The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  ‘Do you think that likely?’

  ‘No. It is my opinion that all of Mrs Corbyn’s lies stem from her fear of being discovered. She was scared witless, that one – despite her defiance. She’s a rabbit living like a lion.’

  ‘You know what I’ve been wondering?’ Lucy asked, stepping around a woman carrying a heavy basket of soaps on her head. ‘Which men did Mr Corbyn lead out of Newgate Prison?’

  Duncan rubbed his jaw. ‘Well, since he was recognized by Will and Adam, he was probably working in the wing where—’ he paused.

  ‘Men were on trial for murder,’ Lucy finished his thought. Mrs Corbyn’s words came back to her then. ‘No good deed goes unpunished,’ she murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s what Mrs Corbyn said. I wonder if letting those men go free was the good deed she was referring to.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘We must decipher that message. We must find a way to speak with Miss de Witte. Get that cipher once and for all.’

  ‘I don’t think I can simply demand that she hand it over. My authority does not extend that far.’

  ‘I know. We have to go through Mrs Wallace, to arrange an introduction. I know there’s bad blood between the two women, but there’s no time to lose. Maybe if I talk to her, I can get her to give it to me.’

  ‘To get that introduction, are you going to ask the Hargraves for help?’ The word again was almost tacked on to the end of Duncan’s question.

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I shall call on Mrs Wallace tomorrow. I don’t know why, but I have a good feeling about her. I believe she will help us, despite her personal distaste for Miss de Witte.’

  THIRTEEN

  ‘Mrs Wallace,’ Lucy called over the hedge, seeing the mathematician’s wife digging listlessly in the near-frozen ground. ‘I’m rather afraid you are cutting up some of the more useful herbs. The essence of that one is in the roots, and it will not regrow, being removed in such fashion.’

  ‘Oh, Lucy,’ Mrs Wallace replied, looking up. ‘Cook has the afternoon off. We have guests coming soon and I was hoping to dig up some nice roots.’ She looked around the garden with a mournful air. ‘I’m afraid I’m rather hopeless at this sort of thing.’

  Lucy regarded the little herb garden with a mournful air. The Wallaces’ cook might be unhappy if she saw the mess that her mistress had made of her preciously tended garden, especially as they moved into the coldest time of the year. ‘I would be happy to bring you some of our older tracts on the growing and preserving of herbs.’

  ‘Thank you, Lucy,’ Mrs Wallace replied, straightening up, making a grimace as she did so. It was clear that she spent very little time on tasks such as these. ‘What brings you here today?’

  ‘I was just passing by,’ she lied. ‘Tell me, how did Professor Wallace find the tracts I brought the other day? Are there others he might like me to procure?’

  Mrs Wallace smiled. ‘I think Professor Wallace would always appreciate the newest learning in science and math-ematics. Music, too. In fact, we have some scholars coming here tonight. They can be quite raucous in their gatherings, which, between you and me, is why I like to have such gatherings when Cook is not present.’ She looked at Lucy, a slight smile on her lips. ‘I thought perhaps you wanted some more assistance with the cipher. Did you learn anything in those messages I gave you? Did the Babington tract help?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I just learned a word, I think. Devil.’

  ‘Devil? How odd. What did you make of that?’

  ‘Nothing, I’m afraid.’

  Mrs Wallace looked at her sharply. ‘Tell me the truth, now, Lucy. Is that why you came back? I believe that I have provided everything that the dastardly woman sent my husband.’

  Being direct seemed to be the best answer here. ‘Yes, it’s true,’ Lucy replied. ‘I’m sorry I was not honest with you at the start. It’s really important that we decipher the message, and it seems only your husband and Miss de Witte may know how to do so. Could we not just …’ She hesitated. ‘Could we ask your husband for the key? Surely, he must have had a copy to read Miss de Witte’s messages. Or perhaps as a mathematician he could figure it out again.’

  Mrs Wallace’s face flushed to a dark and unpleasant shade of red. ‘We most certainly cannot ask him.’ Then her tone softened. ‘For a year we had not spoken that woman’s name until it came up at Master Hargrave’s the other night. I do not wish to have him remember her words, her embraces—’

  ‘Embraces?’ Lucy exclaimed. The flirtation must have been more serious than she assumed.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Wallace said, blowing her nose. ‘Theirs was no simple flirtation, I know it. It humiliates me to speak of it, to think of it! He swore that it was just a love affair of the mind, but I knew better.’ She shook her head. ‘All that is neither here nor there,’ she said, clearly trying to collect herself. ‘Let me strive to be more noble of heart. I shall take my lead in this from you, Lucy, dear. I shall set my grievance aside, so that we may speak to her directly.’

  Lucy stared at her. ‘Speak to her directly? Why in good heaven would you do that? Speak to your husband’s—’ She stopped herself before she could utter words that would surely be hurtful. ‘Why, pray tell, would you subject yourself to such an encounter?’

  ‘To be honest, Lucy, it hurts me to think of my husband enamoured of her and she with him. At the same time, I believe it is petty and unworthy of me to let my emotions, such as they are, interfere with a more noble pursuit of justice. Perhaps she will produce the cipher for you. Perhaps, then, justice for that poor man may be served.’

  Lucy could see that she was trembling. ‘There must be a better way,’ she said.

  Mrs Wallace gave a delicate shrug. ‘I have decided to set my pride aside for the greater good.’ Her eyes travelled doubtfully over Lucy’s serviceable dress. ‘I had thought you might accompany me as my companion. You do have nicer clothes, do you not? I was quite struck by the lovely attire that you wore to the Hargraves’ the other night. I should never have suspected that you were once their servant. Oh!’ she added hurriedly. ‘Your face! Lucy, I did not intend to offend.’

  ‘I am not offended,’ Lucy said, relaxing from her rigid pose. ‘I am proud to have served the Hargraves – they are honourable people, and my experience with them was a good one. If my face conveyed anything, I was thinking that you are quite right. I have no fine clothes other than the dress I wore the other night, which would not do for an afternoon call. I am not of her level and she’d see through me instantly. I think it would be better if I come with you as your attendant.’

  Mrs Wallace looked her over, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘Lucretia might know that I do not keep a lady’s maid. Besides, I do not want to incur the Hargraves’ wrath if they hear of me treating you as a servant, even one in the manner of a lady’s maid. I think, perhaps, Adam in particular would like you to be viewed as one of his kind.’

  Lucy started to demur, but Mrs Wallace waved away her comments. ‘You know, I had thought to have you wear one of my older dresses, but I think they would hang ill on you. Let us be forthright. I will introduce you as the woman you are, a printer’s apprentice and bookseller. If the Hargraves invite you to dine, then you are fit to call on Miss de Witte as well.’ She looked towards the sun. ‘Let us go now. There is no time to lose.’

  Within the half hour, Professor Wallace had summoned a carriage and they were on their way to Miss de Witte’s home. If he’d been surprised or confused by Lucy accompanying his wife on what appeared to be a social call, he did not show it. He did raise his eyebrow when his wife told him where they were going, but he gave the address to the driver with no comment.

  Lucretia de Witte’s home was grand and elegant, and it was clear that she was quite well-to-do. When her servant opened the door, Mrs Wallace and Lucy were ushered into the drawing room. ‘Miss de Witte will be with you soon.’

  As they waited, Lucy looked around the room. Above the hearth was a portrait of a young
man, perhaps in his early twenties, wearing the robes of a scholar. There was a black scarf tied across the top of it, but it was not shrouded completely. The subject was likely dead, but his death was not recent.

  ‘That’s her brother,’ Mrs Wallace whispered, coming to stand behind Lucy. ‘He died last year. She was quite distraught and had this portrait commissioned from memory.’

  ‘I see,’ Lucy said, still studying the man’s face. He looked gentle, scholarly. At his elbow, a brown leather-bound book with gold-leaf edges had been placed, a yellow cord wrapped around it, keeping it shut. A piece of paper was sticking out of one end of the book.

  Stepping back, Lucy continued to peruse the painting. The subject was holding a piece of rolled-up leather in his left hand, and she could just see a ring on his forefinger. Her mouth went dry. It can’t be! Startled, Lucy stepped closer to examine the ring, which appeared to have two faces – a cherub looking out at the viewer and a side angle of a skull facing the man. ‘Is that the same ring?’ she whispered.

  ‘The same ring?’ Mrs Wallace asked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Lucy said, continuing to study the portrait. It was then she noted the direction of the seated man’s finger. He appeared to be pointing at the book resting at his elbow. No, that wasn’t quite right. The man was actually pointing at the exposed edge of the paper that was poking out of the book. She could see now there was some faint writing on the scrap of paper. Was the writing a cipher? She rubbed her eyes.

  ‘You’re not the first woman to be enraptured by my brother Hammett,’ a woman said from behind her. ‘It is unfortunate that he is no longer with us to enjoy the fruits of such admiration.’

  Lucy spun around. A beautiful woman, her blonde hair elegantly swept up, stood before her, dressed in a violet brocade gown that had an overlay of silk. Her green eyes commanded their attention. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Wallace,’ she said, the chill in her tone unmistakable. ‘What brings you and your acquaintance to my home? I have not seen you in over a year, not since your parting words made it clear that I was no longer welcome in your lives.’

  ‘You were no longer welcome because—’ Mrs Wallace stopped her own speech abruptly, then began again. ‘Lucretia,’ she said, stressing the woman’s name, ‘do allow me to introduce my acquaintance, Lucy Campion. She works for Master Aubrey, a printer and bookseller over on Fleet Street. She is an apprentice.’

  Miss de Witte’s eyes flicked over at Lucy, but she did not say a word.

  ‘I brought her here today because she is able to procure all kinds of interesting tracts and books. She has brought along a few mathematical tracts, which I thought you might wish to review.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ The chill in Miss de Witte’s voice was still stark.

  ‘My husband told me that he did not return your affections and that nothing untoward had happened between you.’ Mrs Wallace looked toward the portrait, apparently trying to compose herself. Having turned, she did not catch the way that Miss de Witte arched her brow and looked amused, but Lucy saw it. They did commit adultery, she thought, feeling sad.

  ‘I know that your brother passed away soon after,’ Mrs Wallace continued, oblivious to what Miss de Witte’s expression had revealed. ‘I was not able to provide you with solace, even though we’d once been friends. For that absence, I wish to make amends with you now.’

  Lucy stepped forward, opening her pack. ‘I have a few mathematical tracts, which I thought might be of interest to you. We booksellers trade with many people, and I have all sorts of offerings. If there are other titles you desire, I may be able to procure them for you.’

  Miss de Witte looked thoughtful. ‘You say you are an apprentice? So unusual for a woman.’

  ‘That is so,’ Lucy replied, thinking a dose of truth might be appropriate here. ‘However, while I do work for Master Aubrey and have learned many aspects of the trade – setting the type, running the press and selling the pieces – alas, I am not a true apprentice to Master Aubrey.’

  ‘No?’ Both women said at once. She could tell that she had surprised Mrs Wallace as well.

  She hastened to explain. ‘Master Aubrey has written to the stationers’ guild about my application, and accepted the fee, which Master Hargrave provided for me when I left his household. It is unusual, as you say, for a woman to become an apprentice in any guild, and usually only in very specific circumstances, such as taking over for a father or a brother who had died. It is true that the stationers’ guild has only admitted a handful of women that I’m aware of. However, since the fire—’

  ‘Since the fire, the world has changed,’ Miss de Witte said, waving away Lucy’s words. ‘That is something that does not need to be explained. I very much hope that you will be granted access to the guild, as the clothmakers’ company and the drapers’ guild have both seen fit to do for their young women serving as apprentices.’ She gave a tinkly little laugh. ‘Just as I should have been allowed to study at Cambridge like my brother, although certainly the private tutelage I received stood me in good stead.’

  Beside her, Mrs Wallace shifted uncomfortably, but Lucy nodded. There were times like these when she wondered why women were denied from pursuing livelihoods and education that men partook in so easily. She’d read some tracts and pamphlets these last few years that had pondered this question, and she’d never seen a response that truly explained it. ‘I have heard many Quakers, both men and women, say the same. They speak of spiritual equality between the sexes in ways that I seldom hear others do. Husbands and wives are helpmeets, and women are allowed to express their thoughts and conscience as they are so moved.’

  Both women looked at her in surprise. ‘You seem to have thought about this,’ Mrs Wallace said.

  Lucy felt a flush rising in her cheeks. Perhaps she was speaking above her station. Still, she could not refrain from replying. ‘I do read many of the tracts I sell, even if my understanding is not as superior as some. My knowledge is scant, but I have spent some time among Quakers. I know something about their beliefs and the manner in which they treat one another.’

  Miss de Witte looked thoughtful, and her smile seemed genuine for the first time. ‘Let us have tea. I believe there is much we can discuss here, and I admit to being highly intrigued by your occupation.’

  She waved a bell and the servant who had opened the front door appeared. ‘Mavis, bring us tea to the study, if you would.’ She turned back to the other two women. ‘There are some pieces I should like to get my hands on. Pray, come with me.’

  Miss de Witte opened a small door off the drawing room and beckoned them to enter. Lucy looked around in wonder. On the shelves were a number of the fine leather-clad volumes that were hand-stitched by the most skilled bookmakers. Around the rooms there were also pouches of neatly stacked tracts, broadsides and pamphlets.

  ‘So many books,’ Lucy exclaimed, touching the spine of one book with a careful finger. ‘Even more than the Hargraves, I’d wager.’

  ‘Please, feel free to look at them more closely,’ Miss de Witte said. ‘You can see that I’ve been quite the collector, but I will not pretend to have read them all myself. Many, but certainly not all. A great number of them, of course, belonged to my father and brother, who were both Cambridge scholars.’ She turned back to Lucy. ‘It is through them that I met Professor Wallace.’

  She smiled slightly when Mrs Wallace stiffened. ‘Let that be all bygones,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘Water under the bridge, isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Mrs Wallace said through clenched teeth. Lucy touched her arm in a friendly gesture of support, and Mrs Wallace’s smile became more genuine.

  ‘I am told that you created an entire cipher that you used to write messages,’ Lucy said carefully.

  Miss de Witte looked startled. ‘You told her about that?’ she asked Mrs Wallace.

  In response, Mrs Wallace gave a delicate shrug. ‘While I was not fond of your communicating with my husband in such a manner
, I do believe it was a peculiar indicator of your particular form of genius.’

  ‘My particular form of genius,’ Miss de Witte repeated, looking thoughtful. ‘I should not have thought of it that way. It just seemed the most pleasant and elegant way to communicate my thoughts. From one like mind to another.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Mrs Wallace said tightly.

  Lucy jumped in, thinking that Mrs Wallace was about to crack like an egg. ‘I should very much like to know how you went about building a cipher. Did you have a key?’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course there was a key!’ Miss de Witte said. ‘There’s no way even the most brilliant of souls could hold my cipher in his mind, so detailed and complex it was.’

  ‘Perchance, could you show it to me?’ Lucy asked. ‘I should very much like to see it.’

  Miss de Witte made a funny twist of her lips. ‘Alas, I threw it all away some time ago. Such a cipher caused too much heartbreak.’ All three women fell silent. The servant entered then with mugs of tea and sweet cakes. ‘You two eat,’ Miss de Witte said, pulling out a quill, ink and a piece of paper. ‘I shall begin to make a list of books that I should like Lucy to procure.’

  Lucy and Mrs Wallace each took one of the cups and a sweet cake. As Miss de Witte scribbled out authors and titles, Lucy mentioned a few pieces that she could remember. ‘I am not so versed in such scholarly pieces,’ she admitted. ‘For they are not ones I will sing about in the market or at the festivals.’

  ‘I should say not,’ Miss de Witte replied, and then, to Lucy’s surprise, a full smile crossed her face before she laughed. ‘To sing about Euclid. Or Pythagoras! Imagine! The absurdity makes my sides ache to think about.’ Her smile transformed her beautifully. She no longer appeared so sallow and stern; now she looked like any other happy young woman.

  As Miss de Witte continued to write down names, she would chuckle out loud from time to time. ‘I wonder how Kepler’s Observations would sound set to tune. What is a popular tune?’

  ‘“Where is my love?”’ Lucy said, and hummed a few bars. ‘We use that one a lot when we are setting the murder ballads, particularly when it is about a husband accused of killing his beloved.’ This brought an amused tittering from the women, although not the raucous guffaws of the usual audience, who heartily appreciated the joke.