The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  ‘That other man killed her brother, did he not?’ Mrs Hotchkiss asked, jerking her head in the direction of Mr Emerson’s room.

  ‘Yes. He should be hanged, since that was the sentence. No doubt about that.’ She took a sip of the soup. ‘Delicious. A new recipe?’ Then, without waiting for the housekeeper to reply, she continued, ‘I believe that he will be moved back to Newgate in the morning and will be executed at the next hanging. He will not stand trial again, I know that.’

  The housekeeper nodded. ‘Good riddance, I say.’ She gestured towards the door. ‘The constable came a while ago. I guess he and Hank are going to take turns watching him, since Doctor Larimer didn’t want him to leave yet.’ She shuddered. ‘To think we have to have that murderer in our house!’

  After Mrs Hotchkiss left, Lucy quickly downed the soup and mead. She began to try to write again, but waves of tiredness overwhelmed her. Laying her head down, she soon drifted off to sleep.

  Lucy awoke abruptly to a sharp din. Groggily, she looked around, her head pounding and a heaviness to her body as she tried to figure out where she was.

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘The prisoner escaped!’

  Where am I?

  Her eyes flitted around the darkened room, trying to get a sense of what was happening. Details came back to her. Dr Larimer’s house. Watching over Miss de Witte. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said, a wave of nausea coming over her as she moved her head. What was wrong with her? Had she been overcome by illness?

  The door opened then, bathing the room in light. Duncan was standing there, holding a glass lantern in each hand. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, casting one of the lanterns around. The dancing shadows made Lucy feel a bit sick. ‘Is Emerson in here?’

  ‘Emerson? Why would he be here?’ Lucy asked. Her thoughts seemed unusually fuzzy, and she rubbed her eyes furiously, trying to rid herself of the sleepy feeling. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Looks as if the rat escaped,’ he said, punctuating his irritation with a full-forced oath.

  ‘What? Weren’t you watching him?’

  Duncan grunted, looking a bit sheepish. ‘I drifted off. Not sure how that happened,’ he said, clearly irritated with himself. ‘When I woke up just now, he was gone! I’ve no idea where he is. No one has seen him.’ He handed her the other lantern and gestured to the chair that Dr Larimer had been seated on earlier. ‘Put that chair in front of the door, under the handle, when I leave. It’ll keep the door tight.’

  ‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘Lucy, we don’t know where Emerson is. As far as I’m concerned, he’s an escaped murderer and we need to find him straight away. Please, I need you to stay here with Miss de Witte. Don’t let anyone inside until you hear from me. Do you understand?’ Seeing her nod, he touched his hat, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Lucy sat there for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘Escaped?’

  Then, remembering what Duncan had told her, she dragged the chair over and propped it under the knob. That won’t hold for long if someone tries to break down the door, she thought. She glanced at the clock. It was around nine o’clock. In her groggy state, it seemed as if the full night had passed.

  ‘Lucy?’ a small voice whispered from the bed.

  When she turned around, she could see Lucretia de Witte staring out at her from under the bedclothes, her brown eyes large with fear. Her forehead was covered with sweat and her mouth was scrunched in pain as she clutched the blankets protectively to her chest.

  ‘Oh, Miss de Witte! You’re in pain! Let me help you.’ She poured a bit of Dr Larimer’s tonic into a spoon and held it to the woman’s lips.

  After obediently swallowing the spoonful of medicine, she clutched Lucy’s hand. ‘Did Emerson really escape?’

  ‘It looks that way,’ Lucy replied.

  ‘I think someone helped him,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think he’s alone.’

  Lucy drew back from her. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘A few moments before the constable stopped in here, I heard something in the hallway. A banging sound. Voices.’

  ‘What were they saying?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. At first, I thought I was dreaming. It sounded like a woman and a man talking, arguing maybe. I think one must have been Mr Emerson.’ She paused. ‘I could not wake you at all.’

  ‘I was quite tired,’ Lucy said. ‘Still, that is strange, as I am not usually one to sleep so heavily.’ She turned her attention back to Miss de Witte. ‘They were arguing? Tell me, what were they arguing about?’

  Miss de Witte closed her eyes. ‘He said, “You have set me free. Now let me go in the direction I please.” She said, “You must accompany me somewhere first. Where the end is the beginning.”’

  ‘Where the end is the beginning. How odd. Did you recognize the woman’s voice?’

  ‘No, it was muffled. Then I heard a sound as if the man might have been pushed or hit, because I heard him give a little yelp of pain. Then he said, “Very well. Let us go.” That was all I heard.’ She made a fist. ‘Who would have set that man free?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lucy replied, pressing her hand to her forehead. The room was still spinning, and she had to push her foot hard on the floor to regain a sense of balance. What on earth is going on? ‘A friend or relative must have caught wind he was here. Although “You must accompany me somewhere first” suggests something else.’

  Grimacing, Miss de Witte pulled herself up. ‘I say, Lucy. Are you quite all right?’

  ‘To be honest, I feel a bit strange.’ Her eyes fell on the cup with the mead she’d drunk earlier that evening. ‘You said I was hard to rouse?’ She picked up the cup and smelled it. ‘Could I have been drugged in some fashion?’ She thought about what Duncan had said about falling asleep as he watched over Mr Emerson. ‘Maybe the constable was as well.’

  After pacing about, Lucy went over to the window. She opened it up and allowed the cold air to cool her flushed cheeks and bring order to her jumbled thoughts. Who would have helped Mr Emerson escape but force him to do something else first? That did not sound like something a loving friend or family would do.

  She breathed deeply, as a memory from earlier in the day surfaced. Mrs Wallace, standing by her drawing-room window, flushed and upset, trying to calm herself as her husband was led away by the constable, protesting his innocence. The accusations she had hurled – it was clear that she had believed her husband had been duped and manipulated by Miss de Witte.

  ‘Mrs Wallace hated you,’ she said slowly. ‘She truly hated you.’

  Miss de Witte flinched. ‘I know,’ she whispered, sounding contrite. ‘It was wrong of me to go after her husband in such an unladylike fashion. I should not have pursued him as I did.’ She put her hand to her forehead. ‘I thought we had made amends when you two came to see me that day. Certainly, I was wrong.’

  ‘Is it because you are still committing adultery with Professor Wallace?’

  ‘No! I swear it! It ended long ago!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s why I was so pleased to receive his note this morning. It made me feel – as if he still cared for me. After so many months of darkness, I was grateful to know that he still thought about me from time to time.’

  Lucy shook her head. Something wasn’t making sense here. Mrs Wallace was clearly mistaken about her husband’s inconstancy. She thought about what Mrs Wallace had said after she’d revived from her faint. I have been injured but will not be so again. She began to tap her fingers on the windowsill. Something disturbing was coming to her. She shook her head, trying to piece some things together. ‘Mrs Wallace knew that you were going to identify Mr Emerson to the constable,’ she said. ‘In fact, she was the one who suggested that we ask you to do it.’

  ‘So?’

  Lucy sat abruptly down in the chair, thoughts churning as memories overwhelmed her. ‘Mrs Wallace was always the one with information and suggestions, now that I think about it. She told me everything I
needed to know these past few days. She fed me knowledge like one might feed an apple to a horse,’ she said, turning her gaze back to Miss de Witte. ‘She gave me the cipher that you created, both the messages and the key. She was the one who told me about your brother’s murder. About Hoddesdon. Every time I didn’t know what to do next, she gave me more information.’ She put her hand to her forehead still trying to steady herself. ‘Why would she do that? Why would she care? What were Hammett and Ellie to her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Miss de Witte replied. ‘Are you thinking that Mrs Wallace is the one who has helped Mr Emerson escape? Why would she do such a hateful thing?’

  ‘Why would she? Except—’ The thought that was coming to her was preposterous. ‘If she wasn’t seeking justice, what was her aim? Vengeance?’

  ‘Vengeance?’

  ‘Think about it. Mrs Wallace hated you for your infidelity with her husband – is that not so? Could she have deliberately sought to frame you for Paul Corbyn’s murder?’ Yet hearing the thought expressed out loud caused her heart to sink. ‘Who would do such a thing? There has to be an easier method of revenge.’ Lucy stood back up. ‘We’ll have to sort out the motive later. We need to find out if she is involved, and if she is, we must stop her and Mr Emerson!’ She pulled the chair away from the door in a single scraping move. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  ‘Duncan!’ Lucy called, running into the corridor, searching for the constable. Seeing the housekeeper at the end of the corridor, her arm draped protectively around Tom, Lucy cried out to her. ‘Mrs Hotchkiss! Where is the constable? Has he left?’

  ‘He’s gone, miss,’ Tom replied. ‘He told us to lock the doors while they go to raise the alarm.’

  Lucy put her hand to her forehead, trying to think.

  ‘This all happened because that constable fell asleep on his watch,’ Mrs Hotchkiss grumbled. ‘Too much mead, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘Did you taste any of this mead?’ Lucy asked.

  Mrs Hotchkiss smiled. ‘Just a nip myself. So kind of Mrs Wallace to bring it over. Said she’d heard you’d all had a rough day, and she thought it would do you a heap of good. Help keep you warm.’

  So it was Mrs Wallace. ‘It kept us warm – and sleepy,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s for certain. She drugged it so that we wouldn’t wake up while she set Mr Emerson free.’

  ‘W–what? The mead was drugged? Why would Mrs Wallace do such a terrible thing?’ Then, without waiting for her to reply, Mrs Hotchkiss stepped close and put her hand on Lucy’s brow. ‘Are you all right? Shall I fetch Doctor Larimer?’

  ‘I am fine, I think,’ Lucy said, trying to shake off the heaviness she was feeling. ‘Did you hear anything? Miss de Witte said she heard Mr Emerson speaking with a woman in the corridor. It must have been Mrs Wallace.’ She put her hand to her forehead. Time was slipping away. ‘I’ll go and see if there’s anything to be learned in Mr Emerson’s room.’

  Cautiously, Lucy held up her lantern to look around. Mr Emerson’s room appeared very much as it had earlier. A basket of rolled bandages in one corner. Some blood on the sheets of the bed – probably from where his shoulder wound had seeped.

  As in her room, there was a bottle of mead and a cup on the side table. This bottle was bigger but less full. Duncan must have drunk a bit more of the honeyed drink than she had.

  On the floor was a rope that had been cut through. She remembered how Mr Emerson had been tied up earlier. Perhaps that was the rope that had been used to tie him to the headboard. ‘His feet and hands might well still be tied,’ she said out loud.

  Tom appeared behind her then. ‘Say, miss, I can see that one of the handcarts is missing from out back. Usually, there’s three. I know the physicians didn’t take them.’

  ‘I see,’ Lucy said. If Mr Emerson was still tied up, he might need to be moved in a handcart. ‘Where would Mrs Wallace have taken Mr Emerson? What did she need to show him?’

  She sighed. Opening her peddler’s pack, Lucy picked the ropes off the floor and placed them inside. For good measure, she took a few of the cleaned bandages from the basket and stuffed them in as well. How far could they have got if she is pushing a man in a handcart? Not very far, she thought. Then out loud she lamented, ‘I don’t even know what direction to go.’

  What else had Miss de Witte heard? I’ll take you to where the end is the beginning. What could that have meant?

  She followed Tom into the courtyard, pulling the cloak around her more tightly to ward off the evening chill. She held the lantern out. She could see deep indentations in the muddy courtyard from the missing handcart. She followed the grooves until they got to the back gate. They appeared to turn west, but she could not track them very long once she got on to the main road.

  ‘So they’re going west,’ she thought. ‘What is west from here?’

  ‘This road runs into Drury Lane.’

  ‘Drury Lane?’ She snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it! Perhaps she’s taking him to the hanging tree, where Mr Corbyn was killed.’

  ‘You’re really going to the hanging tree? This time of night?’ Tom whispered. ‘My mates and me – we don’t like to go there much, on account of the ghosts.’

  Lucy nodded. ‘That’s where I’m heading. Don’t worry, I won’t let them see me.’ She picked up her lantern and turned to head out.

  Tom started after her. ‘I’m coming with you,’ he said, puffing out his chest.

  Though touched, Lucy patted his shoulder. ‘Tom, you can’t come with me. I need you to go over to Fleet Street and leave a message at the jail for the constable. It’s vital that you do so.’ She paused. ‘Be careful and mind the cold.’

  ‘At least take this with you,’ he said, holding out a small spade from the garden with shaking fingers.

  After tying her pack across her body, she accepted the spade. With that, she set out, clutching her lantern and spade in her hands almost as talismans, on her way to the hanging tree at Drury Lane.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Lucy walked quickly, shivering as light snow began to fall. She pulled her cloak around her body, holding the lantern low so that its light was only cast a few feet ahead. ‘Is this a bad idea?’ she whispered to herself. Neither Adam nor Duncan would be very happy if they knew she was following Mrs Wallace and Emerson on her own. I just won’t let them see me. ‘It could be too late if I wait for someone else,’ she whispered to herself. At least that’s what I’ll say if someone scolds me about it later.

  As she hurried by the Hargraves’ residence, which was just a few dwellings away from the Larimers’, she saw a familiar figure making his way from the back entrance. ‘Sid!’ she called. ‘Come here! I need your help with something.’

  Sid trotted over to her. ‘What do you need my help with?’ he asked, giving her a cocky grin. ‘I knew you’d need me one day.’ Then, when she didn’t slow down, he grabbed her arm. ‘Can you stop for a moment while you tell me?’

  ‘I need you to tell the Hargraves that Mrs Wallace helped the prisoner escape and that I think she’s taking him to the hanging tree up by Drury Lane.’ When he stopped and stared at her, she banged the spade on the ground. ‘Hurry! I don’t know what she’s planning to do to him!’

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ he said, looking serious for once. ‘You can’t do this alone.’

  ‘What if something happens to both of us?’

  ‘Someone should lock you up in Bedlam, you know that?’

  ‘Just do it! I don’t have time to explain.’

  ‘Don’t get yourself in any more trouble,’ he said, before running to the Hargraves’ servants’ entrance.

  She continued to walk quickly and as softly as possible so as to not draw any attention to herself. There were not too many people outside at this time of the evening. As she entered Drury Lane, she could see a single lantern bobbing in front of her. Still keeping to the side of the road, she was ready to dart behind a tree at any second.

  Is that them? She strained to distinguish the figures in front of
her. Mrs Wallace appeared to be pushing Mr Emerson in the handcart. Is he all right? she wondered. He did not appear to be moving. Was he still alive? Maybe he’s been drugged as well. Why else wouldn’t be he moving?

  She didn’t dare get too close. Although it was foggy, the light snowfall was making everything a little brighter and more visible at this time of night, making her feel more vulnerable as well.

  Then a hand reached around her arm and she nearly screamed. ‘Hush!’ Sid’s familiar voice hissed in her ear. ‘It’s just me. I can’t believe I caught up with you!’

  ‘Did you tell the Hargraves?’

  ‘Of course! Annie told me they were out looking for an escaped murderer. Did you know that there was an escaped murderer in the area?’

  ‘Yes, and that’s him. The one being pushed in the handcart. The woman who is pushing him has plans to take him to the gallows. I assume she might be planning to kill him, but I’m not entirely sure why.’

  When Mrs Wallace started to move again, Sid pulled her back. ‘Give her a little more space,’ he whispered. They moved silently together, Sid holding her elbow to keep her from slipping on the softly falling snow. She would never tell him so, but she was grateful for his presence.

  When Mrs Wallace reached the crossroads, she stopped by a large tree stump, a few feet from the hanging tree where Lucy had found Mr Corbyn’s corpse. With a sudden sharp movement, she pitched the handcart forward, dumping Mr Emerson out. Since his hands and feet were still bound, he could not brace himself in time, and they heard him groan as he hit the ground with a painful-sounding thud.

  ‘At least he’s alive,’ Sid whispered in her ear, echoing her thought. ‘I was starting to wonder.’

  ‘Over here,’ Lucy whispered, pointing to a tree with a large trunk and blowing out the candle in her lantern. Sid crouched behind the tree with her so that they were about twenty feet away from Mr Emerson and Mrs Wallace.

  Mr Emerson raised his head, and Lucy could see he looked confused. His mouth had been tightly wrapped with a cloth, and it appeared that another cloth had been stuffed inside his mouth so that no one could hear if he shouted for help. ‘What’s goin’ on?’ she heard him mutter.