The Masque of a Murderer

by Susanna Calkins

  Lucy shifted on the hard wooden bench, peering between a row of heads and hats, to better glimpse the proceedings. The first case brought Elizabeth Purnell, a vintner’s widow, to the stand. Her late husband, she claimed, had furnished wine on the king’s account to the Prussian ambassador. “As my husband’s beneficiary, I am due the payment of £600,” she declared. After several questions from the judges and a few supporting documents, the case was decided in the widow’s favor.

  The next case concerned a young violinist, one of His Majesty’s concert performers, who had seen his salary withheld for not playing at recent performances. “My violin was burnt in the Fire!” the young musician exclaimed, tears in his voice. “I’ve not been able to purchase a new instrument, particularly since my salary has been held in arrears.” Again, after a few questions, the jury and the judge found for the plaintiff.

  About an hour had passed before the court took a brief recess. Making her way toward Adam, she was gratified by the way his face lit up when he saw her. “Lucy, what are you doing here? It is freezing outside!”

  “Master Aubrey thought I should sell some pieces before the sessions—and I wanted to see you. I have something to tell you.”

  He looked at his timepiece, a gift from his father. “We have about fifteen minutes before the sessions resume.” He began to move down the corridor. “I have something to tell you, too.”

  As they walked, she smiled up at him. “Do you find it humorous that the Fire Court is being held in Clifford’s Inn?” she asked, emphasizing the name. Not too long ago, they had met a man named Clifford who had not been a particularly honest fellow. “Is this inn an honest place?”

  “One would hope,” Adam replied with a chuckle. “This inn, I can assure you, stemmed from the more honorable line of the Cliffords.” Then he frowned. “On the other hand, as you may have noticed, there has been much dishonesty since the Fire.”

  “Surely there is something you can do? Is that not the charge of the Fire Court?” Lucy asked.

  “How do we keep people from lying, you mean?” Adam sighed. “’Tis difficult, to be sure. In the case of the musician, he was able to find the ruins of his violin where it had been lost. He was also the third member of the king’s concert that we’ve heard from. There are eighteen more musicians who have made similar claims, and I suspect their trials will be equally quick when it is their turn to appear in court.” He went on, “Sometimes when I take their testimony, as I ask them questions, I know they are embellishing the facts or even lying outright. Many people stole so much during the plague and the Fire, sometimes I wonder if the world will ever be righted.”

  Nodding, Lucy remembered then how during the plague she’d seen a servant who had served in a nearby household sneaking out a side window, garbed in her dying mistress’s clothes, even as the rest of the family was being boarded up inside, in the futile hope of containing the plague. She touched his arm. “If anyone will help put the world to rights, it’s you.”

  Adam smiled down at her. “Ah, Lucy.” She thought he was about to say something else, but after looking at his pocket-watch again, he changed the subject. “We must talk quickly. First, I looked for Jacob Whitby’s will, but I could not find one with the clerk. To be honest, it is not so surprising. He was a Quaker, and they certainly do not put much stock in the government. Besides, he was a young man and surely did not expect that he would—” He broke off, looking sad.

  Lucy completed his thought. “Die.”

  “As his widow, Esther Whitby will be responsible for the legal settlement of his debts. Since they had no progeny, she will inherit everything.”

  “There is very little left, I imagine. He seems to have given everything to their widow’s fund.”

  Adam nodded. “That makes sense.” He looked at her closely. “Now, Lucy. Tell me, what brought you here? I can see that you have some news.”

  Taking a deep breath, Lucy relayed the news of Julia Whitby’s murder.

  Though Adam was visibly repulsed by the nature of the hideous act, he did not look altogether surprised. “I thought it likely,” he said, sighing. “Does Sarah know?”

  “I asked Annie to give her a note. I will see her tomorrow, though. I was invited to attend Jacob Whitby’s burial at Bunhill Fields,” Lucy explained. “I intend to go.”

  “Why?” Adam asked. “Did Sarah ask you to accompany her?”

  “No, the other Quakers did. I think they are hoping to convince me of their ways.” Seeing a momentary worry in Adam’s eyes, she smiled. “Do not worry. I have no plans to become a Quaker.” She paused. “Adam, there is something that I did not tell you. Before he died, Mr. Whitby told me that his sister was concerned that one of their acquaintances was not truly a Quaker. That he or she was an impostor. I know he had been afraid for his wife’s safety.”

  “What!” Adam exclaimed. When a few people in the corridor turned to stare at them, he lowered his voice. “Why did you not tell me this before?”

  “Sarah begged me not to,” she said. “She was concerned that you or your father would not allow her to commune with the Quakers if you knew the truth.”

  “Well, she was right!” Adam said grimly. “If Jacob believed his wife was in danger, then Sarah may well be in harm’s way, too. I shall tell Father at once.”

  “No, Adam, please do not!” she exclaimed. “Sarah has chosen to be a Quaker. I know that you and your father are not pleased with that fact, but this is the life she has chosen. She might be pushed into a step no one wants her to take.”

  “She might go off with them again,” Adam conceded. “Which I do believe would be a great blow to Father.”

  “And this time, she might not return.” She hurried on. “I was thinking that we might be able to discover which Quaker is the impostor,” she restated, trying to come back to the heart of the matter.

  “Why would you make such inquiries, Lucy?” he demanded. “Would this not be better pursued by the constable? May I remind you that it is his job to make such inquiries, not yours?”

  “The Quakers will not talk to him. Not as they would speak to me. But we must learn all we can about Jacob Whitby, and his sister, too.”

  Adam sighed. “I suppose that is so. Promise me that you will not make such inquiries alone.”

  Seeing his dark look, she added, “I was not going to attend the burial alone, of course.”

  “Who will accompany you? The constable, I suppose?” He looked at her intently.

  “I am fairly certain that the constable is the last person who should attend one of the Quakers’ meetings.” When he didn’t laugh at her little jest, she touched his arm again. “I imagine Sarah will be there. I can have Lach accompany me, too.”

  He moved closer to her. “It’s cold outside,” he said, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. Somewhere a bell rang, and reluctantly he stepped back as people began to move past them, back into the courtroom. “Stay warm,” he said before walking back inside.

  * * *

  Indeed, the bitter freeze continued throughout the rest of the day and into the morning of Jacob Whitby’s burial. Lucy had not ventured outside since she first returned from the Fire Court, nearly frostbitten. Master Aubrey had taken one look at her and ordered her to sit by the fire with hot stones in her stockings for a full hour, until she was able to walk properly. “Not too useful to have apprentices with fingers and toes blackened and falling off from the cold,” he had muttered. Lach and Lucy were both shocked, too, when Master Aubrey allowed them to have a good fire going the whole time, although he never stopped grumbling about the dear price of coal. Thus, they had spent the rest of the day indoors, printing, cutting, and folding, trying to ignore the terrible wind that blew fiercely at their shuttered windows and heavily latched doors. Lucy was beginning to think they would never be allowed outside again.

  Thankfully, though, on the morning of Jacob Whitby’s funeral, Master Aubrey changed his mind. “All right, lass,” he said to her. “Stop fiddling wi
th the press and get your pack ready for trading.” He looked at Lach. “You, too. Take a second pack to trade.”

  Within the hour, Lucy had set off, accompanied by a mule-faced Lach, each carrying a sack of religious pamphlets and tracts. In the bitter cold, every step of the two-mile walk from Master Aubrey’s shop to Bunhill Fields was torturous. Eerie shimmering icicles hung treacherously from the trees, and the wind whipped at them cruelly.

  “Don’t know why I had to go,” the printer’s devil kept muttering. “Like as not we’ll be thrown into jail, taken for Quackers.”

  Lucy would not admit it, but she felt glad of his company, especially when they reached the end of Grub Street and arrived at the large frozen field. From the Quakers’ directions, she knew that the meetinghouse had to be near.

  Uncertainly, Lucy looked around. They seemed to have stumbled upon one of the great Tudor estates built outside the city walls that had long ago fallen into disuse and disrepair. In the distance she could see a manor house, with some other ramshackle buildings. Only one seemed to be in use, for she could make out a distant trail of smoke whispering from the chimney. For the first time she wished she had asked a few more questions of Joan and Theodora before heading out here.

  Lach gave her his usual mocking stare. “Meeting in a barn, are we? I’m sure the stained-glass windows are lovely.” Naturally, then, he began to hum another bit of doggerel called “The Four-Legg’d Quaker.” As instructed he was singing it to the “Tune of the Dog and Elder’s Maid.”

  “In Horsely Fields near Colchester,

  A Quaker would turn Trooper;

  He caught a Foal and mounted her (O base!)

  Below the Crupper.”

  Lucy elbowed him. “Shhh,” she whispered. “They might hear you!”

  “Ah, there’s no one around,” he said and, to her chagrin, continued the ridiculous ballad more loudly now.

  “Though they salute not in the Street

  Because they are our Masters

  ’Tis now Revealed why Quakers meet

  In Meadows, woods, and pastures—

  “Hey, ouch! What did you do that for?”

  Lucy had elbowed him hard, pointing at a figure moving toward them.

  “Oh, Lucy,” Sarah exclaimed, pushing her woolen cap back from her face. Lucy could see her eyes were troubled. “How dreadful, that news about Jacob’s sister. I was shocked when I received thy note. I did not know her. Although our brothers were friends, she and I were not acquainted.” She paused. “Dost thou think her murder was connected to Jacob’s death? Is dear Esther in danger? I must go to her! Has she arrived?” She started to move toward one of the outlying buildings.

  “Wait, Sarah, please!” Lucy exclaimed. “Jacob told me he was concerned for his wife, but that he didn’t know who the impostor was. What if she confides in the wrong person?”

  Sarah looked thoughtful. “I suppose thou might be right. Still, I owe it to Jacob to make sure that his widow is kept safe from harm.” Sarah looked at them curiously. “Why didst thou come here today, Lucy?” she asked. “Do not tell me that thy conscience has called thee and thy fellow devil to worship. Want to be a Quaker, do you?” She said the last to Lach, looking at him with the semblance of a smile.

  “I’m no Quacker!” Lach said hotly. “Indeed, Master Aubrey sent us. Thought we could trade a few godly tracts and the like.”

  “Oh! I see,” Sarah replied. “I don’t know if the Quaker printers are here.” A distant look crossed her face. “They need to bury Jacob first.”

  “I know,” Lucy said softly, touching Sarah’s arm. “That was why I wanted to come today.”

  The sound of hoofbeats caused them to look up. A cart, led by a single roan horse, had arrived. “Mrs. Whitby is here,” Lucy said softly, recognizing the figures.

  Esther Whitby was seated in the cart, with Joan beside her. Sam Leighton walked alongside the horse, guiding the animal carefully along the hard ground. Theodora walked at the right side of the cart.

  At the sound of the cart, several other figures appeared from the barn. Lucy recognized a few of them as well. Devin. Katherine. Ahivah. Deborah.

  As the cart approached, Lucy could see that it contained a long wooden box. Jacob’s casket, she realized. Gervase was there, too, holding on to the casket, steadying it over the bumpy patches.

  When the cart stopped next to them, Esther Whitby dismounted, extending her hands to Sarah. “I thank thee, for joining us in this final testament to my husband.”

  Taking the woman’s hands in her own, Sarah said in a low voice, “Dearest Esther. I was so sorry to hear about what happened to thy sister-in-law.”

  A slight pucker appeared on Esther’s forehead. “Thou hast heard about Julia?” she asked, glancing at the Quakers standing beside her. “I was only just informed myself. Pray tell me, how didst thou learn of her tragic end?”

  Lucy shifted her feet. Sarah seemed to realize then the awkwardness of her knowledge. “The constable told us,” Sarah tried to answer truthfully. “Well, he told Lucy. She told me.” Seeing the slight suspicion on their faces at her mention of the constable, she spoke quickly to reassure them. “Lucy is a friend of the constable.”

  Inwardly, Lucy groaned at Sarah’s rash words. She could see the warmth in their faces chill considerably as they stared at her. Friends of the constable were not altogether welcome among the Quakers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lach edge a few steps backward, as if to distance himself from her.

  “Well, not friends. I was speaking to him about”—Lucy hesitated—“another matter when word came about Miss Julia Whitby’s death.” Not a lie exactly, but it wouldn’t do to let the Quakers think that she’d been conversing with the constable about Jacob Whitby. The women were still looking at Lucy with guarded expressions. She continued, “I promise, I would never say anything to get you in trouble.” Her words sounded limp to her ears.

  “I see,” Esther said.

  Everyone was still staring at them speculatively. Lucy glanced at Sarah, who was twisting her fingers in her gray woolen skirts. She couldn’t leave yet, not before she’d had a chance to speak privately with Esther.

  “I trust Lucy with my life, I do,” Sarah finally said. “She is not one to speak to the authorities about our goings-on. Indeed, like my brother, she has always been a friend to the Friends. She has a true and valiant heart, and would not betray us in any fashion.” Her heartfelt words seemed to break the tension. Lucy smiled slightly at her friend as she felt everyone relax.

  Gervase smiled at her. “Welcome, Lucy. We thank thee for joining us today. It is a sad day, but perhaps”—he waved his arms expansively—“thou wilt better understand the meaning of Jacob’s life by being among those of us who loved him. Who better than thee, a lady writer, to appreciate him and to express our love in words?”

  Lucy smiled back at Gervase, drawn in by his warm refined speech.

  Sarah turned to him as well, a genuine smile cracking her tear-stained frozen cheeks. “Thank you, Gervase. That is very kind of thee to say that to my friend Lucy.”

  “What about him?” Theodora said, pointing at Lach, who had moved a few steps away. “The pup looks like he is about to keel over.”

  “Lach is with me,” Lucy said. Indeed, Lach was looking quite miserable, stamping his feet, trying to keep warm in his thin clothes. “He is my master’s other apprentice. My master had him accompany me with the hopes we might trade some tracts with your printer.” She indicated the pack at Lach’s feet. “When the burial is over, naturally.”

  “Tell the poor boy he can warm himself inside,” Esther said, wiping her eyes. “My dear Jacob would have been troubled by his misery, and would not like to see him suffer so.”

  After giving Esther an adoring look, Lach moved quickly toward the building.

  Theodora murmured something to Esther Whitby, who nodded. “Let us turn now to the sad task of burying our brother,” she said.

  Clicking his tongue, Sam nudged the hor
se forward. Seeing that Mrs. Whitby had begun to weep more profusely, Gervase took one of her arms while Theodora supported her on the other side.

  Along with the others, Lucy trailed behind the somber procession as they made their way, shivering, past the outlying buildings toward a collection of gravestones. Lucy could tell straightaway that this was where the nonconformists of London were buried. Unlike the mixture of ornate and religious statues in most church cemeteries, the gravestones here were all simple, and most looked like they’d been laid in the ground within the last few years. They weren’t covered with moss, nor did they look particularly weathered or crumbling.

  They stopped by an open grave, which was cut unevenly into the frozen ground. Sam positioned the cart alongside. With just a few grunts, Gervase grabbed one end, Sam the other, and together they slid the coffin from the cart and across the ground. Using only a single rope, they were able to lower the coffin.

  Straightening, they joined the others at the edge of the hole. Bowing her head, Lucy said a quick prayer for the soul of Jacob Whitby, hoping that the Lord would see him fit for heaven. To think that his parents were not present to bid their son farewell! A tear sprang to her eye.

  Lucy blew on her gloved hands, trying to warm them through the cloth. Opening her eyes, she realized that she was expecting someone to begin a eulogy or to say a few words about Jacob. Instead there was more silence. Finally Joan began to sing about the blessings of the Lord shining down upon them. It was like no hymn or psalm that Lucy had ever heard, although the words seemed to draw from the Old Testament. That was the Quaker way, she supposed, to be moved by the Spirit of the Lord to speak or be silent as commanded. Lucy, of course, had remained silent throughout.

  Finally, after periods of silence and a few testimonials, Esther Whitby took a handful of earth and threw it on the casket. One by one the others did the same. When it was her turn, Lucy hesitated. Catching her eye, Sarah gave her a slight nod. Seeing this, Lucy threw in her handful and then a dried posy that she’d been keeping hidden in her peddler’s sack. Gervase and Sam picked up the shovels and began to push dirt in earnest onto the casket. The funeral seemed to be concluded, and the mourners began to drift back into the barn.