The breeze was stronger here without the trees and bushes that blocked the wind below, and yet the dark roof captured more of the day’s heat. A ribbon of perspiration trickled down Becca’s back.
“There,” Patience sobbed, pointing left.
A man was tied with rope to Benjamin Franklin’s lightning rod. His body was limp, his head bowed as if in prayer.
Patience hugged herself, bent over almost double. She shook. “Help him, someone.”
“Come, Becca,” Hannah said calmly.
At a distance of fifteen feet, Becca’s throat went dry. Blond hair is not so uncommon, she assured herself.
At ten feet, she faltered. The chiseled jaw. The straight nose. “It is Jude, isn’t it?” Her shoulders curved forward, and she looked away. She sensed Daniel behind her before he rested a hand on her shoulder.
Hannah reached Jude first. She lay her hand on his forehead. Her lips moved, though Becca couldn’t hear what she said. A prayer, perhaps. Then Becca’s mother held her palm under his nose. She was checking for life, for breath, Becca knew. Hannah turned to them all and shook her head. “He’s gone. Help me lay him down.”
“It’s too late to help, based on what I can see,” Daniel said.
“Can’t you do anything for him?” Becca’s eyes stung.
“We can pray for him,” Hannah said. “No less nor more than that.”
Jude was kind to her. Jude was a traitor to their country. Both were true. Becca had cursed him. Cursed him in a church, and then he was dead. As if her words had power. She knew that wasn’t true. But the thought brushed against the edge of her mind, like a wolf circling its prey.
Becca saw Jude again in her mind’s eye, recalling his look of surprise and horror at the sight of her at Notre Dame. She couldn’t have known it was the last time she’d see him. He had reached his hand out to her, dropping the rose. She would never know what he meant by the gesture.
In silence, Becca and Hannah untied the knots that held Jude to the lightning rod. Her hands shook. Hannah’s didn’t. Michael and Daniel lowered him to the ground.
Daniel rose, widened his stance, and swayed.
Becca placed her hand on his lower back. She searched his expression. She knew how the ship’s dead haunted him.
“The memories,” he confirmed. Memories of the British prison ship is what he meant, Becca knew. Memories of the dead soldiers whose bodies he’d been forced to carry to the deck.
Michael and Hannah watched him with concern.
“Fine. I am fine,” he said gruffly. He softened his voice. Managed a smile. “I am truly fine.”
They stood in a circle round the body. All of them except Patience. Becca craned her neck, searching for the artist. She still stood by the stairs, hugging herself. She had stopped crying.
“He’s almost smiling,” Daniel said. Jude’s expression was thoughtful, even quizzical. His eyes were closed, his mouth relaxed. “He seems more at peace now than he did when we knew him.”
“There’s nothing suggesting he feared for his life,” Becca said. Who was to say whether Jude was more scared for himself or for her when she confronted him at that cathedral? She’d keep that thought to herself for now.
“He is soaked to the skin,” Hannah whispered. “He was placed here during the rainstorm last night.” She crouched over him. Her delicate fingers reached for Jude’s wrist. She turned one of them, then changed position and reached for the other. “He did not pull against the rope. There are no bruises.”
Michael said something in French. Hannah answered in English. “That’s right. I don’t see signs of violence, either. There is no blood. There are no cuts or bruises, though I shall look more closely.”
Hannah’s calm manner didn’t surprise Becca. It matched her own slightly-distant approach to untangling mathematical puzzles.
Becca pointed to the soaked lace along Jude’s right sleeve. “There is a stain here.” A light brown stain about the size and shape of a thumb marred the cuff.
“It is hard to tell what that is after the rain. Dirt, perhaps?” Daniel suggested.
Hannah continued her examination, making note of the stain, but withholding judgment.
“I shall inform Dr. Franklin, and I will fetch a blanket to cover this man. Murdered or not, he deserves respect.” Michael added in French. He backed away, trotting past Patience Wright on the way downstairs.
“I doubt Dr. Franklin will be able to climb those stairs,” Daniel murmured.
A charcoal gray bird coasted past Becca, and she followed its progress until it dove below the roof line. She fought the urge to follow Michael back into the house. It was unnatural to feel closer to the sky than the earth, to stand as tall as birds soaring through the air.
“The rope reached round his shins.” Hannah’s voice was soft. She pointed to fine tears in Jude’s white stockings. Hannah reached for one of them and rolled the wet silk down, folding it back as delicately as if Jude were a young child who required help undressing. She sighed. “A horrible thing. Look.”
A red line, like a narrow trunk of a tree, started at Jude’s ankle and rose, spreading like branches across his calf.
Hannah raised her eyes to Becca and Daniel. “Struck by lightning, he was. The blood will leave a mark beneath the skin like this sometimes. I have seen it.”
“Who would tie a man to a lightning rod?” Daniel muttered a curse and stepped away.
“And with a storm coming in,” Becca added.
Hannah gently rested a finger on Jude’s leg with its odd red pattern of blood beneath the surface. “I wonder whether he was still alive when the lightning hit him.”
The question made Becca queasy.
“His expression. He appears pleased, almost happy. I wouldn’t expect that if he felt pain. And there are no signs he struggled.” Hannah frowned at Becca and Daniel. “Do not look at me as if I am the monster who placed him here.”
“He didn’t tie himself to the lightning rod.” Daniel’s tone was dry.
“Who could be so cruel?” Becca asked.
“One of us,” Daniel said. “A servant or one of Dr. Franklin’s guests must have let Mr. Fenimore in.”
“Then Dr. Franklin was right. There’s a spy in his midst,” Becca whispered to Daniel.
“Or just a murderer,” Daniel answered.
“The poor man.” Hannah smoothed his soaked vest and tugged at Jude’s linen shirt. She lifted her palm, then placed it back on his vest. She tilted her head in puzzlement, then lifted the shirt. “The poor soul.”
Jude’s belly was distended as if he were several months pregnant.
“Did the lightning cause that, too?” Becca winced at the sight.
“Dr. Franklin might know more about what electricity can do, but I don’t think so.” She covered his chest again with the shirt. “But his stomach bothered him at sea.”
“And then, at the cathedral, he winced and held his hand to his ribs. It hurt him there, too.” Becca said.
“There’s one last thing to do.” Daniel sank to his knees. “Sorry, old man,” he said to Jude. “You won’t mind if I relieve you of a few knick-knacks.” He slipped his hand into one of Jude’s pockets. It was sodden but empty. The other pocket held a dull coin and a small, wet handkerchief. Daniel pulled out both objects.
Daniel opened his palm to examine his finds. “I was hoping we’d find a note.”
Patience Wright must have heard from across the roof. She burst into loud sobs again and ran for the stairs.
The roof door slammed open as she reached it. Patience tripped backwards, her fall surprisingly graceful.
Clasping a rough wool blanket in one arm, Michael Corbin catapulted forward as if he’d been pushed from behind.
He had. Three policemen followed him through the door. Their stiff blue and red uniforms blazed in the bright sunlight.
Daniel jammed Jude’s possessions into his own pocket.