The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  To their surprise, Miss de Witte did not call for her carriage, preferring to walk. Given that she had already taken more than fifteen minutes to ready herself, Lucy thought she would have preferred to move in a more urgent manner.

  ‘Why draw attention to ourselves?’ she’d said reasonably, a point to which Duncan and Lucy readily agreed. Her entire mood had brightened, her tone was no longer so clipped and chilled, and her steps were brisk and light.

  She seemed pleased now to speak with Lucy. ‘You have become more acquainted with the Wallaces of late? Tell me, how does Professor Wallace fare?’

  Lucy spoke cautiously. ‘He fares well, from what I can see. He told me that he was working on a new mathematical treatise.’

  ‘Is that so? You are wondering about my interest, I can tell. There was a time, when he was still my tutor, that we were very dear acquaintances.’

  ‘I see,’ Lucy said, trying to sound noncommittal. She did not wish to betray Mrs Wallace’s confidence, although she was hoping to learn as much as she could from Miss de Witte. She certainly did not wish to let on that she and Adam had de-ciphered several of the riddles that Miss de Witte and Professor Wallace had exchanged.

  Miss de Witte glanced at her. ‘She told you what happened, didn’t she? I suppose she portrayed me as a seductress, stealing her husband’s affections away.’

  ‘Er …’ Lucy began, not sure how to reply.

  ‘Of course she did. I’m guessing, though, that she didn’t tell you that she’d cuckolded him first.’

  Lucy cocked her head. ‘Is that so?’ Sometimes she felt hard-pressed to think of any marriage that had not been betrayed on some level.

  ‘The Hare and Pony Inn is just ahead,’ Duncan said, pointing at the stone structure with the painted sign of a rabbit riding a horse above the door. ‘Shall we go in? See if the scholars are there?’

  As soon as they walked in, they saw a number of scholars playing cards, another softly playing a lute. Lucy recognized the scholars she’d met at the Wallaces’ home, including Mr Newman.

  ‘Do you see him?’ Lucy whispered. She took care not to identify the man directly, so that Miss de Witte would do so herself.

  Yet Miss de Witte had already spied him. ‘That’s him,’ she exclaimed, clutching Lucy’s arm, pointing to the man known as Mr Newman. ‘That’s Philip Emerson. I’d recognize him anywhere.’

  ‘All right,’ Duncan said, his old soldierly side taking over. ‘Let’s not act too hastily—’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Miss de Witte hissed at him.

  ‘I just need to get a little closer. Be patient—’

  Before he could finish his sentence, however, Miss de Witte violently shoved Lucy to the ground.

  ‘Murderer!’ she screamed, and before anyone could stop her, she withdrew a knife from her skirts and lunged towards Mr Newman.

  Duncan made a grab for her but missed, and Miss de Witte flung herself forward, driving the knife into Mr Newman’s shoulder. ‘Kill my brother? I’ll kill you!’

  Then, while everyone stood frozen as statues, Mr Newman pulled out his own knife and plunged it into Miss de Witte’s gut, the wrenching movement making a sickening sound.

  Then, in unison, both clutched their wounds, Miss de Witte slumping to the floor while Mr Newman began to stagger off. Screams and shouts filled the room as confusion abounded.

  ‘Murderer!’ people began to scream, although no one seemed quite sure where to point their finger or how to fathom what was happening.

  Lucy crawled over to Miss de Witte. ‘Don’t let that scoundrel get away again,’ the woman pleaded, reaching her hand out. ‘If he lives, he must hang.’

  Half turning, Lucy could see Mr Newman stumbling towards the tavern door, about to take flight. Before he could escape, Duncan had lunged forward, pinning the scholar’s hands behind his back and wrestling him to the floor.

  Seeing that blood was starting to seep through Miss de Witte’s dress, Lucy caught the hand of a serving maid who was bending over them anxiously. ‘Give me your apron,’ she said. Without a word of protest, the young woman untied it and handed it to her. Lucy pressed the material against Miss de Witte’s stomach, trying helplessly to staunch the flow of blood. The injury looked fearful.

  ‘Why in heaven’s name did you stab him?’ Lucy asked Miss de Witte, who had started to tremble. ‘The constable was here to arrest him!’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose a rage came over me at the sight of him,’ Miss de Witte whispered, blood trickling from her mouth.

  Lucy frowned. ‘How is that so? You brought that knife with you. You must have planned this.’

  ‘He deserved what he got,’ Miss de Witte whispered, her face flushed. Then her eyes rolled back and she passed out.

  ‘We must get them to Doctor Larimer’s surgery straight away,’ Duncan cried. He pointed at a bald man dressed in labourer’s clothes, who, like everyone else, was looking stunned. ‘You there! Call for a cart!’

  Hearing the authority in the constable’s voice, the man hopped to do his bidding, and within moments two carts had arrived. Both Miss de Witte and Mr Newman were loaded into the carts, and they quickly headed to Dr Larimer’s, Lucy whispering a small prayer that they would survive.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The mile-long journey to the physician’s surgery was as swift as it could be. Duncan led the curious procession, brandishing his stick, Mr Newman’s cart directly behind him, followed by two men pushing a handcart containing Miss de Witte’s supine body, Lucy at her side.

  ‘Clear the way! Clear the way!’ Duncan called out, so that the other carts and people would step aside. ‘Official business!’

  Well-wishers and gawkers alike walked along either side of the cart, helping push people out of the way and ensuring that none of the cartwheels got stuck in the muddy, cluttered paths. Lucy kept an anxious watch over Miss de Witte as they moved to the physician’s, trying to keep her wound covered and making sure she was still breathing. Some kind soul had even handed her a blanket, which after being placed over the woman’s lying form had grown blood-soaked in moments. Mercifully, she had not revived, as the pain was surely unbearable.

  When the entourage arrived at Dr Larimer’s, there was a quick flurry as the constable rapped at the door with his stick and members of the crowd began to bang on the shutters. ‘Summon the doctor!’ one loud-mouthed man called. ‘Come out! Come out!’ others clamoured.

  Mrs Hotchkiss, the housekeeper, threw open the door. ‘Lucy!’ she exclaimed, taking in the crowd with uneasy eyes. ‘Explain what all this shouting is about!’

  The constable touched his hat and indicated the two bodies in the carts, both starting to moan as they revived. ‘Stabbings. Bring the physicians, quick.’

  Mrs Hotchkiss, used to patients arriving at their door in all forms of distress, just gave a tight nod. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and Duncan and another man wheeled the two injured souls towards the surgeries.

  Lucy turned back to the crowd of people who were still gaping in fascination. Spying one of Dr Larimer’s servants crouching against the wall, holding a barrel of water in each hand, she called to him. ‘Tom! I need you.’

  ‘What happened there, miss?’ he asked, looking a bit green. ‘That woman – there was a lot of blood.’

  ‘Tom, please. I need you to send a message to Master Aubrey and tell him I’m here. Do you remember where his shop is on Fleet Street?’ She pulled a penny from her pocket. ‘Be quick about it, and I’ll give you a second one when you return?’

  ‘The water is for washing them,’ he said, holding the barrels to Lucy.

  ‘I will bring it in directly,’ she said, accepting both barrels. ‘I will also let Mrs Hotchkiss know where you are.’

  Following the din at the end of the corridor, Lucy walked as quickly as she could, carefully balancing the overly full barrels of water, trying to keep them from sloshing over. Duncan was nowhere to be seen. Setting one of the barrels down, she opened the first surg
ery door. Dr Larimer was looking grim as he bent over Miss de Witte, whose eyes were mercifully still closed, though she was moaning. Mrs Hotchkiss was cutting open her dress so that the physician could examine her wound. They looked up when she entered.

  ‘Ah, Lucy, bring that water here. We need to clean off some of this blood,’ the physician said. ‘Grab those bandages, would you?’

  For the next thirty minutes, Lucy followed the physician’s instructions, helping Mrs Hotchkiss take care of Miss de Witte.

  ‘Will she recover?’ Lucy whispered. The woman’s face had taken on a deathly pallor as if almost all of her lifeblood had drained from her body.

  Dr Larimer grimaced. ‘We’ll know soon enough. She has certainly lost a lot of blood, but I do not believe any of her organs were injured. If she makes it through the next few hours, her chances of recovery will improve greatly, unless her body becomes polluted by infection.’ He shook his head. ‘There may be little we can do if such a thing comes to pass.’

  ‘What about the other man?’ Lucy asked. ‘Do you know how he fares?’

  ‘Mr Newman will probably be all right. Doctor Sheridan is looking after him.’

  ‘I should tell you that this man, Mr Newman, has just been identified as Philip Emerson. He is a murderer. Miss de Witte, your patient, is the one who identified him.’

  ‘Yes, Constable Duncan informed me of that fact and is, I believe, guarding him now.’ Turning back towards his housekeeper, he said, ‘Mrs Hotchkiss, please watch over Miss de Witte until I return. I wish to check on our other patient.’

  Since it did not look as if Miss de Witte would awaken any time soon, Lucy followed the physician out of the room and slumped into a chair in the long corridor. Dr Larimer disappeared into the other surgery to check on Mr Emerson. Her thoughts whirled as she began to think over everything that had happened earlier at the tavern. What was it that Miss de Witte had said? I suppose a rage came over me at the sight of him. Except, that didn’t explain why she had brought along a knife.

  ‘Had she even wanted Duncan to arrest Mr Emerson?’ Lucy whispered to herself, tapping her fingers on her leg. It was then that she noticed she had blood on her skirts. She took out her handkerchief to scrub it away. ‘Or had she planned to kill him the whole time?’

  Lucy closed her eyes, trying to shake off the sickly image of Miss de Witte and Mr Emerson slicing into each other with their knives. Once again, she wondered why Miss de Witte had brought the knife along. What about Mr Emerson? ‘Does he always carry a knife with him, even though he has been trying to pass himself off as a scholar?’ she asked herself. ‘Perhaps, as a criminal who has murdered two people and taken on a different identity, he might always carry a weapon.’

  Dr Larimer’s front door opened then, and Adam appeared in the doorway, panting from exertion. The boy Tom was at his side, rosy-cheeked and sweaty.

  ‘Lucy!’ Adam called, his eyes dropping to the blood-stained handkerchief tucked in her fist. ‘How do you fare?’

  ‘I am well,’ she replied. ‘Though it was a sickening business to be sure. Mr Emerson and Miss de Witte stabbed one another!’

  ‘I heard! I was at Master Aubrey’s when he received your message from Tom here,’ Adam explained, nodding at the servant who was still hovering nearby. After tossing Tom a coin, he drew a chair next to hers. ‘What is the news?’

  ‘Miss de Witte was stabbed in her stomach but apparently all vital organs were missed. Mr Newman was stabbed in his shoulder. His is the less serious injury.’

  ‘How in the world did this happen? How did you come to be there?’ He leaned towards her. ‘Please, Lucy, explain from the beginning. Help me understand what transpired.’

  Being in Adam’s presence strengthened Lucy. Taking a deep breath, she quickly filled him in on how they had discovered Mr Newman’s true identity, and why they’d been at the Hare and Pony with Miss de Witte.

  Adam ran his hand through his dark hair. ‘They stabbed each other? How fantastical.’ At her shudder, his gaze grew concerned. ‘I’m so sorry you had to witness that sight.’

  ‘Will Miss de Witte be arrested for attempted murder, then?’ she asked. ‘If she survives?’

  ‘That seems likely, yes. Have you learned anything more about her involvement in Paul Corbyn’s death?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘No. Duncan didn’t ask her about it. I assume that he didn’t want to scare her off before she’d first confirmed that Mr Newman was indeed Philip Emerson. Once we arrived at the tavern, everything happened so quickly. She is still unconscious, I am afraid.’

  Duncan came out then, catching the end of their conversation. ‘Ah, Mr Hargrave. You’re here.’ He seemed tired. ‘I agree, we should question Miss de Witte as soon as we can. None of this happened the way I expected when I asked her to identify Mr Emerson.’

  ‘I’ll never forget the manner in which she stabbed him with that knife,’ Lucy said, swallowing down the bile that suddenly threatened to cause her to gag. ‘Her fury was something to behold.’ She paused. ‘Duncan, were you surprised that she brought that knife along? She claimed she’d attacked him after being overwhelmed by rage, but this makes it seem as if she planned to do it ahead of time.’

  Adam whistled. ‘That seems deliberate.’

  ‘I think so, too,’ Duncan agreed.

  Dr Larimer stepped out then. ‘I’ll try to revive Miss de Witte in a few hours, if she does not wake up on her own. Lucy, perhaps you could tend to her so that Mrs Hotchkiss can return to her duties.’

  ‘Let us first speak with Mr Emerson,’ Adam said. ‘I should very much like to hear what he has to say.’

  Dr Sheridan straightened up when they walked into the room, having just completed wrapping a bandage around Mr Emerson’s shoulder wound. ‘I’ve given Mr Newman here—’

  ‘That’s not his name,’ Duncan interrupted, giving the man a hard look.

  ‘I’ve given this man some medicine to soothe the pain, but he needs to rest.’ He shook his finger at Lucy when he said the last, and then turned to Duncan. ‘Just a few questions, Constable.’

  ‘Constable? Constable! You need to lock up that wretched woman who stabbed me!’ Mr Emerson shouted, before pointing at his arm. ‘I’m a musician and tutor to several fine families. Just look what she did to me! I was just defending myself from her attack!’

  ‘Of course,’ Duncan said, giving the man a stern look. ‘First, I have several questions for you.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Emerson replied.

  ‘How long have you been passing yourself off as the scholar “Mr Newman”?’ Duncan’s tone was flat, brooking no nonsense. Dr Sheridan clucked his tongue as he exited the room.

  ‘Er, uh, what?’ Mr Emerson asked, starting to sputter. His indignation seemed manufactured, weak. ‘I don’t know what you mean—’

  ‘There’s no point in denying it. We know that your real name is Philip Emerson. We know that you murdered Hammett de Witte and Ellie Browning. We also know that you fled from Newgate Prison when the Great Fire broke out, and that at some point you took on a new identity of “Mr Newman, tutor”.’

  ‘That’s not so,’ Mr Emerson whispered, although his denial fell flat.

  ‘New-man – fairly obvious, is it not?’ Lucy smiled at him sweetly.

  ‘It’s no matter now. You’ve already been identified as Philip Emerson by a witness.’ Duncan shook his head. ‘It will be simple enough to have someone confirm your identity, so you might as well surrender. Face your punishment.’

  Emerson slumped back in the bed, looking resigned but still sullen. ‘I have nothing more to say.’

  ‘I can make sure your hanging is quick and merciful, or it can be prolonged and torturous,’ Duncan said. Lucy looked at him, startled. She’d never heard him sound so harsh before. His words had the intended effect.

  ‘That woman tried to kill me!’ Mr Emerson protested. ‘I want to see her hanged alongside me.’

  ‘It truly matters not a whit what that woman has done to yo
u. Besides,’ Duncan said, ‘she’s more likely to die from her wounds than you. Only time will tell.’

  Lucy stared at Mr Emerson, not feeling particularly sympathetic towards the murderer. ‘Why did you have that knife with you anyway? If you were trying to pass yourself off as a scholar, surely such a thing would raise questions.’

  ‘I don’t always carry a knife. But I knew she was going to kill me. I had to protect myself, did I not?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lucy asked. Something about the man’s indignant fervour was surprising. ‘Why did you think she was going to kill you? Did you recognize her?’

  Emerson grimaced. ‘I received a message telling me so, that’s why. However, I’m afraid you’ll have to take me at my word on this point.’

  ‘A message? Whatever do you mean?’

  Grimacing, the man reached into his pocket and held out a blood-stained paper to Lucy, who accepted it gingerly. Adam and Duncan crowded around her, craning their heads over her shoulders. Inside, there was a familiar cipher, containing a single line of carefully printed text.

  C B UG OJBHO PJ DB YJR IJM PT GRMSTMTM YJR UMT

  ‘It’s a C cipher!’ Lucy exclaimed. ‘What does it say?’

  Mr Emerson stared at her. ‘You know it’s a C cipher?’

  ‘Yes. Tell us what it says,’ Duncan replied. ‘Mind you, we have a key and will decipher it for ourselves later. So, there’s no point in lying to us.’

  Mr Emerson looked defeated. ‘“I’m going to kill you for the murderer you are.”’

  ‘“I’m going to kill you for the murderer you are,”’ Lucy repeated softly, exchanging a quick glance with the others. Why would Miss de Witte have warned him in such a fashion?

  ‘Tell us more about this message. Who sent it to you? When did you get it?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘A boy stopped by the tavern around ten o’clock this morning, asking for me by name. He ran off before I could find out who had paid him to deliver it. When I saw the cipher, I was dumbfounded. I had not seen such a thing in more than a year – since Ellie Browning had brought the wretched thing to me, pleading with me to decipher Hammett’s message, as it was beyond her capability to discern.’ He clenched his fist when he said their names.