A Death Along the River Fleet by Susanna Calkins Page A

protect him from bodily harm and theft.
    â€œIs there some trinket I may show you, my dear?” the jeweler asked gently, trying to smile. It looked like his jaw hurt him, though, for he moved his hand to his teeth.
    â€œAre you all right, sir?” she asked.
    â€œMust see the tooth-puller,” he said rubbing his jaw. “I am very sorry to say that I am likely to have another cursed tooth. The perils of aging.”
    As he spoke, he ran his eyes over her in a professional way. She could see him taking note of her unfashionable sack and the mud splattered along the hem of her dress. “Or are you here on behalf of your mistress, perchance?”
    â€œWell, not exactly either, sir,” she said, turning away from him for a moment, and away from the probing eyes of the large man in the corner.
    Swiftly, she pulled the amulet out of the pocket that lay hidden below her skirts. “There is something I should like to show you.”
    Turning back around, she faced him again, amulet in hand. The jewelry-maker did not seem nonplussed or taken aback by her brief lack of modesty. He must have seen women do this many times over his decades buying and selling jewelry.
    Lucy held out the precious piece. “Sir, could you please tell me about the amulet?” She hesitated. “It belongs to my mistress, and she would like to know more about it.”
    â€œLooking to pawn it, I suppose? Well, we shall see,” Mr. Dalrymple said, accepting the piece. “I am moving out of the trade soon, as my goodly years are leaving me at last. Still, I will examine the piece and let you know if it has any value. Since the Great Fire, I have had to turn away many pieces that rummagers unearthed from the scorched-out areas. Twisted and burnt beyond repair. I can do little for them.”
    He moved over to the light and picked up his spyglass so he could see more clearly. Lucy saw his eyes widen in delight. “Why, this is quite remarkable,” he exclaimed.
    First, he examined the outside, stroking the gemstone, running his finger over the hinge. He refrained, Lucy noticed, from touching the dirty cord that had been strung around the woman’s neck. Finally, he pressed the clasp so that he could open the hinge. He examined the chambers, even holding it to his nose. He took a deep sniff. “Rosemary,” he murmured.
    Lucy nodded, even though he was not looking at her.
    After a few more minutes, he finally looked back at her, speaking in a quick, excited voice. “This piece is quite fine indeed. Except for this bit of filthy twine, of course.” Before Lucy could protest, the jewelry-maker took a knife and cut the cord off. “Ah, that is better. I could not abide such a hideous thing—something so profane should not come in contact with something so sacred.”
    He continued. “I have seen such pieces before, but they are rare. It is likely from Germany or France and is maybe fifteen years old.” He pointed to the stone in the middle. “This is agate,” he said, “which is a member of the chalcedony family. Specifically, bloodstone. Many people believe it to have healing properties.” He opened the clasp and pointed to the two inner chambers. “Someone has put rosemary in here, but it was made to hold relics.”
    Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Like saint’s bones?” She knew that was what papists did to commune with the Lord. It seemed a rather odd practice to her.
    â€œBones, or teeth, or bits of skin or hair, perhaps. Or even just a piece of a special shroud.” He touched it. “So smooth to the touch. This gem was cut and polished by a great craftsman, and set by another brilliant artisan.”
    â€œDo you have any idea who the artisans may have been?”
    He shook his head. “No, but I have seen such things on my travels through the Continent. After completing a pilgrimage, the devoted might have been able to purchase such a thing