The Witch Hunter's Tale (16 page)

“The watch has taken him,” I replied. “But do not worry. He will not be far, and we will see him home soon.” Elizabeth nodded. “Now go with Hannah, she’ll need your help with dinner.”

Elizabeth descended the stairs, and Hannah took her hand. “Don’t forget the woman in travail,” Hannah said. “She’s waiting.”

I nodded my thanks. I nearly had forgotten. I turned to retrieve my tools and my eyes lit upon Will’s cane. He had dropped it during his fight with the watch. I said a prayer of thanks that he’d not drawn the sword hidden inside and spilled even more blood. I picked it up and leaned it in the corner. It would wait there until he returned.

Martha and I gathered my valise and the birthing stool, and stepped into the cold. She maintained her silence, angry that I’d allowed Will to be taken but unable to explain what we should have done differently.

“If he is in Peter’s Prison we shall be able to care for him,” I said at last. “Things could be much worse.”

“He is in gaol in winter,” she replied. “Things will be terrible enough.”

“I will do my best,” I said. “And it
will
be enough.” I hoped it was true.

“If Joseph is behind this, what does he mean to do?” Martha asked. By now we’d reached the top of Stonegate and turned east toward the Holy Trinity Church in Goodramgate.

“If he murdered George, this could have been his plan all along,” I said. “He rids himself of a rival on the Council and sees his brother in gaol for the crime. Of course, the same could be true of the Lord Mayor if
he
ordered Will to be taken. His wife’s lover is dead, and another man accused of the deed.”

“Will cannot be convicted,” Martha said. “We were with him when we heard Mr. Breary cry out.”

“Conviction may be beside the point. Joseph may just want Will imprisoned for the time being.”

“Or he may hope Will dies in gaol,” Martha said.

“Or that,” I admitted.

We walked in silence, each doing our best to fight back the sorrow and fear that threatened to overwhelm us. I reached out and took Martha’s hand.

“We will save him,” I said. “We have accomplished more difficult tasks, haven’t we?”

Martha squeezed my hand. “Aye, we have.”

By now we’d reached the church. The heavy, square bell tower loomed above us, gray and threatening against the clouded sky. A lone figure stood before the church door peering in our direction. She was wrapped in layers upon layers, and she stomped her feet in hope of keeping warm. I took her to be the woman who had come to my house, for who else would be foolish enough to stand about in such cold?

“You summoned a midwife,” I called out.

“Thank God you’re here, my lady,” a voice answered from beneath a scarf. “I feared the cold might keep you at home, and I’d have to go in search of another midwife. I am Grace Fisher. Please come this way.” She turned and led us into the warren of streets behind the church. After a few twists and turns we arrived at our destination. The woman opened a low door and led us up a set of wooden stairs.

“The mother’s name is Sarah Bates,” Grace said as we climbed. “She is our maidservant.” I could hear the anger in her voice, and I knew without asking that her husband had fathered the child. Grace led us to a small room occupied by a bed and a chest of drawers. A young woman sat on the bed. She’d drawn her knees to her chest and was breathing hard. We’d arrived in the midst of a labor pain.

“Sarah, I am Lady Hodgson,” I announced. “I will be your midwife.”

The girl nodded but said nothing.

“I should examine you and see how you are faring,” I said. Again the girl nodded.

“Is she mute?” Martha asked Grace.

“I’m not,” Sarah said. “I just didn’t have anything to say.”

“Good,” I said, suppressing a smile. At least the girl had some spirit to her. “Now let me see where we are.”

Sarah moved to the edge of the bed, and I knelt between her legs. Martha handed me a vial of oil, and I anointed my hand. To my surprise I found that the child was ready to be born.

“The child will be born soon,” I announced. “But before I offer you any help, you must tell me the name of the father.”

Sarah’s eyes flicked over my shoulder to her mistress, and a look of uncertainty crossed her face. If I’d needed any more proof that her master had gotten her with child, I had it.

Martha stepped forward and took Sarah’s hand. “We know it was your master. We just need you to say it aloud.” I was pleased, though not surprised, that Martha had come to the same conclusion as I. She would need several more years as my deputy to learn the mysteries of childbirth, but she could already tell the truth from lies as readily as any woman I knew.

“Tell them the truth,” a man’s voice said from behind us. I whirled around, shocked both by the presence of a man in the delivery room and by the words he’d said. A man who could only be Mr. Fisher stood in the doorway behind Grace. He was handsome, appearing neither rich nor poor, and his face gave no sign of the sinful courses into which he’d fallen.

“I got her with child,” he said to me. I saw Martha’s brow furrow as she absorbed the words.

“This is my husband, Stephen,” Grace said, her voice flat and without emotion. I could not imagine how such a situation felt. Phineas had had his faults, but a wandering pintle was not among them.

“Why are you telling us?” I asked, for I was no less puzzled than Martha. I’d attended more than my share of illegitimate births, and I’d never met a man so eager to confess his adultery.

“The sin is mine, and I will not compound my fault by denying it. It is the right thing to do.”

Martha continued to stare at Mr. Fisher warily but did not give voice to whatever doubts she had.

I turned to Sarah. “Is it true that he is the father of your child?”

“Aye,” she replied. “He had use of my body during the spring. Only a few times. But it was enough.”

I nodded. “Mrs. Fisher, the child is so near to being born we are past the point of making caudle. We will need swaddling clothes for the child and food for Sarah.”

“I’ll get some linen,” she said, and disappeared down the stairs.

“You’ve done your part,” Martha declared to Mr. Fisher. “Leave us.”

He nodded and slipped away as meek as could be.

Martha and I turned our attention to Sarah and, as I expected, the child did not keep us waiting for long. When Sarah’s travail was at its worst I questioned her again, and she confirmed that her master had fathered the child on her. And that was that.

After we swaddled the child—a healthy and squalling baby boy—and sent for a meal, I left Martha and Sarah alone so I could speak with the Fishers. I found them in the parlor, patiently awaiting the news, though I could not tell what they hoped to hear. A stillborn child certainly would simplify their lives, and I’d known otherwise good men to give thanks to God when their bastard children died.

“Sarah has given birth to a lusty boy,” I said to Mr. Fisher without preamble. “And at the height of her travail she said that you are the father.”

The Fishers simply nodded. Somehow they had made their peace with the adultery that had invaded their marriage.

“You will tell the Justices?” Stephen Fisher asked. “What will they do to us, to Sarah and me?”

The question gave me pause, for I’d not yet thought about it. In the past, I would have reported the birth and the sinful behavior that preceded it to the city’s authorities. Depending on their disposition, the city might have carted Sarah or simply required her to make public penance for her sin. Stephen would suffer less, at least in body. The Quarter Sessions would order him to maintain the child until he came of age, but he was wealthy enough that I did not think he would be carted or stocked.

The problem, of course, was that the present was entirely unlike the past. Now the law was dispensed by men like Joseph, godly men who took every opportunity to show off their devotion to the Lord and their power over men. I would lose no sleep over whatever they did to Stephen Fisher, but what about Sarah? She had done nothing to warrant whipping.

As I considered the choice before me, I realized that something in me had changed: I now trusted the law no more than I would a stranger on a dark street. Eighteen months before, during the siege of the city, York’s governors had sought to burn a wife for murdering her husband, her innocence be damned. A year later, they had been unwilling to hang a murderer whom they knew to be guilty. And now Will sat in a cell for a crime he did not commit. In every case, the law showed itself incapable or, even worse, uninterested in doing what was just. I felt like Paul on the road to Damascus, but my revelation was not a joyful one. I now knew that when it came to the law, what was right and just mattered not one whit—there was only power and its use.

Could I turn Sarah over to the same men who were preparing to hang witches by the dozen?

“You will own the child?” I asked Stephen.

“He will,” Grace answered for him. Stephen nodded.

“Good,” I said. “Then I will tell nobody you are the father.”

The Fishers stared at me in complete bewilderment.

“When you take the child to be christened,” I continued, “tell the vicar that the father was her betrothed and that he was pressed into the army before they could marry. If he challenges you, send for me, and I will testify that she told me this at the height of her travail.”

It took Stephen a moment to find his voice. “Why are you doing this?”

“Never you mind that,” I replied. “Just make sure that you maintain the child as if he were your own lawful son.”

Relief spread across his face, and he struggled to give voice to his gratitude.

“But know this well,” I continued. “If I hear so much as a whisper that you have neglected Sarah or your son, I’ll lay the next bastard I deliver at your door, and the one after that as well. Soon enough you’ll be supporting a troop of bastards, and famous throughout the city for your lechery.”

Blood and gratitude drained from Stephen’s face. “You can’t do that.”

“Of course I can,” I replied. “But it is entirely your choice whether I do. If you keep your word, I will keep mine.”

“He will support the child,” Grace said. “I give you my word as well.”

I nodded. “See to it.” I returned to Sarah and Martha and found them well. The child slept in his mother’s arms, and I could see that Sarah would soon join him.

“The Fishers will see that neither you nor your child want for food or shelter,” I told her. “But you must never tell anyone who the true father is.”

Martha and Sarah both looked at me in confusion.

“They will explain the agreement we have made,” I said. “Now you should sleep.” Sarah closed her eyes, and soon enough she was snoring softly, the weight of the day finally lifted from her shoulders. Martha and I slipped quietly from the room and descended the stairs. We did not see the Fishers as we left, nor did I seek them out.

“What did he promise?” Martha asked once we closed the door behind us. I described the demands I’d made of the Fishers, though not the reason behind them. While I had lost my faith in the law, I was not yet ready to say so aloud. Martha nodded in satisfaction at my decision.

As we neared St. Michael le Belfrey we both gazed in the direction of Peter’s Prison, where the guards had taken Will. The sun had nearly set, and the wind tugged insistently at our cloaks, promising another chill night. Martha and I glanced at each other, each of us wondering how Will would fare.

“We’ll gather blankets and food and take them to him tonight,” I said. “No doubt his jailors are cold enough that they’ll accept whatever aid we can offer, and let us give Will anything he needs.”

“I hope so,” Martha replied.

I took her arm in an attempt to comfort her, but I knew full well that only Will’s safe return would end her distress.

We had just turned from Stonegate toward home when a voice no less cold than the north wind echoed down the narrow street. “Bridget Hodgson, I have been searching for you throughout the city. I should like a word with you.”

We turned to find Rebecca Hooke approaching us, a terrible and triumphant smile on her face.

Chapter 13

“Where have you been?” Rebecca crowed as she approached us. “I should have thought you’d be at Peter’s Prison with your boy. Who would have thought he’d do such a thing? Well, I suppose it’s not such a surprise, after what happened to his father. Perhaps the rumors are true and young Will is indeed a patricide. Now twice over, it seems.”

A terrible combination of anger and fear seized me by the throat, for I knew that any turn of events that brought such joy to Rebecca Hooke could only bring sorrow to me and mine. As was her habit, Rebecca had draped herself in rich silks. When the King’s men had held the city, she had favored blue—often the same blue as her eyes—and after the Parliament-men took power, she’d started wearing black. But there was no mistaking the quality of the cloth or dye.

“I imagine you’ve come from some birth or another,” Rebecca continued. By now she stood only a few feet away. I felt my heart racing as if we were about to come to blows. Perhaps we were.

“Have you welcomed some new bastard into the world, or uncovered yet another of the city’s witches?” Rebecca’s smile grew wider as she spoke. “Mr. Hodgson and I must thank you for your assistance in witch discovery. Since you uncovered Mother Lee, the women of all the suburbs have been falling over themselves to find the rest of her company.”

“You know all those women aren’t witches,” I replied between clenched teeth. “One or two, perhaps, but not all of them.”

Rebecca started to reply, but I had not finished.

“The two of you don’t even care about their guilt or innocence. They’re mere rungs in Joseph Hodgson’s climb to power. And yours.”

“Ah, now there you are mistaken, at least in part,” Rebecca replied. “Joseph is a fascinating figure, for he truly believes the women are guilty. He is convinced that by God’s grace he has uncovered a company of witches here in the shadows of the Minster, and that it is his duty to seek them out. It sounds mad to me, of course, but Joseph believes that the Lord preserved him during the wars so that he might pursue His enemies here in York. He believes he is God’s instrument for the city’s deliverance. Our Puritans are so
sure
of themselves, aren’t they?”