The Masque of a Murderer (30 page)

The carriage was not overly large, and the four of them were seated fairly close together, the magistrate and Lucy on one side, facing the searcher and Constable Duncan on the other. Certainly they were an odd group. Master Hargrave seemed to be deep in thought, and the searcher was watchful. The constable, like Lucy, seemed unwilling to break a silence that had been set by the magistrate.

Though she could not keep her fingers from twiddling in her lap, the steady clip-clopping of the horses began to reassure her somewhat. The forward movement suggested progress.

Still, it was hard to keep desperate thoughts away.
What if we never see Sarah again?
There was no way of knowing what Esther and Gervase might have decided to do with their extra passenger. She thrust the thought away. Right now they could only hope for the best.

Idly, Lucy touched the gleaming polished wood of the carriage door. When she had dreamed of riding in a fine carriage, it was most certainly not for a reason such as this. She glanced at the constable, who, to her surprise, had been watching her.

Duncan grinned wryly. “Today, it is better to ride, I should think,” he said, referring to their recent conversation about the ability to hire a hack when one pleased. Lucy smiled slightly but did not reply.

The magistrate rubbed his hands. “All right, then. Shall we get started?” He leaned forward so that he could look the searcher in her eyes. “I believe, Mrs. Burroughs, that you have something to tell us?”

The searcher grinned at them, revealing the great gaps in her yellow teeth. “I have much to tell. But I am a poor woman, with little to keep me nourished in this world. Day in, day out, I ring this bell, calling for the dead, making only a mean wage from the parish priests.”

“You will tell us what you know,” the constable demanded. “Don’t try your beggarly ways upon us.”

Lucy thought for sure that the magistrate would echo the constable’s sentiment, but instead he pulled out a coin and held it before the woman. Her eyes widened, watching it glitter in the sunshine. She reached out her hand to take it, but Hargrave pulled it up and away from her reach.

“Your testimony had best be truthful, or I shall have you arrested for telling falsehoods to an instrument of the Crown.”

The searcher took the gold coin and placed it in a pocket hanging below her dirty cloak. Before speaking, she first leaned over and spat outside the window.

“The woman you call Esther Grace is my late son’s daughter,” Mrs. Burroughs said. “My son was Edgar Little, the product of my first marriage.”

“She’s your granddaughter?” Lucy exclaimed.

Mrs. Burroughs sniffed. “Perhaps. Years ago, her mother, a lying whore, told my son that the babe was his. So Edgar raised that brat Esther as if she were his own child. Maybe she’s blood-related, but only God knows the truth of it.”

“Esther Whitby said her mother had been a seamstress. That she did piecework,” Lucy recalled, looking at Mrs. Burroughs for confirmation. “And her father—your son?—had worked for a mill, delivering cut linens and wools to seamstresses like her mother.”

The searcher snorted. “Only thing he delivered was dung and piss,” she said with great contempt. Lucy could not tell, though, whether the contempt was directed toward her son, Esther Grace, or even Lucy herself.

“Explain yourself,” the constable growled.

The smile dropped from the searcher’s lips. “My son was a raker.”

Lucy tried in vain to hide the little shiver of disgust that passed through her. Like the searcher, the raker dealt every day with the great filth of the city, living in it, carting all that was disgusting and malevolent away.

“Edgar, though, he loved that little brat. Called her his little flower. Posy, he called her,” the searcher said. “A breath of fresh air she was for him.”

Lucy nodded. Did Lucy herself not carry a posy of dried flowers with her when she peddled, to keep away the disgusting smells of the city? She thought again of the verse on the handkerchief that Deborah had carried, humming the line under her breath.
“She clasped a little posy, a posy full of grace…”

“Yes,” the searcher said, having heard her. “She dropped the ‘Posy’ later, though. Began calling herself Grace, even though she whored herself out.” She leaned sideways, toward Lucy. The woman’s hands clenched. “She killed my son, she did, and never one lick of remorse from her either.” Pursing her lips, she turned away from the others.

“What? She killed her own father?” Lucy asked. “Why ever would she do such a thing?”

“Though beautiful on the outside, there is a black venom that runs through her veins,” the searcher replied with a disdainful shrug.

“So you do not know why she did it?” the magistrate asked drily.

“I am saying that you will have to ask the bitch yourself,” the searcher said. “I for one would very much like to know why she did it.”

Something was still bothering Lucy. “Mrs. Burroughs, you told me before that Julia Whitby had sought you out, to ask you about Basil Townsend’s murder,” she said. “How did she know that you—of all people—would know anything about it?”

“Never said such a thing,” the searcher said smugly.

“You did!” Lucy said hotly. “I know you told me so. You admitted that you were the one who had sent her the sketch of Mr. Townsend’s murdered corpse. Please”—she looked at Duncan—“I know she is lying.”

“I am not lying!” the searcher said. “That is not how it happened.”

“All right,” the magistrate said, putting up his hand. “Tell us, then. How did you come to meet Julia Whitby?”

“Miss Whitby had called on the Quackers. I saw her go in,” the searcher said. “I like to keep an eye on Esther’s comings and goings.”

“They said you were always watching them,” Lucy remembered. Under her skirts she could feel Duncan’s knees pressing against her own. When she looked up, he gave her a warning look.
Let her keep speaking,
he seemed to be saying.

Lucy gulped, hoping that she had not ended the woman’s speech. Fortunately, the searcher continued. “When Miss Whitby came out, I could see she was very troubled, the way she was wringing her hands. She did not even see me—I know because most people cross the street when they see me coming.” Mrs. Burroughs chuckled again. “When she passed me, I could hear her saying the same thing over and over.”

“What was she saying?” Lucy whispered.

“She was saying, ‘I know them, I know them. How do I know them?’ I knew then that this could be Esther’s downfall. So when she sat down on a nearby log, I sat down beside her. She was so stricken, and I, as you know, am the kindly grandmother sort.” The smile she gave Lucy then was so friendly and beautiful, and quite unlike her usual mocking grimace, that Lucy sat back, stunned. In that odd moment, the searcher looked just like an older version of Esther, even if she did not have the same brilliant amethyst eyes. There could be no doubt at all that the women were indeed related, despite the seeker’s suggestion otherwise.

Satisfied by Lucy’s reaction, the searcher continued, regaining her usual surly demeanor. “I just let Miss Whitby share her concerns, promising, of course, the secrecy of a stranger. So she opened up, pouring it all out. Her worry about her brother, her despair that he had been cut off from the family, and now this terrible concern about his wife and her companions. At first she could not place them, but she just knew that she had known them with different names. Naturally, I helped her fill in the gaps.”

“She had seen them perform!” Lucy realized. “She must have gone to the play, perhaps even with her brother. She recognized them from the stage!”

The searcher again gave her a slightly amused look of approval. “Indeed. That is when I saw my chance. I could finally get even with
Posy.
I could finally ruin her, a fair revenge for killing my son. So I told Julia Whitby that she was correct. That her brother had married an impostor. Moreover, that she had murdered several people.” She pushed back a stray hair from her face. “She demanded proof, which I was glad enough to supply.”

“That is when you gave her the sketch of Basil Townsend,” Lucy said.
“This is the dandy I told you about. Set upon and killed.”

“How did Julia Whitby end up murdered?” the constable asked.

The searcher shrugged. “Miss Whitby did not understand the nature of Esther’s grip on her brother. I told her that she must be careful when she told him, but she was foolish. ’Tis no wonder she ended up with the scold’s mask upon her. Those who deal in secrets should always know better.”

Unexpectedly, her eyes met Lucy’s, and Lucy felt a dark chill run over her.

The carriage turned then, lurching uncomfortably. From this new angle Lucy could just make out the last pinnacles of the London churches that had survived the Great Fire.

“Looks like we are on the road to Bristol,” the constable said, peering out the window. “Thankfully, the roads look fair enough.”

Lucy nodded, trying to take comfort from his words, trying to keep her fears from looming. She knew they were maintaining a quick pace, but how long could they sustain it? How long before the horses got hopelessly fatigued? What if they could not overtake the carriage? The image of Deborah’s head wound was hard to set aside. What if something terrible were to befall Sarah as well?

John rapped sharply then on the top of the carriage. The constable stuck his head all the way out the window so that he could speak with John.

“Mr. Hargrave has returned,” Duncan said. “He is approaching.”

Sure enough, Adam had pulled up his horse beside the carriage and looked in the window. “Their carriage is just up ahead. Not more than a mile. If we pick up the pace, we can catch them.” He looked at his father. “I caught a glimpse of Sarah, praise the Lord. She looked unharmed. She is sitting next to Esther Whitby in the cart. They are moving at a middling pace. There are just three in the cart, but I can see they are loaded with provisions.” He called up to John. “Let us press on!”

His father raised his hand. “They will likely stop at the coaching inn. I know it is just a few miles now,” the magistrate said. “Would it not be better to overtake them then?”

“The horses are getting tired,” Adam said, after giving the steeds pulling the carriage with a critical eye. “If we can push hard for a few more minutes, we can overtake them. It may be easier to confront them on the open road than in an inn where there are more places to hide.”

“I do not think we have long to wait,” Duncan said. “We had best be prepared. When we approach, Lucy, you must stay here. You as well, sir,” he said to the magistrate. “Until we can better see the nature of the threat ahead.”

The magistrate drew himself up, looking rather like the king himself. “Constable, just so that we are clear,” he said, looking more grim than Lucy had ever seen him. “I am going to do whatever I need to do to protect my daughter. Pray, do not try to stop me.”

21

The next ten minutes passed anxiously. Adam had ridden ahead a few paces, disappearing on the dusty road ahead of them. After his taut words, Master Hargrave had fallen silent, uncharacteristically drumming the door of the carriage with his knuckles. The searcher had begun to hum in a tuneless tone that quickly grated on Lucy’s nerves. She glanced at Duncan, who was still peering out the window. For a moment, she wondered if he would have preferred that he be out on the horse, scouting out the Quakers, instead of seeing the magistrate’s son do it instead.

Finally the constable gave a low whistle. “I see your son, sir,” he said to the magistrate.

A moment later, Adam had pulled up alongside their carriage, riding easily at the same pace. “They are just ahead,” he said. “I suggest that we now proceed together.”

“Keep left flank,” Duncan replied. “In case they should look back, we do not want them to see you. Though John might be looking to be driving overly fast, they are unlikely to be warned of our presence.”

Tensely they all clung to the carriage handles as they jostled back and forth. Twice Duncan stepped on Lucy’s feet, apologizing greatly after each time. Another time she was nearly flung against him, but the magistrate grabbed her arm, steadying her at the last second. The same nearly happened to the magistrate as well, but he managed to catch himself.

Although she knew it was not at all appropriate, Lucy felt her lips twitch as she thought about what would have happened if the stately magistrate had fallen into the searcher’s lap. When she caught Duncan’s eye, he seemed slightly amused as well, as though he knew what she had been thinking. Abruptly, they both looked away.

“It is time,” Adam said. “Be ready!” With that, he spurred his horse on, racing forward until he pulled directly in front of Esther’s cart, forcing it to stop.

“Adam!” Lucy heard Sarah shout. “Whatever has brought you here?”

Meanwhile, John edged the carriage forward. The magistrate, looking twenty years younger, leapt from the moving carriage, calling Sarah’s name.

The constable jumped out as well, issuing a stern warning to both Lucy and the searcher. “Stay here,” he said.

Gervase was still seated at the reins, while Sarah and Esther were looking out anxiously from the cart.

Now seeing her father, Sarah grew more bewildered. “Father? What is going on? What art thou doing here? I know that I should have told thee that I was leaving, and I promise I was going to mail thee a letter once I reached Bristol and—”

“Daughter!” the magistrate exclaimed, cutting her off. “Come here at once! I need you away from these people immediately!”

“Father! You know that I was chosen by the Lord to be his handmaiden. We are going to the New World to—”

“To what?” the magistrate interrupted. “To live among criminals?”

“They are not criminals!” Sarah cried. “The laws that bind them are unfair!”

“I’m not speaking of their conventicles!” her father replied, shaking his hands in fury. Lucy could tell he was trying to regain his calm. “Please,” he said more mildly, “I need you to climb down from that cart immediately.”

“Father, I cannot do that!” Sarah said, looking meaningfully at Lucy. “I believe it is my calling to travel with Esther. To see her safely to the New World. Pray, do not try to stop me. I am quite determined.”