Mistress of Rome
“D. 91 DEAD?” I spun around. “Lady Julia—she’s dead?” “That’s what I heard.” Penelope wrinkled a sympathetic nose. “She’s taken the last ferry.”
“But . . . how?” I asked. “She was only twenty-three or four. Not so old. How did it happen?” Two of the laundresses had gathered close in the atrium to hear, and a new lyre player from Corinth.
“Well—” Penelope shrugged. “One hears it was a fever. But I heard it might have been suicide. She stabbed herself in the stomach—”
“She stabbed herself in the s...tomach, all right, but not for a suicide.” One of the laundresses lowered her voice. “She had a mite of trouble, if you know what I mean, and she tried to cut it out.”
A murmur of speculation. I turned away and walked to the center of the atrium where a hard winter rain was running off the roof gutters into the little blue-tiled pool in the middle. Dead. Lady Julia was dead. I leaned my forehead against the marble pillar, breathing in the smells of fish and tar that the rain brought from the harbor.MoreLess
“But . . . how?” I asked. “She was only twenty-three or four. Not so old. How did it happen?” Two of the laundresses had gathered close in the atrium to hear, and a new lyre player from Corinth.
“Well—” Penelope shrugged. “One hears it was a fever. But I heard it might have been suicide. She stabbed herself in the stomach—”
“She stabbed herself in the s...tomach, all right, but not for a suicide.” One of the laundresses lowered her voice. “She had a mite of trouble, if you know what I mean, and she tried to cut it out.”
A murmur of speculation. I turned away and walked to the center of the atrium where a hard winter rain was running off the roof gutters into the little blue-tiled pool in the middle. Dead. Lady Julia was dead. I leaned my forehead against the marble pillar, breathing in the smells of fish and tar that the rain brought from the harbor.MoreLess
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