The Masque of a Murderer

by Susanna Calkins

  3

  The walk to the Whitby home did not take long. As they followed Sam Leighton’s brisk stride through the chilly, foggy streets, Sarah clutched Lucy’s upper arm.

  “I’ve not seen Jacob Whitby in three years. Since before either of us found our Inner Light,” Sarah whispered. “To think that he is asking for me now—” She choked back a sob. “I wish I could have seen him before this. If only the Bull and Mouth had not been destroyed in the Great Fire, I might have met him then. As it is, I have scarcely met any Friends since my return to London.”

  Lucy nodded. She had heard of the Bull and Mouth, that Quaker stronghold. She had never been inside, of course, but she knew that the meetinghouse had been located near Newgate prison and that the Quakers had long been assembling there, since the earliest days of Cromwell’s reign. She knew, too, that many Quakers had been hauled off to jail from that very place, under the terms of the Conventicle Act, which barred nonconformists from meeting in secret. Sarah’s own father had sentenced some of these men and women himself. Thankfully, the persecution of the Quakers had lessened in recent years.

  Voicing none of her thoughts, Lucy turned her attention back to Sarah, who had continued speaking. “They had announced Jacob’s donation to the widow’s fund.” Her voice trailed off.

  “Widow’s fund?” Lucy asked, stepping carefully around a puddle of sludge and muck that had pooled along the street.

  Pulling herself from her reverie, Sarah explained. “We have a fund to ease the existence of those wrongly imprisoned in the jails or to help their wives and children. We call it the widow’s fund.” Her voice grew tense. “How wronged so many of us have been, by men like my father!”

  Sarah jutted out her chin, as if daring Lucy to reproach her for her defiant words. When Lucy stayed silent, she continued more calmly. “A sizable sum it was, too. When I heard them say the donor’s name, I could scarcely believe it. Jacob Whitby! I had not even known that he had become a Quaker.” She smiled slightly. “He was hardly a man that one would have believed to seek out the Inner Light. Perhaps, though, he would say the same about me.”

  Sarah paused again, still lost in thought. “I looked for Jacob after the meeting, but he was away, petitioning King Charles to repeal those unlawful acts against the Quakers. His wife was there, though. I met her briefly.” Even in the overcast light, Lucy could see Sarah frown. “I hadn’t known he was married. But why wouldn’t he have married? He was always so charming.” She choked a bit on the last words.

  Lucy pressed Sarah’s arm, hoping to offer her a bit of comfort.

  To her surprise, Jacob Whitby lived less than a mile from the magistrate, on Whitcomb Street in the expanse northwest of the burnt-out area of London. His was one of the few homes in the area that was not connected to other homes or shops on either side. Seeing this home confirmed Lucy’s recollection that Jacob Whitby came from a family of some means.

  At Sam’s knock, a woman dressed in a drab gray dress and white apron opened the door. If not for the Quaker’s customary white collar about her neck, Lucy would have taken her for a washer-woman, for her hands were more ruddy than her cheeks. Her face was wide and flat, and her eyes were as faded as her dress. Lucy guessed she was probably in her early thirties, about ten years older than herself, but life had clearly exacted a great toll from her.

  “Theodora,” Sam said to the woman, “I have brought Sarah, as Jacob bid me to do. This is Sarah’s companion, Lucy.”

  Hearing Sam Leighton refer to the women by their first names quite jarred Lucy, but neither woman seemed affronted or even surprised. Lucy supposed such leveling was also part of the Quaker way.

  “Theodora is Sam’s wife,” Sarah added, which helped explain some of the disconcerting familiarity. “She and Sam are among the few Quakers I have met in London.”

  Theodora Leighton nodded curtly. “Thou art both welcome here, though it be a tragic time indeed. Pray come inside, and I will fetch our sister Esther.”

  As Theodora walked away, Lucy noticed that she had a significant limp and moved stiffly, as though she’d sustained an injury. Perhaps she’d been flogged, Lucy thought, recalling the times she’d seen Quakers held in stocks, or worse.

  Sam led them inside Jacob Whitby’s home, gesturing toward three wooden chairs that awaited them in what was intended to be a great hall. Sarah seated herself and waved her hand for Lucy to do the same. Lucy, however, could not bring herself to sit as a visitor would and remained standing. Sam did not sit either. Instead, he moved across the room, where he tapped his fingers against his leg as if eager to be off.

  Perched uncomfortably next to Sarah, Lucy looked around. This was the first Quaker home she’d ever been inside. The decor was far more spare than even Master Hargrave’s, and the magistrate was certainly not a man who squandered much on luxury. The white walls were bare, and the wood floors were covered with only the simplest of straw matting to help keep the house warm. Except for the size of the rooms, which were fairly large, the home could have been owned by the meanest of the poor.

  Watching her glance around, Sarah smiled. “We are urged to give up our worldly comforts,” she whispered. “When we feel the pull of Christ, we bring only what we can carry ourselves. We learn how little we truly need to express our Inner Light. It is clear that Jacob has given most of his fortune away, to the widow’s fund that I mentioned, and to fund our travels on behalf of the Lord.”

  Lucy eyed the bare tables and empty walls. Having grown up with very few possessions, she could not imagine giving up the little luxuries she’d managed to accrue during her time in service.

  Sarah’s eyes, however, were shining as she took in the bare walls. “He has truly given himself to the Lord,” Lucy heard her murmur.

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Although earlier there had been glimpses of the gay young woman Lucy remembered, this soulful version of Sarah was difficult to understand. Thankfully, Lucy was spared having to reply when a woman in her late twenties entered the room.

  Upon seeing her, Lucy drew in a deep breath. Like other Quakers Lucy had seen, Esther Whitby was dressed simply. Yet simplicity, while drab and colorless on the others, somehow seemed to enhance the woman’s considerable natural beauty. Slim and elegant, she could easily have been a grand lady. Though she wore her blond hair tucked neatly under a white cap, the style emphasized her high cheekbones and slender neck to great effect. Despite being rimmed red with tears, her eyes were a startling shade of violet, compelling and alive.

  Esther Whitby held out her hands in greeting. “Sister Sarah, I bid thee welcome, and thy companion, too. I thank thee, Brother Sam, for bringing these most welcome guests to my door. Perhaps thou wouldst like some victuals or to sit a spell by the fire.”

  “No, no, Sister Esther,” Sarah said hastily. “Pray, do not trouble thyself with our comforts. Bring us to Brother Jacob, so that we may say our farewells.”

  They followed Esther Whitby to a flight of stairs at the end of the great room. As they mounted the steps Sarah said to her, “I must thank thee for summoning me, Esther. I have not seen Jacob in many years. I should not have thought he would remember me.”

  Esther turned back to her. “He insisted upon it. When I told him that we had met, he seemed overjoyed at the idea of reacquainting with you and your brother.”

  Jacob’s wife continued to lead them until they stopped before a closed door, from beyond which they could hear a great murmuring. Esther laid a hand on the door’s handle. Before opening the door, she turned to the two women. “Prepare yourself. My husband’s wounds are extensive and”—she hesitated—“difficult to view.” Tears filled her eyes. “And his words are difficult to hear. He is scarcely himself. At first, the good Lord saw fit to guard his tongue so that he did not dishonor us, but now…” She wiped away a tear. “I fear the words of the Lord are already flowing through him, as he finds his path to heaven.”

  Sarah nodded. “We are ready,” she said. But she d
id reach her right hand backward to clasp Lucy’s hand in her own.

  Slowly, the two women and Sam followed Esther through the doorway. The shutters were latched, so little of the afternoon light could stream into the airless room. Lucy could barely keep from gagging as the smells assaulted them. Piss. Blood. Pus. Sweat. Lavender. The stench of approaching death.

  “Oh,” Sarah said, stopping so abruptly that Lucy almost bumped into her.

  There were already several people present, all huddled around a large bed that seemed to take up most of the available space. Theodora, Lucy saw, was one of the mourners seated in the carved wooden chairs. Clearly, the other sternly dressed figures were Quakers. Their glances were curious but not unwelcoming.

  Sarah still had not moved, transfixed by the heavily bandaged figure lying motionless on the bed. Had Jacob already succumbed to his injuries? Lucy felt a pang that Sarah had not been able to tell her old friend farewell before he passed on.

  As if he heard her unspoken thoughts, however, the man drew in a great breath, a long tortured inhalation of air. His ribs are likely broken, Lucy thought, or at least horribly bruised. She could only imagine how twisted his insides must be, given the unnatural position he was currently in. Still, that wretched exhalation proved he was alive, and she murmured a small prayer of thanks. Mercifully the man’s eyes were closed, so perhaps he was more asleep than awake.

  Lucy squeezed Sarah’s hand. “He still lives,” she murmured. Sarah squeezed her hand in return, too overcome to speak.

  Seeing this, one of the Quaker women arose and moved toward Sarah. A stout woman, clad in gray and brown, she was much older than the others, but Lucy could not say her age for certain. Surely she’d witnessed much in her life, at least fifty years’ worth, if not more. Her face was careworn, but her brown eyes were lively, and her movements were quick and spry. Gently, she took Sarah’s hands in her own.

  “My dear child,” the woman murmured. Her voice was raspy, although her tone and touch were kind. “How I have missed thee these last few days. ’Tis a terrible thing that has reunited us.” Her voice grew stronger, more resolute. “Now we must seek solace in the Lord and be strong for our much-suffering brother.”

  Sarah turned to Lucy then. “This is Joan, my dearest companion, my spiritual mother. She and I journeyed together through the New World, and if it had not been for Joan, I would have been lost many times over.”

  Joan pressed Lucy’s hand before returning to her seat next to Theodora. The two women appeared to be mending old garments stored in a great straw basket between them.

  Sam moved past them, seating himself on a low wooden bench at the foot of the bed. When he picked up a sheaf of papers that had been resting on the bench, Lucy caught the unmistakable smell of fresh ink. Someone had been writing recently in the bedchamber.

  Spying another long low bench in a shadowy corner of the room, Lucy began to pull Sarah toward it, so that they would not be in the way of the other mourners. She’d been to vigils before, but never for a Quaker, and she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself or Sarah.

  Except Esther seemed to have other plans. She had been silent while Sarah had been speaking with Joan, but now she spoke up. “Sister Sarah has come to see thee, dear heart,” she said loudly to her husband. “Sit here,” she said to Sarah, patting the chair closest to the bed.

  With its embroidered back and seat, the chair was clearly the finest item in the room, perhaps the entire house. Sarah hesitated, but sat down as she’d been bidden, and Esther took the other wooden chair alongside her.

  At the sound of his wife’s voice, the man on the bed jerked slightly, emitting a small moan. When he opened his eyes, Lucy could see they were glazed over in pain. She wished he had not been awakened.

  How he must be suffering, she thought.

  “I am ever so grateful to be surrounded by such true friends,” Esther said to Sarah, gesturing widely to all the mourners. “That is our dear brother Gervase,” she added, pointing to a man with blond hair, quietly whittling near the great wardrobe.

  Hearing his name, Gervase looked up. Catching Lucy’s eye, he nodded at her, smiling slightly in greeting. His demeanor was calm, if somber. For such a large, hearty-looking man, he seemed surprisingly comfortable in the small, enclosed space. “Jacob and I have been like brothers,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest. His speech was quite cultured, perhaps even more than Adam’s, and Lucy wondered if he had attended university with Jacob. Lucy could hear the emotion in his deep voice. “It is with a heavy heart I sit vigil here.”

  “Thank you, Gervase. I am sure my husband feels the same toward you,” Esther said. She extended her hand gracefully to the young woman perched atop a wood stool close to the small fire in the chamber hearth. “And this dear one is Deborah. The niece of Ahivah, one of our greatest conveyers of Truth.”

  “Right now my aunt is a great conveyer of sleep,” Deborah said pertly. Seeing Esther’s lip curl slightly and the others frown at her little jest, the young Quaker murmured a little apology. “I just meant she has been asleep for much of the day. My deep sorrow over Jacob has cost me some control over my tongue, it seems.” She smiled slightly at Lucy and shrugged.

  Lucy could not help but notice that Deborah did not look pinched and gray, like most of the other Quakeresses. Instead, her cheeks were rosy and smooth. Her hair, too, was different from that of the other women in the room. While she wore the same cap as the other women, light brown tendrils curled gently against her neck and temple. The overall effect was less severe. Indeed, she looked more like a fellow servant than a handmaiden of the Lord.

  “These people are all my brothers and sisters in Christ,” Esther continued, as if Deborah had not spoken. Her voice was starting to choke up. “Indeed, we were together at Sam Leighton’s house when a neighbor’s boy came bearing the terrible news of my husband’s accident. If only dearest Jacob had come with us to the meeting,” she cried, “this terrible accident might never have occurred.”

  Great tears began to roll down Esther’s cheeks. Seeing this, Joan handed her a handkerchief, which she accepted from the old woman with a grateful smile.

  Sarah had scarcely taken her eyes off Jacob as his wife was speaking. Now, as Lucy watched, she gently took one of his bandaged hands in her own, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Oh, dear Jacob,” Sarah said. “I’m so heartfelt sorry to see thee in such distress.”

  The man opened his eyes again, trying to focus. “Dearest Sarah,” he murmured, sounding pleased. “Thou hast come back to me.”

  Positioned as she was, Lucy could look straight at Sarah’s face as she leaned toward Jacob. There was a softness there that reminded her of the girl Sarah had once been.

  “Oh, Jacob,” Sarah replied, keeping her voice steady. “I’m here.” Her eyes flicked toward Esther Whitby, who had rested her head against one of the women. “I was pleased that thou asked for me.”

  “I only just learned that thou hadst become a Friend. I heard it mentioned at the meeting that thou hadst returned from thy great travels through Barbados and Massachusetts. I was hoping to see thee at the next meeting, but I was unable to attend.” His grimace held a semblance of smile. “I’m afraid my petition to our king was for naught.”

  Sarah smiled. “I only heard about thee as well,” she said gently. “How generous thou hast been to our brethren.”

  He attempted another grin. “So hard to believe. I remember thee imploring me to take thee to Bartholomew’s Fair. For more ribbons and creams.”

  Sarah wiped his brow with a piece of bleached linen. “What a fool I was for ribbons and fripperies then. I begged thee to win me a prize.”

  Jacob smiled slightly. “I remember.” He paused. “Thou looked lovely.”

  Hearing Theodora cough, Sarah spoke. “Certainly this was before I knew the power of God’s love, during a time when I still gave in to earthly temptations.”

  Seeing Sarah’s chagrin, Joan reached across Jacob to pat her
gently on the arm. “We do not seek to judge thee, child,” she said. “So long as thou understand now that such ribbons were the devil’s hand at play.”

  Sarah turned back to Jacob. “Like thee, I have been transformed by the Inner Light.” They gazed into each other’s eyes. Lucy shifted in her chair. Such intimacy, even with one on his deathbed, transgressed propriety.

  Sarah seemed to realize the same thing, recalling herself with a start. “I’ve had the pleasure of meeting thy wife already, and we’ve just now renewed our acquaintance.”

  Here Jacob nodded, frowning slightly. “I would rather thou hadst done so under different circumstances. There is much thou and she have in common, and I should have liked to see thy friendship flourish.”

  His wife leaned over then, placing her left hand over Sarah’s hand, which was still holding Jacob’s. “We shall become bosom companions, dear husband, as I know this would please thee.”

  “My dear wife will need thy strength, Sarah,” he said, his voice trembling in emotion.

  “She shall have it,” Sarah replied. The hands of all three remained clasped together, almost as if a pledge between them had been made.

  Lucy shivered. A deathbed pledge was not one to take lightly, and she prayed that Sarah would be able to see it through. The moment passed when Jacob began to cough, and Sarah eased him forward so that he could breathe a bit more easily. A bit of spittle dripped from his mouth, which Sarah wiped with her sleeve.

  Swallowing hard, Jacob faced Sarah again. “Did thy brother accompany thee? I was rather hoping he would.”

  “Adam?” Sarah said. “I’ve scarcely seen my brother myself. He has been so busy with the Fire Court.”

  “Do not fret, my dear,” Jacob said to Sarah, his lips stretching into what Lucy supposed he intended as a smile. “I should have liked to see my old friend Adam Hargrave one last time, but I think it will be in heaven when I do.” His voice trailed off, and his face contorted in pain. Again he looked like he might drift away.