‘I see.’
‘The blacksmith then directed me to Corbyn’s street. After asking around a bit, I found my way to his house.’
‘What happened then?’
‘The servant said straight away that the master was missing and hadn’t been home in some days. He hadn’t packed a valise or any such thing,’ Duncan said. ‘Moreover, when I asked her what her employer looked like, the description matched that of our corpse. Dark hair, slim build, clean face, sea serpent tattoo on his arm.’
‘What did his wife say? Had he been very melancholic?’
‘That is the odd part. When I met Mrs Corbyn, she insisted that the dead body could not be that of her husband.’
‘That’s not so surprising, is it?’ Lucy asked. ‘I should think that many women would not wish to believe their husbands were dead.’
‘That is so. Still, I could see beneath her angry and dismissive words that she was worried and distraught. After some persuasion, she agreed to accompany me to Doctor Larimer’s to view the corpse.’ Seeing him grimace, Lucy patted the constable’s forearm. Without a doubt, serving as Death’s messenger was the hardest part of his job. He continued. ‘Doctor Sheridan let that poor woman peer upon her husband’s face without very much compassion, I’m afraid. The poor woman passed right out and had to be revived by a pungent scent that the physician had on hand. She did confirm then that the dead man was her husband, Paul Corbyn.’
‘What did you say of his death? Did you tell her how he’d been found hanged at the crossroads? What did she say about that?’
Duncan nodded. ‘I wanted to see what she’d say first about the idea that he had committed self-murder. I asked her about her husband’s state of mind, to see if she thought he’d been melancholic or in a desperate state.’ He paused. ‘At first she claimed that there had been nothing to note. That although he was phlegmful and tended towards black bile, he was not unduly despondent.’
‘I see,’ Lucy replied. ‘Did you ask her about the crossroads? Do they live near there?’
‘Not so close,’ Duncan replied. ‘Certainly, there are closer crossroads to his home. She did not know what he might have been doing at that crossroads. She was quite distraught, as you can imagine. Her faith is quite strong, it seems. I could see she was devastated when she realized that her husband cannot be buried on hallowed ground without a dispensation from the Church, due to being a suicide.’
‘You must have told her then what the physicians said? That he might have been murdered? She must have been relieved – well, to the extent that one can be with such news.’
‘No, she was not. Quite the opposite. She was quite insistent that he had no enemies who would wish to harm him.’
‘I see,’ Lucy said. ‘Did she ask about the ring?’
Duncan shook his head. ‘No, she asked about the money he might have had on him, but not about the ring. She just said it was common practice for him to wear two pockets. The outer one in which he’d carry his timepiece and a few coins—’
‘The one that was stolen by those two men I saw,’ Lucy said. Her heart beat faster as she recalled the encounter. ‘Pike and Dev.’
‘Exactly,’ Duncan replied. ‘However, I asked her if there was any other missing jewellery. She said he did not like to wear a ring because his fingers would swell, and he was otherwise not up for adornment. I must say, her response to this seemed genuine. My sense is, if she was being truthful, she knew nothing of the ring discovered around his neck.’
‘What about the message – did you ask her why he might be carrying a coded message?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I could not think of a way to ask without unduly raising her suspicions or causing her more distress.’
‘Did you ask her if she knew anyone named Pike or Dev?’
‘I did ask her, and she claimed to have never heard of either of the names.’
‘Did you believe her?’
‘You know, Lucy, I’m not sure I did. She seemed wary throughout our whole conversation. Truth be told, I couldn’t tell you what she might have been lying about, but I know that she was lying about something. That bothers me and I’m not certain how to proceed.’
‘I am not certain either,’ Lucy replied. ‘For now, I shall call on Mrs Wallace tomorrow. Maybe soon we can finally get some answers about Miss de Witte and the coded message, if not about Mr Corbyn’s murder.’
The Wallaces’ home was located to the west, in an area that was steadily drawing the wealthier sort, particularly those who’d been displaced by the fire. The air was a bit cleaner here, being upwind from both the Thames and the River Fleet, as well as the polluted and sickly areas to the east. The streets here were much wider, too – enough so that even two carriages could pass without getting stuck or causing a collision.
Lucy approached the residence with some trepidation, her sack full of all the mathematical and scientific tracts she could find in Master Aubrey’s stores. Several had been bound with hard leather covers, which were heavier and harder on her shoulder than the simple collection of papers she usually carried. The previous afternoon, she’d been surprised how readily the master printer had permitted her to make the trip, even helping her to fill the bag. ‘Good,’ he’d said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Rich scholars always want more. We’ll buy books with him in mind, in the future. Mind you hook him well, Lucy.’
‘Lucy? Is that you?’ she heard someone call. ‘Come here, if you would.’
Looking into the small courtyard, she could see Mrs Wallace seated on a low stone bench, a small leather-bound book in her lap. The woman was staring at her with keen interest.
She gave her a little wave and walked over. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wallace.’
‘Come here,’ Mrs Wallace replied. Her lips and cheeks looked faintly bluish, as if she’d been outside for a spell. ‘Tell me, what brings you to my doorstep this fine Saturday? After the other night’s startling conversation, I must admit that I was rather hoping to see you again, although I did not dare hope it would be quite so soon.’
Smiling, Lucy gestured to her pack. ‘Thank you, Mrs Wallace. As you may recall, I work for Master Aubrey, helping to make and sell books. I had mentioned your husband’s interest in procuring mathematical and scientific treatises, and Master Aubrey sent me here with a variety of books that he thought might be of interest to Professor Wallace.’ That is all true, she thought, even if it was not the real purpose in coming here today.
‘Is that so? How kind of Master Aubrey,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘I should rather like some new books of my own.’
‘What are you reading?’ Lucy asked, gesturing to the book she had set down.
Mrs Wallace caressed the leather cover. ‘One of Will Shakespeare’s plays. Othello. Do you know it? I find myself utterly absorbed.’
Lucy nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it, but not yet read it or seen it performed.’ While Master Aubrey did have a few of Shakespeare’s longer plays, they were harder to sell and it was rare that they would try to sell them outside the shop. Lucy had very little time to indulge in reading anything other than the tracts she was creating or selling on any given day, although she read as much of the Bard as she could lay her hands on.
‘We do not get to the plays as often as I would like either,’ Mrs Wallace said with a sigh. ‘I thought things would be different when we moved to London. That is what I get for marrying to please my father before he died. He was keen to see me settled and thought it best for me to wed someone more established. It’s only been five years and I am much like an abandoned widow or spinster. Oh, do not look forlorn! I speak in jest.’
‘Perhaps he will take you if you divert him with some of these works of natural philosophy,’ Lucy said, trying to keep the pity from her voice. So few women had the choice of marrying for love. Most were expected to help their families or improve their own lot. ‘I had hoped I might see you first. Some wives like to purchase such items for their husbands.’
Mrs Wallace patted t
he bench. ‘Sit beside me. I’m afraid I would not know which texts he already has, or which might be of interest. However, I’m very happy to look at them. Perhaps you can guide my decision.’
Lucy perched on the end of the small bench. ‘I think that several of these are new products. We traded them with some booksellers in Cambridge, so they may not have been well circulated among scholars yet.’
‘I see,’ Mrs Wallace said, a slight shadow crossing her face. ‘My husband is one of several scholars who helped found the Royal Society a few years ago. He’s been invited to give lectures about natural philosophy at Paris and Wittenberg. I know he is particularly eager to keep abreast of new discoveries and principles.’
‘He still tutors, you mentioned.’
‘Yes, the sons of certain noble families, though mostly that tutelage is the lesser subjects, to prepare them for Oxford or Cambridge. No notable minds among them, he’s mentioned very sadly more than once.’
‘Some of his pupils have been women?’ Lucy asked. ‘You mentioned Lucretia de Witte—’
‘Oh, that woman!’ At Lucy’s raised eyebrows, Mrs Wallace gave a short mirthless chuckle. ‘My apologies, Lucy. That woman pursued my husband for months after he tutored her, sending him all sorts of ciphers. Can you imagine? I am not a woman lacking in either compassion or kindness, let me assure you, but this woman sorely tried my patience. For some reason, she found in my husband a willing target for her misplaced affections.’
Mrs Wallace’s voice dropped considerably, and she leaned closer to Lucy’s ear. ‘She had it in her head that dear Neville would leave me for her! What a harlot!’
‘How did you know that?’ Lucy asked, even though she felt deeply uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. ‘Did you read the messages yourself?’
‘Heavens, no!’ Mrs Wallace cried. ‘He told me so himself. The poor man! He had no idea about her intentions, thinking they were just engaging in a clever pastime.’ She smoothed down her skirts. ‘He swore to me over and over that he had in no way encouraged these untoward intentions. The poor man – I’ve never seen him in such a state! Since that time, he has refocused his energies on mathematics and formulas, working of late to extend Cavalieri’s law of quadrature.’ A small smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I have forgiven him his trespass against me. As for Miss de Witte – I found her to be too calculating through and through, and I believe her intentions were always suspect.’
‘I see,’ Lucy replied.
‘I’ve shocked you.’
‘I was just wondering why she continued to pursue him with no encouragement from your husband.’ Then, hearing her words out in the open, Lucy grew flustered. ‘Pardon me,’ she said, standing up and bowing her head. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘Lucy, you’ve caused me no offence. I’ve wondered this many a time myself. He told me there was nothing to it. He said they were just riddles, jests between them, using that code she created. Neville was delighted to finally have someone to indulge him in these games. I suppose I was lacking in this regard. She became besotted with him. Such a foolish, unstable woman.’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘He assured me her love was unrequited.’
‘Oh. Of course.’
Mrs Wallace touched Lucy’s arm. ‘Let us not speak of her. Let me ask you something, while you are here. I admit to being quite curious,’ she said. ‘The other night, the Hargraves treated you as one of the family. Pray, tell me, how did you become such an old family friend, as Thomas has called you? I hope you will forgive me, but I do not think you came upon your current station by birth.’
‘I served in Master Hargrave’s household for several years,’ Lucy replied, her chin still high. ‘He took me on when I was a young girl, and his family always treated me kindly, for which I will always be grateful. There are many of my station whom fortune did not favour so well.’
Lucy paused, half expecting Mrs Wallace to ring for a servant and have her cast from the premises. Not everyone of Mrs Wallace’s sort would willingly converse with a former servant. When she did not, Lucy continued. ‘I then became the late Mistress Hargrave’s lady’s maid before she succumbed to the plague.’
‘Ah, the plague – such a misery. God rest those many departed souls.’
Like Mrs Wallace, Lucy clasped her hands and muttered a quick prayer.
‘Pray, continue, Lucy. How did you come into your current occupation?’
‘Well, after my mistress died,’ Lucy said, wringing her hands slightly, ‘I began to realize that I no longer occupied a clear place in the magistrate’s household. By then the great devastation had occurred, and it became clear that there might be other opportunities that had never been open before. The magistrate, with his generous spirit, bestowed upon me some wealth from his wife’s belongings, since his only daughter had become a Quaker and eschewed most frivolities.’
‘You accepted the frivolities, I take it,’ Mrs Wallace said, her tone kind, not judgemental.
‘Certainly. With those garments, I was able to procure a place for myself and my brother Will above Master Aubrey’s shop. Will works at the blacksmith’s and is making a good living. I am not a true apprentice, since I have not been accepted into the guild, but Master Aubrey has been teaching me much in exchange for the tasks that I do.’ She giggled. ‘He says I have a very good talent for selling – perhaps a bit more than his actual apprentice, Lach. How he would shout and rant if he ever heard the master say such a thing!’
‘You did not wish to wed?’ Mrs Wallace asked. ‘Surely a comely lass such as yourself must have suitors.’
‘I am content right now to remain unwed,’ she said, crossing her arms. ‘I am still but two and twenty. I have a few more years before I am a spinster in the eyes of the world. Besides, there is more I should like to learn from Master Aubrey. He has said that ever since the Guild Hall has burned down, and all records and contracts, the stationers’ guild has been quite lax. More women have been taking on their husband’s and father’s businesses after the combined disasters of the plague and fire, and so it is not quite as uncommon as it once was.’
‘Indeed,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘I helped my own father, also a Cambridge scholar, keep track of his records. He was one who studied botany and the natural law. I would have continued with such work, were we still living there. I’d like to help Neville more. Sometimes his papers can get quite muddled.’
‘You said that you had thrown away the work of Miss de Witte,’ Lucy said, trying to sound casual. The whole time the two had been conversing, she’d been trying to think of how to bring it back around to Miss de Witte and the cipher. ‘Are you quite sure of that?’
‘It is interesting that you ask me that,’ Mrs Wallace said, giving her a curious look. ‘I don’t know why, but I feel I can trust you. Maybe because the Hargraves hold you in such high regard.’ She made a rueful sound. ‘I did not expect to tell you this, given that we have just met, but what I said the other night was not the entire truth. I feel I can tell you now. I feel I can trust you. Can I trust you?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy whispered.
She gave a little laugh. ‘This whole time, I’ve been calling you Lucy. Perhaps you can call me Joanna in return. Then I shall feel more at ease in what I am about to reveal.’
‘Yes … Joanna.’ The name fell awkwardly from her lips, her skin itching a bit at such unexpected familiarity. It went against everything she’d learned as a servant. Perhaps I should unlearn such things, Lucy thought.
‘Come with me,’ Mrs Wallace said, oblivious to Lucy’s discomfort. Standing up, she extended her hand to Lucy and led her inside the house. ‘Neville is in his study working; we can stop by later. I wish to give you something first. Come with me.’
After leading her up the stairs, Mrs Wallace drew Lucy into a small parlour that opened into a bedchamber area. The lingering smell of perfumed talcums and scents reminded Lucy of how Mistress Hargrave’s chamber used to smell. Although she breathed the aroma in happily enough, she was still twi
sting her hands. What is it that Mrs Wallace wishes to give me? She hadn’t come expecting a gift and she did not know what to say.
‘You look concerned, Lucy,’ Mrs Wallace said, correctly interpreting her expression. ‘Oh, I understand. Do not fret. The gift is not as you think.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I did indeed keep the messages that Neville exchanged with that woman, even though I told you they’d been destroyed. I wish to give them to you.’
Lucy stared at her. ‘Why did you keep them?’ And why did you say they were destroyed?
‘I must seem so pathetic,’ Mrs Wallace said, giving a rueful smile. ‘What woman would keep such a thing? The truth of the matter is, the moment I asked Neville to discard the messages, I regretted it. The brilliance of his mind …’ She looked off in the distance. ‘How odd this must all seem to you. I was worried, you understand, that they might contain something important. A thought that would be forever lost. I knew that I would never forgive myself if I had done anything to damage his work.’ She sighed. ‘He threw them in the hearth after I scolded him. When he stalked away, I grabbed the poker and retrieved them before they all burned up.’ Opening a large chest that rested at the end of the bed, Mrs Wallace knelt down to extract a smaller wooden box. ‘Neville never looks through my things. A fortuitous trait, to be sure.’
Lucy knelt beside her as Mrs Wallace withdrew several sheets of rumpled parchment, which appeared to have been burned in parts, and laid them on the bed. ‘This decision is not easy, you must understand. I wrestle with the notion that I am betraying my husband by passing them on to you. At the same time, they represent a betrayal of marriage and they hurt me so. I despise them.’ Tears shone in her eyes. ‘I could tell from his countenance that he suspected that message you brought had been written in the same cipher. Perhaps they will help you make sense of it.’ She bit her lip. ‘If they help you decipher the message, then I feel that a good deed will have come out of that painful matter. Please don’t share them with others. I have never deciphered them and I—’
The Sign of the Gallows Page 9
