She stared at him. ‘No.’
‘Damn it, Mercia, from what you say they may not even be murders. Or at least, nothing other than an Indian killing and a …’ He trailed off.
‘I have said it before. Clemency did not commit suicide. And now I have proof.’ She picked up Vic’s cloth, unfolding the dirty rag to hold it against the light, waiting for the inevitable reaction.
It took a moment. ‘But that is … just like the one Winthrop showed us in Hartford.’ He looked at her. ‘The code on the old minister.’
‘Indeed.’ She pivoted to face him, letting the cloth dangle at her side. ‘It is exactly as I have been saying. Clemency was murdered, and this shows it.’
‘Just because—’
‘Two people dead, both with a strange message found on their bodies. A rather obvious sign, don’t you think?’
He scratched the back of his neck. ‘You may be right. But it would mean the minister was murdered as well.’
‘Yes, and I wager the same man killed poor Hopewell Quayle.’
‘Was a similar code found on him?’
‘Not in public. Lavington was very keen for the body to be removed, and without Nicholas’s help.’ She dropped the cloth on the table. ‘Vic would not say, but I suspect he may have given Lavington the code he found on Clemency, and was told to keep quiet. Then last night, Lavington was trying to stop anybody finding one on Hopewell.’
‘Why?’
‘To protect his town from a scandal, perhaps. Sometimes people refuse to believe the obvious when the truth is too terrible.’
He glanced down at the cloth. ‘So what now? Confront him?’
‘He will merely continue to dissemble. We need further proof.’ She inclined her head. ‘Like … another code.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You aren’t thinking …? No. Don’t answer. I know damn well what you’re thinking.’
‘The body was taken to Lavington’s backyard. If the body was there, then any message will have been at the house too. If it is there, we need to find it before he has a chance to destroy it. Assuming he has not already.’
‘Mercia, wait.’ He held up his hand. ‘Just wait. Do you not think, perhaps, this is something you need not be involved in? It is not a game, Mercia, it is a dangerous concern of a dangerous man. You do not need to put yourself in his way.’ He folded his arms. ‘No. I want you to leave.’
She looked him in the eye, concealing all trace of emotion. ‘Nathan, you are not my husband. Even if you were, you could not make me go.’
He stepped back, stung. ‘I thought maybe we …’ He looked away. ‘Very well. Forget about us if you want. But do not forget you have a son.’
An unexpected anger suddenly rose, shattering her calm facade. ‘My son is my life, Nathan. My life. Why the hell else am I in America at all? But nobody here seems to care for justice, for the truth, for honour, and what in God’s name kind of mother would I be, if when he is older I cannot teach him by my own example that those are noble qualities he must teach to those who will follow him, and that it is possible to make a difference in this world if we but try to overcome those who seek to thwart them?’
She stood defiant, breathing hard, her eyes boring into his. But he held her gaze as proudly as she did.
‘Very well. We will stay a while longer, if we can. But this time, I will help. Starting with that third code, if it exists.’
She nodded, the emotion still pumping. ‘Thank you.’
‘I am sorry for my words, but … I love you, Mercia. All I want is for you to be safe.’
‘I know.’ She looked at him kindly, and then away, her thoughts already elsewhere.
Chapter Eighteen
Lavington’s house rose up before them, the grandest in the village, occupying the central plot of the southern thoroughfare. The smithy yard was empty as they walked past; Mercia thought she could see Vic leaning against the south gate, watching the few townsfolk still milling in the meadow, their great agitation overshadowing them all.
‘What are they doing?’ said Nathan, craning his neck to see.
She scoffed. ‘Admiring their handiwork.’
She took advantage of the street’s emptiness to dart down the side of the property, aiming for the back door that led to the conjoined laboratory she had seen on her previous visit. Peering briefly behind her, she opened the door and stole inside, making sure nobody was there.
‘This brings back memories,’ whispered Nathan, easing shut the door. The silence inside was eerie, even oppressive.
She grunted. ‘Not quite the same as breaking into Halescott Manor.’ Nathan sighed and she softened her tone. ‘Shall we look around?’
He moved to her left. ‘Mercia, this is part of a residence. There will be no dead body here.’
‘No, it will be long gone – I hope. But if there was a note on the body, Lavington may have brought that here, where he works.’ She moved off, vaguely surprised at how cold she could sound in the face of a man’s death, but she shrugged to herself and surveyed the laboratory benches. They were strewn with an unruly mass of parchment and notes.
She took a shallow breath. ‘This could take some time.’
Thirty minutes passed. It seemed as though they had scoured only a small percentage of the documents in the laboratory, their haste not aided by the great care they were taking to replace everything as they found it – a corner of a parchment overhanging the edge of a shelf here, a precariously balanced quill pen returned on the same diagonal there. Nor did it speed matters that they were forever pausing to listen for a creak or a call announcing someone’s return.
‘This will take for ever,’ said Nathan, repositioning an inkwell. ‘Lavington has more parchment and books than even your father ever had.’
‘Father was certainly more methodical.’ Mercia stopped, inadvertently drumming the fingers of her left hand on Lavington’s wooden desk. ‘Let’s think about this. If we were Lavington, and wanted to keep something hidden, what would we do with it?’
‘A code on a piece of paper? Burn it.’
‘That is not helpful.’ She sucked in her lip. ‘But you may be right.’
Five minutes more of fruitless search passed. She was flicking through a ream of indecipherable alchemical correspondence – Winthrop’s handwriting she thought – when she heard a cough.
‘Nathan,’ she cautioned. ‘Keep quiet.’
‘Mercia.’
She ignored him, replacing the enigmatic notes and turning to a thick leather-bound volume stuffed with jagged bits of paper.
‘Mercia,’ he repeated.
Her hand on the tome, she looked up at him and frowned. He gestured with a nod to look behind her. She tensed as she realised they were no longer alone.
‘Ah,’ she said as she turned. ‘This is not … I mean, we are not—’
‘Nosing around?’ Percy Lavington stood before her, his left thumb tucked into the side of his breeches. In his other hand he held a dirty scrap of parchment.
‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘That is, this is not how it appears.’
‘Yes, it is. I know exactly what you are doing.’ His face impassive, he held up the parchment. ‘You are searching for this.’
In Amery Oldfield’s cottage, an evening meeting was in session. On one side of the small table sat Mercia and Nicholas, the latter now moved back in with the schoolmaster. On the other, squashed across two chairs, a more local trio: Percy, Amery and Kit. Not having rested since his fast ride from Hartford, Nathan had returned to the room he was taking from Nicholas to change his clothes and to supervise the return of their belongings; he would join them later, but for now, laid out on the roughhewn table, the quintet was surveying a foreboding set: a blackened piece of parchment, a fraying cloth, a torn paper. On each was scrawled a jumbled message, each different, but each following the same pattern.
Percy laid a finger on the paper. ‘This is the sequence that was found in George Mason’s pockets,’ he said. ‘This is what you s
ay Vic Smith copied from Clemency.’ He looked at Mercia as his finger hovered over the cloth. ‘And this is what I saw my father find on Hopewell, which I retrieved from the fire before it could burn.’ The parchment. ‘Three messages, and yet no clue as to what they might mean.’
‘No.’ Mercia studied his intelligent face. Although it had been his idea to convene like this, she was still hesitant. ‘But you do concede they show the deaths are linked? That these are murders?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I always suspected they were.’
She sighed. ‘Does no one in this town reveal what they think?’
‘Yes, to each other.’ He smiled, the surprising gesture disarming her frustration. ‘And now to you.’
‘Well … it is good we all see so. What then shall we do about it?’
‘We?’ He broke off his gaze. ‘I am the magistrate’s son, for one, and as neither my father nor most besides we few are convinced we have anything more than an Indian problem—’
‘They do not want to be convinced, you mean.’ She turned to Amery. ‘What say you of this?’
Amery looked at Percy, who gave the slightest nod. ‘We merely think – we three – that in a situation as delicate as this, that it is best to keep matters as contained as we can. The smallest number seen to be acting, the rest offering quiet support.’
‘I see. Does Lavington have a hold on all of you?’
‘My father has nothing to do with this,’ scowled Percy. ‘But everyone knows you only came back because of Clemency. We think you could play to that, while we help behind. It may trip somebody up.’
‘And in the meantime, the glares, the ill will, they all fall on me, on Nicholas. Perhaps the murderer’s wrath, even.’
‘It will not come to that. In the meantime, Amery and I have argued for your staying in Hopewell’s cottage. I will not say father was pleased, but he will not ask you to leave this time.’ He glanced askance at Kit, who was absent-mindedly fiddling with the cord around his neck. ‘And do not forget, I have … other tasks.’
She set her face, well aware what he meant, that he was putting his duty to protect the regicides first, while making clear she needed his support to remain in the town. Yet he knew she would not argue the point in front of Kit: the younger Lavington, it seemed, could be as devious as his father.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We will proceed as you suggest.’
Kit was looking at the code on the blackened parchment. ‘Speaking of your father, you have not explained something. Why he was burning that in the first place.’
Percy’s face clouded over. ‘He will have his reasons. The way he acted, yes it was strange, but he will not talk of it. I refuse to doubt my own parent.’
Amery shuffled in his seat. ‘It will be for the same reason he refuses to acknowledge Clemency’s death. He does not want the people to panic.’
Kit made to reply, but a chill wind rushed in as the front door was pushed open and slammed shut. Anticipating Nathan, Mercia rubbed her thin sleeves for warmth as she looked towards the hall. But then she inclined her head, confused, for he was not alone.
Percy frowned. ‘Why is she here? This is supposed to be a private meeting.’
‘Good evening to you also, Perseverance.’ Remembrance Davison threw back her hood and shook out her hair; her cloak was spotted with water, the tips of her wavy auburn ringlets wet with rain. ‘I would join you, if I may.’
‘We are just talking, Remy.’ There was no welcome in his words. ‘Nothing that will interest you, I am sure.’
‘I see.’ Glancing at Mercia, Remembrance shed her cloak and sat down nonetheless. ‘You will talk to strangers, but not to me.’
‘She wants to help,’ said Nathan, brushing the water from his own jacket. ‘She knows things that could be of use.’
‘To what?’
‘To this.’ He smiled at Mercia in greeting. ‘Her father was the one who found the code on Mason.’
Percy sighed. ‘I suppose that is right.’
‘And I am not foolish, although I know you think it.’ Remembrance held up her head. ‘Clemency and Hopewell both dead within days? And cousins? No, I have thought much on this. I want to help. I accused Clemency of witchcraft, when she was trying to be kind.’ She looked at Nathan, who nodded in encouragement. ‘The morning she was … found … I followed Vic and Amery as they took her body away.’
Amery turned his head. ‘I never noticed. Why?’
‘Out of guilt.’ She swallowed. ‘I felt as if God was judging me for my actions. I could not keep myself away from her.’ Briefly, she closed her eyes. ‘She looked so peaceful, lying out, just as Praise did. Then after you had gone, Amery, I saw Vic find something in her pockets. Father told me not to mind it, that Mr Lavington would make things right.’ Her cheeks reddened, her sorrow vanquished by her visible anger. ‘But when Keme was slaughtered last night, just to see someone blamed for Hopewell …’ She looked at the codes on the table. ‘So this is what Vic found, Nathan, as you said?’
Percy rounded on him. ‘Who else have you told?’
‘Nobody. Just her.’
There was a brief silence. ‘Well,’ said Amery. ‘As Remy is here, I suggest we invite her to stay.’
Percy sucked in his cheek, but then he shrugged. Nathan pulled out the empty stool beside Nicholas, gesturing to Remembrance to sit. Mercia looked between them, wondering how they had come to arrive together, but quickly returned to the matter at hand.
‘These messages.’ She tapped at the table. ‘They were meant to be found. Why?’
Once again, the group studied the strange codes:
RNLENRDFRXSHI O
BNFOWVPSGGJNB .
HDWRVDWMPAQCY
‘A confession?’ said Remembrance.
‘Perhaps. Or an explanation for his reasons. Hopewell and Clemency were both friendly with the Indians, Hopewell particularly.’ She looked at Percy, who was staring at the wall. ‘What of the minister, George Mason? Was he?’
He turned back round. ‘Not especially. He believed in converting them, of course, but he did not think that meant he had to be their friend.’
‘He liked that one Indian well enough,’ said Kit.
‘I do not think—’
‘No.’ Mercia held up a hand. ‘What do you mean, Kit?’
‘I mean,’ Kit leant back, ‘that he had an eye for that Susanna. The Indian woman Humility says you met.’
‘And yet nothing happened,’ pressed Percy, fixing Kit with a penetrating stare.
‘But he was enamoured with her?’ she pursued.
‘I’d say so,’ said Remembrance. ‘Anyone with ears could hear him stumbling over his words at the mere sight of her.’
Kit shook his head. ‘The old fool could not contain his lust. He should have kept to administering to the townsfolk, and then maybe he would still be alive.’
Standing over them, Nathan frowned. ‘Which means what?’
‘Merely that it behoves all men to act as the Lord wishes, Nathan. Preaching men, above all. Mason did not always obey that stricture.’
‘I wonder.’ Nicholas joined the conversation. ‘Hopewell seemed to like his drink well enough. If Mason was lustful, maybe someone in this godly town doesn’t like loose behaviour.’
Nathan scratched his chin. ‘Then what of Clemency?’
The sexually laden letters shot into Mercia’s head, but she was not about to bring them up. ‘’Tis clear many here think she delved in witchcraft,’ she rasped, more forcefully than she intended. Cheeks warming, she tried to soften her tone. ‘Perhaps that was the inducement.’
Remembrance closed her eyes. ‘I should never have accused—’
‘I don’t know,’ interrupted Amery. ‘You are implying someone is passing judgement. And why so violent?’
‘Does it matter?’ said Nicholas. ‘Once we find the bastard we can wring the truth from him then.’
‘Of course it matters.’ Mercia found herself growing fractious. ‘Understandi
ng his reasons may help us save someone else.’
‘Then you think like me, that he could kill again.’ Percy’s voice rose in pitch. ‘If he does, it would be a disaster. The town – my father – it could all fall apart.’
Remembrance’s face had turned pale. ‘Kill again …?’
‘Then shouldn’t we let everyone know?’ Nathan looked at her in concern. ‘Warn them?’
‘Yes.’ Amery arched his fingers. ‘Show them these codes too, as proof.’
‘And scare the town witless?’ Percy shook his head. ‘There would be a panic. Right now people hope this is a suicide, an Indian killing. As soon as they start to think the killer could be one of their own, they will begin to turn, accusing one another. I have seen it happen before, in England, when Cromwell’s regime was at its end. Simple, terrible fear.’
‘And in the meantime the Indians can take the blame,’ said Remembrance. ‘Why should they?’
‘No. We keep this to ourselves.’ He looked around the table. ‘We are agreed?’
Amery hesitated. ‘Percy, are you sure you are not just—?’
‘I asked if we were agreed.’
He sighed. ‘As you wish.’
‘Very well,’ said Mercia, as Remembrance nodded her assent. ‘This is your town. We will stay silent for now. But sometimes fear is what is needed to make people take notice.’
Percy’s head jerked up. ‘Perhaps, Mercia. For now, I would sooner hold fear aside.’
‘The fear of man bringeth a snare,’ observed Kit. ‘But who so putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe.’
‘Scripture, Kit?’ said Amery.
‘You know my views. If we choose to trust in the Lord rather than in our own fallibility, then He may provide us with the answers we seek.’
‘Well here’s my view,’ said Nicholas. ‘’Tis a plain and simple man we’re dealing with here, and whatever his reasons he may already be planning his next attack.’ He leant forward in his seat. ‘And if we don’t act swiftly, some other poor soul could pay a heavy price.’
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