by Sam Thomas
“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?”
“And what of you?” Martha spat. “You’ve joined with him, haven’t you? How are you any better?”
A shadow passed over Rebecca’s face, and she stared at Martha. Martha held her gaze far longer than I could have, but eventually looked away. Then Rebecca turned back to me. “What option did you leave for me? You came to York, waving your coat of arms and jangling the cash in your purse. And what did the mothers—my mothers—do? Before I knew what had happened, they started crying out Lady Bridget this and Lady Hodgson that. Soon enough it was all the fashion to be delivered by a so-called gentlewoman.”
It was the first time I’d heard what might be called pain or regret in Rebecca’s voice.
“And then you called on your friends in the Minster and had them take my license,” she continued. “Did you think I would forget what you did to me? That you would take my place in this city, and I would let it pass as if it meant nothing at all?”
“No, Rebecca, I never thought that,” I replied softly. “But you were a cruel and unforgiving midwife. I regret nothing I’ve done.”
For some reason Rebecca laughed at this, and my heart filled with fear. What reason did she have for merriment?
“You might not regret it now, but soon you will,” she said. “A Searcher has far more power than a midwife, more power than you can imagine. And as a Searcher I will enjoy more respect than you’ll ever know. Bringing life is a joyful thing, and people love you for it, but now I bring death, and people fear me.”
“Why have you come?” I asked. “To display your newfound authority and lord it over me? You should enjoy it, because I promise that I will see you brought low before this business is through.”
“I know you think that.” Rebecca spoke to me as she would a child. “But before you even consider such a scheme, I would suggest you look about you. Your nephew is in gaol, accused of murder. And that red-haired girl you call your daughter … I’ve heard she is rarely seen without her cat. Your neighbor said that she talks to it constantly.” Rebecca paused. “Did you hear that in Essex they hanged a witch who was just eleven years old? Just a girl! The devil is no respecter of children, is he?”
Martha and I stared at Rebecca, unable to speak.
“You are not so cruel,” Martha managed to say at last, but we both knew that she was.
Rebecca smiled. “I am simply doing the Lord’s work. That is what Joseph would say. And I quite like the idea that God would make me the instrument of bringing you to your knees. So look to your own, Bridget, for you are not so safe as you think.” She turned and walked away, the sound of her boot heels echoing through the street.
I watched her go, hardly daring to breathe lest she return with more threats and dangers. Once she’d passed out of sight I exhaled. “Let us go home,” I said to Martha.
“Did you see James Hooke?” she asked by way of a reply.
“What do you mean? James was with her?”
“Aye,” Martha replied. “He was skulking in the alley over there, peering about like he was a member of the Town Watch.”
Such news was curious, and I knew not what to make of it. James had never been one to dote on Rebecca (not that she would have allowed it), preferring instead to keep his distance. I could not fault him in that.
When we arrived at my house I gazed at the door. Soon after I’d taken up midwifery I’d had it painted red so people could find me more easily, and for years I’d loved coming home to see it. But on this day, the afternoon sun bathed my street in a passing strange light that made the door seem darker than usual, the color of clotting blood. I pushed my way inside and breathed a sigh of relief when Hannah and Elizabeth greeted us.
“I’ve gathered all you’ll need for Mr. Hodgson,” Hannah announced, indicating a large basket by the door. “Blankets and a bolster for his bed, and enough food for days.”
I embraced Hannah and kissed Elizabeth on the crown of her head. “I’ll be back very soon,” I promised. “I need to take these to Will so that he keeps warm tonight.”
“I wrote him a note,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s in with the food. When will he be home?”
“Soon,” I said. “Just as soon as we can get him.”
In just the few minutes that Martha and I had been inside, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving us with the merest sliver of daylight. We hurried toward High Petergate and then to the west side of the Minster to Peter’s Prison. The heavy wood door loomed over us, and I felt small and ineffectual when I pounded on it. When we received no response, Martha cast about until she found a loose cobblestone. She lifted the stone above her head and hurled at the door with all her might. The crash echoed through the street. A few moments later the door groaned open a few inches.
To my amazement we were greeted not by a guard but by Will himself. A broad smile lit up his face when he saw us.
“Thank God it’s you, Aunt Bridget,” he whispered. “Come in quickly.”
“Will, what in God’s name is going on?” Martha cried.
“Keep your voice down,” Will said. “You’ll wake everyone.” Though I’d never been called to testify in the Minster court, I knew that the floor above us served as a courtroom, the ground floor housed the jailors, and the cells—where I’d thought I’d find Will—were beneath our feet. Will ushered us inside, and I struggled to make sense of the scene before us. A fire roared in the large stone hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow, and it was clear that we’d arrived in the aftermath of a particularly unruly supper. A half dozen wine bottles stood on the rough wood table in the center of the room, surrounded by glasses, tankards, and plates of half-eaten food. The capon that had provided the main course sat in the middle of the table, stripped down to its bones. I looked around the room for the guards, but the three of us were alone.
“Will, what is going on here?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Bridget, it’s fine,” he said. “It turned out that I knew the jailors from my drinking days, and they were quite hospitable.” In his early youth, Will had lived a far more dissolute life than I or his father would have liked, drinking and fighting with the town’s lower sort. He had left that life behind (thanks in no small part to my efforts), but it seemed that his time in York’s alehouses had yielded some surprising benefits.
“Where are they?” Martha asked.
“They’ve been asleep for some time now,” Will replied, gesturing at a door that led to the jailors’ quarters. “I kept pouring, and they kept drinking. Have you brought any money? I promised I’d repay them for supper and the wine if they allowed me to sleep up here rather than in the cells below. They’re awful.”
“We’ve brou
ght you blankets and a pillow, as well as food and cash,” Martha said. “If we’d known you would be living so well we would have come here for our supper rather than eating at home.”
“There wouldn’t have been enough for all of us,” Will said with a smile. “These poor sots have to make do with so little they’d have eaten an entire goose if I’d provided it. It’s lucky for me, though. The birth went well then?”
“Well enough,” I replied. I considered telling him about our encounter with Rebecca Hooke, but rejected the idea. There was nothing he could do to help, and I did not want to worry him unnecessarily. “We came to make sure that you were safe and in good spirits, but I see we needn’t have troubled ourselves.”
“So long as I keep my hosts in beer and bread, they’ll treat me well,” Will said. “But we do have to find a way to get me out.”
I nodded. “We will work on that.”
“What is your plan?” Will asked. “My stay here is off to a fine start, but I don’t much like where it might end.”
“We’ll find out what we can about why you were taken,” I said. “If it was simply on Joseph’s orders, there might be nobody to testify against you. He might merely want you out of the way for a time.”
“Or he might have found someone to perjure himself,” Will noted. “In which case I’m cooked.” The thought—which, I had to admit, was entirely reasonable—cast a cloud over our little reunion.
Martha reached out and took his hand. “It will not come to that,” she said. “We will testify on your behalf, and none could doubt us.”
“A maidservant and my own aunt?” Will asked doubtfully. “I wish I had your confidence. No, if you don’t free me before the Assizes, Joseph will see me convicted. I have no doubt of that.”
“We will free you,” I replied. “We have no other option. We will continue our inquiry into George’s murder. There are others who had reason to kill him—Joseph, Mark Preston, Agnes Greenbury, or the Lord Mayor himself. It is simply a matter of finding out which one acted against him.” I watched Will’s face to see how he would react when I included Joseph among the suspects. He winced, but that was all.