Lucy smiled at the reference. By nunnery, Master Aubrey did not mean a papist haven, but a den of women of the much more naughty sort. “I should think not. Don’t worry. My brother will settle in soon enough,” she said, holding out her little pewter cup. Not for the first time, she wondered why everyone seemed so fearful of women living on their own. Women were to be chaste, silent, and obedient. She’d heard those virtues extolled often enough in the pews, from ministers quoting St. Paul. Well, not to be bothered about it now. She laid the coins on the table. “Today’s take.”
His eyes gleaming, Aubrey swept the coins into his hand. “Good job, lass.”
Will arrived then, a great cloth bag under each arm, and after Lucy quickly introduced him to Master Aubrey, she took her brother up to show off their new rooms. There were truly three rooms all told. They each had a tiny chamber, and there was a third room which they shared, consisting of a stone hearth and pot, a table and three stools, shelves for storing some dishes, as well as roots and vegetables, and even a tiny larder for hanging meat or mallards, should they be lucky enough to get such luxuries.
Will looked around in satisfaction. His lean muscular frame seemed to fill the room. All the weight and muscle he’d lost during last year’s ordeal had returned, making him seem far more hale and hearty than she’d ever seen him. He answered her smile with his own lopsided grin. “Well done, sister. Maybe no Hargrave manse, but quite nice nevertheless. Now, tell me about what you’ve been doing. Petticoat author.”
“Alas, more typesetter and stoker of fires, I’m afraid. Although I did get to hawk my piece,” Lucy said, setting a cup in front of her brother. “Something interesting has arisen.” She proceeded then to tell Will about everything that happened in the last few days. When she got to her encounter with Rhonda, Will whistled.
“That’s some tale, sis,” Will said. “You sure know how to tell ’em.”
Lucy stared at him. “You don’t believe me?”
“You’re serious? A body, a puzzle, and some sort of desperate love affair. Surely you’re having a bit of fun.”
“Look at this.” Lucy pulled the signet ring from the second pocket she kept hidden deep within her skirts. “Do you think someone would be willing to kill for this? I wonder if this is what got poor Darius killed.” She paused. “We need more answers.”
“We do?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes,” she said firmly. Idly, she flipped the signet ring over, staring at the family insignia. “Perhaps you will be the key.”
* * *
The fires stoked, the type set, and the printer ready for pressing, Lucy beamed at Master Aubrey and Lach the next morning, when they came stumbling down the steep stairwell, a bit worse for wear for tippling the night before.
“The presses are ready to go, sir,” Lucy said, not minding the redheaded apprentice’s scowl, or the gesture he made at her when Master Aubrey wasn’t looking.
She had particular reason for Master Aubrey to think well of her, and she wasn’t going to let this pimply lad ruin her plan.
Aubrey merely grunted, grimacing when he opened the shop’s shutters, letting in the sun just breaking through the ever-present London fog. He and Lach began to place the sheets across the typeface. Lucy would have done that too, but it was truly a two-man job. In a few moments, they had gotten the press started, and had to shout to be heard above the din. Master Aubrey would bark orders, and Lucy and Lach would only speak as necessary. They got into a ready rhythm, even as Lucy’s shoulders burned and her fingers increasingly blistered from moving the great lever back and forth.
She needed to wait until Master Aubrey was in a good mood before speaking to him. Finally he called for a break. Lachlin disappeared out back, to “check on the woodpile” as he explained in his fast trot out of the shop. It was clear from his uncomfortable bouncing that he’d needed to relieve himself for an hour or more, but he had been too afraid of Master Aubrey to say so. From his grin, the printer was well aware of the distress he was causing his hapless devil.
Lucy grabbed two apples from the bin and sat down on a low bench, after handing one to the printer. “Master Aubrey,” she began, then stopped. She wasn’t exactly sure how to make the request she was about to make.
“Out with it, girl!” the printer bellowed. “Time’s a-wasting!”
Lucy smiled brightly, deciding to plunge right in. “Master Aubrey, sir. I was hoping that I might go to church with Master Hargrave and his family tomorrow. Perhaps eat Sunday supper with them too.” Seeing the printer frown, she hurried on. “I know you would expect me to go to church with you, and that I shouldn’t expect any Sundays off just yet. But I thought I could get up extra early, leave you a bit of stew to warm up when you got back from St. Michael’s. It being Sunday and all.” She hesitated again, wondering if tears would be too much. She decided against them, just adding simply, “I miss them. I would like to see them. Please.”
Master Aubrey mopped his balding head. He looked more puzzled than angry. She could almost read his thoughts. Apprentices weren’t supposed to ask for more time off than the guild regulations stated. Clearly, Lach had not made such requests, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
Seeing him waver, she added one more thing that she thought would turn him completely. “I know you would want to ask me about the sermon, as is your obligation as my master,” she said innocently, “but I could talk it over with the magistrate instead. He always wanted that his servants understood the minister’s words.”
There, that ought to do it. She smiled inwardly. There was no way the printer would want to sit through a long church sermon and then have to listen to another sermon from his servant on top of it. Lach had already told her that the master printer was a reluctant church-goer. Before he could find his voice, she sweetened her offer a little more. “I’ll bring you back a piece of gingerbread, if you like. Everyone says Cook’s gingerbread is a delight.”
“Alright, lass! Enough! No more of your cozening ways,” he said, looking exasperated. “Just this once, mind you. I can’t be taken as a master of shiftless servants.” Under his breath, he added, “Such a little minx.”
7
The next morning, Lucy and Will walked toward the Temple Church, the church now attended by the Hargraves. Another great structure to have survived the Fire, the church was located just at the end of Fleet Street, by the Inner and Middle Temples of the Inns of Court. As at all the surviving churches, homeless people still milled around the pillars, touching the walls, clearly hoping that touching sacred stone would bless them and reverse their fortunes. Thankfully, this number was starting to decrease, as these confused citizens, numbly coping with their losses, found their way to new homes in other areas of Westminster or London, or beyond the region altogether.
As they approached the stone steps of the church, Lucy noticed a middle-aged woman rocking back and forth by a small tree, and humming a little song. Clad only in a tattered nightdress and wearing her hair in a single tussled braid down her back, the woman looked as she must have when first aroused from sleep by news of the Great Fire. Having caught Lucy’s eye, the woman jumped up and moved toward them.
Instinctively, Will stepped in front of Lucy. “Back off,” her brother growled.
“Have you seen Charlie?” she asked Lucy in a hoarse voice. “I don’t know where he got to. Have you seen him?”
Mutely, Lucy shook her head. She didn’t want to ask who Charlie was. The woman’s eyes were wild. She allowed her brother to lead her away. When she glanced back, she saw that the woman had sat back under her tree, and had resumed swaying. So many people had been lost after the Fire. Saying a swift prayer for the woman, Lucy mounted the steps to the church and went in, holding on to her brother’s elbow.
The church was already quite full. Now that she was no longer in their employ, Lucy could not stand beside the family, as was the custom for servants when there were no pews available. She and Will took their place in the back o
f the church, with the other unconnected servants. If she had attended Master Aubrey’s church, as he had kindly invited them to do, she might have had a seat far closer to the nave. From her vantage point, she spotted Master Hargrave almost immediately, accompanied by John, Cook, and Annie. Adam was nowhere to be seen.
After the service, Lucy followed Master Hargrave out of the church, pulling Will by the elbow. A moment later, she greeted them, feeling shyer than she expected.
“Ah, Lucy, Will,” Master Hargrave said warmly. “It’s very nice of you to join us. You know, my dear, that I no longer need for you to recount what you learned from the sermon? That is Master Aubrey’s job now.”
At that, Lucy felt a slight pang. “I know, sir,” she said. “I was hoping to get your opinion on something else.”
“Oh?” The magistrate raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell.”
As they strolled along the street, she told the magistrate about the ring. Once inside the house, Annie followed Cook and John into the kitchen to put together their Sunday dinner. Will wandered in after them, eagerly sniffing the air.
“Bring me the ring,” the magistrate said to Lucy. “I’ll be in my study.”
After discreetly pulling the ring from beneath her skirts, Lucy followed the magistrate to the study. He was already sitting at his desk, a stack of papers in front of him.
“This ring is quite a fine piece,” she said, holding it out to him. “You can see by the wax, it’s been used as a seal. Constable Duncan thinks it belongs to a nobleman, and we were hoping you might know the coat of arms.”
The magistrate took the signet ring, turning it this way and that. “I agree. This ring was made for a man of means. However, it’s no family coat of arms I recognize,” he added. “Let us consult the book of heraldry.”
He moved over to his bookcase. Though he was nearly as tall as Adam, he still had to stand on his tiptoes to reach a book from the top shelf. He laid the book, a huge leather-bound tome with elaborate stitching, on his desk. “Not a book I look at very often,” he commented, blowing a bit of dust off the cover. Annie clearly was not cleaning as she ought. “Let’s look at that ring again.”
He swiveled the signet ring so that the family insignia was showing, and started paging through the volume.
“This is Latin, isn’t it?” Lucy asked, pointing to the words in the middle of the insignia. “I can’t even pronounce it.”
“Semper Paratus. ‘Always ready,’” he explained. “Not all that helpful, though. Many families have mottos along those lines.”
“Do the Hargraves?” Lucy asked. “Have a family motto, I mean.”
“Oh, to be sure. Our motto is Vincit Amor Patria. Which means ‘My beloved country will conquer.’ Here, I’ll show it to you.” He opened the book to the Hargraves’ coat of arms. It looked quite impressive, depicting a knight’s helmet above a blue shield. The shield held three deer, with two of the deer above a lattice of red lines and the third deer just below it.
“I like the deer. They’re sweet,” Lucy said. “Do they mean something?”
“Yes, indeed. Every element of a coat of arms conveys a different virtue. From what I understand, the deer on the shield are meant to convey that my family will not take to arms unless provoked. I always assumed we had quite a cowardly ancestor to have earned that title.” He chuckled. “It doesn’t help that Hargrave comes from an old town in Cheshire, and means ‘Grove full of rabbits.’ I suppose I should be glad that our heraldry is not festooned with the noble rabbit.” He pointed to the red lattice intersecting the shield. “These crossed lines here are called ‘frets.’ They are meant to convey persuasion. The blue background of the shield, and here on the wreath and mantle, means truth and loyalty, while the gold means elevation of the mind. The helmet on top—a standard feature on most coat of arms—conveys protection and defense.”
“Maybe your ancestors were magistrates too,” Lucy said. “Protectors of truth, doing battle with words, not arms.” She savored the words. “‘Elevation of the mind.’”
“You know, Lucy,” Master Hargrave said, flipping the pages of the book toward the front. “The Campions are a noble family too. They came over from Normandy after the Battle of Hastings, over five centuries ago. You descend from Norman champions.” Chuckling, he showed her the Campion family coat of arms.
“I never knew my family had a coat of arms,” she said, examining the image. The Campion family emblem depicted a dog’s head above a knight’s helmet. Below was a shield with three dogs’ heads, similarly looking to the left, two thick black lines intersecting them. In the background, there was a great deal of red foliage. “Do you know what the dogs mean?”
“It’s been a long time since my tutor insisted that I learn these symbols, but I’ll see what I can recall. The dog, placed as it is above the helmet, is your family’s crest. Dogs usually convey courage, vigilance, and loyalty.” He tapped the helmet. “The presence of the helmet here means your ancestors were also protectors. This is further conveyed by the chevron.” He pointed to the thick black lines. “The chevron indicates protection. Usually it indicates builders, or those who have accomplished some work of faithful service.” He glanced at her. “Your ancestors must have been loyal and faithful servants too. Maybe they helped build castles or bridges.”
For some reason, knowing that her family had a place in the magistrate’s book of heraldry made her feel proud. Even if her parents hadn’t descended from any gentry that she knew about, perhaps her own ancestors had been friends with the Hargraves. She said as much to the magistrate.
For a moment the lines on the magistrate’s face softened. “Yes, I would like to think that our families were comrades. Today, as you know, these coats of arms still mean a lot. They serve to legitimize claims and prove a person’s place in society.” He gave his customary chuckle. “Now let us try to determine which family has lost this most fascinating ring.”
“Try the ‘Water’ family,” Lucy suggested.
The magistrate nodded, but the coat of arms did not match that family name. “Too bad,” he said, pulling out his timepiece, one of the rare indicators of wealth that he carried about with him. “I’m afraid, Lucy, I must read over some documents before court tomorrow. Why don’t you look through the book of heraldry yourself and see if you can find the coat of arms that appears on the ring?”
For the next hour, Lucy sat in the chair by the magistrate’s unlit fire, patiently looking at each coat of arms, painstakingly comparing the ring to the image on the page. Some insignia were close, bearing a similar blue-and-gold-checkered pattern, which she now knew was called “chequy.” Most displayed the helmet. Some had blue and gold wreaths and mantles. Very few had the red griffin on top. She did laugh once, softly so as not to disturb the magistrate, when she saw the chamber pot with the Chamberley name. “That well could have been my name,” she murmured, “should they be still giving out names now.”
After a while, her eyes began to blur, and several times she nearly rested her head on the table. To wake herself up, she began to flip back and forth through the book, no longer reviewing them systematically. As she turned the page, about to give up, she noticed that a few pages toward the front of the book had stuck together. Excitedly, she compared point by point. Chequy, red griffin, blue and gold flourishes—all exactly the same. “Sir!” she called to the magistrate. “I think I found it!”
Master Hargrave came up and peered at the book of heraldry. “The Clifford coat of arms. Interesting. This would suggest this ring belongs to the family of the Earl of Cumberland,” he mused.
Lucy peered at the coat of arms. She didn’t see anything about Cumberland. “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”
“The surname of the Earl of Cumberland is Clifford. If we think this ring belongs to a noble, which I believe it does, it stands to reason it would come from that branch.” He stroked his chin. “To my knowledge, the title hasn’t been used in a while. I seem to recall, though, an issue about someone tryi
ng to claim the Earl’s seat in the House of Lords.”
Lucy wasn’t truly listening. “Do you think an earl was playing cards in the tavern?” Her thoughts flashed to Sid. “More likely someone filched the ring and wagered it during the card game.”
“Hmmm. Men can be desperate.” He paused. “There was something else too. About his son. I don’t quite remember—” He dropped off. Lucy waited, but she knew he would not be inclined to give in to gossip. He surprised her though. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
* * *
Lucy had no reason to think about Rhonda or the puzzle over the next few days. September was passing quickly now, with so much to do. Each morning, Master Aubrey had her first boiling pulp to make into a lamentably cheap paper. She came to learn that a finer grade was made elsewhere. The lesser grade that was made in the shop was far more flimsy and often did not make it through the press intact. Master Aubrey used it only when he wanted a bigger batch of the more popular pieces. “Gives us a chance to make more coins on each printing,” he had explained, rubbing his hands together. When the printer’s back was turned, Lach had turned to Lucy and whispered fiercely, “Can’t wait to see you try.”
On Thursday afternoon, Master Aubrey sent her out to hawk a few sheets, including the broadside about the Dorset witches. After several hours of plying her pamphlets and tracts, she glanced at the sky. Nearly dark. The curfew was still in effect, so she began to wend her way back to Fleet Street. As she passed by the remains of the Cheshire Cheese, she could see Duncan digging through some of the rubble.
“Find anything interesting?” she called, tugging at her green cloak. The wind had picked up a bit.
“Not much,” he said. He brightened when he saw her pail. “You weren’t coming by with my supper, by any chance? I haven’t had any time to eat all day.”
“Sorry, this is empty.” Lucy looked at the darkening sky. “You won’t get much more done tonight, will you? The sun is nearly down. I don’t think the Lord Mayor would care for you walking about with lit torches, do you think?”
From the Charred Remains (Lucy Campion Mysteries) Page 9