For the rest of the journey home, Lucy stayed silent, thinking about the way Dev had touched his cap. There was no doubt that he had seen her. What would he do? She kept craning her head out of the window, trying to determine whether they were being followed. She thought about telling Adam and Master Hargrave, but hesitated. Why worry them unduly? There’s nothing that can be done now.
As they approached home, the Hargraves discussed the matter more fully, not noticing the distress she was doing her best to hide. ‘We need to speak to the constable about this,’ Master Hargrave said, glancing at Lucy. ‘That is certain.’
Lucy nodded but squirmed uncomfortably. She knew that Duncan would not be pleased that she might have put herself in harm’s way.
‘We need to question them,’ Master Hargrave declared. ‘Find out what those innkeepers know about Paul Corbyn’s death. If anything.’
‘What if they flee?’ Lucy asked.
Adam shook his head. ‘The Two Doves Inn is fairly well established. I cannot imagine that they would take flight. They are more likely to claim that you were mistaken – or lying.’
‘I wasn’t lying!’ Lucy said hotly.
‘Of course you were not,’ Adam said, patting her arm. ‘I know that, my—’ He broke off abruptly. Lucy had the feeling he was about to use an endearment, and she flushed. She had not yet had a chance to sort out her feelings, and all she knew now was that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and her heart. ‘I know you were not lying,’ he said.
‘Unfortunately, it is as Adam says, Lucy. I wish it were not so,’ Master Hargrave said. ‘I fear that identification from a witness, even one as true-hearted and virtuous as yourself, may only go so far. They may simply deny it or pay someone to say they were somewhere else that morning of Corbyn’s death. Right now, they are two against one, and the case is already so fantastic that I do not think their guilt will be easy to prove.’
‘I told you all of their names, Dev and Pike, before I met the one named Dev at the Two Doves Inn. How could I know their names otherwise?’
‘Indeed, that is so,’ the magistrate murmured. ‘There is no question that they were there. The question is, why kill the guard? Why not the murderer himself?’
‘Perhaps they have not been able to find Philip Emerson,’ Lucy said. ‘That ring, hung around Corbyn’s neck – could it have been a warning of sorts? To someone else, I mean?’
Master Hargrave stroked his beard. ‘An intriguing premise, to be sure. How, though, would their intended recipient know about such a warning? I’m afraid, for now, we still have more questions than answers.’
EIGHTEEN
After supper that evening, Lucy walked quickly over to the Wallace household, gripping her pack and holding a lantern high. The note Mrs Wallace had left for her was in her pocket, though she’d mostly memorized it already, given how many times she’d read it in the hours since she’d returned from Hoddesdon.
Dearest Lucy,
Master Aubrey has informed me that you are in Hoddesdon today, procuring some new treatises and books for my husband. I cannot tell you how timely this is. My husband has a few of his scholars over to dine tonight at seven o’clock, and I’m certain that they would welcome any new mathematical tracts to explore over their sherry. He will pay you well for your troubles, I will insist upon that. Please do come, Lucy.
Yours, Joanna W.
Even though Lucy had wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed after the long journey and the fright she’d suffered in Hoddesdon, she’d accepted the request. Besides, Master Aubrey would not let her miss out on such an important sale. So here she was now, bracing herself against the chilly December winds and wet fog.
‘I hope I do not take ill from these travails,’ she muttered after three sneezes in a row. Although she liked Mrs Wallace quite well, this felt an unnecessary excursion.
When she arrived, the maid whisked her cloak away, before ushering her to the drawing room where the Wallaces were entertaining four guests, all of them men, dressed in a range of dining attire. All appeared to be gentlemen with their noble bearing, although judging from their threadbare finery, some looked as if they had experienced more prosperous days. For a moment, Lucy stood there, gripping her pack, not sure what to do.
A few of the men began to cough and sputter when they noticed her, causing Mrs Wallace to turn around and give her a warm smile. As before, although her dress was well crafted and expensive, her hair was a bit sloppy. ‘Oh, Lucy,’ she said, moving to take her arm, ‘I’m so happy that you received my message and were able to come. Everyone, this is Lucy Campion, apprentice to Master Aubrey, printer and bookseller. Lucy, these men are all scholars.’ She nodded towards each man in turn. ‘Mr Quayle is a specialist in the histories of the ancient Greeks and Romans, Mr Newman studies musical theory and rhetoric, and Mr Jacobs is a student of astronomy.’ The men she introduced were all tall and gangly, with the sickly pallor of those who rarely ventured out of doors. Mr Quayle had bright red hair and freckles, and when he gave her a mischievous smile, he reminded her of Lach. Mr Jacobs looked a bit surly, while Mr Newman managed a small sad smile.
She paused, indicating a fourth darker-skinned man in the corner whose goblet was full of honeyed water. ‘Mr ibn Mohammad is a scholar from Cairo.’
Lucy nodded at the men in turn, her arms at her sides as none of them extended their hand in greeting, glancing back at Mr Mohammad. She’d met a few Muslims in the pursuit of her trade, although his presence here seemed unusual.
‘I heard tell that you were in Hoddesdon today,’ Professor Wallace commented. ‘Did you stop in Master Barnaby’s shop?’
‘Yes, sir. Indeed, I did, sir,’ Lucy replied, holding up her pack. ‘I managed to procure a few of the titles on your list.’ Here she hesitated, looking at Professor Wallace’s outstretched hand. Don’t give anything to them until they’ve paid you, Master Aubrey admonished her. Those gentlemen sorts can be the worst, running up their debt, never remembering that such things have actual costs.
She was relieved when Mrs Wallace nudged her husband. ‘You need to pay her first,’ she whispered, handing him his purse.
‘Ah, yes, of course. Certainly,’ he said. ‘Step over this way, would you, please, Miss Campion?’ There he handed her the money with a little extra for her trouble, while the scholars began to exclaim over the books with reverence.
‘Please let me know if there is anything else I may procure for you,’ she said, giving a little curtsy to the room. ‘Although I suppose you may all journey more often to Hoddesdon than I do.’
‘Ah, Lucy, would you like to stay for a glass of sherry? My good friend Thomas Hargrave thinks so highly of you,’ Professor Wallace said. He’d clearly been in his cups for a while.
She glanced uncomfortably at Mrs Wallace. ‘I do need to get going. It is late.’
‘It’s quite all right, Lucy. Just one,’ Mrs Wallace replied, handing her a small glass. ‘Do stay a moment.’
‘Says you are quite a clever lass!’ Professor Wallace continued, slurring his speech a little. ‘A stout heart with a keen sense of justice. Thomas says you even helped catch a criminal once or twice!’
The scholars looked up in interest at his words. ‘Do tell,’ said Mr Quayle.
‘Oh, there’s not so much to those stories,’ she demurred, taking a tiny sip of her sherry.
‘I met her because she had discovered a cipher. On a dead body, no less!’ Professor Wallace enthused. ‘Can you imagine such a thing?’
The scholars all looked impressed and began to clamour for more details. Conscious of her host’s expectant smile, Lucy hid a sigh. Entertain us, Lucy, she could almost hear the mathematician say.
When she didn’t speak, Professor Wallace jumped in. ‘Someone tried to make his death look like a suicide by hanging him at the crossroads. And he had a secret message on his person.’
Lucy’s heart sank. She wasn’t sure that Duncan would like this information to be so publicly known. She
looked at Mrs Wallace’s face which had turned a little red at her husband’s words.
‘I think we’ve bothered poor Lucy enough for tonight, don’t you think?’ she said. ‘Lucy, would you come with me? There’s something I wanted to show you before you leave. If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen.’ Grabbing Lucy’s wrist, she led her out of the room.
To her surprise, Mrs Wallace led her up the stairs to her own bedchamber and sat down on her bed. ‘I have something to tell you,’ she whispered, looking about to burst, ‘and I didn’t want to take the chance of anyone overhearing. The true reason I asked you here tonight!’
‘What is it?’ Lucy asked.
Mrs Wallace grasped both her hands, pulling her down beside her on the bed, looking like a delighted child. ‘I found it, Lucy!’ she exclaimed. ‘Would you believe it? I scarcely can believe it myself.’
‘Found what?’
‘The key to the cipher!’
‘What? Where did you get it?’ Lucy asked, gripping the top of a chair to keep herself steady. Excitement was making it hard for her to breathe. Would they be able to decode the messages? Would they learn the secret of the murder?
Mrs Wallace spoke quickly. ‘I’m not proud to tell you this, but I searched my husband’s possessions again and found it hidden away among his belongings.’ She made a disgusted face. ‘I didn’t want to say before, but I have had the oddest feeling that they might still be corresponding using the cipher. Even if they weren’t, I did not think that he could bear to get rid of something she created.’ She sighed. ‘I was right in this regard, even though I most desperately wish I were not. See how it’s torn there? I think he started to destroy it but then changed his mind and kept it hidden away instead.’
Seeing Mrs Wallace brush away a tear, Lucy looked down at her feet. Secrets between a husband and wife always brought ill will, she’d come to discover.
‘Let us not mind that,’ Mrs Wallace said, pressing a piece of paper into Lucy’s hands.
Lucy looked down at the paper, rolling it between her thumb and fingers, noting that it was a finer quality than the paper they used to print broadsides and ballads. The sheet, which had been ripped diagonally in half, contained rows of hand-printed letters and symbols. ‘This is the cipher? How do we make sense of it?’
Mrs Wallace’s face fell. ‘I don’t quite know. From hearing my husband talk about ciphers, I believe that these letters get substituted. Therefore, if you see a letter M in the message, you look at the cipher and it tells you that an M is really a J and then you write down J, and so forth.’
Lucy nodded. That made sense. ‘I shall look at it more closely later. Thank you, Mrs Wallace.’
‘Please, Lucy. As I instructed the other day, call me Joanna. Somehow, these last few conversations with you, I feel we’ve become friends,’ Mrs Wallace said, sounding hesitant. ‘I do not have many friends, you see. My husband spends so much time with his books and his scholar friends. Miss de Witte was a friend once …’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Thank you, J–Joanna,’ she said, stumbling slightly. She felt she was crossing into a world that had always seemed so distant to her. ‘I have something to tell you as well,’ she said briskly, trying to change the mood. ‘As you know, we went to Hoddesdon, and we located the coaching inn where Miss de Witte’s brother was murdered.’
Mrs Wallace raised an eyebrow. ‘I was wondering why you went to Hoddesdon. A rather morbid pastime to indulge in, Lucy.’
Was her tone faintly scolding? Lucy hastened to explain. ‘When I saw the portrait, I was struck by the fact that he had been painted wearing a ring that was very much akin to a ring the corpse had been wearing on a chain around his neck. It’s an unusual piece, and the coincidence was too much to be borne.’
‘So you set out to Hoddesdon to discover the connection? Lucy, I am ever impressed with your resourcefulness. Pray tell, what did you learn?’
Lucy quickly recounted the tale, and then showed Mrs Wallace the ballad she’d traded with the bookseller. ‘We did learn from the servant there that Philip Emerson took Hammett’s ring off Eleanor’s finger and fled with it. How, then, did it get around the neck of the dead man?’
Mrs Wallace pondered the question. ‘Philip must have given it to Mr Corbyn. Or Mr Corbyn stole it. Or—’
‘Or what?’ Lucy asked.
‘Or Miss de Witte gave it to him. I believe that she demanded the ring back from the authorities during Philip’s trial. She convinced the judge at the time that it was hers, because it had belonged to her deceased brother, as part of his property.’
‘Wouldn’t such a ring be considered the property of the betrothed?’ Lucy asked. ‘Wasn’t it considered the property of Ellie Browning, or, more accurately, her brothers?’
‘I don’t know if Eleanor’s brothers made a claim for it. I believe, if I recall correctly, that Lucretia even used the portrait of her brother wearing the ring as evidence that it belonged to her. If the ring was returned to Lucretia, could she in turn have given it to Mr Corbyn? That would mean she had been in contact with him.’ Mrs Wallace shook her head. ‘How would they have known each other?’
‘This makes me think that Miss de Witte was involved in some way,’ Lucy said, opening the cipher again. ‘It is too much of a coincidence otherwise, don’t you think? The presence of a message using her cipher already suggests this. The ring is still a mystery. I wish there were a way to find out if she did get the ring back in the first place. If so, was the ring then stolen from her or did she give it to Mr Corbyn?’ Lucy stood up. ‘I must head home now. Master Aubrey will be wondering what has happened to me. I imagine that you must get back to your guests. I am glad that Professor Wallace was so happy with the books I provided to him.’
‘Lucy,’ Mrs Wallace said, embracing her. Lucy could feel her trembling. ‘I trust you with the cipher. But I beg of you, do not share the messages my husband exchanged with that woman. I should be mortified if they fall into other hands. It chagrins me greatly to think of you reading his loving words to another woman. Pray, just use it for the message found upon that poor soul’s body.’
‘I can’t believe that I have the cipher,’ Lucy whispered to herself, clutching her cloak against the chill. The cipher was tucked carefully into her pocket hidden beneath her skirts. ‘I’ll start working on deciphering the messages as soon as I’ve completed my evening chores. I just hope they are not in a language I can’t read, such as Latin or Greek.’
As she walked, the light from the lantern caused the shadows around her to skip and dance. It was then that she realized how silent and solitary the street was. At eight o’clock, most of the buyers and sellers had long found their way home. The fog that had been drifting in all day was now thick and oppressive. She could barely see a few feet in any direction. She stopped abruptly, suddenly confused by her surroundings. She held her lamp higher, trying to get a sense of the landmarks around her. Did I make a wrong turn?
She began to move back in the same direction from which she’d come when the sound of a step behind caused her to whirl around. ‘Is s–someone there?’ she asked.
No one answered, and Lucy began to walk quickly again, hoping this time that she had regained the correct direction. A moment later, she heard another step behind her and she stopped abruptly. The sound stopped too, causing a chill to run over her. ‘Don’t be a goose, Lucy,’ she whispered. ‘There’s nothing—’
Suddenly, a strong hand clapped over her mouth, silencing her panicked scream. She began to struggle with all her might, elbowing and kicking, and trying to shout. The assailant’s other hand closed itself around her neck, pressing against her windpipe, and her mad struggles increased. She tried to bite the hand at her mouth. ‘Hush. I don’t want to kill you,’ someone growled into her ear, a harsh throaty voice. Was it a man or a woman? She couldn’t tell. ‘I will, though, if you interfere again.’
‘Mmmfff!’ was all she could utter in response.
‘Next time—’ The menacing words
ceased at the sound of a crashing noise at the end of the street. Then, just as suddenly as the person had accosted her, she was released.
She slumped to the ground, still gasping and holding her hand to heart as the person ran away. Who was her assailant? Dev? Had her visit to the Two Doves Inn prompted this? She shuddered, still feeling the hands wrapped around her mouth and neck. Had he followed her all the way from Hoddesdon? Suddenly, she felt ill and wanted to lie down in the middle of the dirty London street.
Forcing herself to move, she stood up. Don’t think about this now, she scolded herself. Get back to Master Aubrey’s. She heard the same crashing sound she’d heard before, causing her to jump. As the fog broke, she could see some dogs licking at a tin of slops that had been thrown out of a tavern. In that moment, she realized where she was and took off, not even bothering to brush off her cloak or skirts, running all the way back to Master Aubrey’s without stopping.
NINETEEN
Next time. Lucy could still hear the harsh voice in her ear, and she swallowed, putting her hands to her throat. She could still feel the impression of the person’s hands there. An hour had passed since she had arrived back at Master Aubrey’s and her trembling was growing worse. She was supposed to be washing the supper dishes, but she had to stop, for fear she’d drop and break them all. ‘Lucy, get a hold of yourself,’ she said, after splashing cold water on her face. ‘You’ve got the cipher. Focus on that! Soon you’ll learn what that message says once and for all.’ When the trembling didn’t abate, she took a few swallows from a jug of red wine that Master Aubrey kept in the storeroom.
She hadn’t told the others what had happened. She thought about it and very nearly did so. Then she thought about how they’d react. Will would demand that she stop her investigations, and Master Aubrey might start confining her movements for fear that she might be harmed. What would that mean for her life as a bookseller? No, she’d decided. Too much was at stake. I wasn’t harmed and I’ll just be more observant.
The Sign of the Gallows Page 16