The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  Her attention was distracted by something hanging from the man’s broken neck. Peering up at it, she could see it was an ornately carved and expensive-looking gold ring hanging on a silver chain. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried in vain to look more closely at the ring, which was still about a foot above her head. I’d wager that ring could help identify him. A tear unexpectedly appeared in her eye. Not if someone steals it from him, though.

  ‘The truth must be out,’ she declared, righting the stool. ‘Your loved ones must be told where you are. Otherwise the authorities will just cut you down and throw you in the potter’s field, if they don’t just bury you here.’

  Stepping on to the stool, she was now at eye level with the man’s chest. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at his face, so she looked at his heart instead. ‘Maybe you had no one to care for you – maybe that is why you brought this dreadful plight upon yourself. But I imagine that someone will be looking for you and wondering what might have happened. This news, though tragic, may be helpful.’ She looked at the man. ‘What do you think?’

  The corpse swayed slightly in the breeze, almost as if the man were agreeing with her. She took that as a sign to continue. Looking around, she quickly unclasped the chain with the ring, removing it from around his neck. As she jumped down from the stool, sudden misgivings came over her. What if someone takes me to be a common thief? There were hefty penalties for being caught stealing from corpses, from a spell in the stocks to time spent in jail. She sucked in her breath. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Just then, she heard voices coming from the direction she had travelled. Picking her pack from the ground, she ran into the copse of trees on the other side of the lane, her heart beating furiously as she peered out through the leafless branches.

  To her surprise, the two men who’d knocked her down earlier had appeared, now dragging their handcart behind them. Why did they come back this way? she wondered, starting to tremble. As she watched, the men went to stand before the corpse. The one named Pike tapped on the man’s boots. ‘Like I told you, Dev,’ he said. ‘Seems foolish to leave all this to thieves.’

  ‘I could have told you that,’ Dev grumbled. ‘You’re the one who took fright. Go ahead and take his boots. Should bring a bit of silver.’

  Pike complied, yanking at the man’s boots without bothering to unbuckle them. ‘Leather’s hardly worn at all. Don’t even need new soles.’ He threw them in the handcart. ‘Why don’t you check his pockets, Dev. This here was a man of means.’

  For some reason, both men laughed. Dev poked the man’s jacket, withdrawing a timepiece and a pocket with a grin. ‘I thought he might have something like this on him.’ He looked inside the pocket. ‘A few coins as well.’ Tucking both items into his coat, he patted the man’s stomach. ‘Thank you kindly, good sir. Anything else you’d like to offer us?’

  As Pike laughed, Dev straightened up abruptly and stepped back, an odd expression stretching across his face. ‘Say, Pike, I thought you knocked that stool over before we left.’

  Lucy sucked in her breath. What did he mean by that? Why would Pike have knocked the stool over? Her mind began to reel. Had Pike and Dev helped the man commit suicide? Helped him die? Such a thing went against the Lord’s will and was viewed as akin to committing murder.

  Pike looked down at the stool. ‘That’s true. I did.’ Then he looked up at the dead man’s face, studying him. ‘Something else is peculiar, too. Something is missing.’ Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Hey, what about the ring that was around his neck? Could it have fallen off?’

  Hidden behind the trees, Lucy froze. The ring Pike was referring to was in the pocket she kept fastened beneath her skirts. What if they come looking for it? Dev’s next sentence confirmed her mounting sense of panic.

  ‘Nah, I think someone took it.’ Dev began to tap his fingers on the handcart’s handle. ‘Someone who needed to stand on that stool.’

  They looked at each other. ‘The book peddler!’ they exclaimed in unison.

  Dev nodded. ‘She was heading this way when we left her. We haven’t seen anyone else on the road since then.’

  ‘That’s right!’ Pike replied. ‘Shall we go after her?’

  Lucy didn’t catch what Dev said next, but the lewdness behind Pike’s guffaws caused her cheeks to burn and her legs to tremble in earnest. She pressed against the tree, praying that she would not collapse. They would certainly hear her if they did.

  ‘She was scared witless already,’ Pike said. ‘She’s probably halfway to the next town by now, she was so afeared. We couldn’t catch her even if we wanted to. Let’s go.’

  The men left then, continuing back down the path in the direction she’d encountered them earlier. ‘What should I do?’ Lucy asked herself, once she had regained her composure. ‘I think I need to inform Constable Duncan about this body and give him the ring. Master Aubrey will be upset, I know, but my conscience tells me I need to do this.’ Her chuckle was feeble. ‘Besides, maybe I can write this as a true tale.’

  TWO

  As Lucy limped down Fleet Street, where both Master Aubrey’s print shop and Constable Duncan’s jail were located, a tall and elegant figure unexpectedly blocked her path, causing her to stop mid-step and her heart to leap. It was Adam Hargrave, the magistrate’s son, beholding her with a somewhat amused air. His dark hair was tousled, and his cheeks were a bit ruddy, as if he’d been in the wind for a while. He spoke just her name, as if he’d not been away from London for months. ‘Lucy.’

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Adam!’

  His name, said so familiarly, hung in the air, causing her to flush. For so long, when she had served in the Hargrave household, she’d called him ‘Master Adam’ or ‘Sir’. Yet that had all changed more than a year ago when he’d asked her to stop addressing him in such a formal fashion. Still, circumstances between them had changed again before he’d left for the New World and that previous familiarity no longer felt appropriate.

  ‘Lucy,’ he said again. In his slight smile, she could read his hesitation now. For a second, she thought he was going to embrace her, which would have been shocking indeed, but he didn’t. ‘I did not expect to see you so soon.’

  ‘Soon?’ She hadn’t seen him for several long months, and the last message she’d received from him was that he was helping the colonists set up their legal systems. She’d had two letters from him since. Deep inside, she’d thought she might not see him again, although another part of her had never given up hope.

  ‘I stopped by Master Aubrey’s to see you and he said that you would be out for the day, having risen early to sell on the northern outskirts of Westminster,’ he explained, still watching her intently. ‘I had planned to stop by this evening again. So this is great fortune indeed. There was something I very much wished to discuss with you.’

  ‘Oh,’ she replied, not sure what to say. What could Adam wish to discuss with her? Then the memory of the corpse and the two men came back to her. ‘I was just on my way to see Duncan.’

  A disappointed look crossed his features, before it disappeared back into the courteous mask he used to wear when she was still serving in his father’s household. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you.’

  ‘No, no!’ she replied, hurriedly trying to explain. ‘I’ve just found a dead body hanging from a tree. It looks like suicide, and I thought it best to inform Constable Duncan, but there was something odd that I wanted to tell him, too.’

  ‘A suicide?’ His manner became more businesslike then. ‘By all means, you must bring this to the proper attention. Lead the way. I shall accompany you.’

  As they walked to the makeshift jail on Fleet Street, Lucy filled Adam in on what she had witnessed at the crossroads. She didn’t mention the ring that she’d lifted from the body. No need for him to think I’ve taken to grave robbing in his absence. She spoke quickly, trying to keep her mind off the pain she was feeling from being knocked over by the thieves’ handcart. She was also try
ing not to think about what Duncan would say when he saw Adam again at her side. For his part, Adam listened quietly, an intent expression on his face.

  Given that it was nearly noon, Fleet Street was full of its usual hustle and bustle: women carrying baskets on their heads, men leading single-horse carts through the narrow passage, children pushing wheelbarrows to and from the market. Most of the shop doors and counter tops were shut tight, though, with fewer goods being displayed as storekeepers sought to ward off the winter chill and snowy rain.

  Looking up at Adam, Lucy wanted to ask him about what he’d been doing in the colonies, and what had brought him back, but so much had passed between them that she didn’t know what to say. The closeness they had enjoyed a year ago had dissipated after some misunderstandings and her own sense of confusion about her place in the world.

  When they reached the Fleet Street jail, she knocked on the door. The jail had only been intended to be temporary, a holding place for tavern louts, petty thieves and prostitutes, created out of an old candlemaker’s shop after the Great Fire. However, even as Newgate and Fleet Street were once again accessible, this tiny jail had remained, overseen by Constable Duncan, a former soldier from York.

  Constable Duncan opened the door, dressed neatly as always in his red uniform, his dark brown hair carefully trimmed, and standing with a soldier’s upright bearing. ‘Lucy,’ he said, his York accent evident. When he saw Adam, his pleased smile disappeared. ‘Master Hargrave,’ he said, giving a curt nod. ‘It’s been a while.’

  ‘Constable Duncan,’ Adam replied, his manner equally stiff.

  For a moment, the three were silent. Duncan had never thought Adam was serious about Lucy and had made his own interest clear. After Adam left England, Duncan and Lucy had grown closer, although she’d still held him off.

  ‘What is it?’ Duncan asked, turning back to Lucy. ‘What brings you here?’

  ‘On my way to St Giles-in-the-Fields, I came across a dead body, hanging at the old oak tree at the crossroads on Drury Lane, just before that road meets up with Holborn. I don’t think the man had been dead for very long. I thought you should know.’

  ‘I see,’ Duncan said, his manner growing professional. He gestured to Hank, who’d been working with him for the last few years. ‘Sounds like a suicide. I know the spot. Let’s check on this. Grab the handcart, will you?’ He pulled a long knife from the drawer and affixed it to the belt he wore buckled around his waist before pulling on his heavy grey woollen coat. ‘Sounds as if we’ll need to cut him down from the tree. We can wheel him over to the potter’s field from there. Perhaps there’ll be a means to identify him.’

  ‘Wait, Duncan! There’s something you should know,’ she said. ‘Before I’d reached the crossroads, these two men came running out of nowhere. They knocked me down and—’

  ‘What?’ both men exclaimed at once.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Adam added, his eyes running over her apprehensively. ‘Are you all right?’

  Lucy held up her hand to ward off their anxious enquiries. ‘I’m fine. When I first saw them,’ she explained, ‘the men looked afraid. I thought at the time that they were being chased. They had these terrible looks on their faces, as if they’d seen a ghost. I thought it was just because we were at the hanging tree. When I saw the corpse a few minutes later, I thought that was what had spooked them.’

  Adam and Duncan both nodded. Such beliefs were common enough, even if they personally thought such superstition was fiddle-faddle.

  ‘After they knocked me down, we went our separate ways. Or so I thought.’ No need to tell them how frightened she’d been when the men stood over her. They were clearly worried enough.

  ‘This was not so?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘No. They doubled back, returning to the hanging tree. Luckily, I heard them, so I had time to hide.’ Her lip curled at the memory. ‘They stole a few things from the corpse. His boots, pocket and timepiece.’

  ‘Grave robbers,’ Duncan said, making a disgusted grimace. ‘A common enough practice. Unfortunately, it’s almost impossible to capture them, let alone arrest and bring them to justice.’

  ‘That is certainly so,’ Adam agreed. ‘For such mercenary louts, stealing a dead man’s coins and boots easily outweigh their fear of ghostly spectres.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s so odd that they stole from the corpse,’ Lucy clarified. ‘Something else struck me as odd. One of the men said, “I thought we knocked the stool over.” Why would he have said that? It’s true, the stool was knocked over, but I righted it.’ When both raised their eyebrows, she hurried on, not wishing to explain why she’d been standing on the stool. ‘Then the other man remembered that the body had been wearing a chain with a ring on it around his neck. If they were so scared when they encountered the corpse, would they have lingered long enough to note such a thing? I can’t imagine this to be so.’ Both men were still listening intently. ‘Don’t you see what this means? They must have been up close to the body for some reason. Perhaps …’ she trailed off as she began to recall other details.

  ‘Perhaps what?’ Duncan asked.

  Lucy paused. ‘Perhaps they helped the man kill himself.’ She continued to speculate out loud. ‘When I saw them, they were pushing an empty handcart as they were running away from the gallows. Maybe it was not a suicide at all.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Adam said. ‘That is most certainly odd. Perhaps a physician should come to see the body?’

  Duncan nodded. ‘Yes, that seems a good idea. I’ll stop by to see if Doctor Larimer can spare the time to accompany us. Otherwise, we will bring the body directly to him, so that he may examine it at his residence, as is our usual practice.’

  ‘Lucy,’ Adam said, his earlier amused smile returning to his face. ‘Where is the ring now? You said the grave robbers had pilfered the dead man’s pocket, boots and timepiece, but you did not mention the ring.’

  Her cheeks flushed. ‘Oh! I forgot!’ Reaching inside her skirts, she withdrew the embroidered pocket and fished out the ring, still connected to the silver chain. She held it out defiantly.

  ‘Oh, Lucy,’ Duncan sighed. ‘Why did you take it?’

  ‘I thought it would help to identify the man’s body, in case his loved ones did not know he had died. I know I was not wrong either.’ For the first time she noted the details of the ring, causing her to almost drop it in disgust. ‘How peculiar! On one side there’s a cherub’s face, while the other side has a grinning skull. Such an odd and morbid piece.’

  She passed it to Duncan, who held it up so Adam could view it as well. ‘The band is gold,’ the constable said, holding it close to the flickering light of a candle rising out of the brass holder attached to the wall. ‘There appears to be an inscription, but it’s quite worn down. Hand me that flea glass, would you?’

  Lucy handed him the flea glass he kept on a small table in the corner, and he continued to look at the ring intently. A moment later, he sighed and handed both the ring and flea glass to Adam, who similarly positioned himself under the candle’s tiny flame. ‘Can you make it out? I believe the inscription is in Latin, but I can’t quite discern the letters.’

  Accepting the items, Adam studied them for a moment. ‘The writing is faded, although it is definitely Latin.’ He paused. ‘Memento mori. “Remember that you will die.” Or “Remember that you have to die.”’

  ‘Why would someone inscribe this on a ring?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘I imagine it’s something akin to carpe diem – seize the day,’ Adam mused. He glanced at Lucy. ‘An important sentiment, given the precarious nature of life.’

  Lucy shuddered. ‘Why would he wear it around his neck?’

  ‘Perhaps it didn’t fit him any longer? Maybe his fingers were swollen. We’ll know more when Doctor Larimer examines the body.’ He turned back to Lucy. ‘I’m sorry that you witnessed such a sight. I’m certain that it was a shock. Why don’t you head back to Aubrey’s? Maybe you can rest a spell?’

 
‘Shall I lead you to it first?’ she asked, her heart sinking at the thought of making the long journey back to the hanging tree. The injury she had sustained earlier was starting to take its toll.

  ‘Thank you, Lucy,’ Duncan replied. ‘There’s no need for you to come along. We should be able to find the corpse without you. I know the crossroads of which you speak.’

  ‘I’ll see her back to Aubrey’s,’ Adam said, edging closer to Lucy.

  Duncan frowned, looking at them back and forth. Lucy had never shared anything of her feelings about either man with the other, but the rivalry between them had long been there. She could feel an odd tightening in her chest. She didn’t look at either of them as she left, Adam a step behind.

  Lucy didn’t live too far away from the constable’s jail on Fleet Street. For more than a year now, she and her brother, Will, had been living above Master Aubrey’s shop, along with the master printer and Lach. The lodgings were small but suited them all well enough, even though the harsh smell of smoke from the Great Fire had lingered for months. Divine providence had seen fit to spare Master Aubrey’s shop and home from the conflagration, which was a true miracle given that half of Fleet Street had gone up in flames and nearly twenty thousand homes and businesses had been otherwise destroyed. Although Master Aubrey did not talk about it much, Lucy suspected that he was deeply grateful that his life and livelihood had remained intact, and as such had not minded another mouth to feed.

  Without a word, Adam took the peddler’s pack from her shoulder and hefted it on to his own. With his other hand, he gripped Lucy’s elbow. ‘Slowly,’ he murmured.

  ‘How does Sarah fare?’ Lucy asked, trying to keep her mind off her pains, which were steadily worsening with every step. She had not seen Adam’s younger sister for quite some time. As a Quaker, Sarah Hargrave was still traipsing around the New World, following her Inner Light to deliberately defy political and religious authorities there as a sign from God. Believing themselves to be akin to the Old Testament prophets, she and the other Friends spent most of their time in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, where the laws were the harshest and where Nonconformists were treated most horribly. They spent their days berating the authorities there, often dressed in sackcloth and ashes, deliberately inserting themselves into troublesome positions so that they could martyr themselves for their faith. Tarring and feathering was a common enough punishment, although Lucy had once met a Quaker whose tongue had been cut out of her mouth for speaking against the governor there.