The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  ‘Who’s making deliveries at this hour?’ Cook grumbled as she slid open the lock. Then, when she threw open the door, her grumpy expression changed as she realized who was standing there. ‘Oh, Lucy! It’s you! Well, come on in, lass. Don’t let the chill in.’

  Giving a little squeal, Annie jumped up from the wooden table, nearly knocking over her cup of hot mead and earning her a scowl from Cook. Laughing, Lucy allowed herself to be caught in the servant’s scrawny arms. Cook’s husband, John, gave her a friendly smile but stayed silent in his customary taciturn way. Standing together with them caused a wave of nostalgia to flood over Lucy. Cook and John had watched over her like parents for the several years she’d served the Hargraves, and when Annie came along, she felt she had gained a little sister. I miss them terribly, she realized. I’m also envious that they still live here, with the Hargraves. Sometimes I wish I did, too. That last fleeting thought passed quickly, however. She was grateful to have found work that she loved with Master Aubrey. Nothing could match the beauty of creating and selling books.

  ‘What brings you here so late?’ Cook asked. ‘You cannot be here for one of your games of chess with the master.’

  ‘Do not fear, nothing is amiss,’ she said. She gave an exaggerated sniff, taking in the delicious aroma of Cook’s stew which still lingered in the air. ‘Perhaps I’m just here to have a second supper.’

  ‘Oh, of course, sit down!’ Cook cried and began to bustle about. ‘Annie, get a hunk of that rye bread. John, hand me a bowl. Lucy’s looking too thin. I’ll just warm the stew—’

  Lucy threw up her hands. ‘Nay, Cook. I was just teasing. I am indeed quite full from supper. To be truthful, I’m here to see the Hargraves about an important issue. Alas, it has naught to do with chess.’

  ‘I see,’ Cook said, sitting down opposite her, while Annie sat close beside her. John remained standing, leaning against the wall. ‘Did Master Hargrave invite you? Or perhaps it was the young master? He’s recently returned from the New World.’

  ‘I did know. I’ve already seen Adam – Master Adam, I mean. He came to see me at Master Aubrey’s yesterday.’

  Lucy caught Cook and John exchanging a glance, causing her cheeks to flame as hotly as the kitchen hearth. While they may not have known the details of what had gone on between her and Adam, she sensed they knew something of what his feelings had been. They’d never discussed any of this, and Lucy could not discern what they thought of her relationship with either of the men interested in courting her. She’d never dared ask their opinion, although it would not have surprised her if they had favoured the constable as a more suitable match.

  Casting about for a different topic, Lucy pulled out The Cook’s True Delight that she and Lach had been working on that morning and slid it across the table.

  ‘For me?’ Cook beamed, examining it, always happy to get new recipes to try. Then her brow furrowed as she looked more closely at the woodcut. ‘Why is there a witch here? I’m not making a witch’s brew. Not for the magistrate! This is a godly household!’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy said, trying to soothe her feelings. A pox upon Lach! ‘Oh no! Don’t throw it away!’

  Unfortunately, she was too late. Cook had already crumpled up the broadside and thrown it on the fire. It blackened for a second and then was gone.

  ‘I’ll bring you a recipe for a godlier stew next time,’ Lucy said, feeling a bit chagrined. ‘May I go see Master Hargrave now?’

  Cook shooed her away. ‘Get along with you now!’ Then, less gruffly, added, ‘Stop back before you leave, Lucy. I’ll send you back with some jars of stew.’

  As she walked down the corridor, though, she was stopped by Annie tugging on her sleeve. ‘Have you seen that wretch Sid recently?’ she whispered. ‘I never see him much at church and he hasn’t stopped by for victuals in a long time. Stupid rascal.’

  Lucy hid a smile. She didn’t know how Annie had developed such a soft spot for the lad. ‘I’ll ask Duncan,’ she promised. ‘He usually keeps up to date on Sid’s doings.’ Especially when those doings meant sending him to the stocks.

  Looking satisfied, Annie danced back to the kitchen, and Lucy sighed, hoping that the young woman’s affections had not been misplaced.

  Hearing Master Hargrave’s assent to her quiet knock, Lucy walked into her former employer’s study. The Hargraves had moved here after the fire, and she’d only lived in this house a few days before taking up residence at Master Aubrey’s. Still, there was a comforting familiarity to the room, being among his books and maps and great tasks. It smelled of burned tallow, spilled ink and the musty aroma of old books – very much as parts of Master Aubrey’s shop smelled as well.

  ‘Ah, Lucy,’ the magistrate said, standing up when she walked in. The respectful demeanour he bore towards her was one of her old master’s most endearing traits. Even when she’d served in his household, he’d always been gracious and kind, never beating his servants as other men would to correct their mistakes and maintain order. ‘I’ve been expecting you.’

  ‘You have?’ Lucy asked, feeling pleased but confused. ‘We had no appointment, as I recall. Pray, forgive me if we did.’

  ‘No, no. You’ve done nothing amiss. Adam said you’d probably stop by.’ Here he chuckled. ‘You were certainly right, son.’

  Lucy swivelled to find Adam standing before a cushioned chair in the corner, smiling slightly.

  ‘Did the constable tell you I’d be coming?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Adam said, his smile fading. ‘I just had a feeling you’d want to discuss your latest quest with Father.’ He picked up a quill off the desk and set it back down in the same place. ‘Why did the constable think you’d be coming here? Did you speak to him today?’

  Lucy turned to Master Hargrave. ‘A new mystery has emerged, sir! I thought you could help us solve it.’

  ‘Us?’ Adam asked.

  The magistrate darted a look at his son. ‘Sit, please, Lucy,’ he said, gesturing to the red embroidered chair next to Adam. ‘I should very much like to hear how I can help you. First, tell me about yesterday’s exciting news. Adam told me some of what transpired, but naturally I’d much prefer to hear it from you.’

  Instead of seating herself, Lucy clapped her hands loudly as if standing before a crowd. ‘Good people! I have today the tale of a most astonishing event, right out of St Giles-in-the-Fields, on Drury Lane. Whereby I did see, with mine own eyes, the startling sight of a corpse dangling from the old hanging tree, where witches, murderers and suicides might find themselves hanged …’ With this opening statement, which caused both men to start and then laugh, Lucy launched into the story of what had transpired the day before. Her experience selling broadsides and true accounts from atop a wooden box had taught her how to spin a good tale. She began to dramatically re-enact how she’d discovered the body and hid from the two men, using her whole body, voice and words to tell the tale. She also embellished the details, adding more to her reactions, and telling more of the ghosts of bodies hidden at the crossroads.

  Throughout, Adam and Master Hargrave wore amused expressions on their faces, applauding heartily when she concluded. ‘So ends the first part of The Corpse at the Crossroads,’ she said, offering a deep curtsy before sitting down, exhausted.

  ‘Brava, brava! Wonderful, Lucy,’ Master Hargrave exclaimed, clapping heartily. ‘A remarkable tale, to be sure. Shall we soon have the pleasure of reading this True Account?’ He laughed. ‘Although, to my mind, five ghosts drifting in and out of Drury Lane may have been a few too many. Nevertheless, we shall be sure to buy several copies when it is printed.’

  Lucy grinned. Although she knew that Master Hargrave did not put much stock in the more fanciful elements of the tale, she was touched that he’d shown such a keen interest in her first attempts at writing.

  ‘The first part?’ Adam commented. ‘What, then, is the second part? You mentioned a new mystery when you arrived.’

  ‘Constable Duncan stopped by t
o tell me that a message was found on the corpse, and he would very much like your thoughts.’

  ‘Indeed?’ the magistrate asked. Both he and Adam looked intrigued.

  ‘Yes, apparently they found it in a second pocket that the man had kept tied beneath his clothes. They were hoping for something else that might help identify him.’ She extracted the bit of vellum from her pocket and handed it to the magistrate. ‘Doctor Larimer said one of you might understand what this message means.’

  Adam leaned over his father’s shoulder so they could study the paper together. Both men frowned at the same moment, their blue eyes looking almost identical. While the magistrate’s hair had thinned considerably and whitened over the last few years, Adam’s was still thick with a slight wave.

  ‘This is not a different language,’ Adam declared. ‘This message is in cipher.’

  ‘So odd,’ the magistrate agreed, holding it up to the light. ‘Could be a simple substitution cipher, or one that relies on the recipient knowing a specific key. Very strange indeed.’

  ‘Do you think that this message has something to do with the man’s death?’ Lucy asked. ‘I know that Doctor Larimer has suspicions about whether the man actually killed himself. He and Doctor Sheridan said they thought he’d been struck on the back of the head before he was hanged. They also believe there is a good chance that his neck was broken beforehand, although their findings are not conclusive.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Adam asked. ‘That would require a level of premeditation, then, to hang a dead or nearly dead body. They’d have to bring along rope and the stool, at the very least. It is possible that they simply waited for the man to arrive, unless they lured him there in some fashion.’

  ‘Perhaps the message tells him to come to the crossroads, where he met his fate.’ Lucy swallowed. ‘We’ve seen that before.’ Unexpectedly, a tear pricked her eye. Years ago, before the plague and the Great Fire, her fellow servant and good friend Bessie had received such an invitation and ended up meeting death instead.

  ‘Ah, Bessie,’ the magistrate said, having followed her thoughts. ‘She was a good lass.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Adam added. They were all quiet, thinking of the lively girl Bessie had been. Then he cleared his throat. ‘It is possible, as you say, that the message told him to come to the crossroads. It is also quite possible that he was killed for the message itself. Or to keep him from delivering it. Either might make sense, if you think about it, given that the message was hidden upon his person.’

  ‘So, it may have been more about the message than the man? Who would kill the messenger?’ Lucy asked. ‘And in such a manner?’

  ‘“No man delights in the bearer of bad news,”’ the magistrate replied. ‘Sophocles had it right. Just because a man brings bad news does not mean that he should be killed.’

  Lucy nodded. There were laws against town criers being killed for sharing bad news from King or Parliament. Even she’d been on the other end of some wrath for singing the news of the day, particularly when such news was disturbing or troublesome.

  ‘Perhaps he was a spy? Or a traitor?’ Lucy asked.

  The magistrate clucked his tongue. ‘Perhaps. Although he’d be thrown in jail if a traitor to England and tried as a spy. I have heard of many men who encrypt their correspondence as a matter of course. Some tradesmen, merchants, bankers – occupations like that.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘Constable Duncan said the man appeared to be in trade. He found a few trader’s tokens that he was going to investigate.’

  ‘Sometimes such secret messages are more playful, sent between friends or lovers,’ Adam added. ‘I knew some scholars at Cambridge who corresponded in such fashion with women with whom they were infatuated.’

  ‘So he may have been a courier. Between merchants? Lovers? Traitors?’ Lucy pondered. ‘How can we know?’

  ‘We are still just surmising, as we do not know in fact if this man was a messenger. Certainly, as you yourself just pointed out, Lucy,’ Adam said, ‘what a fantastic method of murder. To hang a man at a crossroads, in broad daylight, when anyone might come along. Such a cold and purposeful act.’

  ‘It does make me wonder about the ring,’ Lucy said. Maybe we should ask a jeweller about it, she thought. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince Duncan. There was such a man on the Strand who had a good reputation for being knowledgeable and fair. Maybe he’d have some thoughts on who had made the piece. ‘That might help,’ she murmured.

  ‘What might help?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied, watching as he took another piece of paper and began to rapidly copy the characters and symbols using one of his father’s finely cut quill pens. He clearly was following her same instinct from earlier.

  The magistrate held the original under his flea glass. ‘Some of this does indeed seem to be Greek characters. Although I do not believe this to be a mathematical equation, a good acquaintance of mine might be pressed to weigh in on the matter. I am thinking of the mathematician Neville Wallace, who we might seek out for his good counsel in this matter.’

  ‘Wallace?’ Adam asked, his brow crinkling a bit. ‘I remember meeting him once or twice. If I recall correctly, he advised Parliament on various ciphers and messages over the years, before King Charles was restored to the throne. He was quite good at it, too, from what I understand.’

  ‘Indeed,’ his father replied. ‘He’s a member of the Royal Society, recently returned from Cambridge. The King, I’ve heard, wanted him nearby when he learned of his keen mathematical skills.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I believe we just might entice Mr Wallace with hearty fare and a good puzzle. I shall invite him and his wife to dine this week.’

  SIX

  After Lucy had spent the morning sweating over The True Tale of a Most Monstrous Cat, she was finally able to slip over to the jail and tell Duncan what she had learned from the Hargraves. But neither the constable nor Hank was on hand when she arrived, and in their stead she found a Welshman by the name of Gruffyd keeping watch at the jail. She didn’t know Gruffyd very well and had a hard time understanding him because his accent was so thick. Finally, after much pantomiming, she understood that Duncan and Hank were down at the stocks a half mile away.

  Lucy hurried down Fleet Street towards the pillory at the other end. There she saw the constable and Hank next to a man bent over at the stocks. She stopped short when she saw his face, her hand flying to her mouth. Speak of the Devil and the Devil shall appear, she could almost hear her mother say. It was Sid, the pickpocket who Annie had just asked about the night before.

  Duncan was standing beside the stocks, his arms crossed as he kept a stern watch on the hecklers who had gathered. A few boys came along, hefting raw eggs and tomatoes in front of the pickpocket, threatening to toss them on his face. Sid exchanged good-natured barbs with them. Just another merriment to pass the time.

  ‘Oh, Sid,’ she said, moving to stand in front of the lanky young man, just as a pulpy tomato was plopped on to his mop of brown hair. ‘Whatever did you do this time?’

  ‘Hey, Lucy,’ Sid said, craning as best he could to look up at her. ‘Why don’t you guess? I’ll let you give me a kiss if you get it right.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ Lucy replied, at the same time stopping Duncan as he reached out to swat Sid across the back of his head. She took out a small handkerchief from her outer pocket to wipe some of the egg yolk and tomato pulp off Sid’s forehead and cheeks, ignoring the taunts and jeers of the spectators for breaking up their sport.

  Hank spoke up then. ‘Why bother, miss? This one will never learn. How many times have you been in the stocks just this month, Sid?’

  ‘Five, I think,’ Sid replied, giving a cheeky grin.

  She shook her head at him. ‘You need to change your ways, Sid. You can’t keep pickpocketing and this kind of petty theft.’

  ‘I should stop getting caught, you mean,’ Sid replied. Hearing him, some of the boys around them guffawed.

  ‘Isn’t t
here something else you want to do? Is there a profession you want to pursue? Can you not try to make a livelihood for yourself?’

  Sid smiled. ‘Are you trying to make an honest man of me, Lucy? Are you asking me to settle down? I’d be happy to live off your earnings as a bookseller. I’ll look after our children while you follow that noble profession!’

  Beside her, Duncan stiffened while the crowd around them laughed. Some of them began to jeer now at Lucy, and she straightened up. ‘I don’t intend on marrying anyone soon,’ she said.

  ‘I think it’s best if you leave, Lucy,’ Duncan said. ‘Besides, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’

  ‘I have something to tell you, too,’ she replied. ‘Just let me say one more thing to Sid.’

  Leaning down, she whispered in Sid’s ear, ‘Annie was asking about you, when I went to the Hargraves’ last night. What do you think that I should say to her? Do you think she’d be pleased to know you’ve been in the stocks five times this month already? Oh, Sid.’

  Sid’s face changed. ‘Annie – asked about me?’

  Lucy stood back up without responding, allowing Duncan to lead her away.

  ‘You went to see the Hargraves?’ he asked when they were out of earshot of the hecklers. ‘Did you show them the message? What did they say? Could they read it?’

  Taking his sleeve, Lucy pulled the constable over to the side of the street where relatively few people were selling, buying or otherwise meandering about. ‘Yes, I showed the note to them. They did not recognize the language. Indeed, they said it was more likely written in a secret language, a cipher of some sort.’

  ‘A cipher?’ Duncan whistled. ‘I wonder what that means.’

  ‘Adam – I mean, Mister Hargrave – said that such ciphers were often used among tradesmen, and, of course, to send political and military secrets. He said it was also not so uncommon among his set to send such coded messages to acquaintances and friends. Both the sender and the recipient would just need to have a key. He said it was a type of a game for some.’