A Death Along the River Fleet (24 page)

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 evidently 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.

Susan Belasysse pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse and handed it to Lucy. “Make of it what you will.”

Taking it, Lucy stood up and walked over to one of the candles illuminating the second-floor corridor and opened the letter.
“My dearest brother,”
she read.
“I need you to come at once. I must leave this terrible place. Your loving sister, Octavia.”
She flipped it over. There was no indication of the source on the other side. “This is it? ‘This terrible place'? Where is that? How did he know where to go?”

“He did not tell me. But I think he knew where in London he was going, from one of the earlier letters.”

“I see,” Lucy said. “But he never told you, for certain, that he would be coming to London?”

Susan Belasysse shrugged. “My husband doesn't talk to me much.”

Lucy frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?”

Susan Belasysse looked furtive again. “I am sure you can think of something.” Then, with a funny whoop, she turned around and stumbled back down the stairs.

Lucy stared after her, hoping that she would not break her neck on the way down. Then she tucked the scrap of paper into her bodice and entered Miss Belasysse's bedchamber.

There she found the woman slumped on the chair, seated before the draped mirror. Her earlier gaiety seemed to have dissolved, and now she appeared listless and forlorn. Wordlessly, Lucy picked up the brush as the woman began to pull out the pins and combs holding her hair in place.

“I am so very tired and ready for my bed,” Miss Belasysse said. “Do you think I will be arrested tomorrow?” She looked at Lucy with worried eyes.

“We do not know for certain that Constable Duncan will arrest you for that man's murder,” Lucy said. “You said you did not even know who he was! Surely your mother and uncle will never allow it!”

Miss Belasysse gave a little sniff. “He will be here, I know it.” She stepped out of her gown and raised her arms so that Lucy could place a warm woolen nightdress, borrowed from Mrs. Larimer, over her head. “Do not mind my sister-in-law, Lucy. She is up to no good.”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked, helping her into the bed and pulling the cover over her frail form.

The woman opened her eyes. “Did I say that?” She hesitated. “She was just jealous, I daresay, since it is obvious how young Mister Hargrave dotes on you.” She looked puzzled, for the concept clearly astonished her. “His father—the magistrate—had a surprising manner to you as well. Treated you as he would a lady.”

Lucy smiled slightly at the unexpected compliment. Then, to her surprise, Miss Belasysse touched her hand. “You have been kind to me, my dear. Better than I may deserve. Perhaps you cannot see—” She broke off.

“Cannot see what?” Lucy asked. She found herself gripping the edge of the table for support. A blow was coming, of that she was certain.
Society will never accept you as Adam Hargrave's wife.
She could almost hear the words, and she braced herself for a negative response.

“How unhappy young Mister Hargrave was when the constable's name was spoken. When you said that he was a good man.” She gave a light laugh. “How fortunate for you to have a choice, my dear.”

“Oh,” Lucy said. “I do not know that I do.”

“Of course you do. What is more, you can marry for love, something that women in my circle can never do.” At Lucy's smile, she continued. “I am not saying that such a path would be easy. There are men and women like my mother and sister-in-law who will never welcome you to their house as an equal. Surely you are aware of that.”

Lucy nodded, feeling like someone had dumped a pail of icy water on her.

“But there are just as many like the Hargraves and the Larimers, and my own brother, Henry, who can see that the world is upside down, and can adapt to what is coming. Maybe those are the people who matter.” Miss Belasysse rolled over to face the wall. “I really must get some sleep.”