The Masque of a Murderer (31 page)

Esther stood up then, putting her arms around Sarah as if shielding her from an unexpected blow. “My child,” she said. “I am so sorry that thy father is so misguided, so possessive. That he will not let thee follow the will of God—”

The gross unfairness of her words made Lucy quiver. “No!” she shouted, stumbling out of the carriage. “Sarah, do not believe her! She is performing for you! She has been as a player on the stage—and more than that! She is a murderer! You are not safe!”

“Lucy, what are these words?” Sarah was looking more and more confused. “Thou sayst that Esther Whitby, whom I know to be a good Quaker and a steadfast handmaiden of the Lord, is a murderer? Thou art greatly mistaken!”

From her angle, Lucy saw an odd look cross Esther Whitby’s face. Though she seemed outwardly indignant, there was a speculation there, too.

The magistrate tried to regain his calm demeanor, although Lucy could tell he was struggling. “Daughter, that woman—you know her as Esther Whitby, n
é
e Grace. But that is not the truth. She is an impostor.”

“F-Father?” Sarah asked. “I do not understand—?”

Esther clutched at Sarah’s hand. “Sarah, dearest handmaiden of the Lord! I do not understand what thy father is proclaiming. Thou dost know me! I was born Esther Grace, and I married thy friend, my dearest husband, Jacob Whitby. Although earthly courts may not recognize our marriage, being that it was done in the Quaker way, thou knowest that I was his wife. As such, I am Esther Grace Whitby, handmaiden of the Lord.” Her face was impassioned, exultant, and for a moment they were all stopped by the fierce goodness that seemed to emanate from her very soul.

From behind Lucy, Adam began to clap. “A very fine performance indeed.”

The magistrate looked up at Sarah. “Daughter, believe me. We have evidence that this woman, whom you know as Esther Grace Whitby, has killed several people, and not even two hours ago struck another woman down, leaving her for dead.”

Hearing his daughter’s shocked gasp, he continued. “Would you like to tell my daughter what happened to Deborah?” he asked Esther.

Esther Whitby put her hands to her mouth. “Did something happen to my dear companion?” she asked, the tiniest quaver in her voice. “Before we left I begged Deborah to come with us. She told us that she had been bidden by the Lord to stay.” Her eyes were wide, and she began to tremble. Once again Lucy found herself watching her, unable to look away. Indeed, the woman’s performance was remarkable. “Tell me, did something happen to her?”

Sarah reached over and patted her arm. She looked at her father. “I do not understand, Father! Deborah decided not to come,” she said, looking anxiously at the faces of her family. “Ahivah stayed behind with her niece. They changed their minds. Or, like Sam and Theodora, not everyone is called. Perhaps they came to that realization as we were leaving.”

“No, that is not it. She didn’t come because Mrs. Whitby had struck her over the head and left her for dead!” Lucy exclaimed, unable to contain herself. “Isn’t that so?”

“What?” Sarah exclaimed, looking at Esther. “That cannot be true.”

“Did she tell thee that?” Esther Whitby asked Lucy, while casually putting her hand on Sarah’s forearm. The gesture seemed to be simultaneously protective and possessive.

“Well, no,” Lucy admitted. “She did not see who had struck her, although Ahivah—“

“Did Ahivah see something?” Esther interrupted with a smile. “Did she
say
something? Oh—forgive me. She does not speak. Cannot speak, can she?”

Seeing the uncertainty that continued to riddle Sarah’s face, Lucy spoke more earnestly. “Sarah! Please! This woman is a murderer! She has killed several people, including her husband. You must not go anywhere with her!”

Esther climbed into the front of the cart and took up the reins. “Now, that is a fine thing to say,” she said, looking back at Sarah. “We who have taken care of thee. Surely thou cannot believe such a thing. I can assure thee—there is no evidence that I have committed the crimes of which I have been accused.” She shook the reins, causing her horses to sniff at the others. “If thou canst believe such terrible things of us, then we must part ways now. I leave thee in good faith, and a blessing upon thee.”

Adam’s horse began to move out of the way as the cart pressed forward.

“I do not know what to believe,” Sarah said miserably to Lucy and her father. “I cannot believe what you say of my own dear companion is true.”

“You cannot outrun us,” the constable called to Mrs. Whitby. “I can arrest you now.”

The magistrate glanced at him but did not say anything. Lucy guessed what he was thinking. Since they were well outside the city boundaries, the constable had no authority to arrest anyone. She had learned that a year before when they were in pursuit of a murderer in Oxford. Since neither Gervase nor Esther looked alarmed, they might have been aware that his threat was empty.

“Mrs. Whitby,” the magistrate called. “If you do indeed have nothing to hide from my daughter, I ask you to stay and answer a few harmless questions. Let my daughter be the judge. If you answer our questions in a manner that satisfies my daughter, I will allow you to pass. No authorities will pursue you, and I will leave you to proceed in peace, never to trespass upon you again.”

Esther flicked her eyes toward Gervase, who responded with a nearly imperceptible nod. She reined in the horses. “If my dear sister Sarah believes my testimony—and indeed, why would she not, given that I speak with the truth of a handmaiden of the Lord—then thou wilt allow us to proceed, unmolested?”

The magistrate bowed his head. “I do declare that to be true.”

Adam and the constable both shuffled their feet, clearly unhappy with the magistrate’s words. Neither would speak against him, though.

Perhaps sensing this, Esther turned to them. “Do you also agree to this?” she asked them.

They both nodded, reluctantly, after the magistrate gave them a meaningful look.

“All right, then,” the magistrate said. “Please join us down here, so that we may proceed.”

Carefully Esther climbed down from the cart, and after a moment, Gervase followed her down, still holding the reins. Sarah climbed down as well, taking a step away from the other two.

Briskly, as if he were presiding over a real trial in a courtroom instead of in a muddy field along the road to Bristol, the magistrate began. “We are called here to present testimony to my daughter, Sarah Hargrave, so that she may better understand the monstrous nature of the individuals she once called her friends.”

“Sarah,” Esther interrupted, turning with imploring eyes toward the magistrate’s daughter, “I implore thee to remember our heartfelt talks and our solace in the Lord. To recall how steady in our friendship I have been, how I have been a true friend to thee, first in honor of my husband, and then out of the love I have felt for thee, bursting from my own bosom.”

Sarah’s eyes were now glistening as she listened to Esther’s impassioned words. “Thou hast been a good companion,” she whispered.

“I took thee in when thy own father cast thee out,” Esther continued.

To Lucy’s dismay, Sarah nodded. “That is so.”

The magistrate coughed loudly, bringing his daughter’s attention back to him. “First, the evidence of this woman’s identity. We allege her to have been born Posy Little, although she came to call herself Grace Little, and later, Esther Grace. She changed her name yet a third time after marrying Jacob Whitby, so that she now alleges herself to be Esther Whitby.”

Sarah looked confused. “Changing one’s name is no crime,” she said.

The magistrate looked up intently at Sarah. “Daughter, this woman appeared at my bench before the plague. I remember her well.”

“That is a lie!” Esther said, her manner still calm. “I never gave testimony before this judge.”

“That is because you left the courtroom before you provided your testimony. But I remember you, sitting by the bench.”

Moving alongside the cart, Lucy produced
The Player’s Last Play
and showed it to Sarah. “This is the trial of which your father speaks.”

“A play?” Sarah said, glancing at the title. “I do not understand. We Quakers do not attend plays.”

Lucy shook the penny piece at her. “It mentions a woman, Grace Little, who witnessed this murder. We believe this woman—this
actress
—is the woman standing next to you. She has been lying about who she is ever since.”

“Thou cannot prove that person was me,” Esther said, a bit smugly now. “Besides, being a witness is a far stretch from being a murderer.”

Lucy wiped her hands against her skirts. This interrogation was not going well. She handed
The Player’s Last Play
to Sarah to read for herself.

“Look, Sarah, read the name of this witness. Deborah Evans. You know her! Ahivah’s niece.”

“A common enough name, I should say,” Esther said conversationally to Sarah, who nodded.

More desperately now, Lucy said, “See, read this part. Miss Evans had first claimed the murder had been committed by another man, before changing her testimony. I think that man she saw commit the murder was Gervase.”

“It does not say Gervase, now does it?” Esther chuckled. She seemed to be enjoying herself now. “If thou lookst closely, thou wilt see the name is Gerald Markham, not Gervase. Regardless, it is clear that another man did the deed.”

“Why are you so familiar with this penny piece?” Adam asked. “You know the circumstances of this murder very well.”

Esther shrugged. “I enjoy a good murder as well as anyone else.
That
is not a crime,” she said pointedly to Adam and his magistrate. “If it were, well, thou wouldst need to arrest
her
as well,” she said with a meaningful look toward Lucy. “I say as I did before. Thou cannot prove that woman was me, nor any of the other accusations thou hast lodged my way.”

“
I
know it was you.” The searcher had come out of the carriage. “Posy. Little.” she said, spitting after she said each name.

Esther’s eyes widened, and she took a step back. For the first time, there seemed to be the tiniest crack in her composure.

“You!” she exclaimed, dropping her Quaker speech. Turning to the constable she said, “Constable, this woman has long been harassing me. Following me, making threats against me. Anyone can tell you that this so!”

“’Tis true, Lucy,” Sarah said. “This woman has been pursuing Esther, in the most disturbing way. I have seen this myself.”

“This woman is Esther Grace’s grandmother,” Lucy said. “Her name is Sadie Burroughs.”

Esther Whitby scoffed. “My grandmother? I should say not! If she told you that, then I can assure you that she is lying! I had never even laid eyes on this miserable creature until she started stalking me a bit back. She is a madwoman!” she said, growing excited. “Look at that bell she carries! Searching for the dead has driven her mad! There can be no truth to her words!”

Adam stepped forward then. “Fortunately, we have evidence that Gervase—or do we mean ‘Gerald Markham’—committed this murder. An eyewitness, as a matter of fact.” He looked at his father. “Since he never stood trial for this murder, he can certainly stand trial now.”

The magistrate nodded. “Indeed, that is so. Constable?” He beckoned to Duncan. “Please arrest this man. We will bring him back to stand trial. He should be swinging by the next sessions, to be sure.”

Gervase began to shift his feet back and forth, looking uncomfortable. “Wait!” he said, trying to shrug off the constable’s hand on his arm. Unasked, John had moved beside him as well, although he did not touch the man. “She made me do it!”

“Gervase!” Esther said, a taut warning in her voice. “
There was no witness.
They cannot prove what they are saying.”

“No?” Adam said, taking a step closer to Gervase, who was starting to sweat. “I believe you were about to tell us something?”

Gervase crossed his arms, trying to look confident, but Lucy could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He kept his lips clamped tightly shut.

The constable tightened his grip on his arm. No one spoke.

Lucy looked around. They seemed to be at an impasse.

Making a funny choking sound in the back of her throat, Mrs. Burroughs stepped forward. “I have seen him kill before,” she snarled. They all turned toward her, stunned. “I was there when he killed Julia Whitby. I saw him do it.” Though Lucy was fairly certain the searcher was lying, her accusation clearly rattled Gervase.

“No! That cannot be true!” Gervase shouted. “No one was there! We checked everywhere! That building was empty when I brought that bitch inside! Grace was the only one who was there!”

“Fool!” Esther Whitby cried, at last losing her composure. “Rutting fool! Keep silent!”

Now, under the threat of arrest, Gervase would not be silenced. “She is the one who did it!” he shouted, pointing at Esther. “I did not kill Julia Whitby! She did it! She also made me kill Basil Townsend—a fellow player! And she made me push Jacob Whitby in front of that cart! She is a devil, she is!”

“Listen to the idiot speak! He has just admitted to murdering two people!” Esther Whitby screamed.

“I heard him admit to murdering two people, that is true,” the magistrate said. “I also heard him say that
you
were the one who murdered Julia Whitby.”

“Made her put on that scold’s mask, and then ran a blade through her, she did,” Gervase said.

“Posy, Posy, Posy, what a very naughty girl you’ve been,” the searcher began to sing, a malicious smile on her face. “Oh, the things that I have seen!”

“Do not call me Posy!” Esther Grace cried, putting her fingers in her ears.

“Posy, Posy, Posy,” the searcher continued to chant in a taunting way. “What would your father say? Well, he cannot speak now, can he? Seeing as how you put him in the ground yourself.”

“Father got what he deserved!” Esther shouted, an ugliness overtaking her features, her earlier mocking calm completely shattered. “After my mother died, he passed me among his friends to pay off his debts. He made me into a whore!”