The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  ‘Oh, that is also the same,’ Lucy said. ‘Instead of writing out the word “and”, we might use an ampersand. Except,’ she added, ‘we set all type backwards.’

  ‘It is possible that this cipher is also backwards,’ Professor Wallace said. ‘We cannot know just by perusing it in this way.’

  ‘So, it sounds as if we need the key to the cipher,’ Lucy said. ‘If there’s no way to work out the cipher for ourselves?’

  ‘Yes—’ The mathematician broke off, frowning. ‘Wait a minute. There is something familiar about this particular symbol.’ He pointed the last character on the page – π. ‘Obviously, it is the mathematical symbol for pi, first used by the Greeks. I have seen it in a cipher before.’

  ‘Do you recall what it means?’ his wife asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes.’ He handed the flea glass to the magistrate. ‘It is the sign of the gallows, which Babington also used in his cipher.’

  Mrs Wallace clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘The body was found at the gallows! Surely that cannot be a coincidence.’

  Lucy clasped her hands together in excitement. Maybe they’d be able to decipher the message, after all. Suddenly, she felt one step closer to finding out what had happened to that man, a thought that was oddly satisfying to contemplate.

  ‘Could the rest of it be written in Babington’s code? Could it be as simple as that?’ Master Hargrave asked, sitting forward in his chair. ‘Surely you have a copy in your own home?’

  ‘Yes, I certainly do so,’ Professor Wallace murmured, still studying the paper. ‘I believe, however, that there is something else familiar …’ Once again, he closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Then, as they silently watched him, something of his demeanour changed. He was no longer as excited as he’d been the moment before. He seemed softer, weaker somehow. ‘Oh. That’s it.’

  ‘You remember?’ the magistrate asked eagerly. Although he always seemed so calm and logical, Lucy could almost see him as a young boy watching a puppeteer, sitting forward in rapt excitement. ‘Where have you encountered this cipher before?’

  ‘I believe this cipher may have been created by a former pupil of mine.’ He glanced at his wife, and she set down her cup abruptly on the table. ‘The hand that wrote this message was so ill – I didn’t realize.’

  ‘What’s his name?’ Adam asked. ‘Your pupil?’

  ‘Er, not a man at all,’ Professor Wallace said, wiping his forehead. Inexplicably, a dull red rose in his sallow cheeks. ‘That is to say—’ He broke off again, looking helplessly at his wife.

  ‘Lucretia?’ she asked, a faint look of consternation appearing on her face as well.

  When the mathematician didn’t reply, Master Hargrave prompted Mrs Wallace. ‘“Lucretia”, you said. Pray tell, who may she be?’

  Mrs Wallace raised her chin. ‘Miss Lucretia de Witte, the only daughter of the late Sir Benedict de Witte. Amsterdam-born, distant relations to the House of Orange. For a time, one of my husband’s pupils here in London. A favourite at that.’

  A long, heavy pause followed. When the Wallaces looked pointedly away from one another, the magistrate shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Lucy and Adam exchanged a glance.

  Professor Wallace pulled at the neck of his shirt, as if suddenly finding it hard to draw a breath. ‘She had a fine grasp of mathematics,’ he explained quietly. ‘So unusual for a woman.’

  His wife looked at the others, a slight smile returning to her lips. She appeared to be trying to affect an amused air. ‘The two of them exchanged a number of messages written in this cipher. A delightful pastime, it would seem.’ Her lips tightened, belying the sense of light-heartedness she was trying to display. ‘We’ve not seen Miss de Witte in a very long time, have we, my dear? Or at least I have not seen her.’

  ‘N–no, dear,’ her husband replied. ‘We haven’t seen Miss de Witte in quite some time. Truly, dear, I have not seen her.’

  Thankfully, Master Hargrave broke into the Wallaces’ uncomfortable exchange. ‘Just so I understand, Neville,’ he said, ‘you believe that this message is written using the cipher that Miss de Witte created?’

  ‘Yes, I believe so. Perhaps. I’m not certain. This is not Miss de Witte’s hand. Just something about the symbols seems familiar. Although, as I said, it seems to derive in part from Babington’s cipher as well. Of course, I shared that cipher with Miss de Witte at the time, so she may well have incorporated that into her own communications—’ Professor Wallace dropped off again with another hasty glance at his wife. He began to mop at his brow more earnestly. ‘It is rather hot in here, don’t you think?’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell us about this cipher?’ Master Hargrave pressed. His tone was cordial but firm, and even without his robes, he was taking on his probing magis-terial demeanour. ‘Neville, please. It is important. If the man who bore this message was murdered, as I am beginning to believe he was, we must learn all we can.’

  Professor Wallace gestured vaguely to the first symbol. ‘If I recall, Miss de Witte created a cipher where the very first symbol would tell the recipient how to decipher it. She was quite devious and skilled in that regard. She had two codes, each needing to be derived in terms of the other. One as a function of the other.’

  ‘It should not be so hard to decipher, then, if you have the key?’ Adam pressed.

  Mrs Wallace stood up then, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I’m afraid I asked my husband to discard her papers when the lessons concluded. They were taking up too much space in the house.’ She looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

  Lucy half stood up, wanting to throw her arms around the woman to comfort her. Indeed, if it had been Cook or Annie or Sarah, she would have done so. But it would be wholly improper, and she gripped the arms of her chair instead.

  Professor Wallace shifted in his seat, a profound look of regret and shame on his features. Lucy could hardly bear to look at him. ‘Indeed. That is so. I’m sorry I cannot help you.’

  ‘Could you look at the message again,’ Master Hargrave asked. ‘Perhaps you’d remember the cipher—’

  Neville Wallace stood up and moved next to his wife, drawing her to him. ‘No, I’m sorry, it was a long time ago. It was all a mistake. I cannot remember. I’m sorry. I think it is best that we take our leave, my dear.’ He looked at Master Hargrave. ‘Please have our carriage brought around.’

  ‘I should like to visit the privy first,’ Mrs Wallace said in a small voice.

  ‘Let me show you where it is,’ Lucy offered. ‘This way, Mrs Wallace.’

  As they walked down the hallway, Mrs Wallace touched Lucy’s arm. ‘Lucy, you must think I’m a ninny. It’s just that—’ Tears looked as if they were about to well up in her eyes again.

  ‘You don’t need to explain,’ Lucy said hurriedly. Indeed, she did not. ‘I’m so sorry that this turned out to be an upsetting evening for you. I did enjoy the conversation, though.’

  To her surprise, Mrs Wallace grasped her hands and smiled at her. ‘It was truly a pleasure, Lucy, to meet you. What a lively storyteller you are! If you ever have any new mathematical tracts, I am certain that Neville would greatly appreciate receiving them. For myself, I should very much like to learn more about the bookselling trade. You are welcome to call any time you are free.’ She sighed. ‘Some days, I’d welcome any diversion, so, truly, please do not hesitate to call.’

  ‘I shall see you home, Lucy,’ Adam said, after they had said their farewells to the Wallaces. He reached for one of the brass lanterns that the Hargraves kept by the front door, opening the tiny glass door to light the wick inside. Although the lantern was designed to keep the candle from blowing out, he pocketed some flint just in case. ‘A bit windy tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy agreed, wrapping her cloak more tightly around her body. ‘There’s been a bite of late. The almanacs are predicting a particularly chilly winter. The Thames may even freeze over again, though likely not until January or February, I imagine.’ She wa
s aware that she was chattering, and she wasn’t sure if he was paying attention.

  ‘Shall we?’ he asked, extending his arm.

  Hesitating, she curled her fingers around the crook of his elbow, feeling the rough-hewn wool. This was not the fine-cut cloth he had once worn. Perhaps his finances had become straitened during his time in the New World. The passage alone must have been a tidy sum.

  The fog swirled around them gently, softening the sounds of night. He held the lantern up above them so that she could see. The moon was obscured above by the fog that hovered over the city, except for a strange bright patch in the sky that gave them some evidence of the celestial’s body serene existence.

  ‘So, we may have learned something,’ Lucy commented, thinking through the evening’s conversation, trying to keep her mind off their unexpected closeness. It had been a long time since they had walked together like this, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do. ‘The cipher may have been created by Lucretia de Witte. Who is she, I wonder?’ she mused. ‘The mention of her name caused quite a response from both Wallaces.’

  ‘That is certainly so.’ Adam held the lantern higher, so that their shadows on the dark streets grew longer. In the distance, she heard some dogs barking and she shivered. She’d recently sold some tracts that told of a true tale of a woman beset and killed by a pack of wild dogs. In Southwark, but it may just as well have been in the midst of London proper.

  ‘I think that Miss de Witte and Professor Wallace …’ She hesitated. As a servant, she had long learned not to speak ill of her betters.

  Adam had no such qualms, accurately finishing her thought. ‘Were guilty of adultery? That would be my assumption, given the exchange between the Wallaces.’ He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  ‘It is unfortunate that they threw away the cipher,’ Lucy said. ‘Although understandable. No woman would want to be taunted by her husband’s infidelity.’

  ‘Just so. It is indeed unfortunate. However, we did learn something important about how we might undertake de-ciphering the message,’ Adam said. ‘If Miss de Witte did indeed create the cipher, perhaps she still has the key. If so, we should be able to decipher it easily enough.’

  Lucy stopped and looked up at him. ‘How do you know that Miss de Witte was not herself involved? Maybe she sent it? Or maybe she was supposed to get it?’

  Adam hit his forehead. ‘Of course, Lucy! You are quite correct. We do not know if Miss de Witte was involved,’ he replied. ‘Other than being the creator of the cipher. We cannot simply ask her to supply the code without rousing her suspicion. We must proceed with care.’

  ‘Perhaps we could try to find out in a more roundabout way. Maybe there is a way to discover who else might have used the cipher she created,’ Lucy said. ‘Perhaps she shared it with someone else.’

  ‘That is so,’ Adam said.

  ‘Also, I did not quite understand everything Professor Wallace said about how such ciphers work,’ she said. For some reason, she did not feel embarrassed to admit her own ignorance to Adam. ‘Would the person who sent it have to be particularly skilled in mathematics? Would the person who receives it? I wasn’t certain what Professor Wallace meant by different codes.’

  ‘My understanding is that one simply needed the key. The first symbol would tell the recipient which part of the cipher to use. Truly, it seems that we just need to acquire the key.’

  ‘I will tell the constable tomorrow,’ she said. ‘He should know what to do next.’

  Adam gave her a rueful look. ‘What will Duncan do? Just march up to Miss de Witte’s door and ask for the key? Ask her to translate the message for him? Ask for the people of her acquaintance with whom she might have shared the cipher and key? Do you think she will even be “at home” when he comes by?’

  Lucy stopped short, hurt by his unexpectedly harsh tone. It was true that Duncan would not have easy access to Miss de Witte, but she felt hurt that Adam would be so blunt. ‘I don’t know how he’d approach her. He’s not an idiot, even if he doesn’t have a scholar’s education.’

  She started to pull open the door, tears rising in her eyes. An insult to Duncan felt like an insult to her.

  ‘Lucy! That’s not what I meant! Please—’

  ‘He can certainly tell her about the man’s death. Perhaps she knows who he is, if he’s been serving as a messenger.’

  ‘That’s true. Duncan can do that. Just think about it, Lucy. What will she say then?’

  Lucy brushed away a tear. ‘She’d say …’ What would she say if Duncan asked her such a thing? She sighed. ‘She’d say, “Why did you come to me? Why do you think that I would know this man?” and Duncan would have to say that a message had been found and Professor Wallace had named her.’ She looked away, grudgingly continuing. ‘He’d be giving away his hand to do so. If she’s somehow involved with that man’s death, such a pronouncement would tip her off. Then everything could be lost.’

  ‘That’s right, Lucy. Believe me, it pains me to say this to you.’

  Lucy stared up at him, searching his face. ‘Why do you care about this, Adam?’

  ‘I care because you do, Lucy. I know that you are determined to bring about justice. Indeed, I feel the same way.’

  His intensity caught her by surprise. She remembered once how he had intervened at a dog-baiting spectacle, even though he had received a beating for his troubles. ‘This is not for you to do. This is the work of Constable Duncan.’

  ‘I could say the same to you, Lucy.’ He straightened up then and moved away.

  NINE

  ‘You received my message,’ Lucy said to Duncan, who had just stepped into the printer’s shop. She had asked Will to slip a note under the constable’s door at dawn’s first light, on his way to the blacksmith’s shop where he had been working for the last four years. Her brother was generally reliable unless he was under the spell of his latest lady love, and then what he might remember of his responsibilities was anyone’s guess.

  ‘I did. Took me a few hours before I could make it here. I was continuing my investigation and I have some news as well,’ he said, looking at the piece she was carefully laying out on the worktable. ‘What’s this? Another monstrous tale?’

  Lucy laughed. ‘True News from Southwark,’ she said. ‘The most unusual story of how a two-headed dog caught two rats at once.’

  He made a face. ‘Some things are not worth knowing.’

  ‘It’ll sell quickly, though – just you wait. Especially now that we have found this most compelling woodcut to accompany it.’ She tapped on the small picture plate. The image was a witch and her familiar, which was the closest they had been able to find. ‘Master Aubrey should see if he can swap some woodcuts with other printers,’ she said, more to herself than to Duncan. ‘It would be a good thing to switch the images we use.’

  ‘So you met with the mathematician last night? At the Hargraves’,’ Duncan said, his smile fading as he pulled out the note that she’d sent him.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied and filled him in on what Professor Wallace had told her about secret writing. He perked up when she mentioned that the mathematician believed that Lucretia de Witte might have created the code. ‘You can’t assume, of course, that she had anything to do with this message. Perhaps if we could learn who else knew the cipher, then that might give us a point to explore further.’

  ‘That is very helpful, Lucy; thank you for your efforts.’

  Lucy frowned as the previous night’s conversation with Adam arose in her thoughts. ‘I’m afraid that Master Adam thinks you won’t be able to speak to Miss de Witte directly.’

  Duncan laughed, a lightness stealing back over his features. ‘You sound surprised. Sometimes, Lucy, I think you are the only one who does not remember my station.’ He chuckled again. ‘I cannot simply walk up to her door and inquire about a cipher that she created, and which may have been connected with a murder. Adam is quite correct in this regard. Such a thing will only result in a door slammed in my face
and being ushered off the premises.’

  ‘That isn’t right,’ Lucy said hotly.

  ‘No. It isn’t.’

  ‘Something else occurred to me last night,’ she said. ‘I thought I might speak to Professor Wallace’s wife again. So odd to say, but I do believe that Mrs Wallace showed a true interest in me. If you can imagine, she invited me to call on her. Any time, she said. I do believe she may be lonely.’

  ‘It is not odd that she has a true interest in you, Lucy,’ Duncan replied, shuffling his feet. ‘Not odd to me at all.’

  Lucy hurried on. ‘I was thinking that I should ask her again about the cipher. Maybe Professor Wallace didn’t actually get rid of it. It’s possible the cipher and key are still among his papers. It is worth asking her to check again, I believe, even if it will be painful for her to consider.’

  Duncan rubbed his jaw. ‘That may be so. It may lead somewhere fruitful. I hope you will be careful.’

  ‘You said you had some news for me as well? What is it?’

  ‘We identified the corpse,’ Duncan replied. ‘Name’s Paul Corbyn. A mercer of brass and iron, as far as I can tell. Mostly in the form of household goods, such as pots and pans. Other kitchen tools.’

  ‘Truly?’ Lucy asked, impressed. ‘How did you discover his identity?’

  ‘I followed up on the tradesman’s tokens that were in the deceased’s second pocket, which had been found tied around his waist, hidden from view. They were mostly from the same blacksmith’s shop.’ Duncan rubbed his hands together. ‘Hank and I made a few inquiries there and found that one of their regular customers, a mercer, hadn’t been seen for a few days. Turns out the missing man matched the deceased’s description.’ He sighed. ‘That man had a few enemies, judging from what the blacksmith told us. Customers who were waiting on his goods. Thought they’d been swindled when he didn’t show up.’