Lighting one of the long tapers she kept in a small box, Lucy sat down at her table and pulled out a sheet of paper. Dipping her quill in the ink, she thought for a moment and then began to write: A True and Fantastic Tale of a Corpse Discovered at a Crossroads.
Chuckling to herself, she continued weaving the tale of why the man had killed himself, deciding that he had ‘hoped to escape the Devil’s madness’. Such language would appeal to her readers, and she could already imagine the woodcut of the Devil terrorizing a man that would accompany the piece. Master Aubrey had printed several of her pieces to date, all of them ‘Anonymous’ as befitting her status as a woman and former servant.
Setting down her quill, she massaged her fingers and palm. The physical act of writing was still painful and frustrating for her, as she had not learned to write until her later adolescence, although the joy of seeing her true accounts in print had outweighed her pain. Like most born into servant families, she’d only received a piecemeal education, learning bits and pieces from dame schools – run by old women tasked with teaching children their letters so they could read the Bible for themselves. Things had changed when she’d joined the magistrate’s household at the age of sixteen. When Master Hargrave had brought in itinerant scholars from the great universities to tutor his daughter, she’d found ways to listen in on the lessons and develop her understanding of the world.
Reading over what she had written so far, she thought about bringing in Bedlam, having visited that godforsaken place for lunatics earlier in the year. However, there was something truly pitiful about the inmates there, and she did not wish to add to their pain by mocking them. Should she include ghosts instead? Why not?
Thinking about ghosts reminded her of the odd ring that she’d removed from around the man’s neck. Memento mori, Adam had said. Remember that you will die. Or was it the other phrasing? Remember that you have to die. Did the ring mean something?
She wrote the words down on a different piece of paper, not sure if she’d spelled them correctly. Latin was not a language she knew well at all, although she could sometimes recognize it now from reviewing the tracts of other booksellers. She drew a little picture of the ring from memory.
‘Shall I include the ring and those words in my true tale?’ Lucy asked herself. ‘No, someone might think I robbed the body.’
Abruptly, she pushed the paper away and replaced the plug in the jar of ink. The ring reminded her of Adam and Duncan, and the uncertainty of her feelings for each. Duncan, she knew, wanted to marry her. He’d been married once before, when he was very young, but his wife had died when they still lived in York. Recently, though, he’d mentioned how he’d like to wed again. She was less sure about Adam, and she was even less certain of her own heart. He’d once expressed an interest in becoming betrothed, but then he had left for the New World, which had wounded her.
What had he wanted to tell me today? she wondered. Perhaps he wanted to tell me he was marrying someone else? Even thinking that caused a deep pain in her heart. ‘Although it would be easier if that were the case,’ she said, slumping back in the chair. Duncan, she knew, would be a very good husband, and she was more suited to the station of a constable’s wife. He’d make her a good home; she knew that, too.
Except that it was hard not to recall the passionate kiss she’d once exchanged with Adam, during the plague, when the world still seemed upside down. He had promised her a new life and he’d done so much for her brother. There had been a moment when she’d thought she could marry him. As the dust had settled, though, the differences between their positions in life had seemed too great. Still, he was so caring and attentive when he thought she was injured. Perhaps there was a way for the distance between them to be resolved.
Fretfully, she picked a small wooden box off her table. This box contained some of her most treasured possessions. She picked out the letter that Adam had written to her before he had left for the New World. She smoothed it out and read it again, a rush of emotion flooding over her as she read his elegantly penned words again.
My heart will be sore without you, my dearest Lucy, but perchance you will one day travel to this strange New World where, as Sarah has told me, the birth right of men is less fixed. I have heard tell, too, of several petticoat authors among the colonists. Perhaps, one day soon, even a female printer may find a way to ply her trade.
At the time, she hadn’t known if he’d return, and she had begun to ease her heart with Duncan’s attentions. Later, Adam had sent her two other letters as well, one which she received in late June, and the other in late September. In neither letter had he mentioned his plans to return to London. They focused mostly on the challenges they had with enforcing laws in the colonies – that the laws of England were harder to apply in the colonies.
Things are rougher here, to be sure, Lucy, but there is much that is good and worthy as well. There are opportunities that I can foresee.
He did not mention setting up a printing press or bookseller again, as he had in the earlier message. Much of it was matter of fact, but there was a questioning sense there as well.
‘Why did he come back?’ Lucy asked, putting her hand to her forehead. She put the letters in the box, not sure what to do about the tugging at her heart.
‘Dunderhead!’ Master Aubrey said, lightly boxing Lach’s ears the next morning. He pointed at the woodcut of a witch that the apprentice had been inserting into the Goodly Cruff’s homely remedies. ‘This is not a Devil’s piece. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with you.’
Lucy leaned over his shoulder. ‘Oh, Lach,’ she said, hiding a smile.
His apprentice grinned cheekily. ‘Did you look at the ingredients? They are much the same as the witch’s brew we printed last night.’
Master Aubrey cuffed him again. ‘We want people to buy them, not feel they are being magicked.’ He looked at Lucy. ‘What say you, lass? You’ve been a bit quiet today. Indeed, I’m fearful of your mild temperament. Usually, by this time of the day you and Lach have thrice bickered.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Have you taken your tisane for healing? We need you back well, in spirit and in body.’
Stifling a yawn, Lucy pulled the short piece she had penned about the man’s death and handed it to the master printer. ‘I am greatly improved, thank you, sir. I did wake up last night, and I couldn’t rest until I’d written this tale.’
‘What’s this?’ he asked, glancing over her words. ‘Honestly, Lucy, your hand is still so ill. You must work to improve it.’
‘I’m sorry my script is so poor. I’ll practise it, I promise,’ she said, before giving him a cheeky grin. ‘Please do read it, though. I think you’ll find it a thrilling tale.’
Master Aubrey glanced at the paper. ‘A suicide at the crossroads?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Good, good. Ghosts, spirits, desperate souls. Although murder would be better. After all—’
‘Everyone loves a good murder!’ Lucy and Lach joined in on the familiar phrase. They all looked at each other and laughed, a funny moment of camaraderie summing up everything they’d been through together these last two years.
‘Truth be told, I think there’s a question about whether this was indeed a suicide,’ Lucy said when their chuckles had subsided. ‘I witnessed something odd—’
‘Of course you did!’ Lach interrupted. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever asked you why you’re around when so many strange deaths occur? Why is that, Lucy?’
Lucy frowned. She had encountered more than her share of suspicious deaths and murders these last few years. None sadder, though, than the death of Bessie, a merry soul who had been her most beloved friend. So much had passed since then – Lucy was hardly the girl she’d once been, in those days before she’d been touched by evil. ‘I don’t know. It’s not as if I cause them. I suppose I’m just—’
‘Cursed!’ Lach interrupted. He made the sign of the Devil, by putting his forefingers to his head like horns. ‘There’s no doubt about it.’
‘Aw, get on with
you, lad,’ Master Aubrey said, rolling up Lucy’s account in his hand and using it to swat his apprentice’s head. ‘Lucy’s not cursed.’
‘Of course not,’ Lach said, making the sign again, this time when the master printer had turned away. You are! he mouthed at her and laughed when she stomped back to her bench to continue setting type.
‘I’ll read the rest of it later,’ Master Aubrey promised. ‘Right now, I need you to get to the work at hand.’
For the next hour, Lucy continued to set the type, her fingers flying as she placed each character backwards in neat rows. There was a rhythm associated with setting the print that was akin to playing a musical instrument, and interrupting the rhythm could result in mistakes. And Master Aubrey hated nothing more than adding an erratum to the end of a piece, especially when it was something that could easily have been avoided with a bit of care.
A rap at the printer’s shop door caused them all to look up. Lucy was not the only one to recognize it.
‘That’s for you,’ Master Aubrey said, nodding at Lucy. ‘Mind, we have a lot to do today, and I don’t want you gallivanting about.’
‘Maybe he’s got news of another murder,’ Lach said.
‘Must you sound so gleeful?’ Lucy asked over her shoulder as she opened the shop door.
As expected, Duncan stood there, ramrod straight, his soldierly bearing showing. Lucy could tell from his demeanour that he was there in an official capacity as he stepped into the room and nodded towards the master printer. ‘Good morning. Master Aubrey, I need to speak to Lucy for a few moments, if you can spare her.’
Lach gave a whoop that was stifled by Aubrey. ‘Hush,’ he said to his apprentice. To Lucy he said, ‘Be quick about it. Remember what I just said about not gallivanting.’
‘Come in, Duncan,’ Lucy said, taking his heavy woollen cloak from him. It must have been raining, because the cloth was wet to the touch. ‘Pray, warm yourself by the hearth. Would you like some hot mead? Or perhaps some nourishing victuals?’
‘No, thank you, Lucy,’ Duncan said. ‘I shan’t stay long. I wanted to let you know that I just spoke with Doctor Larimer.’
‘Oh?’ Lucy asked, while both Master Aubrey and Lach stopped what they were doing, craning their necks to hear what Duncan had to say. They knew that the physician might take on a coroner’s role to determine cause of death. ‘What did you learn?’
‘He and Doctor Sheridan have already completed their initial report. As you may have gleaned, they are not convinced that the man killed himself. Doctor Larimer has called for a fuller investigation into the man’s death, because they suspect foul play.’
‘Foul play? Why? How could they know that? I mean, from what I overheard those men say, it seems that could be the case, but surely they would not draw conclusions in such a way.’
‘No, their conclusions came from their own observations. First, his neck had been broken in a manner consistent with being forcibly hanged. Less consistent with suicide, though, unless the man had jumped off the branch, which might have resulted in the horrific break.’
‘I see,’ Lucy replied, trying to imagine the scene. ‘So he would have had to climb on to the branch, wrap the rope around the tree, place the noose around his neck and then throw himself off.’
‘Exactly,’ Duncan replied.
‘Then he wouldn’t have needed the stool,’ Lucy pointed out.
Duncan nodded. ‘That is so. There’s more. Doctor Sheridan told me that the man had recently suffered a great blow to the back of his head. They insisted that such a blow must have occurred when the man was alive. Judging from the wound, they believe that it occurred shortly before he was hanged. Quite unnatural. There is also a strong chance that his neck was broken before he was hanged, although they were less certain about this. Lastly, they concluded that the time of death was also consistent with when you discovered him.’
‘His death must have happened just before I arrived.’ She shivered. What would have happened if she had witnessed the event? Or perhaps she very nearly had.
‘Lucy,’ Duncan said. ‘They also took into account what you had overheard the two men say about knocking over the stool. It sounds as if – as you suspected – the two men you saw may have at the very least helped the man to die, which is an offence punishable by law, and masked their involvement in his self-murder.’ Seeing Lucy shiver, he touched her arm.
At his touch, Lucy stepped back, feeling a pang at the hurt expression that flitted across his face. Fortunately, something else came to her mind, returning them both to the issue at hand. ‘I remember now that they called each other “Dev” and “Pike”. Perhaps that will help.’
‘Dev and Pike?’
‘Yes, I think that’s right.’
‘All right,’ Duncan said, making a notation in the small book he carried in his pocket. ‘There’s something else. I took it upon myself to further examine the man’s clothes, wondering if we might learn anything about his identity or his death. It turns out that he was wearing a second pocket, hidden beneath his clothes.’
‘Oh!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘Doctor Sheridan must have missed it when he cut the clothes off the man’s body with such haste. Did you find something?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know what it means.’ Duncan opened up a pocket and withdrew a piece of paper that had been folded twice. ‘I was thinking that you might ask Master Hargrave if he can make head or tail of this. I most certainly cannot.’
Lucy took the paper from him, noting its coarse texture and greyish appearance. A very common type of paper, typically used for writing letters and records or keeping household accounts. Not usually what they used for printing. Unfolding it, she found it was about the size of a chapbook, just a few inches in all directions, a few hand-printed lines in the middle.
‘What language is this?’ she asked, squinting at the writing. It was clearly not English, and there were some unfamiliar symbols interspersed within the words as well. ‘I’ve never seen such characters before.’
M YGHX HX YGC MIN GP XCY YGC & DWA
P LMJC GHL KCMB Y ZT ZGC &
Y NFYM UNK PYM LZX UNK &Q YKHV
Z SYQRL JZ LQR HH. RIYH LQX EZ ELI
‘I don’t know,’ Duncan replied, sounding frustrated. ‘Doctor Larimer said it was no language he knew, although he thought one or two of the symbols were Greek. He suggested I might ask Master Hargrave about it, who has a very fine head for such things. Or his son.’ He coughed. ‘I would take it over to the Hargraves myself, but Hank broke up a tavern fight last night, and we’ve got several men cooling their heels in our cell.’
‘Was there anything else in the pocket?’
‘Nothing too useful. Just a few tradesmen’s tokens. I’ll visit the businesses later. Perhaps someone will be able to identify him.’
‘I think you are right to see if either of the Hargraves can help us. They are quite knowledgeable.’ Feeling the constable bristle slightly, she added hastily, ‘Especially the magistrate, of course. Let me just copy the message so that you may keep the original.’
‘No, I think it best that you show them the original.’
‘Perhaps.’ Taking a piece of paper and a quill, Lucy scrupulously copied every letter and symbol as faithfully as she could, before handing the copy to Duncan and carefully refolding the message and placing it in her own pocket. ‘I shall ask Master Aubrey for leave to visit the Hargraves later. Perhaps he will allow me to go after I have completed my afternoon chores.’
Duncan studied her but did not reach out to touch her again. ‘Thank you, Lucy. Please let me know anything you might learn from the magistrate.’
After the constable took his leave, Lucy stepped back inside to ask permission. While Aubrey’s household was far less strict than most, she still could not come and go as she pleased. ‘Master Aubrey, would it be all right if I—’
‘Take a few hours to help Constable Duncan?’ the master printer interrupted.
‘Well, yes,’ Lucy replied. ‘I’d l
ike to see the Hargraves tonight, if I may. The constable thought that they might shed some light on a few matters that have turned up in his investigation.’
Master Aubrey dramatically gestured heavenward. ‘Why, Lord, am I so burdened with two halfwit apprentices?’
‘I’ll make all my deliveries and do extra ones. I’ll also make the porridge every morning for a week,’ she continued, adopting the playful wheedling tone that she reserved for such occasions. ‘Besides, you don’t have to pay me for the tract I just wrote.’
‘Enough, enough,’ Master Aubrey said. ‘Let’s just finish printing these broadsides. We must heed the time and get the order done.’
FIVE
Holding her small glass lantern high above her head, Lucy strode swiftly along Chancery Lane towards the Hargraves’ home, trying to ignore how the tiny flame caused long ominous shadows all around her. The regulations against lanterns and open flames in effect over the past year had finally been relaxed by the City’s authorities, so she was grateful for the small light that the lantern provided. She would have preferred to have left Master Aubrey’s when it was less dark and there were more people around. Still, she was glad that he had let her go at all.
The fog had grown thicker as she walked, muffling the sounds of distant church bells tolling eight o’clock, distancing her from the world around her. The stillness reminded her how few people were out and about at this hour. Most only ventured into the streets when absolutely necessary, especially when the fog was as thick and impenetrable as it was tonight. Many had grown used to the evening curfew which, like the regulations concerning lanterns, had been recently relaxed.
She turned down the walk to the Hargraves’ home. She hoped the magistrate and Adam had long finished their supper and were not entertaining any guests this evening. Although the windows were shuttered, she could see the soft glow of candles gleaming in Master Hargrave’s study. Going around to the back, she knocked at the kitchen entrance.
The Sign of the Gallows Page 4
