A Death Along the River Fleet (5 page)

With her hands on her hips, Lucy planted herself straight in front of Lach. Heaving a dramatic sigh, he gave her the letter, starting to hum one of the many tunes about the ineptness of constables. As she took the note, she stepped hard on Lach's foot.

“Graceful, aren't you, lass?” he said, snickering.

Nervously, Lucy glanced at the note. It was addressed simply to Lucy Campion, and it was written in a fine script that was similar to Adam's elegant hand, but completely unlike the constable's crooked letters.

“Just open it already,” Lach said. “Or I will.”

With that, Lucy broke the seal. A quick glance at the signature revealed it was from Dr. Larimer. Slowly, she read the note.

Lucy,

I must see you about the devilish matter that you left upon my threshold yesterday morn. I shall stop by Master Aubrey's at ten o'clock this morning. I expect that you will ensure that you are in attendance when I arrive.

Yours,

Dr. Larimer

She put the message thoughtfully back down on the tray with the metal type. Lach snatched it up and read it out loud.

“Devilish matter? Have you the green sickness, then?” he taunted. “Need a provoker of your monthlies?”

Lucy frowned. Everyone knew about the malady that struck young women, and it was nothing to jest about. “Not that it is any of your concern, but I do not.”

Why did the physician want to speak to her again? Maybe the woman had recovered her memory. But if that were the case, why would he think to inform Lucy of such a thing?

As if he heard her, Lach continued in his taunting way. “Well, what does the physician want from you, then? Why is he calling on you this morning?”

The door opened as he asked the question, revealing Master Aubrey. As always, the rotund man looked a bit red-faced and out of breath.

“Who is calling on you this morning? Another suitor? I will have him out on his ear. I cannot have my apprentices being wooed in my place of business!” he grumbled as he took off his coat and hung it on a peg on the wall. Though his tone was gruff, Lucy could hear the teasing underneath. This was what Lach would be like in twenty years, she thought. It was also why they all managed to get along so well. He pulled on his apron.

After placing a steaming mug on the table for him, she stood before him. Hands on her hips and her head shaking, she waited for him to finish his little speech. “'Tis bad enough we have the constable dropping by in the evenings for a bit of supper. I only abide him because he always has strange news to tell.” Sitting down, he looked at her hopefully. “Is it the constable?”

“No, it is Dr. Larimer!” Lach intervened before she could speak, placing the note before the printer. “He is the one who is calling on her. This morning at ten o'clock!”

“Hmmm,” the printer said, pulling out his pocket-watch. “Any moment then, I should think.” He turned to his apprentice. “Lach, go fetch some of the medical books that came to us. The good physician might be needful of an anatomy. Or even an Aristotle.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later, Lach had just laid a few medical books down on the table when they heard a sharp rap at the door. The physician entered.

Master Aubrey stepped forward, vigorously greeting the physician. Years of selling tracts made his voice boom, even when speaking in regular conversations. Lucy stood still, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Come sit down, good sir. Lucy will bring you something hot to drink.” Master Aubrey gestured to the table by the kitchen, just outside the workroom. “Lach, get back to work.”

As Lucy set the cups down, she asked after the woman. Or at least she tried to speak, but she could only manage a squeak.

“Lost your voice? Even Culpeper can be consulted for such a minor sickness, Lucy. What is it that that herbalist's adherents all say? Every man his own doctor, and all that,” he said, a slight dismissiveness creeping into his voice. Most physicians were a bit skeptical of the “people's doctor,” as they called Nicholas Culpeper, claiming him to be no more than a gardener who knew his roots and flowers. Still, in a pinch, his home remedies might be referred to for the most common of ailments. “Honey for the soreness, and chamomile to relax your vocal cords. A bit of garlic or ginger will clear it up.” Here he frowned at Master Aubrey. “This lass may be hurting her voice by all the shouting you have her do.”

“Is she my apprentice or not?” Aubrey growled.

Hastily, Lucy pushed a steaming cup toward Dr. Larimer. “The lady,” she managed to croak.

“How does she fare?” Dr. Larimer asked, interpreting her question correctly. “A difficult question indeed. She has mostly remained asleep. On the few occasions she awoke, neither I nor my housekeeper could get any more sensible words from her, beyond what she told us yesterday in your presence. Her memory of her identity is completely gone, as though someone took a bit of lye-soap to a dish and wiped the whole thing clean.”

“How can that be?” Master Aubrey asked, wiping the sweat off his own face with an ink-stained handkerchief.

The physician shook his head. “A rather odd thing, to be sure. I have seen several such cases, and usually with soldiers—men who had waged war in the most difficult of straits. There is no accounting for it, to be sure, but at times they believe they are still at battle, shrieking of cannonballs and wheel-locks, or believing they are under the barber-surgeon's knife.”

Master Aubrey nodded, his jovial demeanor disappearing. “I know of what you speak. Some men were so broken in spirit and health by war that they seem to have lost something of their natural mind.” He looked back at Dr. Larimer. “And you think this lass suffers the same malady of war?”

“Not exactly,” the physician said. “But last night, she woke us all a number of times, with terrible sobbing that set us all on edge. I believe she is reliving an attack of some sort.”

Lucy thought of the blood on the woman's hands, the clear disarray of her clothes, the bruising on her arms. She was afraid that the physician was right. She wondered if the woman had said anything more.

As if he were privy to her thoughts, Dr. Larimer continued. “It is quite clear, to be sure, that she is from a family of quality and breeding.” He took a slice of apple from the plate Lucy had laid before him and crunched it loudly.

Lucy nodded, stirring a bit of ginger and honey into her own cup. “What about Mr. Sheridan?” she asked. In her raspy voice, only parts of each word were audible. “Did you speak with him?”

The physician frowned. “Yes, I did press Mr. Sheridan. After some questioning, he gave me a name.”

“What did he say? Who did he say she was?” Aubrey asked.

The physician leaned forward and looked up at Master Aubrey, who nodded. A sudden conspiratorial silence fell over the group.

“He thought—and mind you, he was not sure—that she might be Octavia Belasysse.”

“Belasysse? As in—?” Master Aubrey asked.

“As in daughter of Lord Belasysse, most recently captain of the Gentlemen-at-Arms and governor of Tangier.”

A baron's daughter. Lucy nodded. The woman's manner was certainly that of a person used to ordering about servants and having her bidding done. That she might be a member of a noble family with political connections did not seem at all far-fetched.

“Would she be related to Henry Belasysse, member of Parliament?” Master Aubrey asked. “I remember
that
affair—” When Dr. Larimer coughed, Master Aubrey changed direction. “Why was she wandering about, then? Was she cast off?” Master Aubrey mused.

“Probably with child!” Lach chimed in from the table where he was just about to start composing a piece.

Master Aubrey threw a quoin at him. Nonchalantly, Lach picked it up from the floor and began to measure out the pamphlet.

“No, not with child,” Dr. Larimer replied. “Nor has she ever been in such a condition. Even if she were only in her first few weeks, there would be other signs.” He took a deep gulp of his hot drink and continued. “This brings us to the devilish predicament and why I am here. What to do with the lass. Mrs. Larimer and I are in agreement. We cannot throw her into the street—no matter that she plagues us with her shrieks. My oath precludes from causing her harm. Nor can I leave her at a local parish.”

“What about St. Bartholomew's?” Master Aubrey asked.

Dr. Larimer shook his head. “The young woman is clearly from a family of quality. Such a place would not do. If she is indeed a Belasysse, well, it would behoove us all to see her carefully attended.”

“Quite so,” Master Aubrey said, still looking puzzled.

Lucy took another long sip of her drink. The honey was already soothing her throat, and when she gave a little cough, a bit of phlegm arose obediently, helping coat the scratchy parts.

The physician continued. “I thought to hire a nurse. On a temporary basis. Someone who could look after her for a short spell. At least as long as it takes to locate her family.” He looked up at Lucy. “Will you do it?”

Lucy was too startled to speak, but Master Aubrey was not. “Hire my apprentice? Out from under my nose? Sir!” His scandalized tone sounded real.

Dr. Larimer held up his hand. “Hear me out, my good man. For the next few days, no more than a week. Well, ten days at the most, I assure you. I would like to buy out Lucy's service so you are suitably reimbursed for your loss of her labor. Clearly, with that voice, she cannot be out selling books right now anyway. To Lucy, I will provide a room and a small wage.” Turning back to Lucy, he named a sum. “This young woman needs another woman to care for her. I cannot ask my housekeeper to take on the extra responsibility, and my maid Molly”—he hesitated—“does not have the temperament to look after someone in such distress.” Lucy thought of how the maid had spoken in an unkind manner, and privately agreed.

“But why Lucy?” Master Aubrey asked. “Surely there are other women who could handle such a task?”

“I cannot hire a stranger to do this. I need it to be someone I trust, particularly if this young woman does turn out to be Octavia Belasysse. I will not be the one to bring scandal upon the baron's home. Besides, for whatever reason, Lucy has had a calming effect on this woman.”

Dr. Larimer pressed his thumb against the plate so that he could get the last crumbs of cheese. “I know that Lucy is well respected by the Hargraves, and I have seen her nursing skills myself.” He turned back to Lucy. “I know that you are a discreet and loyal companion. Indeed, I just need someone to sit by, make sure she eats and takes her medicine, and that her other needs are tended to. That she is taken out for walks, to revive her spirits, for I fear a deep melancholy will follow her present frenzy. Her sickness is of the mind, not of the body, so there is no chance that Lucy will grow sick from their increased acquaintance.”

Seeing Master Aubrey's face, Lucy could tell he was undecided. She knew he did not like to turn down the request of a member of the gentry. She also knew that he was always unsure about how to deal with her, since she did not completely fit into the traditional role of an apprentice.

“May I speak to Master Aubrey for a moment, sir?” she whispered to the physician.

At his nod, she and Master Aubrey went back into the main workroom. He looked at her warily. “You are not going to start weeping, are you?”

She crossed her arms. “Certainly not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Remember I told you that there was blood on her hands and shift when I found her?” she asked her employer in a painful whisper. “Why do you suppose that was?”

Whatever he had expected her to say, this was certainly not it. “How in the name of God would I know that?” he asked.

“Well, I don't know either!” Lucy replied. “But it is rather strange, do you not think so?”

“Well, yes, I suppose the circumstances of how you found her are all rather odd,” Master Aubrey replied. “Perhaps she was involved in a crime of some sort?”

Lucy nodded emphatically. Now he was catching on. “That's what I was thinking. I think it would make for a good story, don't you think?”

Seeing Master Aubrey's expression grow speculative, she continued more hastily, “I could write a short piece. Maybe you could include it with a recent gallows speech?” It was commonplace for Master Aubrey to sell last dying speeches of criminals at the Tyburn Tree near Newgate prison. The bloodthirsty crowds who would gather for the hangings were always willing to purchase a penny piece while waiting for the executions to start.

“You think you can figure out what happened to her?” Master Aubrey asked, sounding both doubtful and hopeful at the same time.

Lucy shrugged. “I don't know. But I'm determined to try,” she declared. “Of course, this means you have to let me attend to her.”

The printer began to stroke his chin, while Lucy grinned inwardly. She knew that the printer was always up for a good story, Belasysse family or not. “All right! You may attend to this woman.” He wagged his finger at her. “This true tale had better be worth it!” He called out to the physician, “All right, Lucy may tend to this beleaguered woman. But I need her back in one week's time.”

 

5

Around one o'clock that same afternoon, Lucy followed Mrs. Hotchkiss up the stairs of the physician's home, an old leather satchel clutched in her hands. The patient, it seemed, had been moved into a private bedchamber on the third floor.

“Moaning and lamenting, she was. Dr. Larimer thought that she would scare off all his patients,” Mrs. Hotchkiss said, pausing to look at Lucy over her shoulder. “Worse than a babe stricken with the sickness, the way she wailed. You would have thought we were torturing the poor girl, for all her fretting and crying. Kept me awake half the night, she did.”

Clearly, the housekeeper did not take kindly to seeing her orderly household turned upside down. “Only after she took some soup with a smattering of ale did she begin to quiet down. Just curled up in a ball, silent as could be.” She lowered her voice. “I have half a mind to call in the astrologer myself, if I did not think the master would throw me out on the street!” She guffawed when she looked at Lucy's face. “Follow me, then.”