A Murder at Rosamund's Gate

7

Upon waking the next day, Lucy could see that Bessie had already slipped out to start her morning work, eager to finish lacing one of the mistress’s fine underskirts. The good mistress had promised her several of her old petticoats if she made haste and had these ready for spring. “I shall affix a fine braid of silver fringe that will show when my skirts part, like so,” Bessie had confided to Lucy a few days before. “When I am through, my underskirts shall be as fine as the Queen Mother’s own!” Bessie had then laughed at Lucy’s shocked face. “Oh, Lucy, don’t be such a stick. I saw Mistress Embry with her skirts like so, in church even!”

“Well, that I cannot protest,” Lucy had demurred. “For she might be doing us all a great service.”

“I did not know you had such a fondness for Mistress Embry, Lucy,” Bessie had said, giving her a sidelong glance.

Lucy had laughed, a bit wickedly. “Well, ’tis true enough. But I was thinking that perhaps the sight of her skirts would shock the good minister into silence. Surely that would be an act of benevolence itself.”

Her teeth chattering now, Lucy forced herself out of bed. She cast about for her heavy stockings before remembering she had left them in the kitchen to dry after yesterday’s shower. “I wonder if Bessie would mind if I borrowed her gray worsted stockings,” she said to herself. “They are so much heavier and warmer than my own.”

Lucy began to rummage through Bessie’s clothes chest. To her surprise, she felt something hard wrapped up in a soft summer petticoat. Removing the light muslin wrap, she found a beautiful red lacquered case that Bessie had never shown her. Kneeling on the hard wood floor, Lucy ran her finger along the red trim, enchanted by the workmanship of the meticulously painted curlicues. Only the mistress owned anything so fine.

She shook it slightly. It was heavy, but nothing rattled. Craning her ear toward the hallway, she did not hear anyone in the corridor outside their room. Making a quick decision, she flipped open the lid and stared.

Two beautifully crafted combs and a brush lay neatly within the purple satin that lined the box. A gold mirror was inlaid into the top of the box, allowing a woman to view herself easily as she dressed her hair. Intuitively, Lucy knew this was what Bessie had hoped to hide from her the night of Lady Embry’s Easter dance.

Where could Bessie have gotten such a fine piece? Such an item would surely cost dear. Who could have given it to her? Mistress Hargrave, as kind as she was on occasion, would not have given her so fine a gift. Nor would Sarah. Bessie’s family could ill afford it.

A sickening thought occurred to Lucy then. Could she have stolen it? Even as the idea flashed into her mind, she banished it as impossible. Silly for finery as Bessie was, she did not have it in her nature to steal. Thoughtfully, Lucy wrapped the fine lacquered case back in the petticoat, wondering how she could ask Bessie about it.

* * *

The day passed without Lucy being able to corner Bessie about the beautiful lacquered case. Slippery, she was, almost as if she did not want to speak to Lucy. Before supper, Lucy stretched to light the tall dining room tapers, one foot on a small embroidered stool, the other balancing carefully behind her.

“Don’t move!” a man shouted from behind her.

Startled, Lucy began to turn around. “What—?”

“No, don’t look at me! As you were, at the candle.”

Surprised into obeying, Lucy turned her gaze back to the hearth.

“Keep that candle up!”

Foolishly, she stared at a cobweb, thinking Mistress Hargrave would probably like that removed. From behind her, she heard the sound of someone rummaging through a bag. “Dash it all, I’ve not got my sketching pens here,” the man said. Then, exasperated, he added, “I would lose the light in a moment anyway. You may as well set the candle down.”

Doing as he demanded, Lucy stepped down and looked at the man. He was lithe and lean, with vigorous black curls falling below his shoulders. He looked exotic, his coloring Italian and perhaps African, his dress brighter than what most men wore, even in the more colorful Cavalier households. This must be Del Gado, she supposed. Cook had told her a famous painter would be dining with the family.

“And who are you, my little beauty?” he murmured, moving just an arm’s length away.

Lucy bobbed a quick curtsy. “Lucy, Master Del Gado. I am one of Mistress Hargrave’s maids.”

“Indeed. A maid.” His dark gaze traveled over her slowly. His familiarity made her freeze and then warm inexplicably. “Why is it you and I have never met before?”

“I don’t know, sir. I have been with the Hargraves for just under two years.”

“They did well to hide you from me, I think. Such a sweet little nymph you are.”

Lucy shifted impatiently. Another guest who would be too handy. Her encounter with Richard had made her even more skittish around men. She started to edge away.

Del Gado laughed. “Perhaps you might consider posing for me? I should like so much to paint you. You could even wear this sweet little apron,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, “although I should not like you to wear much else, I’m afraid.”

Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Ah, my little one. I have shocked you. You think I am a rogue, do you not? Oh, do not answer. You will be a great charmer in a few years, I daresay, and I should just like to capture the moment when the innocent lass knows what it means to be a woman. Perhaps I can help that moment along, if you like.” He chuckled again.

Unable to move, Lucy just stared at him. Mistress Hargrave stepped into the dining room at that instant, taking in the painter’s cheeky grin and Lucy’s flushed face. She laid a hand, almost protectively, on Lucy’s arm. Her voice tight and clipped, she said, “All right, Lucy, very good. Now, run along to help Cook with supper.”

Before the door had shut completely behind her, Lucy heard the mistress say in a low tone. “Now, Enrique, you really must behave. Lucy is a good girl, and I won’t have her spoiled by you.”

“Not when her mistress needs to be spoiled!” he responded, adding a few words that Lucy did not hear as she fled to the kitchen, her ears burning fiercely.

Supper was an odd meal. The mistress talked breathlessly and gaily with Master Del Gado, her manner unguarded. The painter, fawning over the mistress, responded courteously enough but seemed watchful and a bit tense, content to listen to his patron’s nonsense. The master, by contrast, was particularly taciturn, commenting from time to time on some aspect of the fare. Adam seemed more brooding than usual, and Lucas was nowhere to be seen.

Passing a platter of bread, Lucy heard the magistrate quietly ask Adam about Lucas. Seeming to realize her ward’s absence for the first time, Mistress Hargrave looked up.

“And where is Lucas?” she asked.

“Lucas and I”—Adam paused—“had a difference of opinion with some men at the pub.” He picked up his fork and speared a piece of meat.

Del Gado snickered behind his handkerchief. The magistrate glared at him.

The mistress just looked at Adam expectantly. “And?” she prompted.

Finishing chewing, Adam said, “I fear Lucas is a bit indisposed and is resting upstairs. He’ll not be down for supper.”

“Oh, dear,” Mistress Hargrave said. “Shall I send for the physician?”

“Nonsense,” the magistrate replied. “He’s no doubt just a little the worse for a day of tippling down. I remember my own days at Cambridge.”

Mistress Hargrave pursed her lips, perhaps not liking to remember his carefree student days before they had wed. Lucy wanted to smile but did not dare. “I should so have liked Lucas to see Enrique’s first sketches,” the mistress pouted. “He has rather good taste, you know.”

The master sniffed, ever so slightly. Adam coughed into his kerchief. The mistress looked at them sharply, but both kept their faces on their plates.

“Another time, I can show him,” Del Gado said, seeking to ward off a storm. He started to pat the mistress’s hand but withdrew his fingers just before making contact. “Do not fear, my dear.”

As Lucy refilled mugs of ale, she thought at times Adam seemed to be directing baleful looks at her, although she could not fathom why. As if she had been the one to pour spirits down poor Lucas’s throat, she thought, miffed by his inexplicable anger.

After she had finished serving supper that night, Lucy passed into the drawing room to ready the room for dessert. Bessie had disappeared again, so Lucy was left alone. Spreading a fine Holland cloth over the sideboard, she saw that Master Del Gado had left his large case in the corner. A small peek couldn’t hurt, she thought. The knotted cords seemed simple enough to untangle. She untied them quickly, keeping her ear attuned to the dining room, in case the mistress should require her.

Opening the case, she murmured in delight. The first sketch was of Mistress Hargrave looking stately in a beautiful blue gown. Wrapped around her slim neck was her favorite jewelry—a necklace the magistrate had given her last Christmas. The mistress was indeed captivating.

Lifting a piece of fine velvet, Lucy saw more sketches underneath—still of the mistress, but in these her long hair flowed around her face and bare shoulders. In the next pictures, the mistress’s clothes seemed to be dropping off her body, exposing all her womanly parts as she lay supine on the bed in her chamber. She seemed to stare right into Lucy’s eyes, a teasing look that rather unsettled the girl. Hardly daring to breathe, Lucy pulled the last piece of velvet up to expose other nude women, each caught in varying states of repose.

Once her initial shock had subsided, Lucy could see that these women, in all their rosy flesh, were beautiful. Though untrained, she could glimpse an ugliness, too. The painter had clearly caught their beauty, but there was a grimness to several that suggested a waning of youth and vitality. As she looked at one more closely, her heart began pounding like a baker working his dough. It was Bessie! Bessie, posing like Venus rising, blond hair flowing about her body. When had Bessie done this?

Hearing Cook call her to help with dessert, Lucy hastily stuffed all the sketches back into the painter’s case, hoping that he wouldn’t know that she had been snooping through his drawings. She regarded the cords uneasily, quickly tying a few knots in a way that might look similar to his. A moment later, the family entered the drawing room. Nervously, Lucy served the dessert, trying to avoid the avid gaze of Master Del Gado. He sat with his case, fingering the knots carefully.

“Oh, Enrique, we’re ever so eager to see your sketches. Are we not, dear?” the mistress asked.

“Yes, of course, my dear,” the magistrate answered. Settling into a large cushioned chair, he smiled indulgently at his wife. “By all means, Enrique. Please show us. Although I warn you, my wife can never be more beautiful than how I see her every day.”

Lucy felt her throat tighten, hoping the master was not being cuckolded. Del Gado’s next words sent a shock of fear through her. “Hmmm. I seem to have tied my knots differently than usual. I have a system, you know.”

Lucy stiffened, waiting for him to accuse her. She might get sacked then and there. Even if the master did not believe she had stolen anything, he might not appreciate her going through his guest’s belongings. Even if that guest did flirt shamelessly with his wife. She held her head high and still, waiting for him to denounce her. Mistress and Master Hargrave, she expected to hear, you have a spy in your midst … and she’s standing right there!

Fortunately, no accusation came; indeed, he just laughed. He pulled out the top sketches, leaving the others hidden from view. No doubt waiting for a more private showing, Lucy thought grimly. She still wondered about the sketches of Bessie.

Master Hargrave was smiling proudly at the sketches of his wife. “Your jewels do you great credit, my dear, but by God, I have a lovely wife.” He kissed her hand.

* * *

Later, as Lucy returned the clean dishes to the dining room cabinet, Master Del Gado entered the room. He moved toward her rapidly, backing her against the table. Her heart constricted, making her feel caged. Leaning into her, he whispered in her ear. “Do not be afraid, my lovely one. You are afraid I will brand you a thief and have you thrown from the house, are you not?”

She nodded, too afraid to speak.

Del Gado continued. “Rest assured. I shall not do so. You were just curious, were you not? And why not? I am curious myself. That is why I sketch. I am curious about life, about love, about women. I shan’t tell anyone that you looked through my things, for indeed I should not like the content of some of those sketches known. Especially, your master might not like it.” He took her hands, caressing them gently. “My dear, there are many things that I should like to do to you, and painting you in your burnishing youth is just one of them. However, if you ever look through my belongings again, or speak of what you saw to anyone”—abruptly his fingers squeezed her hand—“I will not be so nice. Do you understand?”

Lucy nodded mutely, tasting the tears in her throat. She wanted to slap him but was afraid, since he was a guest.

Perhaps sensing her thoughts, he kissed her mouth lightly and stepped away, smiling, the flash of anger gone as quick as it had come. “Consider my offer. There is much I can provide you, and I know girls like their trifles. Until, my dear, we meet again.”

* * *

Although it was nearly midnight, Lucy still had not gone to bed. Like most servants, she usually stayed up until the master and mistress had retired. She moved slowly about the house, blowing out candles and banking the coals in the hearths, readying the house for the morning. In the kitchen, she washed the cup and plate Lucas had used when he finally descended from his chamber, looking a little worse for wear. Lucy could not help teasing him about his absence at supper.

“Didn’t want to see Del Gado,” Lucas had confided. “He’s a cad, and a fraud at that. Posing as one of Van Dyck’s students, while he’s probably from the gutters of Seville. Don’t know why our good mistress is so taken with him!” Changing his tone he had added, “Get me a bite, would you, Lucy dear? I’m famished.”

Knowing that Lucas shared her poor opinion of the painter comforted her somewhat. Like the still-warm embers, her cheeks burned painfully whenever she thought about the painter. Lucy tried not to think of the mistress’s own pictures, or of the master, who might feel chagrined to find he had such a wayward wife. Or perhaps he knew? She put that thought from her mind. It wasn’t her place to question the doings of the master and mistress.

Mounting the stairs a short while later, Lucy decided to wake Bessie and ask her outright what in heaven’s name had possessed her to pose for Del Gado. The question died on her lips, though, when she found the tiny chamber she shared with Bessie to be completely silent.

Puzzled, Lucy crept back down to the mistress’s chamber and put her ear to the door. She heard the master say something in a low voice to the mistress, and the mistress laugh in response. Clearly, Bessie was not in there.

Making a face, she continued down the hall, putting her ear first to Lucas’s door and then to Adam’s. Surely, Bessie would not be the first comely maidservant to be led astray, but the thought made her sick. She was relieved, though, not to hear any movement behind either door.

Slipping back down the stairs, Lucy quickly looked in every room. She heard Cook and John snoring in their small room behind the kitchen. Peering out the kitchen shutters assured her that Bessie was not out in the courtyard. Bessie had been known to cull morning’s first dew from the leaves in the garden, rubbing it on her face, thinking it gave her skin a lustrous sheen. A light snow had begun to fall, but there was no sign of Bessie.

Lucy grew angry. Clearly, Bessie had left the house without permission sometime after the supper dishes had been cleared. “And left me to make her excuses again, I wager,” Lucy muttered. “She might have at least warned me.”

Four times that night, until the gray morning light finally began to seep through the house, Lucy tiptoed down the stairs and peered out the heavy oak windows. First angry, then alarmed, she became increasingly worried and desperate over Bessie’s absence. The magistrate would not take kindly to the disruption of his orderly household.

Finally, with a heavy spirit, Lucy opened Bessie’s chest. She stared down in growing dismay. It was completely empty. Everything Bessie owned was gone, including the mysterious box with the combs and brush. She had even taken Lucy’s stockings and petticoat. Lucy had thought Bessie was going to mend them, and instead she took them.

Lucy sank back, leaning against the bedpost. She looked up, her gaze falling on the shelves above. Bessie had left her jars and scents, and even more shockingly, her Bible. Lucy picked up the book and ran her finger along its spine. “Oh, Bessie!” She bit into her knuckles. “Don’t tell me you forsook God as well as family!”