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Alice’s first thought was that George must be mad to make such accusations. But as the talk around her grew louder, as more and more people turned to look at her, she started to feel ashamed. She had done nothing immoral, she knew; the only man she had ever bedded had been John, and after his death she had lived chastely. Nevertheless the feeling, irrational as it was, began to grow.
The stationers turned back to George. The set expressions of one or two of them, their pursed mouths and narrow eyes, made her wonder if they had already made up their minds and were only waiting to hear what George would say next. Even if she could prove her innocence, how could she face them tomorrow in the churchyard? She felt the blood heating her face, and her heart began to beat loudly.
George waited until he had everyone’s attention. “We have all seen this woman with a certain Mistress Margery,” he said. “A cunning woman, a dealer in the forbidden arts. A witch, in plain words. We have seen them deep in conversation together, Mistress Alice neglecting her work as she and her friend planned certain rituals. I don’t need to tell you what those rituals were. On moonless nights—she told me so herself—she would go to a field and summon her master.”
“That’s not true!” Alice said, angered and horrified as much by George’s calm tone as by what he was saying.
“Silence,” the Master of the Company said. “You’ll have your turn to speak when he finishes.”
She wondered if she would. Although George did not go to plays she knew that most of the company did, and she had heard talk about Dr. Faustus, the story of the man who had bargained with the devil. They were ready to believe impossible stories, tales of necromancy and evil, and perhaps would not stay to hear her answer. And truly, would her account be any less fantastical? How could she tell it and make them believe?
Less than a month ago she had faced the queen’s councilors and had been cleared of all wrongdoing. But that thought, meant to be comforting, did not give her courage. The privy councilors had been interested in getting at the truth; now she thought that the Stationers’ Company might be fascinated by George’s lies.
“Not true?” George said. He addressed the crowd instead of her, as if her words had no importance. “But she admitted to certain revels, as she called them, that she attended. Attended with her friend, the witch Margery. And it was at these ceremonies that she acquired her familiar.”
At this a shiver of apprehension passed through the room. “I have seen it myself,” George said calmly. “It is the size of a man, and covered with fur. It has horns and cloven hoofs and a tail, and it lives with her, curled up by her hearth. What they do together is not a fit matter for discussion here, but I’m sure you have all heard similar stories.
“Cornelius Agrippa,” George went on, and Alice stared; she would have wagered that George had never heard of Agrippa in his life. Who had he been talking to? “Cornelius Agrippa says”—here he consulted a piece of paper in his hand—“‘Because women be more desirous of secrets and inclined to superstitions, and be more easily beguiled, therefore they’—Agrippa means the devils—‘therefore they sooner appear to them, and do great miracles.’ Do you see what I mean? Do you see what a danger this woman poses to all of us?
“I’ll say one thing more, and then I’ll have done with this distasteful subject. The Scriptures tell us that man has authority over woman. I have never questioned the word of God, but it is only recently that I have understood why we have been given this commandment. Women are weaker than men. We have been appointed by God to care for them, to make certain they do not stumble on their path. With no one to guide her a woman is not strong enough to resist evil, sometimes not even rational enough to recognize it. I know that no one here objected when Mistress Wood asked for full membership after her husband died. Our charity then was commendable, but I think that we made a mistake, and it has proven to be a very grave mistake indeed. For a woman without guidance is a threat to us all. Her rottenness can spread throughout the company, corrupting everyone it touches.”
No one spoke as he returned to his seat. Alice, who had been planning to rise in her own defense, now felt shame overwhelm her so strongly that she could barely move. She wanted only to get away from the hall and the rest of the stationers, to start over at another trade in another city. She knew she could never face any of these people again.
She did not see Edward Blount stand and walk to the front of the room, and only gradually became aware that he was speaking. “But this is nonsense!” he was saying. “I have worked side by side with Mistress Wood for the past year, and I can testify to her modesty, her piety and her virtue. We have all seen her at our services at St. Faith’s. To suggest that such a woman consorts with devils calls for a fancy unmatched by anything I have seen off the stage. Perhaps Master Cowper will turn his imagination in the future to writing plays.”
A few people laughed. George, unmoved, said from his seat, “Can you prove that she does not have a familiar? As I said, I have seen it. It does her work for her, her household chores. It was washing a pot when I visited.”
Some of the stationers murmured among themselves. Blount said nothing. He could not answer, Alice thought bleakly, because he had never been to her house. None of them had except George, because visiting an unmarried woman was considered immoral. And George, of course, would know that, would know that he alone had been favored with an invitation because she had hoped to renew their friendship.
But Blount’s defense had given her courage. If he could not help her she would have to help herself. “I have no familiar,” she said, her voice quiet but gaining in power as she continued. “You are all welcome to my house to see for yourself.”
George laughed harshly. “Will you trust this woman?” he asked. “A demon can become the size of an acorn, if it so desires. Aye, I’m certain we will find no familiar in her house.”
“I wonder that you talk so easily about morality,” Blount said. “We have all seen you in conversation with a man who comes into the churchyard, a man asking questions about Mistress Wood’s son. He is a counterfeiter, they say, and I have also heard that he dabbles in alchemy.”
“He is a scientist,” George said. “His researches have nothing to do with the spirit world.”
“Can you prove that?” Blount said.
“Master Cowper’s morals are not in question here,” the master said. “Mistress Wood has yet to reply to his accusations.”
Alice stood as Blount moved back to his seat. “I can only say that almost everything Master Cowper had said is false,” she said, gratified to hear that her voice sounded strong and certain now. “I have a friend named Margery, but she is no witch. I have never consorted with devils. I have no familiar—”
“You lie!” George said, his calm finally leaving him. “I’ve seen it myself.”
“I have no familiar,” she said again. How could she explain Brownie? “I can only repeat my invitation. You are all welcome to my house, to judge for yourself.”
“And I can only repeat what I have said about the ways of demons,” George said. “Is it so hard to decide what to do here? It is not enough that she lose her membership. She should be burned at the stake.”
A number of people began to speak, many of them, to Alice’s horror, agreeing with George. Someone called for a witch-finder. The master asked for silence. “It seems to me,” he said, “that the state of Mistress Wood’s soul is not a fit matter for us to decide. We meet here to discuss the business of the stationers, and that only. I would like to suggest that we take a vote. If the majority of the members thinks that we made a mistake a year ago in voting her into the company, then we will take away her membership. Further than that we cannot go.”
“But I would like everyone to remember,” George said, “that talking to a witch, that even being in the same room with a witch, is a danger to the soul.”
“Very well,” the master said. “Enough. Will all those in favor—”
“I wou
ld like to say something first.” A man rose, and Alice saw to her surprise that it was Walter James, the newest member of the company. “The company should know, before it votes, that I have been to Mistress Wood’s house many times. I have never seen a demon such as the one Master Cowper mentioned. I have seen a clean, well-appointed home, and a woman who has never, by word or deed, strayed beyond the bounds of modesty. My friend Mistress Wood is a great asset to this company. She is one of the reasons I feel proud to be a member here.”
Another burst of comment swept the room. Alice looked at James with astonishment. She had not talked to him since their first meeting at Edward Blount’s stall. He was carefully ignoring her, and she realized that for his plan to work she should act as if nothing unusual had happened. “Silence,” the master said again. “Why have you said nothing of this before?”
“I did not want to call her honor into question. But now that she’s in danger of losing her membership I think my testimony can only help her.”
“I don’t believe you,” George said. “I’ve never seen the two of you talk together.”
“Believe it as you like. It’s true.”
“And it’s still my word against yours.”
“And against Edward Blount’s. And most importantly, against Alice Wood’s. But come, how many people in this company truly believe that this woman, someone you have all known for years, someone you have worked with these past months, is a witch? Have any of you seen her muttering charms? Have your books become rotten with mold when she passes by?”
A few people were laughing now. “She’s a witch!” George said angrily. “I tell you, I have seen—”
“Has anyone else seen this demon?” James said. A few members of the company shook their heads. “I have heard a rumor, which I would hesitate to pass along in other circumstances, that Master Cowper asked for Mistress Wood’s hand in marriage. And that she refused him. Can this accusation be caused by hurt pride, by a desire for revenge?”
“That’s not true!” George said. “I wouldn’t have her. She’s immoral, evil.”
“And how moral is it to lie?” Alice said. “You asked me to marry you, that day in the cookshop.”
“You can prove nothing,” George said.
“Ah,” Walter James said. “As our esteemed master said, we are not here to prove anything but that Mistress Wood is innocent of these ridiculous charges. Does the company still want to take a vote?”
A few people nodded. But the panic George had tried to cause diminished, lulled away by James’s rational voice. Some of the members looked around them, puzzled, as if escaping from a long and evil dream.
“I demand a vote,” George said.
“Aye, we should have a vote, if only to lay this matter to rest once and for all,” James said. He nodded to the master.
“All in favor,” the master said, “say aye.”
Only three or four people came out for Alice’s dismissal. “All opposed—” the master said.
James and Blount said “Nay!” immediately and loudly. A few of the others joined in, quieter, and then a few more. The nays swept through the room like a wave. But still no one would look at her.
The master ended the meeting. Some of the members turned and smiled at her then, and a few of them came over to wish her good day. But no one said anything about the victory she had won. Perhaps they were all embarrassed about the parts they had played.
People were starting to leave by the time Walter James made his way over to her. “I want to thank you,” she said. “I don’t—I don’t know—”
“There’s no need,” he said.
“But why did you—”
He raised his hand to silence her. “This is not the place to speak of it,” he said, so softly no one heard him. Then, louder, he said, “After the fright you received today I think you should see a play. Will you come with me?”
Should she? Other stationers might be able to close their stalls and take holidays, but she needed the trade each day brought. And he must need it too; he hadn’t been at the churchyard very long. “Come,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “One day won’t matter so very much.”
First Brownie and now this man: folks were always telling her to shake off her cares and go with them. But why not? She hadn’t known much joy since John died.
“With pleasure,” she said. He held out his hand and she took it.
When she got outside she found her knees would almost not hold her. Now that her shame had gone she felt terror more than anything else, and a nearly insupportable anger. They had wanted to burn her at the stake. To burn her! It would be ridiculous if it weren’t so frightening.
“Are you well enough to walk?” Walter asked.
She nodded, drawing a deep breath to get her strength back. But it was a long way to Shoreditch, outside the city walls, where the Theatre and the Curtain stood. They went along Cheapside, through the crowded market stalls and goldsmiths’ shops. She stopped to stare, amazed, at the intricately-worked gold and silver saltcellars and ewers and spoons displayed in the windows.
“What would you like to see?” Walter asked.
She hadn’t been to a play in years. As they grew older she and John had not gone out very much, and George had thought plays immoral. She tried to remember titles she had seen on the playbills she printed but they all blurred together, stories of love and war and blood and revenge. She would cheerfully see any one of them.
A coach came toward them, taking up most of the narrow street, and they moved to make room for it. Its wheels creaked; the horses’ hooves fell loudly on the cobblestones. She waited until it had passed before she said, “I don’t know. You choose.”
“Dr. Faustus is very good,” he said, and then, “Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Nay, don’t be.”
“The Battle of Alcazar, then. Or Orlando Furioso. I’ve heard talk of both.”
“Nay, let’s see Faustus. Everyone in the churchyard has been to it. I want to know what all the talk is about.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded. “Very well.”
The walk was restoring her perspective, her equanimity. She was not a witch. They were fools to think so. How could she have thought of leaving the company? She would stay, and show them the extent of their folly.
They walked in silence for a while, passing the huge courtyard of the Royal Exchange on their left. Alice saw merchants from all over Europe, dressed in outlandish clothes, crossing the courtyard or hurrying through the pillared arcade. She had a quick sense of vast excitement, as if whole destinies were decided here. It reminded her of something she had forgotten, that London was bigger, and contained stranger sights, than the churchyard of St. Paul’s.
They turned left onto Gracechurch Street. “Why did you come to my defense?” she asked.
“How could I not?”
The simple answer warmed her, but it explained nothing. “But you lied for me,” she said. “You have never been to my house.”
“George is an ass. Any fool could see that he hoped to gain something if you lost your membership in the company. And no one who knows you could believe the things he said for a moment. Even I didn’t believe it, and I had only met you once. So my conscience is quite clear. If I hadn’t spoken up you might have been in some danger. I have seen crowds like that become enraged in a moment, flaring up like fire on a thatched roof.”
“You said George hoped to gain something. What do you think it is?”
He looked at her shrewdly. “I don’t know. I would guess it has something to do with that man they talked about, the counterfeiter.”
She had been surprised to hear, at the Stationers’ Hall, that George had befriended the man in black. Now she wondered if he might also be looking for Arthur, if he worked for Queen Oriana’s enemies.
“And perhaps it has something to do with your son,” Walter James said, looking at her shrewdly.
She said nothing. The man beside her seemed pleasant, and he had
come to her rescue when she had most needed it, but she didn’t think she knew enough to confide in him. What if it had all been a trick, if he and George had plotted together to get her to trust him? But nay, she was starting to suspect everyone. Surely Walter wouldn’t have defended her so strongly if he had been George’s friend.
“How long has your son been missing?”
“Some years now.”
“Do you know where he went? Or why folks are looking for him?”
“Nay.” She was unused to lying, so she hadn’t known what she was going to say until the word was out of her mouth. Thinking it over, though, she realized she had made the right decision. He wouldn’t believe her story, for one thing, and for another she didn’t want to burden him with her troubles. And if, unlikely as it seemed, he and George did work for the same forces, she would be glad she had said nothing.
They went through Bishopsgate and past the small houses and fields of the suburbs. He was silent until they reached the playhouses, as if he understood he had trespassed too much on her privacy. They came to the Theatre just as the trumpets sounded from the roof to announce the start of the play.
They hurried inside. It cost a penny to stand, twopence to sit, and three to sit on cushions. He paid sixpence for both of them and directed her to a row of benches. She sat and looked around her.
The theater was circular, with the stage projecting out into the center and surrounded on three sides by the audience. Near the stage almost on it, sat the gallants who had come to see and be seen, and who would comment loudly, not on the action on stage but on who had arrived with whom and what they were wearing. Men and women moved up and down the benches near her, selling apples, nuts, bottled ale, tobacco. Next to her a man was talking loudly to his companion, a woman who smelled overwhelmingly of perfume, about his wife.
The man did not stop talking, and the vendors did not stop hawking their wares, when an actor dressed in black velvet came out to speak the prologue. The city apprentices in their blue coats and flat caps, escaped from work for a day, cheered the beginning of the play enthusiastically, and she missed the opening lines.
Strange Devices of the Sun and Moon Page 13