The Masque of a Murderer by Susanna Calkins Read Free Book Online Page B

on her pillow. Esther had taken off her dress and was now wearing a sleeping gown. Joan was sitting beside her, humming a tune and stroking her long blond hair, which had been released from its bun. Theodora was sitting on the other side, silent now, but rocking back and forth, a great pain evident in her face.
    Hearing Lucy’s soft step on the floor, Esther rolled over, looking for a moment more like a forlorn child than a woman who had just lost her husband. She even managed a tremulous smile as she reached up to accept one of the mugs from Lucy. Joan leaned over and pushed some wayward hairs off Esther’s flushed forehead and cheek. The gesture was loving, compassionate. Esther just couldn’t be in danger, Lucy thought. Jacob had to have been mistaken. It was difficult making sense of anything, with Sarah so distraught. After a while, not having anything to do, she just sat beside Sarah, and neither one spoke.
    *   *   *
    When Lucy heard a knock at the servants’ entrance, she was ever so grateful to see John standing there, having been bidden by the magistrate to bring them home.
    “How does Mr. Whitby fare?” he asked, shuffling back and forth, trying to warm his feet.
    “Oh, John,” she said, sinking down onto the kitchen bench. “Jacob Whitby is dead.” She sat there for a moment before heading off to tell Sarah that John had arrived to escort them home.
    Sarah followed her back to the kitchen, and Lucy picked up their cloaks, prepared to leave. “Please leave my cloak, Lucy,” she said. Turning to John, Sarah said, “Thou must tell Father that I am needed here. Pray, escort Lucy back to Master Aubrey’s. My place is here. I will return to my father’s home in the morning.”
    From behind Sarah’s shoulder, Lucy met John’s eyes in mutual comprehension. This was the old willful Sarah speaking, chaffing at her father’s bidding, and such blatant rebellion would never do.
    Besides, Lucy was uncomfortable leaving Sarah at the Whitby home. Could one of these mourners have murdered Jacob? Her duty was first and foremost to the Hargraves, even if she was no longer employed by the magistrate. She could not, in good conscience, leave his daughter in such a place.
    Lucy touched Sarah’s arm gently, hoping to work on her more tender sensibilities. “Miss Sarah, please. I beseech you. Return to your father’s home tonight. Do not force John to explain his failure to do as the magistrate asked.”
    Sarah looked from Lucy to John and sighed. “I should not like John to bear the burden of my liberty.” She passed her hand to her forehead. Lucy tensed, anxious that she would swoon. But instead she smiled wanly. “I admit, too, that I should like to lie down. I will return home with thee. I do not promise, though, how long I will stay.”
    It did not take long to bid their farewells and head out the door. As they started down the street, Sarah began to shiver violently, so much so that she could barely walk. The shock of Jacob’s death had begun to overcome her at last. Without speaking, Lucy took one of Sarah’s arms while John took the other, supporting her so that she would not stumble on the icy streets.
    Over and over again, as they drew closer to the magistrate’s house, Lucy could hear Jacob’s whispers in her mind, raising disturbing questions. Had he truly been pushed as he claimed? Could someone he knew have done such a thing? Or had he imagined the hands on his back? And what of Jacob’s sister—what had she known? She glanced at Sarah’s downcast face. I must tell her, Lucy thought, but how?
    Before she could speak, Sarah broke the silence. “Jacob was such a charming man. A gadabout, to be sure, cavorting and gaming. Yet there was a goodness to him, despite that. Quick with a jest. Of course, I was different then, too.” She sighed. “Jacob and I—we had gotten on very well. I do not know if he would have asked for me, but I cannot imagine Father having approved our match. I know