From the Charred Remains Read Online Free PDF

a coat of arms, while the other showed a hunter chasing a boar. Surrounding each surface was a blue dial, allowing the owner to flip the ring as he chose.
    Setting the ring aside, Lucy picked up the elephant. Painstakingly carved from a bit of green rock, the elephant’s smooth surface suggested it had been much handled. It reminded her of the door above the comb-seller’s shop, down by Cloake Lane, which sold beautifully carved ivory combs and pendants, far too costly for Lucy to ever imagine buying. Or at least, it had sold combs before the Fire. Now, the sign and shop were probably burnt away, or buried under the rubble like so much of that part of the City.
    Sighing, Lucy picked up the oilskin package again. The seal was definitely broken. Carefully, Lucy withdrew a bit of paper, with Sid and Annie watching closely. Unlike the paper used by printers for broadsides, ballads, and pamphlets, this paper was thicker and smoother to the touch. Slowly, she unfolded it. Right away, she could see it contained a bit of verse. Having lived in the magistrate’s household for several years, Lucy had learned to read very well, beyond the capacity of most servants. Glancing at the words, however, she was at first excited, then puzzled.
    “What’s it say?” Sid asked. “I’m not so good with my letters.”
    Annie leaned forward, as Lucy read the words aloud.
    Now, Dear Hart—
    As the poet says, come to the garden in spring. There’s wine and sweethearts in the pomegranate blossoms.
    Remember!
    If you do not come, these do
    Not matter.
    If you do come, these do not matter.
    My rose will bloom, among the
    Hearty pineapples,
    even in the first freeze of autumn.
    Rose, my love—.
    Even kings can wrong a fey duet.
    Sid stopped chewing on a piece of rye bread. “What’s that mean?”
    Lucy shrugged. “I have no idea. A love letter I guess. No one signed it.”
    “Pfff,” Sid said, unimpressed. “Not much point if the bird don’t know who’s writing them fancy words, now is it?”
    “Sometimes people have to hide their love, I suppose,” Lucy said, putting everything carefully back into the little leather pouch. “Now off to the woodshed with you. You’ll be off in the morning. And Sid,” she added sternly, “we’d best not find anything missing. The magistrate’s not likely to take a theft in his own household very kindly.”
    Ignoring Sid’s protestations of innocence, Lucy pushed him outside. Before she went to bed, she carefully wrote down a list of everything that had been in the small leather bag, including the words to the letter. As she drifted off, her last thought was that she’d never seen a pomegranate or a pineapple, but the garden sounded lovely.
    *   *   *
    At the site of the Cheshire Cheese the next morning, she found Constable Duncan scribbling notes in his book. The body had been removed, and he was carefully sifting through the timbers and stone. He looked like he hadn’t gotten much sleep. For a moment, she wondered what his home life was like, whether he was married, had children. She’d seen him in court, when he had presented a devastating case against her brother. For her part, she’d only had three or four conversations with him over the last three years—two in which she’d protested her brother’s innocence, and a more recent conversation she preferred not to think about.
    “Constable Duncan,” Lucy called, his name ending in a bit of a cough. Her throat was a bit scratchy from the smoke she’d been breathing in all week. Not surprisingly, he didn’t hear her above the din. Moving closer, Lucy called his name again.
    Hearing her, he gave her a quick harried grin. “Coming to tell me who killed the poor sot?” he asked.
    “Do you know who he was?” she asked.
    “No, not yet. But I’ve sent word to the innkeeper—he might know something about him.” Duncan paused. “I tell you, Miss Campion, this is a bad business. I’ve had the physician look at him. He was fairly