by Sam Thomas
“Once they were outside, Joseph struck him. George fled, but he could not escape. We heard his cries, but by the time we arrived, Joseph was gone and George could not be saved. He lived for an hour after we returned to my house. When he first told me who had done this, I refused to accept it. What woman wants to believe her beloved nephew is a murderer? But he swore on his soul that it was the truth.”
“So you believed him?”
“No dying man would imperil his soul by telling such a lie. The danger is too great and the profit too small.”
“Was there anything else that convinced you of Mr. Hodgson’s guilt?” The prosecutor was playing his part admirably. The only shame was that he was aiding perjury.
“Aye. When Joseph and the other Aldermen came to my house to view the body, a strange and wonderful thing happened. It could only be a sign from the Lord.” I paused for a moment, knowing that I held the jury in my hand. “Mr. Breary had been dead for some hours, and his wounds had long stopped bleeding. But as soon as Joseph entered the room, his wounds began to bleed afresh, as if he’d only suffered them moments before.”
The jurymen nodded to themselves. There could be no surer mark of Joseph’s guilt.
After I’d finished, the prosecutor summoned Martha, who echoed my story, adding a few details to secure Joseph’s guilt and execution. Joseph protested as the bailiffs dragged him from the room, but none paid him any mind.
Martha and I waited while the jury considered the case.
They found Joseph guilty both of witchcraft and of George Breary’s murder. He was, of course, sentenced to be hanged.
Tears froze on my cheeks as Martha and I walked home.
Chapter 25
By the time we got home my tears had stopped, but Martha and I had not yet spoken. She broke the silence when the door shut behind us.
“It was the right thing to do,” she said.
“My nephew is going to hang for a murder he did not commit,” I replied. “How can that be the right thing to do?”
“If an innocent man is going to hang, better Joseph than Will. Better that icy-hearted beast than someone we both love. And do not forget that he threatened to hang us, or that your lies saved Tree’s life and kept Elizabeth in your home. Those may have been lies, but they were among the finest words ever spoken and the world is better for them. This was a war, and you cannot lament the enemy dead. Not until they are safely buried.”
“What of the guards who died when Will and Tree escaped?” I asked. “What wrong had they done? Why should they die while Will and Tree live?”
“Because death was their lot. Because Will and Tree are yours, and the guards were not. Mourn them, comfort their families, pay school fees for their children, do what you must. But do not think you took the wrong course.”
“School fees will not bring back their fathers or replace the love their widows have lost,” I replied. Without warning I was overcome by weakness and tumbled into a chair. I felt as if every drop of blood had been drawn from my body. “School fees will not salve my conscience.”
“Your conscience needs no salve.” Martha knelt next to me and took my hand. “You did nothing wrong. The preachers tell us we live in a fallen world. So much of what they say is mere baggage, but in this they are right. This week we all drew lots. The guards drew Death, as did Mark Preston, Joseph, and all the women he hanged. You were lucky. You drew Life. Do not forget that it could have been otherwise.”
I felt a sad smile cross my face. “When did you start listening to ministers?”
“It is the one sensible thing they’ve said,” she replied. “And I don’t need a sermon to tell me the world is a cold and heartless place that has no regard for the weak.”
I sat for a time, considering her words. Although I knew it was too late to change course, I tried to imagine a way to save Will, Tree, and Elizabeth that did not require Joseph’s death.
I could not find one.
* * *
The next day—the day Joseph was to be hanged for witchcraft and murder—I stayed in my house. I prayed that the Lord would wash my hands of the guilt that I still felt, but that prayer only put me in mind of Pontius Pilate, and I felt all the worse. That afternoon a boy from the Castle came to us and told us that Joseph was dead.
In the days that followed, York’s gaols slowly emptied of the women accused of witchcraft. Without Joseph or Rebecca to push them, the courts had lost their thirst for blood. The women who could not repay the city for the cost of their imprisonment languished in their cells until their relatives could gather money enough to satisfy the Warden. I later learned that half a dozen women died of gaol-fever because they were too poor to buy their freedom.
I sent nearly twenty shillings to the Castle in hope of speeding Will and Tree’s release, and the day after Joseph’s death Samuel Short wrote with the joyful news that Tree had been restored to him. As soon as the note arrived, Martha, Elizabeth, and I dashed to the Castle. We brought with us a new suit of clothes for Tree and as much food as we could carry.
“Do you think Will is there as well?” Martha asked as we wove through the crowded streets. The fact that we’d heard nothing of or from Will worried us both, and we did not know what it could mean. Perhaps he’d fallen ill—or worse.
“He could be with Samuel and Tree, waiting to surprise us,” Elizabeth suggested. I prayed that was the case.
When we entered the Castle, the sight of a three-legged mare greeted us, nooses still dangling from the crossbeams.
“They must have hanged Joseph here,” Martha ventured. “More private than the market at least.”
I looked away from the gallows. I had no interest in dwelling on my role in his death.
As soon as we arrived at Samuel’s tower, Tree dashed into our arms. When I was able to free myself from his embrace, I looked him over. Samuel had shaved his head to free him from lice, but aside from that he seemed as fit as could be. There could be no doubt that the Lord had watched over him with especial care. While Tree and Elizabeth devoured the cakes I’d brought and talked of their separate adventures—Elizabeth’s visits to the market seemed no less remarkable than Tree’s time in gaol—Martha and I turned to Samuel.
“Have you heard any news of Will?” Martha demanded. “Why wasn’t he released with Tree?”
Samuel’s brows knit in confusion. “All three of them—Stephen Daniels, Will, and Tree—walked out of the gaol together, nearly three hours ago,” he replied. “Will told me he’d go straight to your house. You haven’t seen him?”
Martha and I looked at each other. The relief I’d felt upon seeing Tree turned to concern for Will.
“How did he seem?” I asked Samuel. I could not imagine where he could be.
“He was distant, to be sure,” Samuel replied. “He wandered as if in a daze, following close behind Daniels. He didn’t even bid Tree farewell.”
“We must find him,” Martha said. She nearly managed to keep the worry from her voice. “There aren’t many places he could go.”
“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 da
ys 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.