Miss de Witte suddenly seemed tired, her mirth and humour quenched. ‘My brother would have enjoyed many of these books,’ she said, more subdued. ‘His death is a loss that I will never forget, nor forgive.’
Lucy glanced at Mrs Wallace. Perhaps it was time to go. Mrs Wallace took the hint. ‘Lucretia, my dear, let us get together again soon, perhaps when Lucy has a few new pieces for you. Right now, we shall take our leave.’
Miss de Witte barely nodded, her earlier gaiety completely dissipated. Languidly, she rang a little bell before sinking back into a large overstuffed chair. She seemed completely exhausted. ‘Mavis will show you out.’
As the carriage returned them to the Wallace household, Lucy turned to Mrs Wallace. ‘How did her brother die, do you know?’ she asked. She’d been struck by something Miss de Witte had said. ‘Did he succumb to the plague or some other malady?’
‘No,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘Neville told me that Lucretia’s brother had been murdered. In a tavern. A little way out of London. Hertfordshire, I believe. Hoddesdon, perhaps. Or maybe it was Broxbourne. I do not recall. I know that he was travelling back to London from Cambridge, and had stopped at a coaching inn there.’
‘Murdered? How awful!’ Lucy exclaimed, her thoughts beginning to whirl. What a coincidence! Miss de Witte’s brother had been murdered. What about the portrait? Hammett de Witte had been depicted wearing a ring that very much resembled the ring found around Paul Corbyn’s neck. Moreover, that Paul Corbyn, formerly Jack Campbell, was a Newgate guard who’d let several prisoners go free during the fire. A sense of a tenuous connection began to be forged. ‘When did his murder occur, do you know?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. Sometime last summer. The great plague had mostly passed, because I know that travellers with health certificates were allowed in and out of the city again, but before the Great Fire.’ She sighed. ‘It was at this time that Lucretia began to send Neville those coded messages. I did not understand at the time the nature of her travails. The pain, the sadness, the turmoil she must have been experiencing. She did not confide such thoughts with me, and I did not understand. I only saw a beautiful woman turning to my husband, though I see now that her flirtation brought a necessary diversion to a very deep pain.’
Lucy felt a sharp pang in her own chest. The pain of a loved one’s death, especially at the wilful hands of another, could not be readily understood by others.
‘I could only see how she encroached on my rather hapless husband, who became enamoured of her intellect as well as her beauty,’ Mrs Wallace whispered, beginning to weep in earnest. ‘I felt that she was trying to trap him, to steal him from me.’
Lucy patted her hand, the gesture feeling woefully inad-equate. ‘Miss de Witte was deeply pained by her brother’s untimely demise – that is certain. It also sounds as if she sought to transgress the fidelity of marriage, which is a torment that she has no right to inflict.’
Mrs Wallace sniffed. ‘That is most certainly so.’ She looked back at Lucy. ‘What interested you about her brother’s murder, may I ask? You seemed entranced by his portrait.’
‘It was the ring he was wearing. So unusual,’ Lucy said. Hearing the church bells in the distance, she seized Mrs Wallace’s hands. ‘I must hurry back to Master Aubrey’s now. He will be glad of this order from Miss de Witte, and I thank you. I know that it was not easy for you to speak with her and—’
Mrs Wallace raised her hand. ‘Not another word about it, if you would. I am very much hoping that this will all stay in the past where it belongs.’
FOURTEEN
‘Say, Master Aubrey,’ Lucy said as she began to clear the bowls from their evening meal. ‘Do you recall the murder of a Cambridge scholar in Hertfordshire? Maybe in Broxbourne or Hoddesdon? I don’t remember ever seeing any true news about it or any ballads. I heard tell of it today and I was curious. It would have happened before I started working with you.’
Master Aubrey scratched his ear. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ he said. ‘Have you checked with Duncan? He may have heard about it.’
‘I stopped by the jail, but he wasn’t there,’ Lucy said. ‘I was thinking that I might check your stores after supper. It’s possible someone wrote about it. I’ve never seen any mention of it, though.’
‘While you’re looking for it, why don’t you pull out some Strange News and Monstrous Accounts. I have a mind to go to Southwark in the morning, visit the Globe and the Clink. That is what everyone clamours for there.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lucy said, hurrying to finish washing and drying their dishes. As soon as she was done, she took a lantern into the back room to look at the different piles of penny press that Master Aubrey tended to collect. Currently, they were in loose piles, separated by type: astrological predictions, true accounts of monsters come to life, strange robberies and thefts, recipes for health, collections of merriments, political transgressions, petitions and, of course, many stacks related to murder – a favourite pursuit of Master Aubrey. Fortunately, he was rather diligent about trading with other booksellers, and so there was always new stock to sell.
After more than hour had passed, Lucy could not find anything related to the murder of Miss de Witte’s brother. Plenty of murders set in taverns, but none that seemed to describe the circumstances of Hammett de Witte’s death.
‘I couldn’t find anything here. Still, there must be an official record of Mr de Witte’s death,’ Lucy said to Master Aubrey, who was still seated at the kitchen table, reading. She handed him the collection of Monstrous Accounts that he had requested. ‘Maybe I could ask Adam to look through the rolls.’
Master Aubrey chuckled as he looked through the selection she’d just given him. ‘A monstrous account of a woman with two heads. Ah, that’s a good one!’ He looked up at Lucy. ‘Keep in mind that the Great Fire burned so many important records. A true account of what happened may not exist.’
‘That’s true,’ Lucy said, sighing. The conflagration had caused so much havoc, and they were all still dealing with the long-protracted aftermath. ‘I should probably see the Hargraves, let them know what I learned.’
Master Aubrey swatted at her. ‘Enough of your coy entreaties, lass! You can run over there right now, as long as you’re back by nine o’clock.’
After throwing on her cloak and grabbing her lantern, Lucy walked quickly to the Hargraves’. It was colder and foggier than she expected, and the winter winds were certainly picking up.
When she entered the kitchen, she was surprised to find Sid sitting there, enjoying some apple pie with Cook, John and Annie. ‘Out of the pillory, I see,’ she said to the pickpocket. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Sid teased.
Annie nudged him with her elbow. ‘She’s here to see the magistrate, silly.’
‘Master Hargrave, of course,’ he replied, still grinning.
‘I am here to see the Hargraves,’ she said to Cook and John. ‘Are they finished dining? It should take but a minute. Indeed, Master Aubrey has only given me an hour’s leave.’ She hesi-tated. ‘Are they alone? I should not like to embarrass them by calling on them in this fashion.’
‘They do not have visitors,’ Cook replied. ‘They are in the study.’
‘Oh, don’t get up,’ Lucy said. ‘I can show myself in.’
As she walked down the corridor, she could hear Adam talking. ‘I spoke to Sam Pepys today. He told me of a new street that is to be made from Guild Hall down to Cheapside, with enough ground on either side for houses to be built. Lucy!’ he exclaimed when he saw her in the doorway.
‘Welcome, Lucy! Pray, enter,’ the magistrate called. ‘What brought you out on a night such as this?’
‘I have some news,’ she said. Spying the familiar cipher on the table, she asked, ‘Have you made any sense of the message that was found on the body?’
The Hargraves both shook their heads at the same time, father and son looking once again remarkably similar in their expres
sion despite the decades between them. ‘It is a tricky code, to be sure,’ Master Hargrave said. ‘It is no wonder that even Professor Wallace, with his acuity and prowess with numbers and equations, cannot recall it from memory. I believe we must go to the source, Miss de Witte.’
‘Er,’ Lucy hesitated.
Father and son exchanged a glance, and Adam raised an eyebrow. ‘Out with it, Lucy,’ he said. ‘We know you are thinking about something.’
How well they know me, she thought. ‘I was indeed thinking about something. I met Lucretia de Witte today and—’
‘What?’ Adam exclaimed, banging his fist down on the table, still holding his fork.
More controlled, Master Hargrave took a deep breath. ‘Lucy, why ever did you see her?’
‘I thought it would be helpful to meet her. I went over with Mrs Wallace, who is quite kind indeed. I thought maybe I could find the key in Miss de Witte’s house and—’
Master Hargrave shook his head. ‘I will pretend that I did not hear you speak of stealing property from someone’s home.’
Chagrined, Lucy gulped. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ She paused. ‘Actually, it ended up coming up in my conversation with Miss de Witte today. She claims to have thrown it all away and did not recall it any longer. I’m not quite sure I believe her, but I would not know where she would hide such a thing even if she still had it on hand.’
Master Hargrave nodded his head. ‘Well, we have shown our hand now, so there may not be a chance to get it out of her. That is unfortunate.’
Both the Hargraves seemed a bit disappointed in her, making Lucy feel disappointed in herself. Then another thought struck her. ‘I did learn something interesting. Lucretia de Witte’s brother was murdered, in a coaching inn just outside of London. Hertfordshire. Perhaps Hoddesdon or Broxbourne. Apparently, he was killed last summer, well before the fire.’
‘Intriguing,’ Master Hargrave said. ‘Are you thinking there is some connection here?’
‘Yes, I am. I saw a portrait of this brother hanging in Miss de Witte’s house, and you’ll never believe this: he was wearing a ring that was either the same or an exact replica of the ring found around Paul Corbyn’s neck!’ Lucy exclaimed, feeling pleased when both men looked thunderstruck.
‘Preposterous! Are you certain?’ Master Hargrave asked.
‘Quite! Mrs Wallace told me it was around the time of her brother’s death that Miss de Witte started sending Professor Wallace all those coded messages, although Mrs Wallace had not known anything about the brother’s death. She told her to stop sending messages to her husband, though, because they were committing—’
Infidelity. She couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word, remembering how flighty the late Mistress Hargrave had been before she died. Glancing at Adam, she could see the sadness etched in his face, and she hurried to end the awkward moment. ‘I came here because I was hoping that you might be able to check the rolls, although I know quite a few records were destroyed during the fire. I was thinking that someone might have written a penny piece about it. I’ve already checked through Master Aubrey’s collection. There are a few murders that happened near taverns, but none that seems quite right.’
‘Out of Hoddesdon or Broxbourne, I would say Hoddesdon is more likely,’ Adam said. ‘There are quite a few coaching inns there, and it would have been likely enough for a Cambridge scholar to stop there before arriving in London.’ He glanced at his father. ‘Do you agree, sir?’
Master Hargrave nodded. ‘Hoddesdon, yes. I do concur.’
‘There are other booksellers who might have some pieces about the crime,’ Lucy replied. ‘I thought I’d visit a few shops tomorrow. They may be aware of the story.’
‘Let us go to Hoddesdon and speak to people there directly,’ Adam replied. ‘Easy enough to do.’
‘Oh,’ Lucy said, the flush again rising in her cheeks. She was not sure about the propriety of travelling unaccompanied with Adam in such a way. It would be at least an hour’s journey, perhaps a little longer depending on the weather and the state of the roads. ‘I must first speak with Master Aubrey. Maybe, when he learns that I have a list of books that both the Wallaces and Miss de Witte seek, he will let me bargain with the scholarly booksellers there. I do not know if he will permit me otherwise.’
‘Then I will join you,’ Master Hargrave said. Adam and Lucy looked at him in surprise.
‘Father?’ Adam asked.
‘The old master of my Cambridge college moved to Hoddesdon some time back, as I recall. He called on me recently and I could easily arrange to return the visit.’ He pulled out a piece of paper. ‘Let me write a note to Master Aubrey. I should think he’d be pleased that we are helping him acquire the books he needs for London customers at no cost to himself, other than the loss of his apprentice for the day.’ He began to pen a note to the master printer in his elegant script.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Lucy said, touched by the magistrate’s understanding of her situation.
‘Then it is settled,’ the magistrate replied. ‘Let us say the morning after next. We shall pick you up in the carriage at eight o’clock.’
FIFTEEN
On Thursday morning, just after eight o’clock, the hired carriage came rattling down Fleet Street, stopping in front of Master Aubrey’s shop. Lucy, with the printer’s help, had packed her bag with many favourite pieces that were easy to sell. A selection of recipes, true accounts, sermons and, of course, murder ballads that she would trade. She had also brought along a small selection of nicer bound books that she might sell to the scholars’ shop that Master Aubrey had told her about. Peeking in her pocket, she also made sure that she had a few extra coins, because she was not sure how many of the books desired by Professor Wallace and Miss de Witte might be available for purchase. Lastly, she checked that she had brought along Master Aubrey’s special printed seal to ensure that booksellers knew that she was authentic. ‘Do not lose that,’ he said sternly.
When the carriage pulled up, Adam hopped out to help her in. They sat together facing Master Hargrave, who held up a bound legal tract. ‘I’ve been looking forward to reading the legal opinions of Sir Timothy Littleton for some time now. A longish journey to Hoddesdon will be just the trick. Or it will help me sleep along the journey.’
Within the half hour, they had left the confines of London and were moving into more open spaces along the well-travelled road. At first, Lucy looked excitedly through the window, as this was not a direction she had journeyed before, but after a while the terrain became less varied. Tall leafless trees, animals foraging for food, the occasional pocket of homes and farms, a church or two. There were also many graves – the headstones a keen reminder of how far the plague had stretched in that dreadful godless year. She shivered at the memory.
‘Are you cold, Lucy?’ Adam asked. He pulled out some blankets from a box and, without waiting for her assent, tucked one around her. ‘The driver said the route can get chilly this time of year.’
Lucy pulled the blanket around her. It smelled slightly of horses, but she was grateful for the additional warmth. As they jolted along, Master Hargrave put aside the treatise and rested his head back, soon lolling to sleep. Lucy pulled out the messages that Mistress Wallace had given her – exchanges between her husband and Miss de Witte – as well as the Babington cipher.
‘See this mark, and this one here?’ she said, pointing to a couple of the symbols. ‘I believe that this one is the sign of the gallows, and this one is the sign of the Devil.’
‘Yes, I concur,’ Adam said, after carefully comparing the symbols. He glanced at Lucy. ‘You have been so dogged in your pursuit of this truth. Is that the constable’s influence on you?’
‘You have been dogged as well. Agreeing to accompany me to Hoddesdon,’ she said. Then, more hurriedly, she added. ‘The idea that a murderer could go free, when we might have a clue to his identity, is not something that I can easily swallow.’
Adam looked as if he was about to say somet
hing more when the carriage began to slow.
‘Hoddesdon, just ahead!’ the driver called. ‘We’ll change horses at the coaching inn.’
When the driver stopped on High Street in Hoddesdon a few minutes later, Adam opened the door and stepped on to the street before the driver had a chance to climb down from his perch. Not waiting for the portable steps, Adam raised his hand to Lucy to help her down. Clasping his hand lightly, she hopped down, eager to stretch her muscles.
Master Hargrave remained in the carriage. ‘I believe my old friend lives on the edge of town, just before the coaching inns,’ he said. He pointed to the church that could be seen just beyond the main road. ‘Why don’t we meet in front of St Katharine’s in an hour and a half?’ He then rapped on the side of the carriage, and the driver flicked his reins, causing the horses to amble off.
‘Where shall we go first?’ Adam asked.
Lucy looked around, trying to get her bearings. ‘Master Aubrey told me he thought there were two bookseller’s shops.’ She pointed at the row of shops. ‘Look, isn’t that the sign of Cambridge? Master Aubrey told me that scholars go there to purchase their tomes. Perhaps the bookseller knows something of the crime.’
‘Yes, I’m familiar with that shop,’ Adam replied. ‘Let us go.’
After crossing High Street, they entered the shop. Lucy looked around eagerly. It was very different from any bookseller’s shop she’d ever seen. Rather than bags holding stacks of broadsides, pamphlets and other penny press, this shop reminded her more of Master Hargrave’s study. There were shelves of leather-covered volumes with gold tooling, many with elegant gilded edges. Collectively, the books were quite beautiful and of a far superior quality to what Master Aubrey displayed at his shop. The bookseller clearly had set himself up well in this location.
The Sign of the Gallows Page 13
