From the Charred Remains (13 page)

Lucy glanced over. The woman was at least ten years younger than Tilly, and with far fewer wrinkles. Like Tilly, though, her dress was low-cut, designed to display her bosom to full advantage. “I’m afraid not,” she answered. Then, spying a familiar face at the other end of the tavern, she nudged her brother. “I see her.”

“Where?” Will asked. He cracked his knuckles.

“Just there,” Lucy said, crooking her finger slightly, so no one would see the gesture. “However shall we get her over here?”

“Leave that to me,” Will said.

Rather than approaching Tilly as Lucy had expected, Will instead stopped the other, decidedly more comely, tavern miss as she walked by their table. About to shake him off as she would any drunken lout, the woman grew coy as she took in Will’s handsome countenance, her expression losing its jaded, guarded quality.

“Yes, love?” she winked, darting a look at Lucy. “Pints for you and your—?”

“Sister. Yes, thank you. We’ll each take a pint.” Will pressed a coin into her hand. “Why don’t you join us for a spell, if you’ve time for a break?”

“I’ll get them straightaway,” she said, simpering. Over her shoulder, she added, “I’m Jeannie.”

“What are you doing?” Lucy hissed at her brother, as Jeannie walked away, a new sway to her hips. “Duncan gave us those coins to get information, not to cozen every hussy in the tavern.”

“Just wait,” Will said.

A few minutes later, Jeannie had joined them, and she and Will were soon carrying on as old acquaintances. Tilly looked over once or twice, clearly annoyed that she’d been left to tend the tables on her own, although there were only a few people there.

Will nuzzled Jeannie’s arm. “You know, your friend looks a bit peaked. Why don’t we invite her to join us for a spell? I had a bit of good luck recently, and I don’t mind sharing my coins.”

Squealing, Jeannie called Tilly over, making introductions. Tilly barely glanced at Lucy, her eyes only on Will. Lucy didn’t speak much, watching her brother jest with the two giggling barmaids. Skillfully, he navigated the conversation to the Fire, a topic so easy to get everyone started on these days. Where were you when the bells started tolling? That’s what everyone asked, and the tavern misses were no different. Jeannie and Tilly had both been at other taverns that had since burned down.

“That’s when you started working here, is it?” Will asked Tilly, leaning toward her a bit. “What was it like at the Cheshire Cheese?”

“Oh, good enough, I suppose. We had all sorts though. Some rough ones, if you know what I mean,” Tilly said, with a meaningful look at Jeannie, who nodded in return. “Excepting, the very last night, some blunderbuss got himself crashed, he did. Before the Cheese burnt down. Found the body in a barrel, they did.”

“Coo! A murder!” Jeannie exclaimed.

Will pushed Tilly’s arm. “Get on with you!”

Unexpectedly, Jeannie proved to be quite valuable, helping ply Tilly with questions. Who had been murdered? When did it happen? Had she seen it happen? Tilly, enjoying the attention and the free pint, spoke freely, adding considerable detail to what she had originally told Duncan.

The men had been playing with some of “Jack’s fancy cards.” “We got some nobility here, lads,” Jack had said, “best we play with something honorable.” Tilly pulled out a playing card from her pocket, and put it on the table. “See, I have one of Jack’s fancy cards here. He gave it to me. It’s a ‘Jack,’ same as his name.”

Again, Jeannie unintentionally helped their cause. “Who was the noble?” she asked. “One of the players?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Tilly said. “He was dressed regular-like, but he was wearing mighty smart boots. Nice leather, didn’t he? Treated me like a trollop, he did. Which I ain’t.” She glanced at Will, who murmured something and patted her hand. Satisfied, she went on. “A currish fellow he was, off his Lady’s leash.” She shared another glance at Jeannie who nodded. Clearly they were both used to noblemen who didn’t behave very nobly. “I think he had some manservants,” Tilly continued. “They weren’t sitting with him, but I think they were protecting him. Like guards, you know?”

“Do you know who he was?” Will asked. “Someone important, I ken.”

“Nah, I never saw him before. Jack sometimes would bring in bleaters, try to make a bit of coin off their foolishness. This swell, though, he was good. As good as Jack, even. He was winning for a while.”

Swatting away a fly that kept trying to land on her ale, Tilly added, “It was an odd game.”

Will and Lucy exchanged a glance. “How so?” her brother asked.

“Can’t rightfully say. I don’t think the men knew each other, for one thing. Jack invited the swell to play, but the other two seem to have just found the game. One of them had the gambling sickness. Another one seemed moody-like, sometimes angry, sometimes sad. I think he was a soldier.”

“Was anyone else there?” Will asked.

Tilly thought for a moment. “Yeah. Now that you mention it. Another gent sat in the corner, drinking his ale, slow. He was watching the game, but never joined in. Not for lack of money though; he looked rich enough. Some gents, you know, don’t know the game. And Jack had his hands full with the others, or he’d have dealt him in for sure. A fool and his money are soon parted, that’s his thinking.”

“So four men played cards. Two other men were keeping tabs on the noble, and a third man sat nearby, watching the game,” Will recounted. “Seven altogether.”

“And Fisher in the corner,” Lucy added. “Ow!” she exclaimed, when Will kicked her under the table. With a grimace, she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to know about the innkeeper. That information had come out during their interview with Tilly in the constable’s jail.

“Mmmm,” Tilly murmured, not seeming to have caught the exchange. She seemed completely lost in the memory now. “There was something going on at the game. I thought some ale would do the trick—it usually does—but not this time.”

“That does seem odd,” Lucy murmured.

“I don’t know what Jack was on about it. He seemed to be egging them on. I couldn’t make heads or tails. Usually, he could charm frogs from a snake’s mouth; I truly didn’t know what he was doing.”

“You said the noble, that ‘swell,’ was winning,” Will said. “Did you see what the others had put up for stakes?”

Now it was Lucy’s turn to kick her brother’s leg under the table. Truly, Will needed to be a little more subtle. Luckily, Jeannie had gotten up just then to fetch an ale for a customer, causing Tilly to smile broadly at Will, and lean a bit closer.

“As a matter of fact, I did notice. I know because Jack had been winning for a while, and I like to keep an eye on what he brings in. The man with sad eyes put in the brooch. It was a pretty little thing. If Jack had kept the stakes, he might have given it to me for safekeeping.”

“Safekeeping!” Will hooted. “That’s rich. I guess you see this Jack-fellow regular, hey?”

“Sometimes he gives me trinkets,” Tilly smirked, her insinuation evident. Clearly, she exchanged her considerable favors for baubles. This also meant she knew Jack far better than she had let on in her earlier conversation with the constable. Not wanting to nix her chances with Will though, the barmaid hastened to add, “I haven’t seen Jack since the Fire. Just as well, everyone’s gunning for the papists these days. Jack, he’s a nifty one, but he’s probably back in France. A mob’s likely to kill him.” For a moment, Tilly looked ever so slightly worried about the fate of her lover. Then, she continued her tale. “Jack had the stakes toward the end. That’s when he read the verse. Out loud, you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Will prompted with a grin, letting his eyes crinkle a bit at the corners. Tilly giggled. Lucy hid a smirk, always amazed at how silly women became around her brother.

“That foreign guy had wagered the leather bag, promising something valuable was inside. He expected to win, I guess, but it was Jack who won the hand.”

Tilly sucked in her cheeks, recalling the scene. “I can tell you, when Jack opened the bag, he wasn’t too happy that it only contained a poem! Expecting a treasure, wasn’t he? Even though the man begged him not to read it out loud, Jack did anyway. I think to taunt him. The foreign gent started shouting at him. That’s when they both stood up, and the scuffle started.”

“Who? Jack and the foreign gent?” Will asked.

“That’s right. He came swinging at Jack, and Jack ran outside, through the back door. Next thing I knew, we heard the alarm bells clanging, and I took off too, out the front door. Church bells ringing at such an hour is never a good sign, is it?”

“Did you see what happened to the ‘foreign gent’?” Lucy asked, without thinking.

Tilly stopped then, the spell broken. “Wait a minute,” she said, looking at Lucy’s face for the first time. “I know you. You asked me that before. With that constable!” She squinted. “You were selling the poem, weren’t you? I saw you!”

Will shook his head at Lucy. “Better drink up, sister. I think we’re about to be tossed out on our ears.”

Amid Tilly’s screeching, they downed their pints and made their way out of the Fox and Duck. Wiping his mouth, Will waved to Jeannie, who blew him a kiss in return.

“I do have a way with the ladies,” Will conceded, as they began their walk home. “Looky here.” He pulled Tilly’s playing card from his pocket. “At least I have this.”

They looked at each other and began to laugh.

*   *   *

After she helped Master Aubrey and Lach close up the printer’s shop later that evening, Lucy looked closely at the playing card Will had lifted from Tilly. The image was red, and depicted a man clad in royal garb. It was exactly like the others that had been found in the leather bag. Will had told her that it was called the Jack of Hearts. The card clearly had been well handled, but she could make out the faint presence of a printer’s mark. She asked Master Aubrey about it, as he was about to make his way up to his rooms.

Examining the card, Master Aubrey scratched his beard. “This is quite interesting, Lucy. This is a special card, licensed by the Worshipful Company of the Makers of Players Cards. See?” He turned it over. “Made during King Charles I’s time—1635. Only members of the Company could produce these.” He smiled slightly. “Truly, ’tis a wonder the cards survived Cromwell and his godly men. How did you come by it?”

“My mum says it’s a wonder any of us survived the Puritan’s lack of merriment,” Lucy commented, sidestepping his question. Fortunately, the printer was not really listening to her, as he was still scrutinizing the card. “Do you see something else?” she asked.

Master Aubrey moved over to the unshuttered window and held the card up to the fading light. “I can just make out some initials, by the printer’s mark. Unusual, even for a member of the royal cardmaking company.”

“Why is that unusual?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know too much about this guild, but I don’t think most used their own initials. To be sure, this printer had pride in his work.” He squinted some more. “Ah, I can just make out the letters. J. D.”

“J. D.,” Lucy repeated. “Jack Durand? Could that be?” Seeing the printer shrug, she added, “Is there a way to find out whose initials they were?”

The printer shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. Guild and company records have always been kept at Guildhall, which was—”

“Destroyed by the Fire,” Lucy interrupted, feeling a sharp twinge of disappointment. That was the common sorry state of things at the moment.

“Yes, but only partially destroyed, as I heard tell. Commoners, especially women, cannot simply walk in and search the records,” Master Aubrey said as he reached up to shutter the windows. “They are sealed from public view, I’m afraid.”

“I imagine, though, that royal companies shall want to discover the extent of any damage that may have been done to their important documents, shouldn’t you think?” Lucy asked.

“What are you getting at, Lucy?” Master Aubrey asked. He looked down at her suspiciously.

“I just thought you might want to check on the records of the Royal Stationers.”

“And while I’m there, I might find myself inclined to check on the records for the Royal Company of Playing Cards? Maybe they have some lists.” He paused. “I’m starting to see your pretty little ways,” Master Aubrey said, wagging his finger at her. “You have some news, Lucy, don’t you? About that murder?”

Lucy smiled. “How about I write a True Account for you. ‘A True Plot sealed in a brewer’s barrel, of a most monstrous act.’”

Master Aubrey rubbed his hands together. “That’s catchy! I like it. Let’s say to the tune of ‘Three Merry Maids at the Fair.’”

“First, though,” Lucy said, dashing her master’s hopes a bit, “we must locate this Jack Durand. Hopefully, then we can find some answers about what happened the night of the murder.”

9

As it turned out, it was not so hard to locate Jack Durand after all. The next morning, Lucy was alone in the shop, setting the text of a ballad
A Merry Juggler Juggles Two Wives
, when a man walked into the shop. Master Aubrey was hawking down by London Bridge, and as it was a Saturday, Lach had been sent to the paper mill to fetch a new supply of the paper used for woodcuts and broadsides.

Glancing at the stranger, Lucy guessed he was probably in his late forties, or even his early fifties. His hair was rich and full, but streaked with gray, and his once handsome face was soft and full of wrinkles. He was slim and nattily dressed, however, moving with the lithe grace of a dancer as he slipped among the great rolls of paper, the stacks of penny pieces, and the two printing presses. “You were asking about me?” he asked, with a trace of an accent.

Lucy shook her head. “Do I know you?”

“I am Jacques Durand.”

“What?” Lucy said, taking a half step back. She could feel her heart begin to pound. “What are you doing here?”

The man put up his hands, palms toward her. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, in a soft careful way. “Tilly said you were asking about me. I must know why.”

“How did you know I was here?” Lucy asked. Pulling out the Miscellany, he pointed to the bottom. “Sold by Master Aubrey, master printer,” he read. “Easy enough to find you.”