Even her friendship with the constable could not save her.
She opened the walnut wardrobe and ran her fingers thoughtfully along Julia’s dresses. They were fine, to be sure, but had been indifferently maintained, unlike her mother’s immaculate mourning costume. She shut the door.
Next, she peered into the large chest by the bed, which seemed to contain mostly blankets. She didn’t know what she was looking for exactly, except that she knew she was looking for some hint of the information that Julia Whitby had wanted to pass on to her brother.
Her eyes fell on a small wooden chest on the lowest shelf. Kneeling beside it, she opened it. Inside, she found a few scarves, ribbons, and the like. Moving those items aside, she uncovered two packets of letters, each tied in string. One appeared to be correspondence she had received from her friend Elizabeth Wiggins, n é e Stirredge. The other packet seemed to be letters she had received from her brother.
Still straining to hear any sound from the hall, Lucy untied Jacob’s letters. A glance at the dates told her they had been written in the last few months, but she couldn’t take the time to read them properly. She bit her lip. Then, without thinking, she thrust them into her bodice, where they could be concealed until she had more time to peruse them carefully.
Her heart pounding painfully now, she was about to close the chest when she saw that the green silk lining was bumpy and mussed, as if something had been thrust underneath it. Holding her breath, she carefully peeled back the lining.
There she discovered a few more papers all oddly creased and bunched up. The first two appeared to be Quaker tracts, one titled A Lamentable Warning to London and Its Inhabitants , published by Elizabeth Calvert at the Bull and Mouth, and the other was Humphrey Smith’s Vision for London, a popular tract sold by many printers. Atop each title someone had handwritten the word “Behold!”
Lucy was familiar with one of the tracts, Smith’s Vision for London, having peddled it for Master Aubrey herself. Because of its prophetic nature, describing how London and its sinners would be burnt up, yet printed several years before the Great Fire, the Vision for London was a piece that had been reprinted several times. When she used to peddle it, one fanciful passage had always struck her, and she found herself whispering the words from memory:
“All the tall buildings fell, and it consumed all the lofty things therein, and the fire searched out all the hidden places, and burned most in the secret places.”
More prophetic words have scarcely been spoken. Indeed, she had learned for herself a secret that the Great Fire had so vividly exposed. The other tract she was not familiar with, but it appeared to be a standard warning to the citizens of London.
Lucy turned her attention to the third paper, which was a penciled sketch of some skill. A gentleman dressed in what looked to be a fine suit lay on the ground, propped up awkwardly against a grand column. His face was turned away, but his eyes were closed. A vizard, of the type worn at fancy masquerades, rested by one of his outstretched hands. Beside that, a goblet lay overturned, as though the man had spent a good night tippling the spirits. Though roughly drawn, there was real artistry there in the simple lines of the man’s form.
Lucy was about to refold the drawing and place it with the Quaker tracts when she noticed a line that had been added in rough script at the bottom. This is the dandy I told you about. Set upon and killed.
Her eyes flew back to the image. With a start, she could see now that the man had a knife inserted deep in his abdomen, so that only the hilt was visible to the viewer. Initially the hilt had looked to be part of his ornate coat, which was why she missed it when she first examined the image.
Shocked, Lucy nearly let the small chest slip onto the wooden floor but regained herself in time. She wrestled with
She opened the walnut wardrobe and ran her fingers thoughtfully along Julia’s dresses. They were fine, to be sure, but had been indifferently maintained, unlike her mother’s immaculate mourning costume. She shut the door.
Next, she peered into the large chest by the bed, which seemed to contain mostly blankets. She didn’t know what she was looking for exactly, except that she knew she was looking for some hint of the information that Julia Whitby had wanted to pass on to her brother.
Her eyes fell on a small wooden chest on the lowest shelf. Kneeling beside it, she opened it. Inside, she found a few scarves, ribbons, and the like. Moving those items aside, she uncovered two packets of letters, each tied in string. One appeared to be correspondence she had received from her friend Elizabeth Wiggins, n é e Stirredge. The other packet seemed to be letters she had received from her brother.
Still straining to hear any sound from the hall, Lucy untied Jacob’s letters. A glance at the dates told her they had been written in the last few months, but she couldn’t take the time to read them properly. She bit her lip. Then, without thinking, she thrust them into her bodice, where they could be concealed until she had more time to peruse them carefully.
Her heart pounding painfully now, she was about to close the chest when she saw that the green silk lining was bumpy and mussed, as if something had been thrust underneath it. Holding her breath, she carefully peeled back the lining.
There she discovered a few more papers all oddly creased and bunched up. The first two appeared to be Quaker tracts, one titled A Lamentable Warning to London and Its Inhabitants , published by Elizabeth Calvert at the Bull and Mouth, and the other was Humphrey Smith’s Vision for London, a popular tract sold by many printers. Atop each title someone had handwritten the word “Behold!”
Lucy was familiar with one of the tracts, Smith’s Vision for London, having peddled it for Master Aubrey herself. Because of its prophetic nature, describing how London and its sinners would be burnt up, yet printed several years before the Great Fire, the Vision for London was a piece that had been reprinted several times. When she used to peddle it, one fanciful passage had always struck her, and she found herself whispering the words from memory:
“All the tall buildings fell, and it consumed all the lofty things therein, and the fire searched out all the hidden places, and burned most in the secret places.”
More prophetic words have scarcely been spoken. Indeed, she had learned for herself a secret that the Great Fire had so vividly exposed. The other tract she was not familiar with, but it appeared to be a standard warning to the citizens of London.
Lucy turned her attention to the third paper, which was a penciled sketch of some skill. A gentleman dressed in what looked to be a fine suit lay on the ground, propped up awkwardly against a grand column. His face was turned away, but his eyes were closed. A vizard, of the type worn at fancy masquerades, rested by one of his outstretched hands. Beside that, a goblet lay overturned, as though the man had spent a good night tippling the spirits. Though roughly drawn, there was real artistry there in the simple lines of the man’s form.
Lucy was about to refold the drawing and place it with the Quaker tracts when she noticed a line that had been added in rough script at the bottom. This is the dandy I told you about. Set upon and killed.
Her eyes flew back to the image. With a start, she could see now that the man had a knife inserted deep in his abdomen, so that only the hilt was visible to the viewer. Initially the hilt had looked to be part of his ornate coat, which was why she missed it when she first examined the image.
Shocked, Lucy nearly let the small chest slip onto the wooden floor but regained herself in time. She wrestled with
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