‘That’s Master Barnaby, the owner of this shop,’ Adam said, nudging her in the direction of a white-haired man with a neatly trimmed white beard. He was seated at a work bench in the corner and appeared to be repairing the clasps on the bindings of a leather-bound book.
Lucy pulled out the list of books requested by Professor Wallace and Lucretia de Witte. Algebra Christophori Clavii Bambergensis e Societate Iesv was at the top of the list, having been requested by each. She was about to approach him when a young man in scholarly robes came rushing into the shop, pushing against her as he went to stand before the bookseller. ‘Master Barnaby! Sir!’
‘Hey,’ Adam called, looking indignant. He was about to say something about the man’s loutish behaviour but Lucy put her finger to her lips. She wanted to see how the bookseller worked.
‘I simply must procure Littleton’s Tenures in English before my carriage leaves,’ the scholar continued. His distress was so evident that it made Lucy wonder what truly transpired within the university’s hallowed halls. ‘I left my copy at home and I cannot rely on a Cambridge shop carrying this important piece. Please, I will pay anything!’
Anything? Lucy thought.
‘Anything?’ Master Barnaby asked at the same time, a clear note of disdain in his voice. ‘Very good. I’ll be right back, sir.’
As the scholar waited, he looked around the shop, his eyes passing over Lucy in a dismissive way. To Adam he said, ‘I’ve got old Master Tinley this term. I don’t want to cross that dragon by not having a copy of the book he recommended! I’d be tarred and feathered for certain.’
‘A shame, to be sure,’ Adam replied. Lucy could hear the slightly mocking tone, but the scholar did not, continuing to pace about.
Adam stretched his hand above Lucy’s head, retrieving a book from the highest shelf. ‘This is a recent favourite of mine,’ he said, opening it up so that they could look at it together. ‘John Dryden’s Annus Mirabilis. The year of miracles.’
‘Oh, I’ve seen this one, although in far plainer form,’ she said, examining the fine binding. ‘It is about the devastation England suffered these past years, is it not?’
‘Yes, although I believe his point is that things could have been worse.’
The scholar tapped his foot. ‘Where is he?’ he asked.
The bookseller returned then, carefully wiping the dust off the mottled leather cover and sprinkled edges. He named a sum that seemed five times the price that Master Aubrey had told her to expect. The scholar didn’t even bother to barter. After paying out the sum to the bookseller, he pushed past Lucy and out the door. So reckless with money. How fortunate to have such means.
Since the shop was empty now, Lucy approached the bookseller, giving a little cough to get his attention. ‘Pardon me, sir?’
Master Barnaby glanced at her but turned his attention back to the binding. ‘Sir?’ she repeated.
‘What is it?’ he asked, still not looking at her.
‘I should like to know if you have any of these books,’ she said, laying the list down in front of him, not even trying to pronounce the titles. Adam had hung back, continuing to read the Dryden piece.
The bookseller flicked his eyes over the list before straightening his spectacles and looking her over. ‘This is quite a list. For your master, I assume.’ Without waiting for her to reply, he said, ‘I’ve got a few.’ As before, he went into a back area to retrieve the texts, returning a few minutes later. He laid them out, before naming a ridiculous sum.
Lucy pulled out the printer’s seal. ‘Master Aubrey, the master printer I work for, instructed that I not pay more than one-third of what you just said.’ He’d actually sent along enough money for about half that sum, but she decided to hold back on that.
Master Barnaby looked her up and down and named a new sum, lower this time.
‘No,’ Lucy said. ‘We are not in a hurry. I should think we’ll get them in Cambridge. Adam,’ she called, ‘I’m ready to leave.’
Hastily, the bookseller began to bargain with her and now she happily engaged. She’d learned to barter with merchants in the market, and she found that the bookseller was no different to a butcher haggling over the price of a cut of beef.
Adam stood back, watching her, looking pleased. ‘You’ve really got a knack for this,’ he whispered, as the bookseller wrapped the books up carefully in a wool bag. It was nearly time to leave, and Lucy still hadn’t got any information.
‘I heard tell of a murder in these parts,’ she said. ‘A Cambridge scholar?’
He grunted. ‘I have no interest in that tale.’
‘Was there perhaps a broadside or ballad about it, do you know?’ Lucy pressed.
The bookseller turned taciturn. ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ he said. ‘You’re better off at Master Johnson’s. He sells that sort of stuff and nonsense.’ He sat back down at his table, bending over the book he was repairing, clearly signalling the conversation was over.
‘Master Johnson’s place is over there,’ Adam said, pointing to a shop with the sign of a printing press above the door. When they entered, Lucy felt a sense of familiarity and comfort. Unlike the last shop, there were no elegant hand-stitched and gilded books here. Instead, they were in stacks and pouches around the room, looking haphazard to the eye, but probably with their own system and order known only to the bookseller.
Even the bookseller himself reminded her of Master Aubrey, looking a bit creased and wrinkled. Master Johnson greeted them, and Lucy explained who she was, showing the seal. ‘Ah Aubrey, certainly I know him. Glad I was when I learned he and his shop survived the fire intact. So many of our brethren did not see their stock spared. What can I do for you?’
She opened her sack, and the two began to trade. When they were done, she set her pack down. ‘Master Johnson, I am looking for a specific piece about a murder that happened in this area. It happened at a tavern – summer of last year, I believe,’ she said. ‘The murder was of a Cambridge scholar named Hammett de Witte. Are you aware of such a piece?’
The bookseller snapped his fingers. ‘Of course! That caused quite the stir when it happened.’
He led Lucy and Adam to the back of the shop. Like Master Aubrey, he had leather pouches hanging on hooks all over the walls, and in each were stuffed rolls of penny pieces. More pamphlets, broadsides, petitions, ballads and other true accounts were stacked on shelves, along with more specialized chapbooks, quartos and folios. ‘As I recall, only a single piece was ever created. A ballad.’
He handed it to Lucy, who took it eagerly, with Adam peering closely over her shoulder. ‘Love No More – the tragic tale of a scholar and a serving maid, with a brutal end to an untimely romance.’
They read through the ballad eagerly, Lucy mouthing many of the words aloud. ‘A gentleman scholar, one Hammett de Witte of London, in his journeys to and from Cambridge, did seek to pass his time at the Two Doves, a coaching inn in Hoddesdon.’
‘The Two Doves Inn?’ Adam said. ‘I know where that inn is. Very close by.’
‘Yes, just a few buildings down on High Street,’ Master Johnson confirmed.
Lucy continued to read. ‘Though devoted to Latin, Mr de Witte sought to learn a new language and course of study taught by a winsome serving lass, Eleanor Browning, affectionately called Ellie by her friends. As their most dear acquaintanceship grew, on each occasion he stopped at the inn, another scholar from that same institution, one Philip Emerson, by all accounts a most angry and choleric man, did take note of their budding romance with anger in his heart.’
Adam clucked his teeth. ‘I see. Go on.’
‘Emerson, as it came to be understood, had fallen in love with that same servant, while she, unknowing, continued with her secret trysts with de Witte, ignorant all the while of the anger that was building in Emerson’s heart.’ Lucy gulped. ‘Thus, when de Witte and his Ellie did seek to join hands, Emerson, acting upon his rage, did thus grab a carving knife from a table and ran it into de Witt
e through and through.’
‘So not premeditated, it is clear,’ Adam said. ‘That might have mattered.’
Lucy continued to read, her finger moving under the words as she read each passage. ‘Ellie then threw herself upon her lover’s corpse, weeping and wailing all the while. When Emerson entreated her to join him, she refused in such a heartfelt fashion that he knew he could never win her love, and he stabbed her, too. He then took the ring that de Witte had used to pledge his troth to the young maid, fleeing in the direction of London.’
‘Hmm,’ Adam mused. ‘We still have some time before we said we would meet Father at the church. Let’s go to the Two Doves. See if we can learn anything.’
SIXTEEN
Lucy and Adam walked into the Two Doves Inn, sidestepping a pair of drunken sots who were on their way out. Despite her protests, Adam had hefted the sack with the scholarly tomes on to his own shoulder.
‘It’s so dark in here,’ Lucy murmured. Although the midday sun was streaking in through several windows, other windows were boarded over. Lanterns hung from the walls, their flickering glow adding more light in patches. She sniffed. A sour smell hung in the air, reeking of old cabbage and something musty.
Still, the place was full of people, mostly men, tippling, some staring sullenly into their cups, others in larger groups, in raucous laughter.
Adam carefully steered Lucy to a quieter corner towards the back. When they sat down, he beckoned to the tavern maid and looked around. ‘I haven’t been here in years,’ he said to Lucy.
‘Oh, you know this place?’
‘Certainly. Everyone had to leave their coaches while the horses were rested and fed. This was as good a place to go as any on High Street.’
‘What was it like to be a student at Cambridge?’ Lucy asked, looking at one young man whose face was buried in a book. ‘I imagine everyone was like him.’
He followed her gaze. ‘Sometimes. Sometimes more like them.’ He pointed to the more boisterous group on the other side of the room. She could tell the men were telling a bawdy story, trying to get the attention of the serving maid.
‘I always imagined you spending your days and nights studying,’ she teased. ‘It’s hard to imagine you cavorting about.’
‘That’s true enough – I was not one to, as you say, cavort. I will acknowledge, though, that life back then was not very complicated.’ He smiled slightly. ‘I studied at Trinity College before I studied law. The life of a scholar …’ He shook his head. ‘I can scarcely remember it now.’
‘When you started your studies, I was still living with my mother in Southwark,’ Lucy mused. ‘I remember, when I first came to work for your parents, how Sarah would talk about you.’
Adam studied her face before replying. ‘Is that so?’
‘She was so proud of you. Of your accomplishments. Of course, she was a little more idle with her studies,’ Lucy said with a fond laugh. ‘Sometimes I think that she was of a differing measuring stick.’
‘Luckily, the education provided to her by the tutors my father brought in was not entirely lost,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard tell how you’d listen to the lessons from behind the curtains.’
‘Well, I was mostly cleaning and mending, not learning to argue in Latin.’ She laughed again. ‘I was certainly fortunate that your father treated me so well. My lot today would be far different if I had been sent to serve another master.’
‘Lucy,’ he said, covering her hand with his. The gaze of his blue eyes was intense, and she felt as if he could almost see right into her thoughts. ‘I know that we come from different worlds. But I wish—’
She pulled her hand away as the serving maid appeared before them. Like most who worked in taverns, the young woman’s bosom was half exposed, not covered by lace or cloth as other women working in a market or trade would. Her smile was friendly enough, however, and directed at both Lucy and Adam. ‘A good day to you, friends. I’m Tabby. What is it you’d be liking today? A bit of meat and cheese and some ales?’
Adam glanced at Lucy who nodded. ‘I’m sure Father will get a bite to eat with his friend. So, yes to all that, if you would, Tabby,’ he replied, rolling a gold coin in his fingers.
‘Certainly, sir,’ the serving maid said, eyeing the coin. ‘I’ll be back straight away.’
When she walked away, Lucy pushed Adam’s palm down on to the table, so that the coin could no longer be seen. ‘No need to invite trouble,’ she whispered.
Adam gave a wry smile. ‘It may help when we ask her our questions. Maybe she knew Ellie. She might know something about the murders, too.’
When Tabby returned with their food, Adam slid the coin over to her. Seeing this, her eyes widened, looking as if she was about to swoon. ‘Let me slice the cheese for you, sir,’ she said, quickly tucking the coin away in her pocket.
‘Have you worked here for a while?’ Lucy asked the woman, reaching to hand Adam a piece of cheese and hard bread herself.
‘Oh, for a few years, I suppose,’ Tabby replied, pausing to fan herself a bit. ‘Glad you folks stopped in here. Everybody’s been flocking to the Knight’s Head these days. Lots who come in’ – she gestured to the other scattered patrons – ‘do a lot of drinking but don’t always leave much for me.’
‘You must have seen a lot during your time here,’ Lucy said. ‘Fights? Skirmishes?’
‘Oh, those loud-mouthed louts always have something to say. Mostly harmless, mind you, but sometimes they’ve come to blows,’ she said. ‘Why, there was this first time I remember that—’
Lucy kicked Adam under the table. Taking the hint, he interrupted Tabby. ‘We heard a murder even happened here?’ he said, giving her his most charming smile.
Tabby snapped out of whatever spell she’d been under and frowned. ‘Now, why’d you go and remind me of that terrible day? Bring back nightmares, it will! I only just started resting easy again!’
Lucy felt a pang at the woman’s words. Hadn’t she experienced the same after Bessie had died? There were still those nights when she’d reach for Bessie only to recall the dreadful fact of her death. ‘Please,’ she said, ‘we truly would like to know.’
Tabby looked uncertainly back and forth. Adam slid another coin to her. ‘Please. Tell us what happened.’
Gripping the back of a tall chair for support with one hand, she pointed to a back corner with the other. ‘I was standing just there,’ she said. ‘Never saw anything so terrible in my life. I hope never to see such a sight for the rest of my days! ’Twas my own dear friend Ellie who was murdered, struck down with her lover by a man whom she called a friend.’ She cursed loudly. ‘Philip Emerson! A despicable scoundrel who deserves to be hanged!’
She stopped then and looked around. ‘How about you buy another drink for yourself and one for me, and I’ll tell you all about it. Least you can do for dredging my pain up in such ways.’
Adam pushed over some coins. ‘Please do. We’re all ears.’
‘I’ll be right back,’ she replied.
A few minutes later, she came back with a tray holding four tankards of ale and a turkey leg. She passed a new tankard each to Adam and Lucy and placed the other two in front of herself. Taking off her apron, she glanced at Adam. ‘May as well take my meal now.’
‘Of course,’ Adam said courteously, and they watched as Tabby leaned back, putting her feet up on another chair. She then proceeded to down half a pint of ale before tearing off a huge bite of turkey with her teeth. ‘As you were saying,’ Adam said, prodding her gently, ‘your friend was killed. How did that come to pass?’
‘Yes, Ellie. Eleanor Browning, the younger sister of the innkeepers. She had the misfortune of catching the eye of two gowns. Hammett de Witte and Philip Emerson.’ She waved towards some of the Cambridge scholars eating. ‘They come in here sometimes, thinking they can have their way with us, just because we work here. Of course, there are some with fine manners and nice countenances that please us well.’ She drained the first tankard a
nd leaned towards Adam, whispering loudly. ‘If you should like to ditch your sweetheart, there are some beds upstairs.’
‘Thank you, I’m quite satisfied at the moment,’ Adam said, again courteously, with a quick glance at Lucy.
An unpleasant sensation flashed through Lucy then. Annoyance? Jealousy? Anger? She curled her fingers in her lap, uncertain as to what she was feeling about the exchange. I’m satisfied at the moment, he had said. Did he only say that because she was there?
Tabby shrugged her shoulders. ‘Suit yourself,’ she said, before continuing her story. ‘They fell in love. I believe it. Ellie was so besotted, and I believe the scholar Hammett was, too. He would write these beautiful letters to her – of course, neither of us could make head or tail of them.’ Her face darkened. ‘That was where the trouble began.’
‘Trouble? What kind of trouble?’ Lucy asked.
‘She asked another scholar, Philip Emerson, to read those letters to her, so that she could hear her Hammett’s words spoken out loud. I know now that must have tipped off a deep rage in Mr Emerson, when asked to read the words of a rival for Ellie’s heart. The strange fellow must have been nursing a deep tenderness for her, unbeknownst to everyone! How could we have known? Sometimes he’d sit with Mr de Witte, but most times he was off at a table by himself with his books and writings. A sullen chap, to be sure. His rage may have been growing for some time.’
‘How did the murder come to pass?’ Adam asked.
Tabby took a deep swallow of ale. ‘Hammett gave Ellie a ring. She took it to be a promise of betrothal, but I was not so sure. She showed it to me in private, because she was scared to wear it publicly for all to see.’
‘Why was that?’ Lucy asked.
‘Ellie didn’t think her brothers would allow her to marry a poor scholar. Of course, as we learned later, Mr de Witte was a gentleman and man of means. He was absent-minded, not poor, and that was why he did not tend to his robes and clothes as he ought.’ Her lips twitched nervously. ‘It was an odd ring. I shouldn’t like to have worn it myself. I told her it might fetch a pretty penny at the market, but she was intent on keeping it.’
The Sign of the Gallows Page 14
