The Masque of a Murderer
Page 15
“Let him stop punishing the Quakers,” Gervase agreed, making a dramatic flourish with his hands.
Lucy stood up then. “I am so sorry that you will not return home,” she said, blinking back tears. She left the room quickly.
She had walked only a short way down the corridor when Sarah called her name. Lucy did not turn around.
“Lucy!” Sarah whispered fiercely, grabbing her arm. “Dost thou not apprehend why I am here?”
“I understand what you just said and—”
“No, you do not!” Sarah interrupted. “I have moved to Esther Whitby’s home because I am worried about her. She is the widow of my dear friend. I believe the Lord has called me to protect her.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Why did you not tell your father this? Or Adam?”
“I know that if I were to tell them that I had been moved to protect Esther against an impostor, Father would remove me for certain.” She searched Lucy’s face. “Can you not see how terrible it would be for the Friends if one of them were forcibly removed by a magistrate? I fear that the uneasy truce would be gone.”
At Lucy’s nod, she continued. “If there is an impostor here, he or she must be led to understand that I have spurned my father.” She took Lucy’s hand. “Thou wert present when Jacob had me promise to keep his wife safe from harm.”
Miserably, Lucy nodded again. “The deathbed promise,” she whispered, feeling the goose bumps prickle across her flesh.
“If thou must call it that, yes,” Sarah said. “I think of it as a promise to a friend. A last promise to a man that I … once loved.”
Lucy stared at her. Sarah went on, her voice lowering more. “Thou said it thyself—Esther Whitby could be in danger. To think that someone close to her could wish her ill turns my stomach. Thou canst see how good and kind she is.” She paused, looking up and down the quiet hallway. “Some of the people whom Esther calls her ‘dear acquaintances,’ I do not think are so dear at all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some of the men watch her hungrily. Sam, Gervase, Devin—other men, too. I fear this hunger toward her. Men do desperate things when they are consumed by such passions.”
“She is a beautiful woman,” Lucy said thoughtfully. “Gervase is unmarried, I know. But I have met the other men’s wives.” And their wives are all wan and drab in comparison, she thought, but did not say out loud. “What of the others in her acquaintance? Theodora? Deborah? Ahivah? Do any of them raise a concern for you?”
Sarah wrinkled her brow. “No. Truth be told, I think the danger to Esther comes from another source.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Esther told me that someone has been following her.”
“Who is it?” Lucy whispered.
“An old woman, always carrying a bell. I have seen her myself. Quite a frightful figure, to be sure. Esther was quite beside herself with fear the last time we spied the woman watching the house. Both Devin and Gervase have run her off. Still she returns, lurking—watching.”
Sadie Burroughs! Why was the searcher watching Esther?
Lucy was about to tell Sarah about the searcher when her friend took her hand, changing the topic. “Dearest Lucy,” she said, “I am ever so grateful that thou hast come to see me today. I am sorry that I spoke ill to thee when thou first arrived. Indeed, aside from Joan and Esther, thou art the dearest friend I have.” She sniffed slightly. “I am grateful, too, that thou wert with my family these last few years. I know my father misses thee now. Do not shake thy head, ’tis true.”
For a moment, Sarah stood silently, gazing at a cobweb above the doorframe. “I remember how thou wert the only one who would answer my father’s questions when he would read to the family.” She laughed, looking for a moment like her old self. “I am afraid that my responses used to make him sorely angry with me.” She sighed deeply, returning to the source of her earlier sorrow. “My father and I seem doomed to be at odds. But he must understand that he is asking a fish to live in a tree.”
Joan appeared then, carrying a small steaming kettle with two mugs.
“Child, please do come back inside and sit with us a spell,” she said to Lucy. “Perhaps if thou couldst understand us better, thou might be able to help Sarah’s family understand the people with whom their daughter is now living.”
“Thank you, Joan,” Lucy replied, thinking that if she stayed, she might be able to speak to Ahivah. Or, if she were able, ask Esther about why the searcher might be watching her. “I should very much like to do so.”
They returned to the drawing room. No one commented on Lucy’s return, but they all gave her small welcoming smiles. Now that she no longer seemed to be trying to separate Sarah from them, they were friendly again. Lucy returned their smiles, but vowed silently to remain watchful.
Joan, Theodora, and Ahivah had returned to their sewing. Even Sarah, it seemed, had learned to sew, though Lucy could see that her skill with the needle was even worse than her own. Only Deborah just sat there, halfheartedly pulling a thread through the material when anyone looked in her direction.
Lucy plucked a garment from the workbasket and began to ply a needle. Deborah raised an eyebrow. “Idle hands are the devil’s tools,” Lucy murmured, offering the old adage by way of explanation. It was difficult for her to just sit without doing anything to pass the time, and besides, by sewing she could easily listen to the others without looking like she was doing so.
The next hour passed in a fairly companionable way. Sam first read a passage from the Old Testament, which the others then discussed with some animation. There was something Lucy admired about their ease of speech and the manner in which they listened to each other. What would it be like to be on the outs with society? To always be unwelcome in most communities? Clearly, though, they had each other, which was saying something indeed.
Afterward, they began to discuss what seemed to be typical Quaker business. Recent imprisonments, in London and elsewhere. Petitions that had been written. How the funds, victuals, and clothing they had collected should be dispersed to widows and orphans, or to those temporarily without a parent or spouse. The plight of Quakers still languishing in jail, mostly, it seemed, for nonobservance of the Lord’s Day, for being vagabonds, and for failure to take the Oath. Again and again, the same refrain. “The magistrates are harassing us.”
Unexpectedly, Esther began to speak, an exalted look on her face. “Oh! The mighty power of the Lord broke in amongst us and tendered our hearts,” she called. “So also it hath continued with us unto this day, which I desire may never depart from us!”
Although Lucy did not know what Esther was talking about, the woman’s passion was obvious. The others were all nodding and murmuring, clearly transfixed by her words.
“Let us remember,” Esther proclaimed, “that the preserving hand of the Lord is time after time witnessed to keep us and nourish us, and”—here her voice dropped—“his intent is to do our souls good.” She slumped in her chair then, as if all her energy had been spent.
“Thank you, dear Esther,” Sarah said softly. “I needed thy words.”
As the room had begun to darken, Esther moved a candle closer so that she could better see her stitches. In the candlelight, her features took on an ethereal quality, enhancing her beauty, and the outline of her form could be seen through the thin garment she was wearing.
The effect was not lost on the others in the room, or at least not the men. Sam, Gervase, and Devin all seemed to be stealing glances at her, their faces displaying a shared longing. Lucy thought about how Sarah had described the men’s attention toward Esther. They did look ravenous.
Unbidden, a phrase from a popular merriment popped into Lucy’s head: The rich Widow weeps with one eye and casts glances with the other.
Esther Whitby certainly was not rich. Could she be planning to marry again? Such was the expectation, even when there were no children who required a father. For her part, however, Esther seemed oblivious of the men’s sudden attention.
This seemed like a good moment to speak to Ahivah. Lucy turned to her, asking quietly, “May I ask you a question? Is Ahivah your given name?”
The woman smiled sadly, shaking her head no.
“She does not speak,” Joan said.
“My aunt cannot speak,” Deborah corrected. “Ahivah’s name was given to her by the Lord, when she became his handmaiden.”
Seeing Lucy’s puzzled look, Joan explained, “Like the ancient prophet who spoke to Jeroboam the king of Jerusalem, our sister Ahivah shared her vision with the king. She became known to him as the Woman in White.”
Lucy nodded. This she knew. “I have seen tracts that speak of her prophecies and warnings,” she ventured, looking casually around.
Joan nodded eagerly. “Her warnings must still be heard, even though she can no longer speak.”
“Ripped out her tongue, they did,” Deborah said. She sounded almost triumphant.
“What?” Lucy stared at them, putting her hand to her mouth, feeling the bile rise in her throat.
Ahivah gave her a gentle smile. Then she spread her lips, baring her yellow teeth. Slowly, she opened her jaw as wide as she could. Where her tongue should have been was a great gaping hole.
Gasping, Lucy could not keep herself from shrinking back from the horrifying sight. “What—whatever happened?” she exclaimed. “Who did that to you?”
“A Boston magistrate.” Deborah shrugged again. “One of the many who are frightened of the Truth.”
The Quakers around her all murmured their thanks to the Lord in response.
Joan then addressed Lucy directly. “Didst thou know, my child, that when the Anglican priests fled their pulpits, ’twas the Quakers who stayed, preaching to the sick and the dying?”
Lucy murmured something but did not know what she said, still shocked by what she had just witnessed. Unheeding, Joan continued on about the early Quaker preachers. The Valiant Sixty, she called them.
As Joan spoke, Lucy watched Esther stretch and stand up, moving to close the shutters. For a moment she stood in the window, her face beautifully illuminated by the candlelight.
Then, as Lucy watched, Esther’s face changed, taking on a fearful expression. Her knuckles clenched as she gripped the shutter. Gervase, who had been watching her, moved beside her and peered out the window as well.
“That woman!” Lucy heard Esther whisper to Gervase, her voice shaking a bit. “She is back. Why does she plague me so?” She had started to tremble as well.
“I will take care of her,” Gervase replied in a low tone. “Stay here.” She saw him turn toward Sam and nod.
The two men left the room then. Esther stayed by the window, looking anxiously outside. Lucy slipped out as well, murmuring something about needing the privy.
As silently as she could, Lucy tiptoed out and opened the front door, hoping that no one would see her. Her cloak was still in the other room where she had left it, so she shivered deeply in the chilly March air.
She looked up and down the quiet street. It had grown terribly foggy, and she could only just make out three figures. They appeared to be talking, but she was too far away to hear them. She wanted to draw closer, except she was worried that someone would notice her absence. As she went back into Esther’s house, she heard a bell ring, its tinny sound almost lost in the rising wind.
Shutting the door behind her, she ran into Deborah, who was coming from the direction of the kitchen.
“Were you outside?” Deborah asked curiously. Lucy noticed that she did not use the Quaker’s plain address. “Whatever were you doing, without your cloak?”
“Just wanted a breath of fresh air,” Lucy replied as pleasantly as she could, all the while wishing the young woman would lower her voice.
“Oh, don’t I know it!” Deborah replied. “It’s stuffy in here, all right. I would not be here a minute if I did not have to be.”
“Do you have to be here?” Lucy asked. “Can you not leave? I thought Quakers roam as they please, following their conscience.”
A curious flutter crossed the young Quaker’s face. “Well, I have nowhere better to go. Not received the calling and all that. Besides, my aunt Ahivah needs me here.” She looked down at Lucy’s boots. “I wish I had boots like yours. I just have these old things.” She kicked disdainfully at her somber buckled shoes.
“My brother gave them to me,” Lucy said, growing more curious about the young woman. Although she did not know too many Quakers, surely most did not admit to coveting the worldly possessions of others. “Have you been a Quaker long?”
Deborah shrugged. “A while, I suppose. Well, a few months. Or has it been a year? I cannot rightfully recall.” Unexpectedly, she gave Lucy an impudent wink.
“Deborah!” Joan called to her as she descended the stairs. “Please come in.”
Esther came out behind her. “We are about to start readying for supper now. Lucy, wouldst thou care to join us? Though it be meager fare, thou art most welcome to stay.”
“Thank you. You are most kind. I fear, though, I must return to Master Aubrey’s to fix his evening meal. Lach has likely burnt the roast, which will make my master very cross indeed.”
“We do not want thy printer to be cross. One day, perhaps, thou wilt not have to call another man your master.” Esther smiled, and then, to Lucy’s surprise, the woman embraced her warmly. “Thou art welcome any time. Sarah has said that thou wert once like a sister to her. I know we should be very glad to see that dear acquaintance resumed.”
To her delight, Sarah smiled at her as well. “Any time, Lucy. Thou art a good friend, and as Esther says, a sister, too. Let us not have my differences with my father come between us.” As they embraced, Lucy felt a glad tiding rising in her heart.
Moving from the warm companionable house into the increasingly blustery wind, she felt something that was almost akin to loss. What would it be like to experience such companionship? Such friendship? Such a sense of spiritual equals? Pulling her cloak closer, Lucy could only wonder.
* * *
A heavy fog had descended, making the narrow street far darker and more fearful than she expected. She was thinking about returning to the Whitbys’ home and requesting a lantern when two figures emerged at the end of the road. Since the dark often brought out cutthroats and thieves, she thought it prudent not to draw attention. Lucy pressed herself behind a tree, thinking to let the figures pass her by before she resumed her journey home.
As they drew nearer, she recognized Sam and Gervase, conversing in low tones. She was about to step from her hiding place when she caught a snippet of their conversation.
“I am rather afraid that Sarah’s companion, Lucy, has learned something she ought not to have,” she heard Sam say. “We must hope she will not tell the magistrate.”
Lucy felt the blood drain from her face. What was it they thought she knew? Their next words made her almost fall, and it was all she could do to refrain from shaking. She was wary of cracking a single stick beneath her feet.
“Esther seems to trust her. So we must, too. At least thou hast dealt with that searcher,” Gervase said. “The nonsense that woman speaks!”
“Oh, the Lord will stop her evil tongue,” Sam replied, tapping his leg. The two men were within three feet of her now. “Of that, we can be certain.”
To her surprise, Gervase laughed then, a deep, resonant sound. “That is so.”
As they moved away from her, Gervase spoke again, sounding more serious. “Sam, let us stay silent about thy dealings with the searcher,” he said. “I should not like to further burden our sister Esther, for she is already quite overcome with grief and fear. She might not understand what thou hast done.”
Sam said something, but Lucy lost his words in the wind. She stared at the retreating f
igures, sickened by what she had heard. It was all she could do to refrain from running to the door and demanding Sarah return with her. Instead, she stumbled away, with only glimpses of the moon to guide her home.
13
As she waited for Annie to meet her at Covent Garden the next day, Lucy could not dispel the sense of unease she’d been feeling since leaving the Quakers. The conversation she had overheard between Gervase and Sam disturbed her greatly. Several times during the night, she had thought about writing a note, but she did not know what to say, or, truth be told, whether she should send it to Adam or Duncan or one to each man. So she sent no notes at all.
Even the first hints of spring could not lift her low mood. Most of the recent snow and slush had finally disappeared. The temperature was milder, the great fog had finally lifted, and the sun was shining brighter than it had in days.
Idly, she watched a woman heavy with child trying to sell letter-writing supplies to passersby who were largely ignoring her. Since the Fire, the city was still in desperate need of poor relief, more than what the parishes could provide.
“Buy a wax or wafers!” the woman called breathlessly, the loud chant obviously a strain to her body. Wincing, she put a hand to her back, brushing away a tear. Catching Lucy’s eye, she asked weakly, “Buy a pen, miss?”
Lucy sighed. The woman was unlikely to be licensed by the Stationers Company, yet given her state, Lucy could not bring herself to turn away from her pleading gaze. Without thoroughly examining them, Lucy bought one pen for a penny.
Annie came up then, nearly colliding with a woman carrying a basket of hot coddlings in her haste. As they began to walk among the stalls and carts, Annie’s bright chatter helped dispel Lucy’s anxious feelings.
Finally Annie realized that her conversation was one-sided. “Lucy, what ails you?” she asked.
“I am terribly worried about Sarah,” Lucy confided.
Annie’s face fell. “I still can’t believe that Miss Sarah has gone to live with the Quackers, I mean, Quakers.” Her voice dropped. That Sarah had defied the magistrate in such a fashion clearly still awed Annie.