by Sam Thomas
“Perhaps that is where we part ways,” Martha said. “I would not let him hang for a murder he did commit.”
* * *
Martha and I ate a small dinner of bread and cheese as we talked through our scheme to free Will. The guards at Peter’s Prison were so loose, it would not take us long, and once he escaped, he’d simply have to find his way out of the city. It seemed absurdly easy.
We reached Peter’s Prison, and Martha pounded on the door. A few moments later, one of the jailors opened it and gestured for us to enter.
“Come in, come in, before the wind does,” he urged us.
Inside we found Will, his jailors, and two other prisoners sitting at a table playing at cards. If the coins before them were any measure, he jailors seemed to be doing very well for themselves. I counted this a good decision on Will’s part.
“Martha, Aunt Bridget!” Will smiled when we entered the room. “You’ve rescued me from these conjurors. I’ve no idea how they do it.” The jailors laughed, enjoying their success at gambling and the profits it brought.
“Might I have a word with my nephew?” I asked. “I will return him to his game shortly.”
“So long as he brings his pennies, keep him as long as you want,” cried one of the jailors as he waved us toward Will’s cell. Will helped himself to a lantern and led the way down the stairs. The cell was no less cold than it had been on our previous visit, and I praised God that if all went according to plan Will soon would be free.
“You must escape and flee the city,” Martha whispered as soon as the door shut behind us.
Will looked at us in shock. “What? What has happened? Surely things haven’t become so dire so quickly!”
“I’m afraid they have,” I said. “They intend to try you for Mr. Breary’s murder as soon as the witch-trials are done.”
Will half sat, half fell onto his pallet, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. “They said they would wait until the next Assizes. I thought we had more time. Until March.”
“So did we,” I replied. “But we were wrong, and we must act immediately.”
Will’s eyes flicked between Martha and me. I had never seen him so frightened.
“They’d not rush me to court if they intended a fair trial,” Will said. “If I am tried, I’ll surely be hanged.”
“That is why you must escape,” I said. “That you are here rather than the Castle is a stroke of luck. We’ve already seen that your guards are less attentive than they should be.”
Will nodded. “If we supply them with sack, they’ll drink themselves into a stupor. I could simply walk out the door.”
“Precisely,” I said. “I’ll send them capons, a roast beef, and enough wine to set them spinning for days. Once they are asleep, come to my stable. I’ll leave a bag of clothes and money for you there. Take one of my horses, go south to Micklegate Bar, and leave as soon as they open the gate in the morning. Your guards will still be asleep and will not have raised hue and cry. In the cold, you can cover your face and nobody will think it strange. Then it’s on to Hereford. You will be safe there.”
Will exhaled, and the mist of his breath rose slowly toward the cell’s low ceiling. “And you will join me there?” he asked.
“As soon as we can,” Martha replied.
“Moving a household takes more time,” I said. “But we will come.”
“Very well,” Will said, rising to his feet. “The guards have all my pennies, but if I start losing shillings, they’ll be in a drinking mood to be sure.”
I stepped to Will and held him close. “And we will see you in Hereford.”
Martha and Will locked eyes, and the pain of their impending separation filled the small room.
“I will see you soon,” Will said. “I promise.”
Martha nodded, and we started up the stairs. When we reached the main room, I announced my plans to send over a feast worthy of the Lord Mayor himself, and the guards cheered heartily.
“Your nephew is a welcome guest indeed,” cried out one guard, clapping Will on the back. I regretted the trouble the guards would suffer for allowing Will to escape—Joseph’s wrath would be tremendous indeed—but we had few options.
Martha and I had not yet reached the door when a pounding echoed through the room.
“God’s blood, is someone trying to break in to the prison?” one of the guards shouted as he crossed to the door. “What is it? What is it?”
As soon as he pulled back the bar, the door burst open and half a dozen members of the Town Watch charged into the room. At least two had been with the squad who took Will from my house, and they still bore the marks of that skirmish. The one Will had battered the worst crossed the room and drove the butt of his musket into Will’s stomach. Will crumpled to the floor without a sound. I cried out in shock, and Martha hurled herself at Will’s assailant, ready to do battle. Another of the watchmen, this one bearing scratches across his face, lashed out with his fist, striking Martha on the side of her head. She joined Will on the floor.
“Sergeant, what is the meaning of this?” I shouted. “By what right do you act in such a lawless fashion?”
“By order of the Lord Mayor. And before you ask, yes, we have a warrant to take your nephew.” His voice dripped with disdain. As Will struggled for breath, two of the soldiers rolled him onto his stomach and bound his hands behind him. Martha rolled onto her back and struggled to rise, but the same soldier who had struck her placed his boot on her chest. She looked at me, her eyes begging me to act. My mind raced for some way to turn the situation to our favor, for I knew that if they took Will we’d have a devil of a time getting him back.
“Good work, sergeant,” a voice called out. I turned to find Mark Preston standing in the doorway. A smile crossed his lupine features when he saw me.
“There you are, my lady,” he said. He did not bother to bow. “Mr. Hodgson wondered where you had gone when you left the Castle in such a hurry. He hoped you might stay to hear the witch’s sentencing. She is to be hanged, of course.”
“Where are you taking him?” I demanded.
“Mr. Hodgson has made room for his brother in the Ouse Bridge gaol, and he has even arranged for a special guard. We think he will be more secure there.”
My heart sank. I knew that Joseph could not have discovered our plan to sneak Will out of the city, but he had foiled it all the same.
Preston saw the look on my face, and his smile widened. “Why so sad, my lady?” he asked. “Surely one cell is as good as another. Or have we interrupted some sort of scheme?”
I said nothing.
“In any event, it does not matter what you planned,” Preston continued. “Mr. Hodgson will have his trial. And then his hanging. Bring him along!”
Chapter 17
Martha fought back her tears as we hurried home. The wind had risen while we were inside, rendering useless any words of comfort that might have occurred to me. We needed time and peace in order to think of a way to save Will. Unfortunately, we had neither. By the time we slammed the front door behind us, Martha had transformed her anguish into fury.
“That son of a whore kept us at the Castle so he could summon soldiers to move Will,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll kill him myself. And that half-handed monster leading the soldiers, I’ll kill him, too.”
I looked closely at her face to see if she spoke in earnest or merely anger. I knew all too well that when Martha made such a threat I should take her seriously.
“If you did such a thing, you and Will would simply be hanged from the same gallows,” I said. “We will find another way.”
“What way?” Martha asked.
I could see the despair in her eyes, and I longed to take her in my arms as I would Elizabeth, and my daughter Birdy before her. I wanted to tell her that I would keep her safe from all harm. But while Elizabeth might still believe such lies, Martha had seen too much of the world to be so easily gulled.
Martha started up the stairs toward her
chamber but stopped and turned to face me. “This is what I meant when I said you had too much faith in the law. Now that we cannot so easily manage Will’s escape, you will spend the night finding some way to free him by proving his innocence in court. But the truth is that the law is a blind whore. She comes when powerful men call, and then lies back while they use her as they see fit. And if you cannot see this, Will is going to hang.” With that, she turned and disappeared up the stairs.
I heard a soft cry behind me and found Elizabeth standing there, her eyes wide with fright.
“Will is going to hang?” she asked before breaking down entirely.
I rushed across the room and scooped her in to my arms. “No, no, he is not going to hang,” I said. I felt tears on my cheeks as my fear for Will and hatred of Joseph overwhelmed me. “I will find a way to save him. I promise.” It took me nearly an hour to regain myself and bring Elizabeth back from the edge of despair. Eventually she accepted my assurances, and thanked me for keeping Will safe. My heart broke as she wandered off in search of Hannah, and I feared that I had just told the most horrid lie of my life.
* * *
But try as I might—and I did not sleep that night—I could find no way to free Will from the snare that had been laid for him. Joseph had spread so many rumors, all indicating Will’s guilt, that everyone in the city thought him a murderer twice over, culpable in George’s death as well as his and Joseph’s father’s. It was not until an hour before sunrise that I remembered the pamphlet that Martha and I had penned a few days before and that the printer had said would be finished soon. If it were read by enough people, perhaps George’s friends and allies on the City Council would rediscover their courage and act against Joseph. It seemed our only hope, and I resolved to go to the printer’s as soon as the sun rose and take the pamphlets throughout the city myself.
At breakfast I told Martha of my plan. “Let us go to the printer’s and see how many we can distribute today,” I said. “I’m sure Peter Newcome will help us as well.” She nodded sullenly, utterly unconvinced that it would make any difference. I could neither disagree with her sentiment nor propose another scheme.
Even before we had gathered our cloaks, someone began to pound on the front door. Martha peered out the window. When her face paled my heart began to race.
“It is Joseph,” she said. “And Mark Preston with him.”
“Ah, God’s blood,” I swore. What could he want? To this point Joseph and I had battled each other from afar. What did it mean that he now stood at my door?
He continued to knock. “Hollo! Aunt Bridget! I know you’re in there! And I saw your maidservant looking through the window!”
“Let him in,” I said. I did not see any other option.
Martha opened the door, and without awaiting an invitation Joseph and Mark bulled their way into my entry hall. Joseph smiled as soon as he saw me.
“There you are, Aunt Bridget!” He spoke as if we were the closest of friends. “I hope I haven’t pulled you away from more pressing work.”
“What do you want?” I demanded.
Joseph reached out and seized my hand before I could snatch it away. “I told you there’d be no ink, Mark,” he said as he inspected my fingertips. “She is tip-toe nice, even when she stoops to scribbling.”
“Perhaps she had her maid do the writing,” Preston replied, and reached for Martha’s hand.
With shocking speed, Martha pulled her left hand back and lashed out with her right, punching Preston squarely in the throat. He made a gugling sound as he fought for air, and his hands clawed at his neck. Martha followed her first blow with a second, this time striking him on the face. Preston toppled like a windblown tree and lay on the hall floor gasping for breath. Martha stood over him, fists clenched, daring him to continue the battle. It had been some time since I’d seen this side of her, and I thanked the Lord she’d not lost her skills in a fight.
I turned to Joseph, unsure how he would react to seeing his man humiliated, and found him on the verge of laughter.
“Very nice,” he cried, hauling Preston to his feet. “Mark, I hope you will be more careful of this one in the future. She’s of a different sort than her mistress.”
Preston stared at Martha, his eyes blazing as he tried to recover himself. He dropped his good hand to the dagger he wore on his belt, and my stomach roiled. Joseph grasped Preston’s arm and held it tight.
“None of that,” Joseph said. “You cannot murder a maidservant in her mistress’s hall simply for making a fool of you.” Preston relaxed, but from the look on his face I knew he soon would return for his revenge.
“Now, Aunt Bridget, back to business,” Joseph said. He brushed me aside and strode into the parlor. Unsure what to do and bewildered by his mention of business, I followed him. He crossed to the hearth and warmed his hands on the fire before turning to me.
“Your printer friend nearly made a very poor decision,” Joseph said. He produced a cheap pamphlet from his pocket and unfolded it. He read from the cover. “The Murderous Son Turn’d Murderous Brother. Aunt Bridget, I have to admit it’s a brilliant title. The town would have snatched these up in mere hours, even with the witch-trials. There’s no sating their appetite for scandal or blood, and this one has both.”
My heart sank when I realized what must have happened.
Joseph turned to the fire and tossed the pamphlet in to the flames. “That was the last copy, of course. And the printer now knows better than to even consider printing such scurrilous words about one of the city’s Aldermen.” He turned to face me. “The question, of course, is what I am going to do about you. You set yourself against my witch trials, you pen a pamphlet accusing me of murder, and you allow your maidservant to assault my man. Obviously, I cannot allow this to continue.”
“Will did not murder George Breary, and I’ll not let him hang for it,” I replied. “And you both should know that I’ll not rest until I see George’s true murderer dead and buried.”
I’d hoped my reply would give Joseph pause, but he laughed out loud.
“I have no desire to hang Will,” he replied. “At least not if he is innocent. But if it does come to pass, it would be just. I’ve neither forgotten nor forgiven his role in our father’s death. My brother might not have murdered Mr. Breary, but he is far from guiltless.”
“Whatever the case, you should not concern yourself with Will,” Mark Preston said. His voice rattled thanks to Martha’s blow. “He is safe enough in Ouse Bridge gaol.”
Joseph nodded in agreement. “Were I in your place, Aunt Bridget, I would look to my little ones. They are so vulnerable. Mrs. Hooke reminded you of that, but perhaps you forgot.”
Fury roared within me and tore at my throat for release. I felt my hands fly up and watched my fingers, now claws, slash at Joseph’s face. If my work as a midwife did not demand short fingernails, I might have had his eyes out. As it was, I did woefully little damage before he seized my wrists and forced my hands to my sides. Then he infuriated me all the more by laughing.
“Now this is a side of you I’ve never seen!” He squeezed my wrists and twisted my arms with such force that I had no choice but to sit. He leaned over me, and his smile vanished. “Because of your rank and your work as a midwife, the city’s women look to you for guidance. I cannot have you working against me. If you continue to do so, I will take your family, I will take your work, and if that is not enough I will kill you myself. When my father was alive, you had his ear, and that made you a powerful woman. But he is dead, and I am in his place. His power is now mine.”
Joseph released my wrists and stepped back. My body so trembled with fear and fury I did not dare rise.
“You will let the law run its course.” Joseph spoke softly, but there could be no mistaking the steel edge to his words. “The witches will be tried, and the guilty will hang. Then my brother will face a jury. I will not interfere in their verdict, but if he is convicted, he too will hang. And you will do nothing about an
y of this, or you will feel my wrath.”
Without waiting for a response, Joseph turned on his heel and strode from the room with Preston close behind. As if to show their contempt, or perhaps my vulnerability, they left the door wide open. They could return any time they chose, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
After Martha locked the door we sat in silence. What action could we take that would not result in further mayhem? I asked the Lord for guidance. He kept His own council.
After a few minutes Hannah bustled in from the kitchen, and she immediately felt the dread that had filled the room. “What is it?” she asked. “What has happened?”
I shook my head. “I do not know.”
The rest of the morning passed with torturing slowness. Martha and I attended our work only halfheartedly and with dread as our constant companion. We knew we had to find a way to save Will, but neither of us had the slightest idea of how we might do so. It was as if we awaited some awful and unavoidable news, and could not act until we knew the worst.
A knock at the door pulled us from our state. Hannah answered and called me downstairs where I found a girl of perhaps eleven years standing in the street. She had wrapped herself in a ragged wool cloak that billowed around her.
“Lady Hodgson?” she asked. “My mother sent me for you. She is in travail.”
For a moment I considered sending her to another midwife, but I realized that I was doing no good to anyone by staying home. I sent Martha for my valise, and we followed the girl into the bitter cold of the day. The girl told me her name was Jane Potter, and that her family had only recently come to the city. She had one sister, and they lived above her father’s tailor shop in Coney Street parish. Her mother had heard from her neighbors that I was a ready-handed midwife, and she sent for me when her travail started.
When we arrived at the tenement, Jane took us straight to the birthing room where we found her mother, Alice, and a half dozen of her gossips. I knew most of the women, and we fell to talking as Martha went to the kitchen to make the caudle to sustain Alice during her labor. Every midwife has her own recipe for caudle—some start with wine, others with ale, and there can be no agreement on how much sugar, ginger, or saffron to add—and Martha had begun to create her own. When Martha returned, I could see the strain of the day on her face, and I recognized how out of place it seemed in a room filled with joy and laughter. I wondered if the gossips could read my face as easily as I read Martha’s.