A Death Along the River Fleet (31 page)

“A devil's mark, perchance, on his face?” Lucy asked, knowing that she sounded ridiculous.

The man just smiled indulgently. “You are one for the tales, are you not? My daughter Gwen is just the same. Always tell her not to spread such tales, but she doesn't listen, does she? No marks on his face, of any sort, so far as I could tell. Except, now that you mention it, his nose looked to have been broken.”

Lucy glanced at Duncan. “Recently?” she asked the barman.

“No, not recently. Not so that I could tell,” he said, looking up, trying to remember. “It was all crooked, and he seemed to have trouble breathing. He made a funny rasping sound whenever he took in a breath.”

“What happened to them?” Duncan asked. “The man and the woman?”

Abe shrugged. “I just know that the man—the brother—yelled at the other man to leave, and he did. After the woman had recovered, the pair of them went outside. Not surprising, really. Her brother had taken rooms above. She looked quite worn out and was probably off to her bed. To get to the rooms upstairs, you have to go outside and go in the other entrance. Thought the innkeeper might refuse a devil woman, but their coins were gold enough.”

“And did you see her the next day?” Lucy pressed. “Any more fits?” She giggled a little as if the thought were wholly amusing.

The barman shook his head. “No, I did not see either of them again. But there's a good chance my daughter Gwen brought them a bit of bread and cheese in the morning. She works in the inn, above.”

“And what day was that?” Duncan asked. “Just curious, you know.”

The barkeep took the question easily enough, looking up at the ceiling again, trying to recall. “Let me think,” he said. “Yes, I remember it was a Saturday night. People kept talking about the accursed woman. So the next day, being a Sunday, I dipped my cloth in the church water that had been used to baptize a baby. When I got back, I wiped down the table where she had sat, and wiped down the doors, too, to keep any evil spirits from returning.” Seeing a few men walk into the inn then, he put his cloth back over his shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, moving over to greet them.

Duncan drained his ale. “Let us walk around,” he said to Lucy.

“So, it seems fairly certain that the Belasysses were here on Saturday night,” Lucy said, pondering what the bartender had just told them. “Do you think that the man who ‘cursed' her is the man who was found murdered?”

Duncan scratched his head. “Hard to say from the description,” he said. “Dark hair, but no scratch on his face.”

“The bartender said that the man's nose looked crooked, though,” Lucy pointed out. “Dr. Larimer said that the nose of the corpse had been broken, but not recently.”

“That could describe a great many men,” Duncan replied. “Still, it could have been the same man.” He looked down at Lucy. “The question is, if that is the case, what happened between Saturday night, when she and her brother were here, and Monday morning, when you found her a mile and a half away from this inn? Could they have been here the whole time?”

“We could talk to Abe's daughter. Gwen, he said her name is. Maybe she remembers seeing them.”

“If Gwen works in the inn, we will have to go around to the other entrance,” Duncan said. “I could inquire about a room, and you could see if she is around.”

Lucy gulped, flushing slightly. She felt uncomfortable going into that part of the inn with the constable. She pointed to the door leading to the kitchen. “Maybe she is in there,” she said. “I could go and see.”

Duncan looked at her curiously, and she wondered if he knew what she had been thinking. “All right,” he said simply. “Let us meet back here in a quarter hour's time.”

 

24

Lucy slipped into the kitchen when the bartender wasn't looking. The kitchen was large, so she was able to peek inside without anyone noticing her at first. It helped that the room was a little smoky, as though someone had burnt something recently, and a few women were talking loudly to each other.

Blinking, she noticed a young girl peeling potatoes, away from everyone else, near the entrance. With a quick look around, Lucy crouched down beside the child. “Tell me,” Lucy said, in as friendly a way as possible. “Is Gwen about?”

Without saying anything, the girl pointed with her knife to a cheery-looking woman with red hair who was just taking off her apron. “Got to go use the privy,” she called out to no one in particular. “Be back quick.”

Lucy followed the redheaded woman out a small door that led to the back of the inn. She could see a little shed out back; the privy stool was likely there. She waited while the woman took care of her necessity.

When she stepped out, Lucy called to her softly. “Gwen?” she asked. “Are you Gwen?”

“That is the name given to me by my mother,” the servant replied. Though she still looked friendly, her face had grown a bit wary. “But I do ask how you have come by my name, as you are a stranger to me.”

“Your father, Abe, told me,” Lucy said softly. “I had a question that he thought you might be able to answer.” She held her breath, feeling the lie burn a bit in her mouth.

This appeared to be the right thing to say, for the woman smoothed down her apron and smiled, her eyes bright. “What is it? I have only a few minutes to spare.”

Seeing the woman's lack of guile, Lucy abandoned her earlier pretense and told a story nearer to the truth. “I am concerned about one of my friends,” she said. “I am hoping that you might know something that can help her.”

Quickly, without providing names, Lucy explained how she was searching for a man who had been traveling with her friend, and who might have stayed at the Cattle Bell. “The woman,” she explained, “was said to be accursed, because she is thrown into frequent fits, and she may even have experienced such a frenzy in this very inn.” She watched Gwen closely. “Her brother has now disappeared, and we are quite concerned about his whereabouts. Do you know anything of them? Or what might have happened to them the eve they visited?”

The woman's eyes grew wide. “I know of whom you speak. I thought it was a terrible shame that everyone spoke of that poor woman that way. I had seen her and her brother when they first arrived at the inn.” She hesitated.

“What is it?” Lucy asked.

“My pa don't like when my tongue runs loose about the guests. Thinks gossip is bad for the place.”

“Did you see something, then? Besides what you already said.” Lucy smiled encouragingly. “Please, it's important.”

“Yes, well, your friends, they were shouting something at each other. When they walked outside, to their rooms.”

“Oh? They were arguing?” Lucy asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “Did you by chance hear why?” When the woman hesitated, she added, “No, I promise, I will not let on that you told me. What were they were arguing about?”

“I cannot say for sure, but she seemed to be blaming him for something. He kept saying, ‘It was not my fault!'”

“‘It was not my fault'?” Lucy repeated. “Did you hear anything more?”

Gwen shook her head.

“Did you see anyone with them? Another man, by chance?”

“The man who had accursed her? No, he had already left in a haste, after the woman's brother shouted at him to go away.”

When another servant poked her head out of the kitchen door, Gwen said, “I need to go back in, to attend to my duties. I hope they are all right.” She clucked her teeth. “Imagine, paid for two rooms, and slept in neither!”

“Neither bed was slept in?” Lucy's heart sank. That did not bode well. “Did they leave, then?”

“I suppose they must have.” Gwen looked about. “Maybe they saw a rat. Sometimes that scares the guests off. Don't repeat that, mind you. Pa wouldn't like it if I told you that.” She turned to go.

“Wait,” Lucy cried. “What of their belongings? Their satchels? What happened to them?”

“'Twas an odd thing, to be sure. Your friend, she had nothing of her own, which quite surprised me because she had such a grand way about her. And they had come on foot, not by carriage. She seemed quite timid, skittish, you know. Like a rabbit. But she spoke like a lady. I knew she was noble-born. He said that they would only be there one night, and that they had gotten separated from their valises. Quite odd.”

A voice called out to her again. “Gwen, haven't got all day!”

“I must go. Best of luck finding your friends,” she said, going back inside.

Duncan appeared then. “I should have known you would locate Gwen more quickly than I. What did you learn?”

Quickly Lucy filled him in on what the servant had told him.

“So the Belasysses did not stay the night, it would seem.” He stroked his chin.

Lucy nodded. “And they were having quite a row, at least as Gwen tells us.”

They began to walk around the little courtyard behind the inn.

Suddenly, there was a rustle from the bushes. “Who is there?” Duncan called. “Show yourself!”

A skinny boy, maybe ten years old, stepped out of a bush. He looked quite dirty and was clearly trying to mask a bit of fear with bravado. Lucy could see him push out his chest. He had a makeshift crutch under one arm, and his right foot and hand were wrapped in dirty bandages.

He sidled up to them. “You come to see the body?” he asked, speaking through the side of his lips.

“Body?” Duncan asked sharply. “What kind of body? Where?”

“Man's body,” the boy replied. Holding out his good arm he said, “Sixpence and I'll show you.”

Duncan frowned. “Three.”

The boy shrugged. After Duncan dropped the coins into his hand, the boy pocketed them but did not move. Instead, he looked expectantly at the constable.

Duncan stifled a sigh. “All right, you little scamp. Another penny after you show us. No tricks, now,” he warned.

They walked along into the wooded expanse that lay north of the courtyard. Lucy found herself moving closer to the constable, but she did not take his arm as she had done earlier.

“There.” The boy pointed into the trees. “That is where you will find the poor stiff.”

“Stay here,” the constable said grimly. “Both of you.”

Lucy did not wish to argue. Indeed, although she had seen many dead bodies, she was not sure she wished to see this particular one.

Instead, she knelt down next to the boy. “How long has the body been there?”

“Cannot say for sure. Found it last week. I found him when everyone else was at Sunday service, and the inn was closed. My twin sister, she works in the inn. I used to before a barrel broke my foot and hand and they said they could not keep me on.” He pointed at the back door of the inn. “Sometimes they leave the door open for me, so I can get a small bite to eat. But I am not to stay inside. I usually sleep at the church, but that morning I had to go at dawn because the minister was getting the church ready for Sunday services. I came back here, to finish out my sleep,” he explained. “No one pays me any mind when I am here.”

“You are certain that it was not before that morning that you had seen him?”

“As certain as I know that a fox will catch a rabbit. As certain as I am that I came from my mother's belly. As certain as I am that—”

Lucy held up her hand. “Yes, I see. You are quite certain. Why did you not tell anyone?” She could not help but wrinkle her nose. “How is it that no one noticed him but you?”

The boy grinned. “The privy,” he said. “That smell is enough to kill a man, I do not jest. No one will walk back this way. That is why I always found it so easy to hide.” He rubbed his hands together. “That is when I thought I could make a few coins off him, you see. Him being dead, there is nothing more he can do for anybody. But he can do a bit for me, I thought. I showed my sister, and she just screamed and screamed.” He looked a bit indignant. “Silly git. But I have been bringing my mates by. They pay me a penny each. Only them that I can trust. Told 'em not to tell anyone. It is my livelihood now,” he said, looking eager. “You will not tell anyone, will you?”

Lucy ignored his question, for the constable had emerged from the underbrush. Even in the growing darkness, Lucy could see he looked quite disturbed.

“He is not going to take him away, is he?” the boy asked.

“I rather think he will,” Lucy said. “You can understand that, can you not? He needs to be buried properly, in a churchyard. With prayers to hurry his soul on to heaven. A proper funeral. Can you see?”

The boy shook his head. “I never been to a proper funeral,” he said. “Most times, when people around here die, they just get carted off to the common field. Or Houndsditch. I know that is what happened when my ma and pa died.”

Lucy felt a pang of sadness for the boy, but she was watching Duncan's face. “Who is it?” she asked. “Is it—?”

For a moment the question hung in the air. Duncan nodded. “I am rather afraid that it is Henry Belasysse, given the descriptions we received from his sister and wife.”

“How did he die?” Lucy asked, dreading the answer.

“Stabbed. Nay, do not look, Lucy,” he said, seeing her move toward the copse of trees where the body lay. “His corpse has been stripped to his undergarments. Judging from those, and the lack of muscle in his body, he was a gentleman, to be sure, not a tradesman or laborer. I will have to send for Hank.”

Lucy shivered. Another stabbing. Was it possible that he had been stabbed by the same person who killed the other man? She could not help but think of Octavia Belasysse, and the cuts on her hands.

The afternoon sun was rapidly fading. Duncan returned with the barkeep, who had lost his earlier jovialty. His face was grim. “To think that boy was taking coins to show people that man's corpse,” Lucy heard him say as he passed.