for more.

 

15

As Adam and Lucy walked to the burnt-out area, she was glad that for once the sun was beaming down, bringing a rare brightness to the day. She commented on that, and he remarked on the relief of better weather after the long dreary winter. Then they lapsed into silence, their earlier conversation still hanging oddly between them.

“You are quiet,” he finally observed. “Are you being overworked by the Larimers?”

“Oh, no!” she said. “Indeed it is nothing like when I worked for—” She broke off.

“My father,” he said, finishing her thought with a sigh. “Which reminds me. I imagine that my sister is halfway to the New World by now, and preparing to scold the magistrates there.” Though he chuckled, he looked serious. “To be honest, although I cannot say I agree to their methods, there is something about the Quakers that I admire.”

“What is that?” Lucy asked.

“Their insistence on following their conscience, to do what is right,” Adam replied. “They are not shackled by convention and social niceties. They are only shackled, well, by the stocks and irons that seek to suppress them. They do not hesitate to rot in jail, should their conscience bid them to do so. That there is no man above another, that all should show deference only to the Lord—that is something that I admire.”

Lucy glanced at him in surprise. She had heard him speak favorably of the sect before, but never with such admiration. “Adam?” she asked. “Has your conscience moved you to join the Quakers?” She gulped. “To set off to the New World, like Sarah has done?”

He gave a short laugh. “Ah, my poor father. Whatever would he do if both his children were lost to the Friends?”

But Lucy noticed that he did not answer her, and she did not press him. She was grateful when they arrived at Holborn Bridge shortly afterward.

“There I first encountered Miss Belasysse,” she said, pointing to the approximate spot along the old river. “Over there”—she pointed again—“Constable Duncan and I found the small campfire and Miss Belasysse's dress.” She led the way to the site and squinted as she peered in all directions. “I think that the man's body was found just over there,” she said, “from what Constable Duncan told me.”

Adam climbed on top of a pile of rubble and stared around. “Let us go that way,” he said, pointing in a northeasterly direction. “I see some old homes that have not been cleared. Perhaps we can discover someone in the debris there.”

Moving carefully, ever wary of breaking an ankle, they climbed over the rubble. Lucy was glad she was not wearing one of her few better dresses.

Beside another stone wall, Lucy found a mound that looked like a campfire. Indeed, there was a small tin cup pointing out of the ground. “Adam, I think someone might have been living here.”

Kneeling down, Lucy carefully pushed the dirt around, and a warm ember touched her skin and she drew her hand back. “Someone had a fire here, early this morning.”

Suddenly the desolate nature of the ruins began to affect her. Maybe feeling the same odd sensation, Adam drew closer to her. Lucy felt grateful for his nearness. She was about to speak when a flutter by another nearby ruin caught her attention. “Adam,” she whispered, “I think someone is watching us.” She crooked her finger very slightly. “Just over there.”

“Who is there?” Adam demanded, standing in front of Lucy. “Show yourself!”

No one moved. Lucy still felt shivers of anxiety running up and down her back. It did not help that the wind picked up then, chilling her further.

Then an old woman emerged from the ruins. She was all in black, and her clothes were tattered and worn. She looked to have been living in the ruins for quite some time, although she seemed nothing like the Gypsies who sometimes roamed along the edges of London, with their colorful weavings and strange haunting songs. She looked more like the squatters who had taken up residence outside Covent Garden, likely forced there after the Great Fire destroyed so much of the city.

She stared at them now, arms crossed, eyes dark. “What's your sort doing here?” she asked. “Trying to send me off, are you? Not hurting anyone, am I?”

“We are not trying to run you off, madam,” Adam said, with a slight bow. “Rather we seek information, about an event you might have witnessed, maybe a week ago. A man was killed very near here, and we would like to know more about how the act transpired.”

The woman shrugged, not mollified by the gesture of respect. “Dunno nothing of that.”

As she turned away, her tattered cloak parted, revealing an object tied about her neck. “Please,” Lucy said, pointing to it. “What is that?”

The woman touched the piece. “Nothing to you, that is for certain.”

“I saw something just like it on the woman I am now trying to help,” Lucy called after her. “She is in great danger, I fear. Perchance you know something that might help her.”

The woman paused abruptly at Lucy's words. Though she did not look at Lucy, she had cocked her ear and appeared to be waiting.