Fallam's Secret

by Denise Giardina

  “What does it mean?”

  “It may be like the church restoring its paintings whenever a living thing breaches the time barrier in this direction. Maybe it works the other way too; maybe when someone living from this time goes forward, a thing of beauty destroyed there is restored.”

  “But most of the destruction remained. I saw it with my own eyes, though I would not have believed it otherwise. To flatten an entire range of mountains…” He shook his head. “It is an affront to God. Your leaders are as foolish as ours. Perhaps it will take more than one person going forward to undo such damage.”

  Uncle John stopped and stared at him. “You may be right,” he said. “You certainly have given me a lot to consider when I do the math.”

  “I have an idea,” said the Raven. “St. Pancras is closed and will be until Sunday, Mr. Smythe promises me, so no one has seen the new paintings. Why not go back before then? You can visit Lavinia yourself, and study the valley fill, and when you return there will be no more upset than there already will be because of my visit.”

  “I think I’ll do just that. And why don’t I send Mary along with Mother Bunch to visit Mother Bunch’s widowed sister in Bradway village until Monday? It would be a good idea to have Mary out of the way when the paintings are discovered on Sunday.” Uncle John hesitated. “Then Lydde will be by herself. I could tell her to expect you Friday evening.”

  The Raven said nothing. Then he removed his hat, put his hand on top of his head, and took off his mask.

  ON Friday morning Mother Bunch and Mary set off for Bradway in the company of Mossup and a hired carriage. Mother Bunch had fretted for the two days before that “the men shall have nothing to eat,” so she wrung the necks of two chickens and roasted them, baked several loaves of fresh bread, took a ham from the smokehouse (as though Lewis and the good doctor could not find their way there), and stocked the larder with cheeses, potatoes, and a sack of dried apples.

  When he had seen them off, Uncle John took his own leave. He had done his calculations and determined he could have a couple of months with Lavinia and still be back in plenty of time to deal with the upset Sunday morning would bring. Lydde kissed him on the cheek and waved good-bye. Then she went inside and headed for the attic, Bounder following happily behind.

  Mother Bunch had once told her that poor Mr. Soane, after the death of his wife many years before, had placed her clothes in a trunk and had it sent to the attic, never to be opened again. Lydde located the trunk after much sneezing. When she opened it she expected must and mold, but was surprised to be met with a pleasing scent of lilac. One of Mother Bunch’s sachets, she supposed, and after rummaging around among the staid wool and linen frocks she found a silk dressing gown in a lovely rose color that she had always thought to be her best, and a low-cut green velvet dress. The doctor’s wife had been shorter than Lydde and a bit wider, but the clothes fit reasonably well, even if they were moth-eaten. I will look pretty for him, she thought, and shivered so that she was propelled back down the stairs with a burst of energy that left Bounder scrabbling to keep up with her.

  She had just set kettles of water to boil so she might wash her hair and have a bath when she heard a distant commotion. She hastily pulled on her boy’s clothes. When she went to the gate to look out, a gang of boys ran along Sheep Street. They spied her and called, “Lewis! There’s to be a hanging! Come along!”

  “Oh, God, no!” she cried. The boys paid her no mind and ran on ahead. She followed them, terrified at what she might find, joining the growing crowd that made its way toward the jail, praying over and over, Dear God, don’t let it be him, please God. All around her people pressed close, talking and calling out to one another, some of them laughing, as though they were about to witness a game of some kind, a festive performance. She looked at their dirt-streaked faces and suddenly hated them all with a passion she’d never before felt, hated them for their filth and narrowness and stupidity. In her mind she heard the Raven’s voice, speaking of his care for the sufferings of ordinary folk, and she asked him in turn, How can you risk your life for these horrid people?

  Ahead of her she saw Jacob Woodcock, fresh from his forge and still wearing his apron. Pray God he is the Raven after all, she thought, for he is here in the crowd, safe.

  A permanent scaffold of wood flanked the jail. Lydde had always avoided looking at it when she walked by, grateful that so far in her time in Norchester there had been no hangings. The gibbet was now draped with a length of knotted rope, like an obscene decoration. Then a cry went up and the crowd parted as a procession of the constables of Norchester passed on their way past the market cross. Behind all, stiffly arrogant and stern on horseback, rode Noah Fallam.

  She screwed up her courage and asked the woman standing beside her, “Who will be hung?”

  “One of the Raven’s men, a tenant of Lord Radford. He was taken last night and his sentence is already pronounced by Pastor Fallam.”

  Lydde felt ill, not just for what awaited the condemned man, but for the threat this must mean to the man she loved. Perhaps Fallam had had the captive beaten, perhaps tortured, to extract such a quick confession. What if the man knew something of the Raven’s identity and had divulged it to his captors? Perhaps her lover would be too frightened to come to her that night; certainly he would be upset. Her eyes filled with tears, most unbecoming for a boy, and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to steel herself. She edged toward the fringes of the crowd, thinking to bolt before she became sick, but as she reached a less crowded place, the doors of the jail were thrown open and the poor wretch emerged, supported by a pair of constables, one of them Baxter. The prisoner was a short, sturdy man—not the Raven himself, thank God—who was barely able to stand upright. His hands were bound in front of him, and he had been gagged.

  “Never seen a man gagged at a hanging,” a man in front of her said. “Do they fear he will utter some curse?”

  Noah Fallam had dismounted and climbed the scaffold, waiting with arms folded as the condemned man was dragged up the steps. He surveyed the crowd as he waited and his gaze alighted on Lydde. She glared at him, her expression filled with as much contempt as she could muster, and he stared back, his face never changing expression but his eyes hard. So, she thought, he knows how much I hate him.

  Fallam was the first to look away. Then he stepped forward and said in a loud voice, “Here is a man condemned to die, out of favor with God and the Commonwealth, for he is a thief and a brigand who disturbs the peace and threatens prosperity.”

  A low murmur of protest ran through a portion of the crowd, then died.

  “Jonas Bent has been taken while serving the so-called Raven, himself a lawless bandit who will one day stand in this place. Therefore I have found said Jonas Bent guilty and pronounced a sentence of death upon him.”

  Lydde couldn’t take her eyes off the condemned man, who was shaking his head vigorously and uttering muffled cries behind his gag. Fallam turned suddenly, raised one hand, and nodded at the hangman, who wore a black mask much like the Raven’s. The hangman placed the noose around the man’s head and tightened it. Fallam dropped his arm abruptly and the hangman shoved the man off the edge of the scaffold to twist in a deadly silence with only the creak of the rope for a sound. Lydde slipped into an alley and was sick to her stomach.

  Chapter 15

  The World Turned Upside Down

  LYDDE RETREATED TO her room and wept. She could not clear her mind of the hanged man swinging from his rope, the front of his breeches darkening with piss. She understood now what Uncle John meant by danger. It was one thing to imagine, another thing to see a man dragged onto a scaffold and horribly killed. Whoever the Raven was, he faced the same fate. She wondered what he might be thinking. Perhaps he would be frightened enough to stay away, or perhaps he would need her desperately. She stood up and straightened the bedclothes, tucking sprigs of Mother Bunch’s dried lavender between the sheets. Everything must be as lovely as possible fo
r him.

  Back in the kitchen she rebuilt the fire and heated the water—feeling some pride that she was able to accomplish the task alone—took her bath, and washed her hair. Then she rubbed another handful of Mother Bunch’s dried lavender against the wet skin of her neck, shoulders, and breasts and into her hair. She had searched for a woman’s shift in the attic trunk and, finding none, decided to do without. The velvet dress slipped easily over her naked skin. She stood for a moment with her eyes closed, and imagined what might soon come. Perhaps he would think her wanton when he found nothing beneath her dress. Her body twitched as though invisible feathers teased her from the back of her neck to the insides of her thighs. She felt hot, then cold, and her feet were like ice, so she forced herself to climb the stairs to her bedroom, where she had built another fire and brought up a pile of logs to keep it going. She found a pair of Mary’s fur slippers and pulled them on, then sat on the edge of the bed for a moment. Was she ready for this?

  Her body most certainly was. She couldn’t recall wanting a man so badly. And yet she had no idea what he would look like when he removed his mask. Nor could she fathom what it would mean to love a man from another century, especially one in such dangerous circumstances. When Uncle John had told her to expect the Raven’s visit, she had been surprised. “Have you changed your mind?” she asked. “Do you approve now?”

  “I’m just as afraid for you as ever,” he said. “But I have spoken with him. I think you’re right. This was meant to be.”

  Meant to be. She clenched her fists and took a deep breath, then went downstairs to the study, where another fire was blazing, to wait.

  DARKNESS fell and Lydde lit two candles, one for the hall, the other for the door at the back of the house that opened onto the garden. She had left the gate unlocked and now listened for the sound of its opening, but heard nothing. She feared the day’s events had indeed frightened him enough to stay away. Then Bounder barked in the garden, followed by silence.

  She stood nervously, rubbing the palms of her hands against the nap of the velvet dress. She could not see the garden door but heard it swing open with a creak, heard a man speaking softly to the dog. Then the door closed. She waited.

  Slow footsteps sounded in the hall then he stood in the doorway. He was wearing his black mask.

  “That is no watchdog,” he said.

  “No,” Lydde managed to say. “She likes people too much.”

  “You look lovely.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  “Thank you.”

  He stepped into the room. “I entered masked,” he said, not with a false rasping voice but with one that sounded familiar, “so as not to give you such a start.” He took off his hat, laid it on a chair, and put his hand to the black hood. “I’m afraid you will not be pleased with what you see when I remove it.”

  She waited, unable to speak. He lifted the hood.

  Noah Fallam stood before her.

  “You!” she cried. She stumbled back toward the hearth and grabbed a poker, held it before her for protection.

  He came toward her, but she drove him back.

  “Stay away from me!” she cried, flailing at him with the poker. “You murderer! What have you done with him? If you’ve hurt him, I’ll kill you, I swear to God I will!”

  “Lydde,” he said, and tried to approach her again. She swung the poker wildly, catching him a glancing blow across the arm that caused him to wince.

  “Stay away!” she cried again, then began to sob. “Where is he?”

  “Lydde, he is here. I am the Raven.”

  “No!” She shook her head. “No, you aren’t. You can’t be.”

  “How did I know your name otherwise?”

  This gave her pause. He came a cautious step closer and she retreated until her back was pressed against the stone wall of the hearth, the poker held straight in front of her. She was so upset she couldn’t catch a breath. He backed up then and sat on a chair, said, “See, I won’t approach you.”

  “Stand up!” she commanded.

  At his look of surprise, she jabbed at him with the poker. “Stand up, damn you! You made me stand when you bullied me.”

  He stood, hands held out from his body, and watched her warily.

  “Where—is—he?” she repeated.

  “Here!” said Noah Fallam. “And I have placed my very life in your hands by telling you so. Does that mean nothing to you?”

  When she didn’t answer, he let his arms drop. A look of pain crossed his face. “I have watched you all these weeks,” he said in a low voice, “and I have grown to love you. But I forget you have watched me these same weeks and grown to hate me.”

  “I saw you on the scaffold,” she said coldly, “and you saw me. If you are the Raven, how could you hang your own man? And how dare you come here tonight with blood on your hands?”

  He spoke in a flat voice that held little hope. “I hanged that man because he and others saw me without a shirt the other night, and noticed a birthmark I have on my right shoulder. A red patch shaped like a leaf.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled coat and shirt off his right shoulder, turned his back to her so she could see the vivid red mark. “Your Uncle John was there that night. Ask him what sort of danger this places me in.”

  He turned back to face her. “And that man came to me, Noah Fallam, and told me he had seen the mark and that he would collect the bounty placed on the Raven’s head. All that would be needed is to find a man in Norchester who bears this mark, and the Raven is identified. As the Raven, I knew he had betrayed me and would betray others if given a chance. As Noah Fallam, I knew I must offer the authorities in Bristol some assurance I was making headway against the Raven and his gang. So I hanged the man. Do you think I took pleasure in it?”

  He came a step closer.

  “Please, Lydde, try to understand. When the Raven flourishes, then Noah Fallam’s situation grows more precarious. The major-general in Bristol, Elisha Sitwell, threatens to come here himself to catch the Raven, since Noah Fallam seems unequal to the task. But if Noah Fallam is relieved of his duties, the Raven has no protection. I am both men, and both men are in mortal danger.”

  She shook her head, tears blurring her eyes. “I don’t know which man is the real one.”

  “Do you think I would risk my life and the lives of others to play games?” he said softly. “Lydde, I saw the hatred in your face today. I very nearly stayed away from you because of it, and I should have. I see now that while you may love the Raven, who is no more substantial than this black hood, you have nothing but contempt for Noah Fallam. So be it. I shall leave you alone. I only beg you to tell no one what you have learned tonight, for if I am caught I shall be tortured. Do you know how it will be done? I shall be taken upon that same scaffold and hanged, but not pushed over the edge for a quick death. Rather, I shall be hauled up by the neck with a burning brazier before me, and while yet living disemboweled and my entrails burnt in front of me. Only then will I be beheaded, and afterward my body hacked to pieces like a butchered animal. And I pray you do not want me to suffer that fate no matter how much you may despise me.”

  He had come so close he was able to take the poker from her hand and drop it with a dull clang.

  “Do you?” he asked. She remembered the shadow of the Raven’s eyes, dark behind their mask, and knew she looked into the same eyes. She shook her head, too stunned to speak. He reached into his coat pocket and held up his hand, palm out. Lydde found herself staring at her long-haired mirror image.

  “If looking could wear out such a marvelous thing as this,” he said, “it would already be faded.” He replaced the photo, then touched Lydde, his fingers caressing her cheek, tracing a gentle line down her neck to her breast.

  “My God,” he said, “I wanted you, and meant no harm.”

  He turned and left the room.

  The world seemed to depart with him. Lydde ran after him, caught him in the garden.

  “Raven!” was all she could think to s
ay. He kept going. Then, “Noah, wait!”

  Just when he was about to disappear into the shadows, he paused. Without looking at her, he said, “You speak my name and this time I hear no contempt.”

  She followed him into the darkness. “Noah,” she said again softly. Then, “Noah Fallam. Your name is the name of my mountain.”

  The name of the skeleton that lies beneath it, she thought. I should have known.

  She stood close and placed her hands on his arm. He leaned toward her, a finger lifting her chin. His mouth covered hers. Then he stepped back.

  “Is it not the same kiss?” he asked.

  “It is,” she whispered.

  She took his hand and led him back inside the warmth of Soane’s Croft. The garden door closed behind them and he leaned against it as though afraid to move. Lydde stood still at the foot of the stairs, waiting.

  “I must be sure of you,” he said. “Can you truly love me tonight when you have seen me do a man to death this morning?”

  “It was terrible, what you did,” she said. “And it frightens and horrifies me.” She thought a moment. “Yet it must be done. And I love you for taking it upon yourself. You seem to bear so much of other peoples’ burdens.”

  Noah closed his eyes. “When my soul is sick,” he said, “I believe you may be the healing of it.”

  He held out his hand, and when she grasped it, he pulled her to him. She stood a moment, her hands resting on his chest, and looked up into his face, trying to understand how she found herself in the arms of the man she had so recently feared and despised. What she saw dispelled the last of her doubts. It was not the studied mask of a scheming manipulator, as the Raven might have been, nor the guilty face of a religious fanatic succumbing to temptation. He was regarding her with a guileless mixture of uncertainty and tenderness.

  He kissed her gently, his lips barely brushing hers, then again, and teasingly again, until her mouth parted ever so slightly and she tasted the sweetness of his tongue. She moaned as he kissed her more deeply. He stopped.