The Masque of a Murderer (15 page)

“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 horse 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.

Theodora and Joan remained near, moving among the other graves, talking quietly. Seeing this, Sarah began to do the same. Fallen acquaintances, Lucy thought.

Esther was still standing silently, watching the hole get slowly filled. She had stepped back to give the men more space to work. Lucy seized the opportunity to speak to Esther, repeating condolences for both her recent losses.

Esther gave her a grateful smile. “Indeed, I will pray much for my soul to be replenished.”

Lucy took a deep breath. “Did you know your husband’s sister, Miss Julia Whitby, very well?” she asked.

Esther shook her head. “No, I met her only once.”

“I suppose no one else here knew her either?” Lucy asked.

Esther gave a short laugh. “Hardly.” She looked at Lucy curiously. “Thou hast many questions.”

“Several years ago, a dear friend of mine was murdered,” Lucy said carefully. As she spoke those words, she felt a clenching in her heart and gut that she feared would never go away. “I still think about her all the time.” Lucy struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill.

Seeing this, Esther patted her hand. “I’m truly sorry for thy heartbreak. ’Tis a terrible shame that such monsters walk among us. How sorrowful I am that my husband’s family has had to bear such loss and misfortune.”

“The constable thinks Miss Julia may have known her murderer,” Lucy said softly. “Or, at least, that she may have been known to her murderer.”

Jacob’s widow looked taken aback. “Indeed?” she said. “I did not know that.” Then she looked at Lucy curiously. “Why ever would he think that, dost thou suppose?”

Esther must not know of the scold’s mask, Lucy realized, or its possible implications. “I’m not certain,” she said, not wanting to disclose more information than the constable had already given her. Improvising, she added, “I believe that they found her pocket still upon her person. The constable didn’t think she had been robbed.”

“So her murderer wasn’t in pursuit of her money,” Esther mused. She leaned in toward Lucy. “Was her person otherwise violated?”

Lucy shook her head, feeling the heat rise slightly in her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully, kicking a stick from the stone path. “The constable did not tell me.”

“Nor should he have.” Esther clucked her tongue. “My poor sister-in-law. My husband always spoke fondly of her. It wasn’t she who had banished him from his home. That was their
father,
” she said, practically spitting out the last word. “He would never understand that we had been called to the Lord, to spread our Inner Light.”

“I’m so sorry that he was banished from his family home,” Lucy murmured. She could not help but glance at Sarah when she said this.

Esther must have followed her thinking. “Sister Sarah must find following her conscience to be particularly troublesome, given that her father is a magistrate.” Her violet eyes were kind, troubled.

“I have been worried,” Lucy confided softly, “that Miss Sarah and her father will grow divided, as so many Quakers seem to have become divided from their fathers.” Thinking that the conversation was turning a tad too personal, though, Lucy changed the topic. “Will someone be staying with you?” she asked.

“I imagine that Deborah and her aunt would like to stay. Perhaps Joan, too. I am glad for the company.” Her eyes glistened. “Indeed, I will do as the Lord commands me. Recently, I have felt called to a new conviction. I will likely accompany the others when they return to the New World. They wish to leave in a fortnight, if the Lord permits.” Esther hesitated. “Truth be told, I do not rightfully know. I am a bit afraid of such a venture. Yet I will do as the Lord wishes.”

Maybe this would be the right time to reveal what her husband had whispered on his deathbed. “Do you feel safe? With them?” Lucy held her breath.

“Safe?” Esther looked puzzled. “Certainly. They took me in when I had no one. Why?”

“Oh, the journeys just seem so long and terrible. You must take care that you choose companions with whom you may travel safely.” Lucy broke off, uncertain how to continue. She could not simply say,
There is one among your acquaintance who may be a murderer, and you’d best take care.

Esther searched her face. “Why dost thou feel concerned for my safety? Is there something thou know? Something the constable may have said?”

“No, no,” Lucy said hurriedly, seeing that the others were drawing near. “It’s just that I worry for Miss Sarah’s safety, when she travels with the others. She is unmarried, unprotected. I worry whether her traveling companions will be faithful to her. Whether they will watch over her and shield her.” She gulped, hearing her long-standing fears expressed. “I imagine your husband would have been worried for you, too.”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Esther agreed, dabbing at her eyes with a bit of linen. “Thy words are true. Jacob was always anxious that some harm would come to me. I can’t imagine how worried he would be if he knew.” With a rueful laugh, she touched Lucy’s arm. “I know he trusted and loved Sister Sarah, long before he knew me. Perhaps she and I could look after one another, even as we trust in the Lord to guide our path. Certainly that is what my husband wanted. I should do more to make sure his dying wish is fulfilled.”

Sarah approached them then, a middle-aged man following her. He was one of the men who had gathered around them silently when Jacob was interred. Lach stepped out of the building as well and moved toward them, untying his pack as he walked.

“Lucy,” Sarah said, “this is one of the Quaker printers. Robert Wilson. He’s just arrived back in London. I told him that you were apprenticed to Horace Aubrey and that you and Lach had brought some tracts to trade.”

Lucy opened her pack and began to untie the small interior sacks to show the printer what they had brought. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Esther walking off with Sarah, returning to the warmth of the Quakers’ building. Jacob’s widow had drawn Sarah’s arm into her own, and the two were pressed companionably together, their heads bent in what seemed to be a closely whispered conversation.

Seeing their intimacy, Lucy felt a twinge of misgiving. Suddenly, she wanted to grab Sarah’s hand and drag her forcibly from the group. Wanted to pull her back to the magistrate’s home, where she would be protected and safe. Instead, Lucy remained silent and watchful as Esther opened the door to the Quaker house and the two women disappeared inside.

Hearing the printer cough, Lucy turned her attention back to the exchange. “I suppose you’ve known these Quakers well,” she asked idly, her thoughts still on Sarah.

The printer was glancing through an Anabaptist tract. “Hmmm,” he muttered, flipping through the pages before handing it back to her. “I knew Jacob Whitby and Sam Leighton a long while. Both good men. A few of the others from the meeting. Sam’s wife. Joan. Ahivah. I had never met her niece, though. Still a few I didn’t know. Say, do you have any pieces that might be a little more … entertaining?”

Reaching into her pack, Lucy pulled out another small sack. Hesitating, she untied it and handed the printer the stack of tracts and ballads neatly packed inside. She studied the printer. “Are you interested in that one?” she asked in surprise.

Master Wilson was now examining
The Rogue’s Masque,
a play about the romps that had been orchestrated in the court of a barely veiled King Charles. She’d brought along only a few of the merriments in case she had a chance to sell in the market on her return.

The printer grinned. He had a friendly twinkle in his eyes that Lucy liked. “Yes, I enjoy merry romps such as these. Rest assured, I will sell these to others than those present here. I’ll take this one, too.” He pointed to one of the murder ballads she’d kept at the bottom of the pack. “Everyone loves a good murder,” he said, winking at her. “I have heard your own master say that on many occasions.”

Lucy nodded. That was certainly one of Master Aubrey’s favorite expressions. “You said you didn’t know all the Quakers who were here today?”

Master Wilson shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know his widow all that well, although I had met her. That man Gervase. Deborah. Your friend,” he said, nodding his head toward the meetinghouse that Sarah had just entered.

“Oh, she and Joan only just returned to London. They were traveling in the New World.”

“Well, that explains it, then. Usually I get to know them at meeting. Though they must have all been recently convinced. All right now, let’s make our exchange.”

He pulled out a number of Quaker tracts and pamphlets from a peddler’s sack that looked remarkably similar to Lucy’s own. “We’ve had little success printing since the Fire, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “These are some we saved before we lost everything.”

Lucy glanced at them. She could tell that they had been handled more than the ones she sold. Most likely, he’d already passed them out among the Quakers so that they could read them, but had collected them back, hoping to make a few coins. Spying two that were familiar, she seized them with a sharp intake of breath. Humphrey Smith’s
Vision of London
and
A Lamentable Warning to London and Its Inhabitants.
She had found copies of these two tracts in the chest in Julia Whitby’s bedchamber. “I’ll take these,” she said.

Lach raised an eyebrow, but to her surprise did not say anything, although he watched her closely.

“Excellent eye, my dear,” the printer said, giving her an approving nod. “Those two tracts sell extremely well to Quakers and non-Quakers alike. Not as well as murder sells, perhaps, but visionary tales can be difficult to resist.”

“I do not suppose you would remember who had recently bought either of these from you?” she asked with little hope.

The man threw his hands in the air. “Heavens no, lass. Do
you
remember who you sell to when you are out and about?” When she shook her head, he chuckled. “I thought as much. Although—” He paused. “Now that you have pressed me, I do remember who mustered up a coin for them.”