The Witch Hunter's Tale (32 page)

“Wait,” I said. Something else seemed strange. “They released Stephen Daniels as well? He killed the guards.”

“I didn’t ask why.” Samuel shrugged. “The gates opened wide, and every prisoner who could walk fled as quick as he could. I saw him and Will leave the Castle together.”

Tree and Elizabeth refused to be separated, so we took them both to my home and put them in Hannah’s care. We then turned to the question of where Will could have gone. A penniless man newly freed from gaol had few options before him.

“Perhaps he went to Helen Wright’s,” Martha suggested. “After spending so many nights in gaol, he may have wanted the chance to bathe and change his clothes before coming home.”

Martha’s was the best explanation we found, so we kissed the children farewell and walked south toward Micklegate Bar.

Helen’s maidservant answered our knock and ushered us into the parlor. Helen hurried in a few moments later. Gone were the days when she would make us wait simply because she could. She smiled broadly when she saw us (another first), embraced Martha, and grasped my hands. More remarkable than this was that I welcomed the gesture and
I
embraced
her
. If the Lord could let a fallen woman wash His feet, perhaps a bawd and I could become fast friends. Helen called for a warming drink, and I explained why we had come.

“Will didn’t come home?” Helen asked. The surprise on her face only increased my own worry.

“We thought he might have come here,” Martha said. I could hear the fear in her voice. “You haven’t seen him at all?”

“Stephen is sleeping, but for this I’ll wake him,” Helen said.

Helen returned a few minutes later with Stephen Daniels at her side. He had shaved his head, but even so there could be no mistaking that his time in gaol had taken its toll. His cheeks were hollowed, and his eyes had dark circles beneath them. He smiled wanly when he saw our reaction, and he ran a hand over his scalp.

“Samuel Short said you left the Castle with Will,” Martha said. She had no time for idle talk. “Do you know where he went?”

“We entered the city together, and parted ways when we reached the Ouse Bridge. I came south, and he turned on Coney Street. I assumed he was going straight to you,” he said. “Where else could he go?”

“That’s what we are trying to find out,” I replied.

“Samuel Short said that he seemed strange when he left,” Martha said. “Was he not pleased to be free?”

“He was pleased at the prospect,” Daniels replied. “But after the hanging he seemed overcome by melancholy.”

“Hanging?” I asked.

“We could see his brother’s execution from the window of our cell,” Daniels replied.

“Oh, Christ,” Martha said. “And he watched?”

“I tried to talk him out of it,” Daniels said. “What good could come of seeing such a thing? Afterward a guard told us how it had come to pass.”

“And what did he say?” I asked. A knot of fear began to grow in my guts.

“That you testified against Mr. Hodgson and accused him of witchcraft and of murdering Mr. Breary,” Stephen replied. “It was all the talk in the Castle. It’s not often that a man like Mr. Hodgson finds himself on the loop-end of the hangman’s rope.”

“What did the guard say?” I demanded. “Did he tell you what I said to the jury?”

“Aye, every word. He said he was in the hall when you spoke. After that Will sat in the corner of the cell until we were released.”

“And he said nothing?” I asked.

“He prayed some,” Daniels replied. “And he told me he was going home. That was all.”

I thanked Helen and Stephen for their help, and then Martha and I began the journey home. The cold seemed to bite more fiercely than it had earlier in the day, and though the sun shone brightly it provided little warmth.

“He knows I lied about Joseph,” I said. “He blames me for his brother’s death.”

“
We
lied,” Martha said. “And he knows we had no choice. He cannot blame you for it.”

“Then where is he?” I asked. “He only had to walk a few more steps, and he would have been home.”

Martha did not reply. What could she have said? We arrived home to the joyful noise of children full of cakes, but Will had not returned.

That night I knelt and prayed that the Lord would deliver Will from whatever melancholy afflicted him and bring him safely into my home and into Martha’s arms.

When I heard a knock at the door the next morning my heart began to pound in my chest. I did not think that it would be Will—why would he start to knock now?—but I feared that it might be a messenger with ill news. I opened the door to find a young man standing outside.

“My lady,” he murmured with a low and practiced bow. “The Right Worshipful Lord Mayor Matthew Greenbury requests your presence immediately. And your deputy’s as well.”

“Can you tell me what this concerns?” I asked.

“No, my lady,” he said. “He simply asked me to deliver the summons.”

“Of course,” I replied. “I shall have to dress. Tell the Lord Mayor I will call on him within an hour.” The lad bowed once again and set off.

I called for Martha and told her what had happened. I could see the worry on her face.

“I don’t think it is related to Will,” I assured her. “If something had happened he would not be so formal.”

Martha went to change into her best dress, and I summoned Hannah to help me do the same. Within the hour we were on our way.

“Could he know that we discovered his wife’s adultery?” Martha asked as we walked. “Perhaps he simply wants to warn us to keep his secrets.” We had crossed the Ouse Bridge and entered Micklegate Ward.

“Perhaps,” I replied. I had no idea what he could want.

We knocked on the Lord Mayor’s door and the footman ushered us in. He sent Martha to the kitchen to wait with the rest of the servants and led me to the Lord Mayor. As we passed the parlor I could not help remembering our conversation with young Agnes. Had it only been a few weeks earlier? Her infidelities seemed so small compared to the carnage that had followed.

The Lord Mayor was sitting at his desk when I entered. He did not rise, nor did he bid me sit. This, it seemed, would be a formal visit.

“You have caused a great deal of trouble in recent weeks, my lady.”

“We live in troubled times, my Lord Mayor.”

The Lord Mayor smiled at this, but I found little warmth in his eyes. “True enough. But I am unused to it coming from a gentlewoman.”

“No, my Lord Mayor.” I lowered my eyes, hoping that my deference might purge him of his ill humor.

“Your scheme to destroy your nephew would put Machiavelli himself to shame,” he said after a moment. This was why he’d summoned me.

I could think of no response that would satisfy him, so I lowered my eyes once again and remained silent.

“I should thank you, I suppose,” he continued. “It was clear to all that Joseph intended to make himself lord of the city. I did not know how I would stop him until you and Rebecca Hooke laid him at my feet, as neatly as a spaniel with a fowl. You and she make a fine brace of dogs.”

I found the comparison to be irksome, and my pairing with Rebecca hateful, but I held my tongue. I did not know where our conversation would end, and I did not wish to anger him.

“If you have any similar scheme to rid me of James Hooke, I should be equally grateful,” he said. “I would rather not have a murderer walking the city’s streets, gloring over my wife.”

I gasped and looked up. “You know James murdered George Breary?”

“Of course,” the Lord Mayor replied with a laugh. “The fool told Agnes what he’d done, and she came straight to me. I know few would recognize it, but she is a good girl in her own fashion. So long as she was discreet and kept me warm on these cold winter nights, I could tolerate her youthful dalliances.” His mirthless smile returned, and I could not help thinking that he believed he had the better part of their agreement.

“I saw the bruises on her wrist,” I said. “They are not the sign of someone so liberal.”

“Oh, that wasn’t for her jumbling,” the Lord Mayor corrected me. “It was because I had to clean up the mess she made. The city might forgive adultery, especially in one so young and trifling, but if she became enmeshed in Mr. Breary’s murder? That would be a far more serious matter. And I will tell you, hiding her relationship to George Breary was neither easy nor cheap.”

With this admission I realized I could answer one more question about George’s murder.

“You are the one who burned George’s papers.”

“Well
I
didn’t, of course,” he replied. “I paid one of his servants to do it. Who knew what that besotted fool might have written down? It is better to be safe.”

“What do you intend to do about James Hooke?” I asked.

“What
can
I do?” He shrugged. “You saw to it that your nephew hanged for George’s murder. I can’t hang another man for the same crime even if he is guilty. The people are often senseless, but they are not so forgetful as that.”

He paused for a moment and stared into my eyes.

“I should warn you,” he said, “James Hooke’s guilt in the matter is a private affair. You will tell nobody. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord Mayor.” What else could I have said?

I stood in silence for a moment, reflecting on what had just happened. Once again, the law had failed to provide justice, only this time I’d had a hand in its failure. I wondered if perhaps the preachers were right when they said that the summer’s heat and the winter’s brutal cold were the Lord’s punishment of an unjust nation. But I was a part of the nation, wasn’t I?

“One more thing,” the Lord Mayor said. “Will Hodgson is here. You should probably see him before you leave the city.”

Chapter 26

My head spun as I tried to grasp all that the Lord Mayor had said. At first my heart leaped at the prospect of finding Will, safe and sound, but what did he mean by
before you leave the city
?

Greenbury rang a bell on his desk, and a servant entered. “Bring Mr. Hodgson,” Greenbury said. “And Lady Hodgson’s deputy as well.” The servant bowed and slipped soundlessly from the room.

“I will leave you alone,” the Lord Mayor said. “But we will talk again before you go.”

Before I could answer, or ask him to explain his words, he strode from the room.

Martha came in first, her eyes wide with excitement. “He is here?” she asked. “He has been here all along? How so?”

I started to reply, but the door opened again and Will came in. I was shocked by his incongruous appearance, for his clothes, which the Lord Mayor must have gifted him, bespoke a man at the prime of life: rich wool was matched with fine silk, and the style could not have been more in fashion, nor could the suit have been better cut to Will’s figure. But the clothes seemed to have been made for a dead man, for Will’s shaven head, sunken cheeks, and hollowed eyes gave him the look of a corpse. As soon as he saw us, his face crumpled, and he began to cry uncontrollably. He stumbled across the room and in to Martha’s arms.

Half carrying Will, and now crying herself, Martha found her way to a padded bench that sat against the wall. She leaned back and cradled his head in her lap while he sobbed. My heart bled for him, for the two of them, but all I could do was stand to the side, a useless spectator.

After a time, an eternity it seemed, Will pushed himself upright and looked at me.

“You killed him, Aunt Bridget,” he said. His words accused me, but his broken tone begged me to deny the charge.

“Will, I had no choice,” I replied. “I saved your life, and Tree’s life as well. He took Elizabeth!” I could hear my voice rising as I spoke. I crossed the room and knelt at his side, desperate to make him understand my actions.

“He would never have done any of that,” Will insisted. “He would never have let me hang. He was simply seeking an advantage against you. At worst, he would have driven you from the city. We could have left together, all of us.”

“Will, that’s not true,” Martha said. “He sent Mark Preston to kill us both.”

“No.” Will shook his head, unwilling or unable to hear our words. “Joseph would never do such a thing. Preston must have come on his own, without Joseph’s knowledge.
He
might have murdered Mr. Breary, but my brother would not.”

“Will, your brother was not simply playing at this,” I insisted. “He killed in the war, he hanged the witches, and he would have hanged you and Tree as well.”

“So you joined with Rebecca Hooke to see him hanged. How could you not have consulted me in this? He was my
brother
. Can you not see that you were in the wrong?”

“All of that is unimportant right now,” a voice announced from behind us. The Lord Mayor had returned. “Joseph Hodgson is dead, and while my powers are wide, I cannot unhang a man.” He smiled to himself, clearly enjoying his little jest. “What concerns me now is not his past but
your
future.

“Lady Hodgson, I have seen your nephew’s worth,” the Lord Mayor continued. “And I have determined to keep him with me. He is a capable young man, and in our present times such men are invaluable.”

“He does not need you,” I snapped. “With Joseph dead, Will has come into his father’s estate.”

The Lord Mayor shook his head sadly, but the sorrow did not reach his eyes. “It is a terrible thing. The war took its toll, and Joseph did not have half the head for trade that his father did. It took only a few months, but he borrowed far beyond his ability to pay. There is nothing left, not even the house.”

“And I presume the debts are owed to you?” I asked.

“Among many others on the Council,” the Lord Mayor said. “But I am not such a fool as to turn Will onto the street. I have offered him a place in my house, and he has accepted. I am certain that he will serve me well.”

“And what of George Breary’s estate? You burned his will, but surely some provision can be made for Will out of his fortune.”

Greenbury offered a pained smile. “The only surviving will is from last year. According to its terms Will and Mr. Breary’s other godchildren will receive five pounds each. The rest of his estate will go to a cousin.”