The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  Lucy passed the letter back to Adam who carefully folded it before replacing it in his pocket. What did Sarah mean? she wondered. I hope too that thou will find thy way to Lucy.

  As they pulled down Fleet Street, Lucy finally brought herself to ask Adam the question she’d been thinking about. ‘What did Sarah mean? What words does she hope that you’ve given thought to?’

  Adam leaned forward, placing his hands on her knees. ‘She saw my sadness at our separation.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lucy said, her heart starting to beat more quickly.

  ‘My travels through the New World have helped me see things I have not seen before. The rampant injustices of society. The privilege and reputation given to a man based upon his birth and parentage.’

  Lucy nodded, not sure what to say.

  Adam seized her hands. ‘Lucy, I know that our worlds are uneven, but perhaps there is a way forward?’ At her silence, he looked at her more closely. ‘Unless, you have given your heart away in my absence?’

  ‘I have not,’ she said, pulling away.

  ‘Are you under a spell, lass?’ Master Aubrey said, snapping his fingers at her. ‘I think you didn’t hear a word of what I just said.’

  Lucy blinked, realizing that both the master printer and Lach were staring at her. The words that Adam had just uttered as she stepped out of the carriage were still whirling around inside her head.

  ‘I said it looks as if you did well at Master Barnaby’s. Mrs Wallace was very excited earlier when I told her you’d gone back to Hoddesdon. She said she would invite the scholars back to their home this evening, in case you picked up something interesting for them to review.’ He looked at her sternly. ‘You did pick up something interesting for them to review, did you not?’

  ‘I–I did,’ she faltered. Master Aubrey was looking unusually stern. ‘Also for Miss de Witte, whom I plan to see in the morning if that is all right.’

  ‘Certainly,’ Master Aubrey said, visibly relaxing. Then, unexpectedly, he boxed Lach’s left ear. ‘How come you don’t bring in business like Lucy does?’

  ‘Maybe because I don’t go looking for dead bodies like her— Ow!’ he cried, as his cheeky response was met with another light boxing of the ears.

  ‘I don’t look for dead bodies,’ Lucy muttered as she pulled on her cloak. ‘I just bring victims to justice.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  For the second time in two days, Lucy found herself standing outside the Wallaces’ drawing room, pack in hand, waiting to be acknowledged by her hosts. As before, Professor Wallace’s scholars had already gathered, appearing to be the same four who had been there the other night, already deep into the wine. This time, Mrs Wallace seemed to be keeping an eye out for her, giving a little squeal when she appeared. ‘Lucy, come here!’ she said, taking her arm and bringing her to Professor Wallace who was engaged in conversation with one of the men. ‘Neville, I invited Lucy back as a surprise. Tell me you have some good pieces for us!’

  ‘Ah, so,’ Professor Wallace said, looking flustered. ‘Very good, very good. The thing is, well, we’ve still been studying the ones you delivered the other day, and here you are with a few more precious tomes.’ He patted his pocket and glanced at his wife. ‘Perhaps we might wait a few weeks or even months between your efforts. I do thank you kindly, my dear.’ Although he seemed genuine in both his interest and thanks, Lucy could read between the lines. This is too costly a hobby to have the bookseller come twice in one week. ‘But, since you’re here, let’s see what you brought.’ He moved aside the decanter and glasses and patted the long wooden sideboard.

  Carefully, she pulled the books from her pack one by one for all to see. This time she had brought several related to musical theory, which included the application of mathematics to the playing of the violin. The other scholars clustered around as Mrs Wallace once again pressed a glass of sherry into her hands. With a satisfied sigh, Professor Wallace began to peruse one of the books, admiring the gilded pages and embossed cover before running his finger down the table of contents.

  ‘I fear my wife is spoiling me, asking you to procure such fine items on behalf. I thought the list would take you more than a year to acquire, not three days!’ Professor Wallace said, looking more jovial.

  ‘Ah, ’twas no trouble at all,’ Lucy replied, accepting the glass but not taking a sip. ‘I was in Hoddesdon again for a short spell. I stopped at Master Barnaby’s and picked a few more off your list.’

  ‘Another journey to Hoddesdon? Were you not just there?’ Professor Wallace asked, looking a bit alarmed. ‘I hope you did not return on my account.’

  ‘I haven’t been to Master Barnaby’s in so long,’ one of the men commented. He was the man with red hair. Mr Quayle. ‘His store was always so well stocked.’

  ‘He can be quite a bear, though,’ Mr Jacobs replied. His clothes looked properly tailored and expensive. He reminded her of the itinerant scholars who used to teach Sarah. ‘Very protective of his books.’

  Lucy nodded, although that only improved her opinion of the bookseller. All the booksellers she knew were highly protective of their stock.

  ‘I’ve heard tales of Master Barnaby, though I’ve never met himself. He seems quite fearful indeed,’ Mrs Wallace said, giving a mock shiver. ‘Did he make you wait on him very long, Lucy? I know that he tends to do that.’ She nudged her husband, who coughed. ‘I should think we should give you some extra coins for your troubles.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he replied. ‘I’ll add some pennies.’

  Suddenly, Lucy felt a little embarrassed and confused. She was being treated like a guest and a servant in the same moment. How would Master Aubrey handle this type of transaction? she wondered. ‘Oh, it did not take so long,’ she said, setting the glass of sherry down, still untouched. ‘I just stopped into Master Barnaby’s because I was already in Hoddesdon. The constable had asked me to make the journey so that he could arrest the innkeepers from the Two Doves Inn for murder.’

  ‘What?’ everyone exclaimed, pausing what they were doing. They all stared at her.

  ‘Arrest the innkeepers?’ Mr Newman asked. He, like the other men, had a pale and cheese-like countenance, owned by those who rarely spent much time outdoors or in healthful pursuits. His threadbare suit hung awkwardly on his lanky body.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy replied. ‘They were believed to have helped murder a man – an old Newgate guard who set some criminals free during the Great Fire. Paul Corbyn. The innkeepers are in jail now, awaiting trial.’ She paused. ‘The constable needed me to identify them. After that was done, I was able to slip over to Master Barnaby’s shop and procure these in no time. As I said, ’twas no trouble at all.’

  Mr Newman suddenly did not look well. Bowing his head in turn to Professor and Mrs Wallace, he said, ‘Pardon me, I am feeling very ill. I should take my leave of you now. I should like to return to my room at the Hare and Pony to rest.’

  ‘Of course, my good sir,’ Professor Wallace said, not even looking up from the treatise he was examining. ‘Return to us when you are recovered.’

  Mrs Wallace extended her hand in farewell. ‘You must come back when you are better.’

  ‘I will,’ he said, swallowing. He darted an odd look at Lucy before exiting the drawing room.

  Something about that furtive gesture caught Lucy’s attention. She sidled over to Mrs Wallace. ‘Who was that man?’

  ‘Roland Newman,’ she replied. ‘As I mentioned before, he is a tutor of Greek, Latin and musical theory, from what I understand. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I suppose you have known him a very long time?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Not so long. If I recall correctly, he started to reside at the Hare and Pony Inn with the other scholars a few months ago. Neville and I have only recently made his acquaintance. We have found him to be quite knowledgeable, although moody when his opinions are questioned. Out of Oxford, he said. Fancies himself quite the scholar. I know that Neville thinks highly of his intellect, which contributes
greatly to my measure of the man.’ She drew Lucy to the back of the long room, away from the other scholars. ‘What is it? I can tell something is disturbing you.’

  ‘Well,’ Lucy began, struggling to put her half-formed impressions into words. ‘It’s just that Mr Newman seemed distressed when I mentioned Hoddesdon. Even more so when I said that those two innkeepers in Hoddesdon had been arrested for Paul Corbyn’s murder.’ She paused. ‘Why would that bother him? He seemed quite unwell when he left. Or was he more concerned with the murder itself?’

  ‘For some men, the thought of murder can be distressing,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘He also seemed to start when I mentioned the Two Doves Inn,’ her voice dropped. ‘Could it be—’

  Mrs Wallace leaned in. ‘What?’

  ‘I know it’s preposterous, but could that man be Philip Emerson?’

  Her eyes widening, Mrs Wallace covered her mouth with her hand. ‘Philip Emerson? You must be jesting!’

  ‘Yet, could he be so disguised? Wouldn’t your husband or one of the other scholars know him from Cambridge, if he were indeed Mr Emerson?’

  Mrs Wallace shook her head. ‘I can tell you that Neville and I never met Philip Emerson. The other scholars move around between London, Oxford and Cambridge, when they are not travelling abroad. There is no reason to think they would have known the man.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘From what I understand of the matter, Mr Newman would certainly be about the correct age. He is of the same moody character that I heard tell defined Mr Emerson. Yet scholars tend to have a melancholy presence, from which only my own dear Neville appears to have been exempt.’ She pressed her hand to her forehead, beginning to sway. ‘Forgive me, Lucy, I am feeling quite faint.’

  ‘Pray sit down,’ Lucy said, leading Mrs Wallace to a seat. ‘Drink your wine. I do apologize for having given you this fright. I am sure that I am jumping to conclusions, for such a fantastical thing could hardly be true.’

  ‘I am indeed horrified by the thought that we have been harbouring a vicious murderer in our midst,’ Mrs Wallace whispered fiercely. ‘Not just harbouring but protecting, and plying with drink, merriment and pleasurable discourse. We have even helped establish his reputation – I know that Neville has recommended him as a tutor to several noble families. He has benefitted greatly from consorting with us.’

  ‘We should not condemn him unjustly,’ Lucy said quickly, touching the woman’s wrist. ‘I should like to identify him as Philip Emerson first, so that he may be arrested and punished for his crime. See justice restored once and for all. Duncan wouldn’t want to take the chance of having the innkeepers identify him, for fear that they would lie and say they could not remember him. He could send for someone from Cambridge or even Hoddesdon, but that will take some time. As such, I am at a loss.’

  Mrs Wallace looked thoughtful. ‘You said that the constable invited you to Hoddesdon to point out the innkeepers, so that he could arrest them – correct?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘I understand what you are saying. We need someone who could identify Philip Emerson. Who could do that?’

  ‘That is the question. Not Professor Wallace or I, since we never met him as Emerson. Nor do the other scholars seem aware of his past. However’ – she paused, a distasteful look crossing her thoughts – ‘Miss de Witte would know him. She attended the trial after all. Besides, he and her brother were once friends. She might even have known him – before.’

  ‘That is true. She would likely be able to identify him,’ Lucy said. Except, would she? If she had been involved in Mr Corbyn’s murder – if she had written those messages, why would she identify Philip Emerson? What would she gain from such an act? On the other hand, even if she is guilty of the other crime, would she deny herself the chance to point out her brother’s murderer to the constable?

  ‘Lucy?’ Mrs Wallace asked, trying to peer at her face. ‘You appear deep in thought. What are you thinking?’

  ‘You say that he and the other scholars have taken up residence at the Hare and Pony Inn,’ Lucy mused. ‘Perhaps I can find a way to bring Miss de Witte to the tavern tomorrow and see if she could identify him for the constable. That is, if he has not been unnerved and fled already. I hope that she would be willing to identify him.’

  ‘I should think so,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘Her fury towards Mr Emerson, and the man who set him free, is unchecked. I should not think it would be so hard to convince her to come with you.’

  Lucy crossed her arms. ‘We shall see. The trick now is how she can identify Mr Emerson without him knowing. We should not want to bring her into any danger.’

  ‘Lucy, you must stop putting yourself in the way of harm,’ Duncan said. He had just finished listening to her breathless account of what had occurred at the Wallaces’ the night before. She had darted over to the jail early that morning after getting Master Aubrey’s resigned approval. In addition to chores, she also had to promise she’d write another true account for him.

  ‘To be fair, I did not know that one of the scholars could be a murderer. I agree it seems quite far-fetched, but I believe it is worth pursuing.’ Lucy kicked a rock. ‘You will have to be very careful in how you approach her now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, Dev and Pike claim that she is the one who told them to kill Mr Corbyn, even if they misunderstood her message. Obviously, we know that the individuals involved used her cipher. She can simply deny this.’

  Duncan sighed. ‘That is so. Moreover, if we anger her, she might not wish to cooperate with us and identify Mr Emerson. We must tread carefully.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have her identify Mr Emerson first, without bringing up the ciphers or the claims made by Dev and Pike,’ Lucy said. ‘I have a thought on how to proceed, if you’ll allow me.’

  At Duncan’s knock, the same servant who’d been there before cautiously opened the door. ‘Is Miss de Witte in?’ he asked courteously. ‘We’d like to speak with her.’

  Seeing the woman’s hesitation, Lucy jumped in. ‘I’m Lucy Campion. I was here recently with Mrs Wallace, if you may recall. I have some more of the tracts she asked for, which I’d very much like to share with her. You are Mavis, are you not?’

  Relaxing a bit, Mavis nodded. ‘This way, please,’ she said, leading them to the same room where Lucy had first met Miss de Witte.

  ‘Look at the portrait,’ she whispered to Duncan. ‘That is Hammett de Witte. See the ring? Look, too, at the piece of paper sticking out of the book. I think that’s part of the cipher as well.’

  Duncan was still studying the portrait when Lucretia de Witte sailed into the room. ‘Lucy!’ she started to say in a delighted way, before stopping short at the sight of Duncan. She took in his red uniform, confusion quickly turning to anger. ‘What is this? Why have you brought a soldier to my home?’

  ‘Miss de Witte,’ Duncan said, stepping forward. ‘I am Constable Duncan. I have some questions for you about Philip Emerson, the murderer of your brother Hammett.’

  She blanched. ‘I don’t wish to discuss that monster.’ Reaching for the embroidered pocket around her waist, she pulled out some coins and spoke coolly to Lucy. ‘I see you have brought those tracts for me, Lucy. Will three shillings suffice?’ Accepting the tracts, she added, ‘I’ll bid you good day and thank you for your troubles. Pray, do not return, Lucy. I do not appreciate the misleading pretext for your visit. Furthermore, I do not wish to know why you sought to involve yourself in my family’s tragedy, and I certainly do not appreciate such people being brought to my home.’

  Beside her, she could feel Duncan stiffen at the slight. This is a mess, Lucy thought as she handed her the tracts. ‘Miss de Witte,’ she blurted out, ‘we came here today because we have learned the whereabouts of Philip Emerson, your brother’s murderer.’

  ‘What?’ Miss de Witte said, growing pale. She grasped the edge of a chair for support. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘He is here, we beli
eve, in London,’ she explained. ‘However, there is good reason to believe he has assumed a new identity.’

  ‘A new identity?’ Miss de Witte said. She went over to the sideboard and poured herself a glass of sherry, even though it was still morning. ‘Who is he?’

  Lucy glanced at Duncan, not sure if she should provide his name outright.

  ‘Would you remember what he looked like?’ Lucy asked instead. ‘You may be the only person who could identify him, unless the constable sends for someone from Cambridge. That could take too much time and he might learn of the inquiry and flee.’

  Miss de Witte’s eyes grew hard. ‘I remember every line, expression and feature of that murderer’s villainous face,’ she said, practically spitting. ‘I have no doubt that I could identify him. Where is the scoundrel hiding?’

  ‘We believe Mr Emerson is living among some other scholars and tutors at a nearby tavern, the Hare and Pony,’ Duncan said easily. ‘You would not need to speak to him. We just need to confirm his identity before I can arrest him again. If you were willing, I was hoping we could venture there now.’

  Miss de Witte stood up. ‘Let us out this vicious murderer once and for all. I would see him hanged for his crimes.’

  Just then there was a tap at the door and the servant appeared, bearing a small salver with a letter. ‘A message for you, Miss de Witte.’

  ‘Thank you, Mavis.’ Miss de Witte quickly slit open the seal, a huge smile on her face as she opened it.

  ‘Good news?’ Lucy asked.

  Ignoring her question, Miss de Witte folded up the note and slipped it into her pocket. ‘Just let me fetch my things. I shall meet you at the front door and we can walk over together.’