A Murder at Rosamund's Gate Read Online Free PDF Page A

outside, Lucy tossed the linens onto the sticks that lay across the buck tub, placing the cleaner clothes on top, still thinking about Adam’s miniature. Together, Lucy and Bessie poured in the lye, their eyes stinging from the mixture of urine and ashes. Despite the chill in the air, the hard work and the fire kept them warm.
    As they worked, Janey stopped by, holding a smudged penny piece out to Lucy. “Read it,” she demanded.
    Lucy rolled her eyes but took the paper. “‘Jane Hardewick, a servant from a good house in Lincoln Fields but a trollop by any measure,’” Lucy read, “‘was found stabbed in the glen by her master’s household, that of the good family Elton.’”
    “Jane Hardewick!” Bessie exclaimed, clutching her knotted skirts. She sat down on an overturned pail.
    “Oh, no!” Lucy said. “Bessie, did you know this poor woman?”
    Bessie frowned. “Yes, I did. She was no trollop, or at least, not as I’ve heard tell.”
    John brought buckets of cold water then, dumping them into the tub. Lucy and Bessie, sweat trickling unpleasantly under their clothes, took turns vigorously pulling the staff as they stirred the garments together. Cook helped pull and twist the heavy linen, squeezing away the water. Even Lucas came out to help.
    Janey watched, tapping her foot. “Read the rest!” she urged, her eyes gleaming. “Tell ’em about what she was wearing.”
    Lucy wrinkled her nose but, seeing that everyone was waiting, continued. “‘Though last seen in a gray muslin dress and an embroidered red sash, the serving wench was found only in her underskirts— ’” Lucy and Bessie looked at each other. The rumor they had heard seemed to be true. “‘She had no coin upon her person,’” Lucy continued, her voice dropping at the dramatic bits, “‘but upon closer inspection of the grounds, the constable did find a handkerchief embroidered with the letter R and a note—’”
    “A note!” Bessie exclaimed. “How odd!”
    “‘—a note addressed to the unfortunate girl,’” Lucy read. “‘This note implored her to meet the same-said R in that very field upon which she did encounter her most treacherous fate.’”
    “R,” Bessie breathed. “Who could that have been?”
    Lucy read through the account carefully. “‘The local constable who found her said that R may have referred to one Robert Preswell, who had of late pressed his suit upon her, despite being “of the married state himself.” However, it was just as likely that she may have been set upon by ruffians or highwaymen.’
    “Oh, look!” Lucy exclaimed. “Here’s something about Sir Herbert.” She read, “‘The good Dr. Larimer, a royal physician, examined her and duly avowed, “She was not heavy with child, but no doubt was expecting a babe in arms in four or five months’ time.’”
    “Oh, that’s a shame.” Cook clucked. “What else does it say?”
    Only that the Eltons’ neighbor, one Goodwife Croft, had long warned that the trollop would come to no good end. Lucy thought about that for a moment. Every community seemed to have a Goodwife Croft or a Janey, women who carried tales, whispered stories, and always assigned the most sinister of motives to the most innocent of actions.
    Lucy turned back to the account. The author, identified only as J.L., wrapped up by offering several opinions about the murderer’s motives. He seemed certain that “R” had most likely murdered Jane to conceal their liaison from his wife. On the other hand, as J.L. jested, “‘R’s wife had threatened to take a rolling pin to his head, if he did not take care of his mistress.’”
    Lucy raised her eyebrow. “His wife asked him to kill off his mistress in such a way? Does that even make sense?”
    John chuckled. “A mistress and a wife? The man would do better to kill himself.”
    “Think that’s funny, do you?” Cook asked, frowning at her husband. “I ought to take a rolling pin to you.”
    Ignoring Cook and