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“Like a scar?” Lizzy said, also jumping to her feet, though she paced rather than bounced up and down like Maud.
“Or a twisted or deformed finger?” Annie added, twining a blonde curl around her own finger.
“I think it is the same reason he would not use his voice,” Lucinda said. “There must be something about the way he speaks that could give away who he is.”
“A stammer?” Maud suggested.
“An accent?” Rosalind said. “It may be as simple as that. You instantly know I am Scottish from the way I talk.”
“Och, lassie, indeed we do,” Moll said in a perfect imitation of Ferguson’s speech patterns.
“He could be a Scot?” Lucinda said. “He did use a dirk. I will ask Grandma if she has spoken to other midwives to see if this all started with the arrival of the Scots.”
“There are many other accents in London,” Rosalind pointed out, coming to the defense of her countrymen. “All we really know is there is probably something distinctive about his voice and, quite likely, his hand as well.”
Unfortunately it was time to go. Lucinda had her meeting with Cavendish which she looked forward to with as much relish as eating a plateful of slugs. She would much rather stay where she was, throwing ideas around with the Sisters of the Sword. Chewing over the problems together had yielded the best food for thought thus far.
Much as the notion was abhorrent, she must think her way into the rapist’s head. Was there something about his victims that would give a clue to the man? Surreptitiously she looked at Lizzie, Maud and Rosalind as they prepared to make their way home. All she could see was three young, pretty women who by circumstance spent time on their own. Which was also true of the ropemaker’s daughter whose miscarriage started this quest. Youth, beauty and opportunity were the qualities shared by all. The method he used was also very similar.
Only in Rosalind’s case did he do anything different, where he deviated from his usual method. The rapist seemed more deliberate in his choice of her. Why? There must be a reason, and in that reason, a pathway to the culprit.
This week it was Rosalind who was the first to leave. She was to meet McCrae in the courtyard, and he would take her home himself. Then he was coming back for Lucinda. It would be their first outing as a “courting couple“. On second thoughts, eating a plateful of slugs did not sound so bad at all.
“We are supposed to be courting. Could you not look a wee bit pleased to be in my company? You are holding yourself so tight, if I plucked you like a string, you would snap.”
McCrae had a point, but she could not help feeling the need to hold herself stiffly. He always set her so on edge. “My acting skills do not extend that far,” she said sweetly, taking a perverse delight in the way it made him scowl. “I am really not sure what you expect of me.”
“You could take my arm for a start,” he said offering the crook of his elbow. She slipped her arm through his, linking her hands in front of her the way she had seen other couples walk arm-in-arm. “You were betrothed before.”
“We did not go strolling about. It was a business arrangement more than a courtship. My father’s provost, as I told you. He died in the plague.”
“And Field? You have been seen going about with him.”
“When? Where? Have your spy colleagues been gathering gossip about me? I see him all the time at Whitefriars. He works for my father, on his ledgers. We have known each other a long time. He is a dear friend. I do not deny that. He helped me a great deal during the dark days of the plague. You could not possibly begin to understand.”
“Try me.”
“It is none of your business.” The pace of their walking had started as a leisurely stroll but as her annoyance increased so did the clip of their walk.
“It is my uncle’s business to know if you have any compromising secrets, especially if we are officially on the pathway to marriage.”
She stopped abruptly, her temper reaching the point where she spoke before giving her words thought. She did not care for his accusing tone at all and the thought of Cavendish’s minions digging into her family’s background gave her gut-rot. “I do not care if we are on the pathway to hell. You have no right to pry into my private affairs!”
“So there was something between you?”
“Not was, is something between us. Nathan Field will always have a place in my heart. Circumstance forced us to stay in Blackfriars during the Plague as both his mother’s house and Whitefriars were shut up by the watch. When we were forced to stay at the theatre most of the boy actors and masters had already left. One of the boys, Sal Pavy, had fallen ill, and Master Shaw volunteered to stay with him as he was only ten years old. By the time we came to Blackfriars, Sal was very, very ill and Master Shaw was already dead. Nathan and I nursed Sal until he died. I offered to nurse Sal on my own, but Nathan insisted on staying. Now that is what I call a true and loyal friend. By some miracle we both survived. I do not know how. I feel guilt and sorrow about it every day. I imagine that is how you feel about your mother. Difficult times bond people together. If you do not understand that I have nothing more to say.” She crossed her arms and forged on ahead of him refusing to take his arm again.
When they were almost arrived at The Star and the Ram. McCrae ran to catch up to her and motioned to her folded arms. “Well done. We look like a real couple now.”
McRae had already given Cavendish the written report of the attacks on her fellow Sisters. He had one of his lackeys in the room with him, but he did not introduce them. To her relief the man with the unfortunately separated shoulder was nowhere in sight. There were five chairs arranged around a simple table, two on one side where Cavendish and his lackey sat, and three on the other. Cavendish motioned for them to take a seat. McCrae pulled back the seat on the right for Lucinda, then placed himself in the center seat next to her. This put him directly opposite his uncle and left the blank chair opposite the lackey.
Cavendish glanced up from reading the parchment in front of him. “Very cozy,” he said. “I take it the courtship is going well?”
“Perfectly,” McCrae said.
”As well as to be expected of any coercive business arrangement,” she added.
McCrae frowned at her while his uncle had difficulty concealing a smirk. “You object to being courted by the heir of a Lord?”
