A Murder at Rosamund's Gate by Susanna Calkins Read Free Book Online Page B

Adam stood. The crowd that had begun to disperse began to sidle back, hoping for a bit of fisticuffs, some unexpected revelry on the Lord’s Day.
    Adam drew up his frame, squaring his shoulders. “You have no right to treat this woman in such a fashion. It is a matter for the courts, and the law of this realm, to determine justice for this woman.”
    The man scowled. “This here bunter has made a mockery of God’s law, or have you forgotten that? Perhaps you have some sympathies for her? We could make room for you here in the stocks!”
    As the crowd snickered, the man smirked, pulling the scarf from the woman’s head. Her dark hair, thick and matted, fell loose. Lucy could see that the woman’s lower lip was trembling fiercely. Drops of blood trickled from her nose. Lucy willed her not to weep, fearing that her ridicule would be worsened. As if she heard Lucy’s pleas, she steadied her chin and spoke. “Thee hast thyself made sport with God’s law, and thee shalt suffer in the bowels for tormenting one of his own handmaidens, picked to deliver his truth!”
    “Who dares make such sport on the Lord’s own day?” The reverend’s voice boomed from the steps of St. Peter’s. For a moment he stood still, the stone magnificence of the church adding to his stature. Lucas stood behind him, taking in the scene uncertainly, looking more serious and pale than Lucy had ever seen him.
    A great rumble of hooves and a cloud of dust moved before the church. Alerted to the disturbance, two king’s men appeared on horses.
    The magistrate, who had just emerged from the church, hailed the king’s guardsmen. “You there! Bring a cart around! And you! Cut this woman loose!”
    At the presence of the magistrate, the jeering men and women began to slink away. Master Hargrave turned back to the woman, who still crouched, trembling, in the mud. One of her eyelids was matted shut, and her nose was swelling purple. She began to mumble feverishly.
    “Miss? Could you tell me your name?”
    The woman stopped mumbling and looked directly at the magistrate with her one good eye. Without a curtsy or even a nod to his authority, she answered him. “Dorcas White.”
    The magistrate looked at her sternly. “I do not condone the violence that has been taken against you today, Mistress White. Only the courts should punish such wrongdoing. I am sorry that you have been treated so injuriously, on the Lord’s Day at that. You say that your conscience guides your actions—”
    Mistress White interrupted, protesting. “It is God’s will! I am his voice and mouthpiece. He has told me to speak out against the wickedness of—”
    Master Hargrave held up his hand. “Enough!”
    The woman fell silent. The magistrate continued. “I do not wish to debate the merits of your beliefs, as misguided as they are. It is not for me to challenge the heresies that you speak. It is for the reverend here”—he nodded to the minister, who gravely nodded back—“to counter such lunacy.
    “I am concerned only with keeping the peace,” Master Hargrave continued, “and with punishing those who transgress it. As I am sure you are well aware, you are accused of violating the Peace Act, by disrupting this church service and propagating your heretical beliefs among the godly. For this transgression, you will be imprisoned and stand trial.”
    A few people nodded, approving. Lucy looked down for a moment so no one could see her face. She had never seen the magistrate issue a charge, and she felt confused. No doubt the woman had disrupted the king’s own service—appearing in such shocking dress!—and yet, had she not been punished enough? Who knew how long she had been tormented, how long she had been mistreated by those bullying men, before the service had ended. Now she was to be carted off to jail?
    “So be it,” the Quakeress said, biting her lip. “Thee cannot take a righteous woman from her path to God, even if thee do throw me in chains!”
    “Get