The Sign of the Gallows

by Susanna Calkins

  ‘This is the old hanging tree,’ Mrs Wallace explained, her manner pleasant and friendly, pointing to the long-standing oak tree as if she were describing a fine painting. She gestured towards the branch where Mr Corbyn’s body had been found hanged. ‘Although you deserve to die in front of a crowd, paraded and mocked as a spectacle to others, I could not in good conscience run the risk that you might flee again and once more escape your fate. Such a thing could not be borne. So I decided to take matters into my own hands.’

  Mr Emerson stared up at her, his brow furrowing. His gestures seemed to take an enormous effort. Lucy could relate to the sense of confusion he seemed to be experiencing.

  Mrs Wallace continued to speak to him, in the same conversational tone that was so chilling to hear. ‘I wager you are wondering what I’m going to do.’ She pulled out a long knife from the belt at her waist. ‘I’m going to kill you here, so that your soul will be lost and attach itself on to an unsuspecting passer-by.’ She laughed again. ‘Assuming you believe such nonsense.’

  Beside her, Lucy felt Sid stiffen. She didn’t know if he was more unnerved by the talk of ghosts or by murder. Both continued to watch the scene unfolding before them. Mrs Wallace had knelt down beside the trunk and suddenly grabbed Emerson under his arms and hauled him upright, pushing him so that he sprawled across the wide tree stump, like an animal awaiting slaughter.

  He still appeared to be in great pain, his body trembling. He didn’t have a coat, Lucy realized. The temperature was dropping. She blew on her hands to keep them warm. Beside her, Sid was quietly stamping his feet, trying to keep them from growing numb.

  Mrs Wallace reached out to touch Mr Emerson’s face. ‘You look so frightened,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry that we have no one here to record your last dying speech.’ She ran the tip of his knife along his face. ‘Can you feel how sharp it is? I plan to plunge it into your body, kill you as you have yourself killed.’

  Lucy hefted the spade in her hands, wondering what to do. When she looked up at Sid, he gave her a warning look. Stay here! she could almost hear him say. She shook her head at him. I can’t let Mrs Wallace kill him. Perhaps I can sneak up behind her and knock her to the ground.

  Mrs Wallace had continued talking. ‘You’re not so very handsome, you know,’ she sneered, looking down at the man. ‘You look quite piteous indeed, with your muddied hair and without your scholar’s robes.’ She laughed again. ‘I don’t wonder that Ellie Browning preferred Hammett de Witte to you. Oh, does that hurt? Don’t like me talking about that? I bet he was smarter and kinder, too.’

  Mr Emerson had begun to shake, although it was impossible to know whether it was due to the deepening chill or Mrs Wallace’s cutting words.

  ‘Don’t you worry, kind sir,’ she continued with the same mocking tone. ‘Even though you’re not very handsome, I still intend to give you a gift.’ She then withdrew something from her pocket and held it in front of him. ‘Do you recognize this?’

  Both Sid and Lucy craned forward, trying to make out what the woman was dangling from her hand. Whatever it was, Mr Emerson grew horrified at the sight of it and emitted a muffled shout.

  ‘That’s right. I see you recognize this ring,’ she said. Then, as Emerson tried to crawl away, she kicked him. ‘Stop your struggling! I just want to put the ring around your neck, since you do not deserve to have it on your finger.’

  That ring! A chill travelled down Lucy’s spine as she remembered how she’d found Mr Corbyn dead, with that ring around his neck. How had Mrs Wallace got it? Was it not with Duncan? Had she stolen it from the constable?

  Mrs Wallace kicked him hard, in the ribs, so that he doubled over, trying to breathe. In the shadows, Lucy slipped her pack to the ground and hefted the spade in both hands. Could she close the distance between herself and Mrs Wallace in time? She would need to keep the element of surprise on her side.

  ‘Don’t bother trying to escape again,’ Mrs Wallace warned. ‘There’s nowhere to go, no one to help you.’

  With her victim now stilled, she was able to crouch down and easily place the chain with the ring around his neck. Lucy could feel her body sweating as she listened to the woman spit out her next words. ‘This ring, once a symbol of love, now means death and betrayal,’ she said. ‘It is fitting for a man such as yourself.’

  Then, without warning, she yanked Emerson’s head back by his hair, exposing his throat. Her back to Lucy and Sid, she then held the gleaming knife high in the air. ‘Any last words?’ she asked Mr Emerson in a mocking way. ‘No? Then, I’ll—’

  ‘No!’ Lucy shouted, snapping herself from whatever spell she’d been under, and raced towards them, her spade held high. Before Mrs Wallace could plunge the knife into Emerson’s neck, Lucy had swung the metal and wood staff against the back of the woman’s head with all her might.

  Mrs Wallace released Emerson and sank to the ground, senseless. Emerson began to shake and weep in earnest until Sid moved over and slapped his face, bringing him out of his hysteria. Lucy and Sid stared at Mrs Wallace’s unmoving form in dismay.

  ‘Uh, Lucy,’ Sid ventured, ‘I wonder if you may have hit that woman too hard—’

  Lucy stared at the lifeless body. She could see blood on the back of the woman’s head where she’d been struck by the spade. Slowly, she and Sid crouched down beside her. With a shaking hand, Lucy rolled her over, causing her to groan.

  ‘She’s alive!’ Sid confirmed with relief.

  Too overwhelmed by relief to speak, Lucy took a deep breath, trying to control her racing heart.

  Then they heard a sound beside them. Emerson was trying to crawl away again.

  ‘Sid, stop him! I’ll stay with her.’

  As Sid jumped on Mr Emerson to keep him from getting away, Lucy raced back to the tree to grab her pack. Mrs Wallace had revived and was in the process of trying to stumble away herself.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ Lucy cried, tackling her. She quickly found that she had misjudged Mrs Wallace’s ferocity, and she was knocked flat on her back, the woman on top of her.

  ‘Why couldn’t you leave well enough alone?’ Mrs Wallace cried, wrapping her hands around Lucy’s neck. ‘Why did you follow us here? This had nothing to do with you!’

  ‘You brought me to this,’ Lucy said, gritting her teeth. With all her strength, she continued to kick and struggle. Finally, she managed to roll them both over so that she was back on top of the flailing woman. ‘Sid!’ she called. ‘Help me now!’

  In the distance, she heard people shouting. Suddenly, there were lots of helping hands all around her, trying to pin the crazed woman down. Sid. Adam. Duncan. They all grabbed hold and managed to subdue Mrs Wallace. Grimly, Lucy pulled out the rope and wrapped it around the woman’s legs. Then, without speaking, she rolled the woman over, quickly wrapping some of the bandages she’d brought around the woman’s wrists so that she was immobilized.

  Finally, she sat back and pointed at Mrs Wallace. Still panting, she said in halting words, ‘Constable. This woman brought about Mr Corbyn’s death. She brought Mr Emerson out here in order to kill him.’

  Duncan hauled the woman to her feet. ‘Let us all head back to the jail. We shall sort everything out there. Hargrave, you’ve got Emerson? Sid, help me out, then.’

  Sid gripped Mrs Wallace’s other arm. As Sid and Duncan began to haul the woman to the cart, Lucy went and stood in front of them, looking Mrs Wallace straight in the eye. Then, without another word, Lucy raised her hand and slapped the woman, hard, across her cheek. ‘That’s for the falseness of your friendship,’ she said. She didn’t say another word for the whole cold journey back to the jail.

  When they arrived at the jail, Lucy perched herself on top of one of the old barrels that the constable had salvaged from the old Cheshire Cheese public house after the Great Fire. She’d draped an old blanket around her shoulders and helped herself to a bit of the mead that the constable kept in the back room. Dr Sheridan had arrived to check Mr Emerson’s wounds, and o
nce pronounced fit, the murderer was led to the cell next to the one occupied by Mrs Wallace. Throughout, Sid had helped Duncan and Hank handle the prisoners. ‘Nice to be on the other side of the arrest for once,’ he’d jested, his statement causing them all to glare at him. Adam had moved next to her, not speaking, but she could tell he was watching her closely.

  ‘All right, Lucy,’ Duncan said. ‘Time to explain everything.’

  ‘We were drugged by that woman,’ Lucy said, pointing in the direction of Mrs Wallace’s cell, ‘so that she could free the prisoner and kill him at the hanging tree, as she wanted to do all along.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Lucy, my dear, you are quite mistaken,’ Mrs Wallace said, coming to stand at the bars, peering out at them. Her hair looked more bedraggled than usual and she looked quite forlorn. Her face still bore the mark where Lucy had slapped her. ‘Please, Adam. Constable. This is all a terrible misunderstanding. I should like to get a chance to defend myself. I do admit that I had taken it in my head to set Mr Emerson free, but that was out of a misguided attempt by a wife to save her husband.’

  When Lucy’s eyes narrowed, Adam touched her arm. Don’t say anything, he seemed to be telling her. ‘Explain yourself,’ he said. ‘Start with why you freed Emerson.’

  Mrs Wallace gave them all a teary smile. ‘I know it was wrong to set that murderer free. I know it! I do admit to having drugged your mead, but it was just to help you sleep while I got him out. I injured no one – I certainly harbour no ill will against any of you.’ She looked at the stony faces staring back at her and sighed. ‘You have to understand, my husband has been accused of being an accomplice to murder, for heaven’s sake. I thought the arrest would be dismissed once Emerson was not around, and Dev and Pike were hanged for the murder of Paul Corbyn. I thought there would be no further connection to my husband. It was foolish, I know.’ She bowed her head, tears beginning to fall. ‘What woman is not foolish around the man she loves?’

  ‘Why take Emerson to the hanging tree?’ Duncan asked. ‘Why not just give him a purse and send him on his way?’

  ‘I wanted to make sure he fled the city, so I thought to send him on his way to Westminster. We had just stopped there as I was tired, and the stump was as convenient a place as any for me to rest.’ She wiped a tear. ‘As I said, I was just doing this for my husband, but I understand that there must be a punishment for my ill-thought deed. A few nights in jail, perhaps, or a stint in the stocks. I will bear it because I know that I am innocent in all respects.’ The purity of love in her words rang through, and Hank shifted uncomfortably. Lucy glanced at Duncan and Adam, who were looking thoughtful. Surely they are not fooled by her?

  ‘Liar!’ Sid exclaimed, bringing them back to their senses.

  Lucy jumped off the barrel. ‘You framed your husband and Miss de Witte for the murder of Paul Corbyn,’ she declared. ‘You sent both Miss de Witte and Mr Emerson messages, hoping that they would kill one another. Is that not so?’

  Mrs Wallace gave her a tight smile and cast an imploring look towards Duncan and Adam. ‘Lucy’s words are quite fanciful; do you not agree? It is no wonder that she excels as a seller of books. She tells a convincing tale.’

  ‘Hey, we saw you about to murder that man!’ Sid declared. ‘With our own eyes!’

  ‘Well, I’ve seen you in the stocks, more than once,’ Mrs Wallace replied. ‘Everyone knows you are a liar and a thief. As for Lucy, you’re a former chambermaid who tells stories for a living. Certainly, if I was not the subject of her rather wild accusation, I should be quite amused. Indeed, I would ask her to publish this as Strange News.’ Her tone grew hard. ‘However, this is all absolutely false, I assure you. I beg you not to continue this farce. Set me free at once.’

  Adam and Duncan exchanged an inscrutable glance, then they looked towards Lucy. She knew what they were thinking. We want to believe you Lucy, but what is the evidence here? What is the truth?

  ‘Tell us about the ring around Mr Emerson’s neck,’ Lucy said. ‘Sid and I saw you put it there. How did you get it? Did you steal it from the constable?’

  ‘What ring?’ Duncan asked, standing up. Before waiting for her to explain, he pulled out the keys to the other cell and stepped inside. A moment later he returned, holding out two rings on chains, one in each hand so that everyone could see both of them ‘This ring was the one that Lucy retrieved from around Paul Corbyn’s neck. This ring was around Emerson’s neck. Where did this other ring come from?’

  Lucy touched both lightly with her index finger. The rings were very similar, but the two faces on each face were drawn slightly differently. ‘The jeweller told us these were usually made in pairs, as sets,’ she said. ‘Hammett de Witte had one. You had the other,’ she said to Mrs Wallace. ‘Why is that?’

  When the woman remained silent, Lucy started to sort it out loud. ‘Wait a minute. Did these rings belong to you and Hammett de Witte?’ Everything began falling into place. ‘You were in love with Hammett de Witte yourself!’

  Everyone stared at Mrs Wallace, whose face had suffused with blood. ‘How can you say such a thing? I love my husband and am committed to our marriage.’

  ‘I see. After all, what would a handsome and scholarly man like Hammett de Witte see in a woman like you?’ Lucy said, deliberately goading her. ‘I mean, he was surrounded by scholarly minds, including his own sister, so he would not hold you in particularly high regard.’

  ‘But he did—’

  Ruthlessly, Lucy went on. ‘It was no wonder that he was fascinated by Ellie Browning, who, by all accounts, was a merry and beautiful girl.’

  ‘He did love me! He did! He told me that being with me gave him solace! We did have many a fine conversation. He even asked me about leaving my husband!’

  ‘That seems so far-fetched,’ Lucy said. ‘Tell us. How did it happen? Did you fall in love with him when you discovered your husband was being unfaithful to you with his sister? Or did it happen before that?’

  ‘Before that! He came to our house, seeking a mathematics tutor for his sister.’ Her voice softened at the memory. ‘“She has a brilliant mind,” he said. “She deserves to be educated.” I remember at the time being so impressed that someone could love his sister with such devotion and tenderness. He would accompany her while my husband tutored her, and we became’ – here she paused – ‘most dear acquaintances.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘It was clear by then that my husband, who had only cared for me out of necessity and duty, had his heart touched by Miss de Witte. In my foolishness, I thought that perhaps we could annul our loveless marriage.’ She bowed her head, her earlier defiance gone, and more agitation setting in as she sought to explain. ‘I bought the rings from the jeweller and gave Hammett one, to pledge my love, before he returned to Cambridge—’ She broke off.

  ‘However, you didn’t know that he had met Ellie Browning at the Two Doves Inn and gave her the ring that you had given him,’ Lucy said softly, filling in the gaps. ‘That must have been a terrible realization.’

  ‘It was!’ Mrs Wallace exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Oh, that foolish girl! Yes, Hammett gave my ring to her in a moment of infatuation. A wretched act of betrayal, indeed. Still I loved him and I know he loved me, too. He knew that my marriage to Professor Wallace was a loveless one, and he had to have known that Ellie would never have loved him as deeply as I did.’

  ‘That’s why you swore revenge on the man who killed him,’ Lucy said.

  Mrs Wallace gripped the bars, her voice trembling. ‘That filthy rat, Emerson! He killed my Hammett!’

  ‘How angry you must have been when he was set free by Mr Corbyn. You wanted revenge on both men, did you not?’

  Mrs Wallace shook the bars, her ire rising. ‘Of course I was angry with both men! When I found out they had both taken on new identities in London, their lives and livelihoods intact, I was—’

  She dropped off, but Adam filled in the missing part of her sentence. ‘Furious.’

  ‘You wrote those note
s to Pike and Dev,’ Lucy said. ‘Pretending to be Miss de Witte.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her answer was straightforward, sounding neither embarrassed nor ashamed. She was so caught up in telling the story that she seemed unaware of what she was confessing. ‘Their grief was strong enough and they were well committed in their vengeance. I simply thought that they required direction. Although the fools still managed to mishandle everything.’

  ‘Was your intention to frame Lucretia de Witte for the murder?’ Adam asked.

  ‘Why not? She committed adultery with my husband – with their stupid ciphers. I never loved him so well, but I despised how he viewed her as his intellectual match. He thought I was too foolish to understand, and perhaps I was, but once I found his cipher key, everything was easy enough.’

  ‘You continued to send messages between them?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘To her, yes. I forged them, so that it would appear that their infidelity continued.’

  ‘How did you come to learn of Mr Corbyn’s whereabouts, given his new identity?’

  ‘I saw them both by chance a few months ago. At one of the new coffee shops built after the fire. I could scarcely believe my eyes when I saw them together, seated at a table outside.’

  ‘They were friends?’ Lucy shook her head. Could a murderer and his jailer have such accord? Of course, Mr Corbyn had also freed him from Newgate and released him from divine execution by fire. Perhaps the jailer had a fondness for the man. Stranger things have happened.

  ‘I do not know.’ Her knuckles whitened around the bars. ‘When they set aside their cups, I followed them both for a while. Unfortunately, they separated, taking opposite paths before very long. I only had a moment to decide which man to follow. I followed Mr Corbyn.’

  ‘Why?’ Lucy asked. ‘Wasn’t Emerson the object of your hatred?’

  ‘It was as if fate had intervened in that decision,’ Mrs Wallace said, shrugging. ‘Naturally, I wanted to follow Philip as the bigger prize, but he walked too quickly. Paul Corbyn was far easier for me to pursue, since he was heavily burdened with all of his mercer’s goods.’ She folded her arms. ‘It was quite easy to follow him to his shop and figure out that he had stolen the mercer’s identity and that his wife was installed in the other woman’s place.’