the fact that Bessie had left the household. Wringing her hands and sniffling a bit, Lucy told Cook and John first, where they sat having their morning mead.
At the news, Cook set her mug down on the table. “I don’t believe it,” Cook said. “Maybe the mistress sent her on an errand.”
Lucy shook her head. “In the middle of the night?”
“Well, maybe—”
“All her clothes are gone. Some of mine, too.” Lucy said flatly. “She’s left us.”
“Stupid cow,” Cook muttered through tight lips. A tear may have glistened in her eye. “She’s sure to be discharged now. What will become of her?” Throwing up her hands, she added, “You’d best tell the magistrate and mistress.”
Wretchedly, Lucy informed the Hargraves and Lucas about Bessie’s disappearance when they met for breakfast. Adam was not around.
“Stupid girl!” Lucas muttered, unconsciously echoing Cook’s words. He was clearly unhappy.
The master looked solemn but said little. The mistress was surprisingly calm. “Go check if anything is missing,” she commanded Lucy.
Trudging on heavy feet, Lucy went to count the silver in the sideboard. When she pulled open the drawer, she just stared down, her mouth agape. All of the mistress’s silver, some of it imported from Spain and Holland, was gone. She felt sick. Tearfully, she informed the master and the mistress. Both seemed pale.
The muscles in the magistrate’s face tightened. He seemed to find it hard to speak for a moment. “John, send for the constable.”
With a grim set to his face, John took off. He returned not a half hour later, bringing Constable Duncan and their local bellman in tow. Lucy did not know the bellman, Burke, very well, although she had seen him about from time to time, stopping drunkards on the street and banging pickpockets’ heads together. He was a stout man in his early forties, his hair already gray. Much older than the constable, he had the air of a man who had spent some time in the army, battering down enemy charges.
After hearing the magistrate’s account of Bessie’s disappearance, Constable Duncan asked to question Lucy. The mistress slipped out then, to soothe her scattered nerves. Lucy was grateful that the magistrate stayed nearby, seating himself on a low bench by the wall. His presence was watchful but not interfering.
Duncan peppered her with questions until her head was spinning. When had she last seen Bessie? Had Bessie seemed happy? Had she ever spoken of leaving? Of starting a new life? Of ending her current life?
She stayed silent. At the last question, Lucy looked up. “Bessie would never kill herself. Why would she?”
“All right,” Duncan said and tried to soothe her. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? When did you last see Bessie?”
Lucy tried to recall. Surely, she had seen Bessie just before supper, but she had not seen her afterward when it was time to clear the table. She was certainly not around when Lucy was fending off Del Gado.
Her mind drifted again. Why did you go, Bessie? she wondered for the hundredth time. Why would you steal the silver?
She almost missed the constable’s next question. “Did Bessie have a young man in her life?”
Lucy hesitated. She could feel the magistrate’s penetrating gaze upon her. She thought about the painter’s sketches, which she was not supposed to have seen, and she thought about her brother. Reluctantly, she gave the constable Will’s name. She cringed when Duncan and Burke exchanged a knowing glance.
Duncan twirled his quill pen. Lucy found herself looking at the nub, not so carefully sharpened as the magistrate’s or Adam’s would have been. It looked straggly and out of place, although she could see he had borrowed the magistrate’s ink.
A silence loomed as Lucy’s head began to spin. Had she missed another question? They seemed to be waiting for her to speak.
Lucy looked hopelessly at the magistrate. She felt like a mouse trapped in one of
At the news, Cook set her mug down on the table. “I don’t believe it,” Cook said. “Maybe the mistress sent her on an errand.”
Lucy shook her head. “In the middle of the night?”
“Well, maybe—”
“All her clothes are gone. Some of mine, too.” Lucy said flatly. “She’s left us.”
“Stupid cow,” Cook muttered through tight lips. A tear may have glistened in her eye. “She’s sure to be discharged now. What will become of her?” Throwing up her hands, she added, “You’d best tell the magistrate and mistress.”
Wretchedly, Lucy informed the Hargraves and Lucas about Bessie’s disappearance when they met for breakfast. Adam was not around.
“Stupid girl!” Lucas muttered, unconsciously echoing Cook’s words. He was clearly unhappy.
The master looked solemn but said little. The mistress was surprisingly calm. “Go check if anything is missing,” she commanded Lucy.
Trudging on heavy feet, Lucy went to count the silver in the sideboard. When she pulled open the drawer, she just stared down, her mouth agape. All of the mistress’s silver, some of it imported from Spain and Holland, was gone. She felt sick. Tearfully, she informed the master and the mistress. Both seemed pale.
The muscles in the magistrate’s face tightened. He seemed to find it hard to speak for a moment. “John, send for the constable.”
With a grim set to his face, John took off. He returned not a half hour later, bringing Constable Duncan and their local bellman in tow. Lucy did not know the bellman, Burke, very well, although she had seen him about from time to time, stopping drunkards on the street and banging pickpockets’ heads together. He was a stout man in his early forties, his hair already gray. Much older than the constable, he had the air of a man who had spent some time in the army, battering down enemy charges.
After hearing the magistrate’s account of Bessie’s disappearance, Constable Duncan asked to question Lucy. The mistress slipped out then, to soothe her scattered nerves. Lucy was grateful that the magistrate stayed nearby, seating himself on a low bench by the wall. His presence was watchful but not interfering.
Duncan peppered her with questions until her head was spinning. When had she last seen Bessie? Had Bessie seemed happy? Had she ever spoken of leaving? Of starting a new life? Of ending her current life?
She stayed silent. At the last question, Lucy looked up. “Bessie would never kill herself. Why would she?”
“All right,” Duncan said and tried to soothe her. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? When did you last see Bessie?”
Lucy tried to recall. Surely, she had seen Bessie just before supper, but she had not seen her afterward when it was time to clear the table. She was certainly not around when Lucy was fending off Del Gado.
Her mind drifted again. Why did you go, Bessie? she wondered for the hundredth time. Why would you steal the silver?
She almost missed the constable’s next question. “Did Bessie have a young man in her life?”
Lucy hesitated. She could feel the magistrate’s penetrating gaze upon her. She thought about the painter’s sketches, which she was not supposed to have seen, and she thought about her brother. Reluctantly, she gave the constable Will’s name. She cringed when Duncan and Burke exchanged a knowing glance.
Duncan twirled his quill pen. Lucy found herself looking at the nub, not so carefully sharpened as the magistrate’s or Adam’s would have been. It looked straggly and out of place, although she could see he had borrowed the magistrate’s ink.
A silence loomed as Lucy’s head began to spin. Had she missed another question? They seemed to be waiting for her to speak.
Lucy looked hopelessly at the magistrate. She felt like a mouse trapped in one of
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