Read Online A Murder at Rosamund's Gate by Susanna Calkins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susanna Calkins
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companion.
“I’d trouble myself to have a brat with him!” a much younger girl added. Lucy did not know her. “He’d be one to take care of his own, I wager.”
“Stupid git!” Janey said. “Them that think like nobles think themselves too fine for the likes of us. It’s all sweet talk till they get the chit with child, and that’s the end of it.”
Janey’s fierceness chilled Lucy a bit. The sorry fate of a serving lass done in by her master was all too well known a tale, usually ending with the mistress casting her out of the house, with nary a reference but with plenty of names for the girl and her babe—hoyden and bastard but two.
“He’s not like that,” Lucy said. “Neither is the magistrate.”
Janey sneered. “You must not be pleasing enough for them, then.”
“Oh, poo!” Bessie’s voice sounded in her ear. Lucy had not heard her under the taunts of the other girls. “Who wants to watch them dancing! Come, Lucy, they’ve started dancing downstairs, and I mean for us to have some fun!”
They made their way downstairs, and there to the servants’ dining hall, which connected to the Embry’s large kitchen. Lucy found a quite different party. The servants had moved the tables and benches out of their dining hall, creating a cramped but lively dancing area. Several couples were already whirling about, the weariness of their dreary servant’s days forgotten, while others clapped and stamped their feet in time with the old familiar country dances. When Bessie and Lucy walked through the door, each was seized about the waist by a young man eager for a partner to bounce about with in merry confusion.
Breathless with laughter and the quickness of the steps, both girls found themselves passed playfully among a number of different men. Some of the men she knew from houses along the Hargraves’ street; others she did not know. These Lucy assumed were members of the Embrys’ extensive livery and household.
After she grew tired of dancing, Lucy moved into the kitchen, where men and women, young and old, perched about the room, trading quips and jests. Some couples began stumbling out of the kitchen, flagons of ale in their hands. Young serving girls, freed from their normal routines, flirted outrageously.
Squeezing onto a bench, Lucy smiled at the woman next to her, holding a sleeping babe in her lap. Lucy marveled at the baby’s ability to sleep through the good-natured revelry. Accepting a mug of ale, Lucy laughed along with the others as jokes and outrageous stories continued to fly. She saw Bessie in the corner, flirting a bit with some men from the Embrys’ stable. Looking at Bessie, laughing and happy, it was hard to see the moody girl she’d been these last few weeks.
Richard, one of the Embrys’ liverymen, heaved himself up onto the edge of the wooden table, his tongue clearly loosened by ale. “I heard tell of an old thief, Jack Grubb, who was to meet with the hangman one fine morning,” Richard began. “When the hangman placed the noose around his neck, our good man Jack said, ‘Nay, good sir! Do not bring the rope too near my throat. For I am,’ says he, ‘so ticklish about that place that I shall hurt myself, laughing so hard, that the rope will like to throttle me!’”
Everyone roared and clinked their pewter mugs. A strumpet snuggled beside Richard, slipping under his arm. When he put his arm around her waist, she smirked at the other girls, for Richard was easily one of the most handsome men there.
Yet a few minutes later, he came over to Lucy and poured more ale into her mug.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him.
Richard caught her look and seated himself beside her on the long low bench. “Oh, little minx,” he said, taking a hearty swig of ale. “I did not catch your name. I’m Richard.”
Lucy murmured her name, her head beginning to swim from her three cups of ale. Richard covered her free hand with his and spoke in a caressing tone. “Lucy. What a
“I’d trouble myself to have a brat with him!” a much younger girl added. Lucy did not know her. “He’d be one to take care of his own, I wager.”
“Stupid git!” Janey said. “Them that think like nobles think themselves too fine for the likes of us. It’s all sweet talk till they get the chit with child, and that’s the end of it.”
Janey’s fierceness chilled Lucy a bit. The sorry fate of a serving lass done in by her master was all too well known a tale, usually ending with the mistress casting her out of the house, with nary a reference but with plenty of names for the girl and her babe—hoyden and bastard but two.
“He’s not like that,” Lucy said. “Neither is the magistrate.”
Janey sneered. “You must not be pleasing enough for them, then.”
“Oh, poo!” Bessie’s voice sounded in her ear. Lucy had not heard her under the taunts of the other girls. “Who wants to watch them dancing! Come, Lucy, they’ve started dancing downstairs, and I mean for us to have some fun!”
They made their way downstairs, and there to the servants’ dining hall, which connected to the Embry’s large kitchen. Lucy found a quite different party. The servants had moved the tables and benches out of their dining hall, creating a cramped but lively dancing area. Several couples were already whirling about, the weariness of their dreary servant’s days forgotten, while others clapped and stamped their feet in time with the old familiar country dances. When Bessie and Lucy walked through the door, each was seized about the waist by a young man eager for a partner to bounce about with in merry confusion.
Breathless with laughter and the quickness of the steps, both girls found themselves passed playfully among a number of different men. Some of the men she knew from houses along the Hargraves’ street; others she did not know. These Lucy assumed were members of the Embrys’ extensive livery and household.
After she grew tired of dancing, Lucy moved into the kitchen, where men and women, young and old, perched about the room, trading quips and jests. Some couples began stumbling out of the kitchen, flagons of ale in their hands. Young serving girls, freed from their normal routines, flirted outrageously.
Squeezing onto a bench, Lucy smiled at the woman next to her, holding a sleeping babe in her lap. Lucy marveled at the baby’s ability to sleep through the good-natured revelry. Accepting a mug of ale, Lucy laughed along with the others as jokes and outrageous stories continued to fly. She saw Bessie in the corner, flirting a bit with some men from the Embrys’ stable. Looking at Bessie, laughing and happy, it was hard to see the moody girl she’d been these last few weeks.
Richard, one of the Embrys’ liverymen, heaved himself up onto the edge of the wooden table, his tongue clearly loosened by ale. “I heard tell of an old thief, Jack Grubb, who was to meet with the hangman one fine morning,” Richard began. “When the hangman placed the noose around his neck, our good man Jack said, ‘Nay, good sir! Do not bring the rope too near my throat. For I am,’ says he, ‘so ticklish about that place that I shall hurt myself, laughing so hard, that the rope will like to throttle me!’”
Everyone roared and clinked their pewter mugs. A strumpet snuggled beside Richard, slipping under his arm. When he put his arm around her waist, she smirked at the other girls, for Richard was easily one of the most handsome men there.
Yet a few minutes later, he came over to Lucy and poured more ale into her mug.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him.
Richard caught her look and seated himself beside her on the long low bench. “Oh, little minx,” he said, taking a hearty swig of ale. “I did not catch your name. I’m Richard.”
Lucy murmured her name, her head beginning to swim from her three cups of ale. Richard covered her free hand with his and spoke in a caressing tone. “Lucy. What a
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