‘How were you able to decipher it?’ Lucy asked. ‘Surely you were no longer in possession of the key?’
Mr Emerson scowled. ‘You noted yourself it was a C cipher. After a bit of thinking, I was able to recreate the cipher fairly well because I remembered how it worked. That the A column began with QUAESTIO and was followed by the rest of the alphabet and a handful of symbols. I remembered that the C column simply removed the Q from QUAESTIO and the rest of the same, and ended with a Q. It was not so difficult to decipher.’ He straightened up. ‘I did not know if it was written as some sort of odd jest, but I kept a knife on me, which now I’m glad that I did. That woman, my murderess—’
‘Miss de Witte,’ Duncan supplied. ‘Hammett de Witte’s sister. I imagine you recognized her.’
‘Only as she bore down on me, knife in hand, did I realize. It all happened so quickly, and I only remembered her from the trial.’ He gave them a wry humourless smile. ‘I suppose I understand why she wants to kill me.’
‘She’s been planning to kill you for some time, it seems,’ Duncan said. ‘She’s been pursuing you, and she worked with two accomplices to determine your whereabouts.’
‘Accomplices?’
‘Dev and Pike Browning, the innkeepers at the Two Doves Inn. Ellie’s older brothers. She even enjoined them to commit murder in this dogged pursuit of you.’
‘I wasn’t aware that Miss de Witte and the Brownings even knew each other. Hardly the same social milieu, one would think.’
‘Murder tends to arrange for strange bedfellows,’ Adam said drily.
‘They tracked down Jack Campbell, the Newgate guard who freed you during the Great Fire, and hanged him,’ Duncan said. ‘Perhaps he gave up your whereabouts before he died. He’d taken a new identity this past year – that of Paul Corbyn, mercer. Perhaps he was aware of your identity as well.’
‘I see. Why hang Jack Campbell?’
‘As far as we understand, to help atone for the sin of setting you free – you, the murderer of their sister,’ Duncan replied. ‘He was your accomplice, in their mind, and, as such, deserved to die. They hanged him, as they wanted you to hang.’
Emerson sucked in his breath. ‘Can’t say I’m all that surprised. Their love for their sister was deeply possessive.’
‘You managed to ingratiate yourself with the Wallaces,’ Adam commented, changing the subject. ‘How did that come about?’
Emerson frowned. ‘I was with the other scholars at the Hare and Pony. I could not hide my scholarly self. They discovered me reading some pieces of music theory one day and invited me along. They were good enough companions, and I was pleased to indulge in some spirits, particularly if I did not have to pay. I did not know the Wallaces very well, so I do not believe ingratiate is quite the right word.’
‘Had you known that Miss de Witte developed the cipher to converse in secret with Professor Wallace?’ Lucy asked.
‘I didn’t know anything about that,’ Mr Emerson replied. ‘This matters not one whit to me.’
Another thought occurred to Lucy. ‘That night, when I stopped by the Wallaces’ household with the tracts, you heard me talking about the innkeepers at the Two Doves Inn in Hoddesdon,’ Lucy said slowly. ‘Are you the one who came after me? I thought at the time it was Dev or Pike, but now I wonder …’ A sinking feeling stole over her, as she thought about having been at the mercy of a murderer.
Emerson shrugged. ‘I had to deter you from your search.’ At his words, both Duncan and Adam tensed up. ‘I left you unharmed, did I not?’
Lucy suppressed a shiver, remembering his harsh words in her ear, and turned away.
‘That will do,’ Duncan replied. ‘I’ll just tie you down. Make sure you don’t go anywhere.’ Deftly, he tied the man to the bed frame, being careful of his bandaged shoulder. He then pulled back the blankets and tightly bound the man’s feet to the post at the end of the bed.
Emerson turned to the wall. ‘I have nothing more to say.’ His voice sounded strained. ‘Indeed, I’d like to be alone to ponder my visit to the Tyburn Tree.’
When the three stepped out into the hall, for a moment they all looked at each other. ‘Very perplexing,’ Adam said.
‘Vexing, too,’ Duncan added.
‘I’m going to kill you for the murderer you are,’ Lucy said, frowning. ‘Was the message from Miss de Witte? How could that be? We were with her, were we not? There was no time to have sent the message.’
Adam frowned. ‘Also, why attack him outright then, when she knew Duncan was there to bring him back to jail? Something seems amiss here.’
‘We need to speak to her more, and soon,’ Lucy said. ‘I shall tend to her now, to be there should she wake.’
TWENTY-FOUR
For the next two hours, Lucy sat beside Miss de Witte, watching her chest rise and fall, waiting for her to revive. She was lying back in the bed, her head propped up by two pillows. Her long blonde hair had been loosened from its bun and now spilled out from a white knitted cap. Unlike Mr Emerson, she did not appear to have any of her limbs tied. Probably not necessary when she was so deep in her deathly slumbers. Dr Larimer was seated beside her on another chair, writing his observations of her appearance in a little book.
‘Please revive her if you would, Doctor Larimer,’ Duncan said, as he and Adam entered the room together. Lucy looked up sharply, wondering what they had been discussing for so long. ‘I still have some questions for Miss de Witte. We cannot delay this inquiry much longer, particularly if she is to pass through death’s tunnel.’
Dr Larimer nodded. ‘This is against my medical advice, but for the sake of the law I shall abide by your request.’ After Lucy moved away to give him some room, she watched the physician place something under Miss de Witte’s nose.
A few seconds later, her eyes opened, full of confusion and pain. ‘What is happening? Where am I?’ she murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Drink this,’ the physician said, holding a cup to her lips. ‘Slowly.’
They all watched her gulp down the wormwood tea, which would soon work its magicked solace upon her pain-ridden body. After a moment she calmed down, and stared up at the ceiling, ignoring or unaware of their presence in the room. As she sighed, it appeared the pain was passing away, at least for a short while. She still kept tight hold of the grey blanket that was spread over her body.
Dr Larimer touched her forehead and cheeks, and then turned towards Duncan. ‘Not too long,’ he warned. ‘Her condition is serious. She needs to rest in order to live.’ As he exited the room, he whispered to Lucy, ‘Find out if she has any family members, would you? I’ll be right outside if she needs me.’
At his voice, Miss de Witte rolled her head languidly in their direction. She seemed surprised to see the figures in the room, squinting a bit in the dim light.
‘Lucy? Is that you?’ she asked. ‘Pray, sit by me. Tell me what has happened.’
At Duncan’s nod, Lucy sat down in the chair by the bed. He and Adam hung back so as to not overcrowd her. ‘Do you remember being stabbed by Mr Emerson?’ she asked gently.
Miss de Witte’s eyes widened in fear and remembrance. ‘Oh, yes, it was terrible.’ She gripped her stomach. ‘Am I going to die?’
Lucy patted her hand. ‘Doctor Larimer is the best physician in London. He has been tending to you. He believes that none of your organs were injured in the attack.’
‘What of him?’ she asked through clenched teeth. ‘Will that bastard live?’
‘The wound he sustained from you is more of an inconvenience than a death blow, unless it should grow infected. Regardless, his life is not for long. Justice will be meted out, and his original sentence will be served. I promise you that,’ Duncan said. ‘Now, I should like to ask you a few questions.’
Her eyes flicked towards Adam. ‘Who are you?’
‘Adam Hargrave,’ he replied simply. ‘The constable asked me to be here.’
Miss de Witte made a futile gesture, clea
rly resigned as she looked back at Duncan. ‘You said you have more questions for me?’
‘What do you know about the death of Paul Corbyn?’ Duncan asked.
She blinked. Clearly, this was not the question she was expecting. ‘Who? I don’t know anyone by that name.’
Is she putting on an act? Lucy wondered.
‘He was a mercer of pots and pans,’ Duncan replied.
‘Never met him,’ she said, more impatiently. ‘Why are you asking me about him?’
‘Perhaps you remember him by his true name. Jack Campbell. He was a guard at Newgate Prison before the Great Fire.’
This time there was more of a response, as a pained expression crossed her face. ‘Jack Campbell? Was he the one who—’
‘The one who set your brother’s murderer free, instead of letting justice be served? Yes, that guard.’ Then, driving the knife in deeper as Miss de Witte’s breath grew more ragged, Duncan continued. ‘Not only did Mr Campbell take on a new identity after the Great Fire as a wealthy mercer of pots and pans, but he allowed Philip Emerson to take on a new identity as well. Indeed, he allowed Emerson to live carefree in the world.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Imagine! You wouldn’t have been stabbed today if Mr Campbell had not set that murderer free.’
‘How did Jack Campbell die?’ Miss de Witte whispered, still clutching her abdomen. Her face had grown paler and she seemed startled by the news. Was she such a good actress?
‘A few days ago, he was found hanging at a crossroads on the way to St Giles-in-the-Fields.’
They all watched her closely as she leaned back against the pillow. ‘Found hanging at a crossroads? Self-murder to be certain. His guilt over what he did must have got to him. May he suffer long for his sins. I shall not pray for his soul.’ She bit her lip. ‘Why are you asking me about his death?’
‘The physicians believe that he was murdered,’ Duncan said.
‘Is that so? Serves him right.’
‘Why do you say that?’ Lucy asked.
‘That man freed my brother’s murderer, with nary a qualm, rather than letting that devil hang for the crime as the law of the land decreed. Justice has not been served.’
‘Has it been served now?’ Adam asked.
‘I’m not sorry he’s dead. I’m not going to hide my anger at that man, nor will I hide my joy in learning of his fate. His soul will find no mercy from me.’ She swallowed painfully.
Lucy poured a cup of light ale from the pitcher on a small table and held it to the woman’s lips.
Strength returning to her voice, Miss de Witte asked, ‘Who killed him? Why are you asking me about his death? Why would you think I’d know anything about it?’
‘We have reason to believe that Mr Campbell – or Mr Corbyn, as he came to be known – may have been killed by Dev and Pike Browning, the elder brothers of Eleanor, your brother’s lady love,’ Duncan replied. Then, more gently, he added, ‘I believe you know them?’
‘What? No, I don’t know them. I mean, I saw them at the trial, of course, but I was hardly in a place to converse pleasantly with others. Particularly not with innkeepers.’
‘I understand. Perhaps when you came to the Two Doves Inn,’ Duncan said. ‘They claim to have met you there.’
‘Met me at the Two Doves Inn? How curious,’ she said. ‘I recall travelling to Hoddesdon shortly after the tragedy happened. I suppose I wanted to see where my dear brother drew his last breath.’ Tears began to slip down her cheeks. ‘The serving maid showed me where the horrific deed had transpired. The blood had hardly been scrubbed away. I laid my body down upon that bloodstain, weeping and cursing the devil who murdered them.’
‘Did you speak with the brothers then?’ Lucy asked, tucking a small towel into Miss de Witte’s fist.
Miss de Witte dabbed at her eyes and nose. ‘I suppose I did. I think the serving maid summoned the innkeepers and I believe they took me around to the back of the inn. We wept together there.’ She blinked. ‘They swore revenge. I just wanted Philip to hang. My brother and their Ellie deserved that bit of justice provided on this earth. We drank a few pints and then they sent me home in a carriage. That was all.’
‘Other than that visit, did you meet with either Dev or Pike Browning again?’ Adam asked.
‘Naturally, I saw them at Philip’s trial. We were all there when he was condemned to hang, like the vile scoundrel he was. However, I did not speak to either again. Why would I? Did they say I did?’
‘Did you otherwise communicate with them? Through letters, perhaps?’
Unexpectedly, Miss de Witte’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve had no dealings with any of these men you’ve mentioned since I left that trial. Those days were among the worst of my life, and now this horror has been dredged up for me again. I do not thank you for this.’
Duncan seemed to be considering her tearful outburst. ‘They claim that you’ve sent them messages.’
‘What? That’s a malicious lie! A complete and utter falsehood!’
‘They said the messages were written in the cipher that you created,’ Lucy said, watching Miss de Witte’s eyes grow wide. ‘The same cipher that your brother used at first to communicate with Ellie.’
‘What? That cipher was never meant for … anyone else!’ she exclaimed, flushing. ‘I showed it to Hammett because I thought he might enjoy the novelty. It was meant to be private!’ She pressed her fingers against her forehead. ‘I don’t understand. They say I sent them messages? What did the messages say?’
From memory, Lucy recited the message that had been found on Mr Corbyn’s corpse. ‘This is the man who set the Devil free. Make him lead us to the Devil. Hang the necklace from the Devil’s neck. Punish him for his deed. Send him to the gallows.’
‘Anyone could have written that message!’ Miss de Witte exclaimed. ‘You already said that Hammett used it to send Ellie messages. Someone must have helped the poor girl de-cipher the messages, don’t you think? Is that how the Brownings used it?’
‘Yes, that’s so,’ Duncan agreed. ‘However, who else but you would care about killing Mr Corbyn?’
‘You said he let a few prisoners go free! Maybe the family of another victim did it?’
‘The other prisoners were rounded up soon afterwards and duly executed at the next public hangings. Only Philip Emerson has kept himself at bay.’
Duncan said. ‘Besides, how would they know your special cipher and why would they send it to the Brownings?’
‘I don’t know. I’m so tired.’ Miss de Witte’s voice began to fade. ‘The messages were only meant for Neville. It’s been so long since he wrote to me. Until—’ Before she could finish the thought, her head began to sink back and her eyes began to flutter.
Dr Larimer stepped back into the room. ‘That’s all for now. I’ll let you know when she wakes up if you still have questions for her later.’
‘How odd that she claims not to have known Dev and Pike,’ Lucy said, pacing about Dr Larimer’s study. They had adjourned there to discuss what Miss de Witte had just conveyed to them. Duncan leaned against one of the walls, while Adam perched on the edge of Dr Larimer’s table. ‘That she’d only been to the Two Doves Inn once after the murders occurred,’ Lucy continued. ‘That she didn’t remember talking to them at the trial. How striking, too, that she denied exchanging messages with them, when they so fervently agreed that she had.’
‘She may well have been lying about that,’ Duncan replied.
‘Or they were,’ Lucy replied. Duncan bowed his head, acknowledging her point.
‘She was certainly angry enough to have killed Emerson, there is no doubt about that,’ Adam added. ‘She referred to him several times as “devil”, which was similar to how he was referred to in the message found on Corbyn’s body.’
‘She seemed genuinely distressed by the idea that her cipher had been used by others,’ Lucy said, remembering how upset the woman had seemed. ‘It seems surprising she would use it to communicate with the Brownings.’
>
‘We are clearly dealing with a very shrewd and brilliant woman,’ Adam said. ‘I think that we have to weigh all of her statements as possible truths and possible lies.’
‘How can we ever get at the truth, then?’ Lucy asked, feeling disheartened. Something was still nagging at her. She still felt as if they were forgetting or missing something. What was it? It was really bothering her. ‘Wait a minute!’ she cried, snapping her fingers. ‘Didn’t Miss de Witte get a message, too? Just this morning.’ She looked at Duncan. ‘You were there. She put it in her pocket.’
‘Yes, that is so,’ he replied. ‘It may be worthwhile looking at it.’
‘Doctor Larimer usually stores patient effects over there,’ Lucy said, pointing at the desk. ‘I imagine he would have stored Miss de Witte’s pocket there for safe keeping.’
Sure enough, when she opened the drawer, Miss de Witte’s embroidered pocket was at the top. She handed it to Duncan. ‘I’ll let you look.’
Untying the strings, the constable looked inside and withdrew a small folded message. For a moment he stared at it. ‘You won’t believe it.’ He held it up, the single line of cipher easy to see.
A VOUN FQG VQDCM TLZ VOH MOPDE US OQGSE
‘Another cipher? Who would have sent it to her? The Brownings are still in jail,’ Duncan said. ‘Unless she sent it to herself.’ He gave a half-snort, but Adam looked thoughtful.
‘She smiled when she received it,’ Lucy said, thinking back a few hours ago. ‘Indeed, I recall thinking that she seemed delighted.’
‘Yes, I agree,’ Duncan replied. ‘I remember having the same thought,’
‘A smile like that – the message was written by someone she knows.’ She continued to examine the folded-up missive. ‘It uses an A cipher. It’s not very long. I can work it out without needing to run home to get the key.’ Without waiting for either man to respond, she seated herself at Dr Larimer’s desk and pulled over a piece of paper and uncorked a bottle of ink. Quickly, she wrote the alphabet vertically down one end of the paper.
The Sign of the Gallows Page 21
