A Murder at Rosamund's Gate by Susanna Calkins Page A

feel lucky Cook is not here to shoo you off, with your tales of woe. Which I don’t believe, by the way.”
    “Hmmm. Don’t be so sure. Cook loves me,” Lucas said. “By the by, where is dear Cook?”
    “She is off visiting her son, Sam, in Leadenhall.”
    “Ah, yes, the fishmonger. An’ you and Bessie did not get to go? What a shame!” Lucas grinned. He knew all about Sam’s wandering fingers.
    “Yes, we do miss him terribly, but someone must tend to supper.”
    “Of course. Quite noble and kind of you, to be sure.” He looked around. “And Bessie? Off today, too?”
    “No, off getting thread from the seamstress. She lives not too far from here. The mistress did need her new bonnet fixed. The winds tore it something terrible when she got caught out in this morning’s rain.”
    “Uh-huh.” Lucas leaned over to stir a pot. “And Adam?” he asked, idly.
    Hoping the faint blush was not evident on her cheeks at the mention of Adam’s name, Lucy shook her head, chopping quickly. “Off to see Miss Embry, perhaps.”
    Lucas looked at her keenly. “Now why would you assume that?” He held up his hand. “No matter. He’s just as likely at the pub. No, I jest. I’m sure he’s off somewhere studying or some such nonsense. He’s seemed a bit anxious of late to finish his legal studies.”
    “How are you getting on with the good Reverend Marcus?” Lucy asked hurriedly, hoping to change the subject.
    “Quite well, actually.” Lucas chuckled. “I think I may have found my calling after all.”
    Lucy could not quite tell if he was teasing. There was a little glint to his smile that she had never before seen. A bit of self-mockery, a bit of hesitant pride—he reminded her of Will, trying to find his way in the world. “I’m so glad, Lucas.”
    Perhaps seeing the admiration on her face, Lucas settled more comfortably on the hard bench. “Have you any more of that cakebread?” he wheedled, licking his lips. “The currants, the spices, mmm.”
    Shaking her head, Lucy pulled out the last piece of cakebread from yesterday’s supper. Mistress Hargrave had given Cook a copy of A Boke of Gode Cookery this past Christmas, but it was Lucy who had begged her to try the recipe. Everyone had heartily enjoyed it. Indeed, she was surprised there was any left.
    “I knew it!” Lucas clasped his hands to his chest. “I should marry the girl who produced this cake.”
    “That would be Cook,” she teased. “I’m afraid John will not let her go.”
    “But ’twas your sweet hands that produced this delight out of thin air. A wondrous feat, to be sure!”
    Lucy flicked a towel at him. “Get on with you, and mind you do not spill crumbs on the floor!”
    “I’ll sweep them up, I promise.” Now settled with the cakebread and a bit of mead, he continued. “So, you asked me about the good Reverend Thomas. He has the most uncanny ability to read a man’s soul, and he does not hesitate to berate a man—or woman, for that matter—about the wages of sin. Gentry and digger alike.”
    “He is like to make some enemies,” Lucy said doubtfully. “I should think that people do not like to be confronted with the wages of their sins.”
    “Quite wise, and so true, Lucy.” He licked his plate. “I’m starting to believe in the power of the pulpit, nonetheless, and even more so the purpose of a minister. There are a lot of sinners in this world, and it’s the Church who must help them see the error of their ways.” He seemed more resolved than she had ever seen him.
    She laid a bun in front of him. “I wish I had such a purpose.”
    “Women’s callings are different. You’ll find it.” Smiling, he took the bread. “Now, tell me, Lucy. How is brother Will these days?”
    “He is doing very well indeed with the smithy. In a few more years, he will be a master himself. He could set up his own shop. He should even have the means to marry.” Her face clouded slightly. “He’s taken up with Bessie, you know, but