The Witch Hunter's Tale (7 page)

In truth, I did not know which would be best. I did not want Elizabeth to forget her past entirely, but it was so terrible, what parts would I have her keep? She should remember her mother’s love, of course. And I wanted her to see the struggles of the poor, for how else could she love them as God intended? If my work as a midwife did nothing else, it showed me how the lower sort lived, and I felt I was a better Christian for it.

By the time I reached my house, my bones ached from the cold, and I hurried to the warmth of the kitchen, where I found Hannah and Martha teaching Elizabeth how to make bread. I immediately joined in, and soon the four of us were covered with enough flour to make yet another loaf. When Hannah opened the oven door, the firelight shone through Elizabeth’s golden-red hair, and for a moment it seemed as if she were the sun itself.

As we did our best to knock the flour from our clothes, Martha looked at me with a raised eyebrow, asking where I’d been. I inclined my head toward the dining room, and we withdrew from the kitchen.

“Elizabeth told you about the printer and the three-fingered man?” I asked.

Martha nodded. “Aye. What’s that mongrel Preston got to do with a pamphlet?”

I explained what I’d learned from the printer.

“And you think Joseph is priming the pump for more witch hangings,” she said.

“Aye,” I replied. I crossed to the window and looked past my reflection. We were just a few days from the brumal solstice, and even at this early hour the street was cloaked in shadows. “I think the pump is already well primed. The question is when Joseph and Rebecca will start to work the handle.”

Martha rarely showed signs of fear, but I could see that the prospect of a witch-hunt coming to York unnerved her.

“Why in God’s name is he doing this?” she asked. “What profit is there in starting down this road?”

We both knew the answer to these questions; indeed she had answered one even as she asked it. Joseph’s brutality was matched only by his righteousness. While some men sought power for its own sake, or for the wealth it would bring, Joseph wanted it in order to do the Lord’s work. The previous summer (how long ago it seemed!) Joseph had become constable and used his office to suppress all manner of sin. His goal, the goal of all the city’s Puritans, was to turn York into a “city upon a hill.” In his mind, the minister and the magistrate should work together to drive the city’s residents away from their sinful habits.

“It’s no different than when he harried the city’s doxies,” I said. “He believes that he is doing God’s bidding by ridding York of Satan’s handmaidens. That he is also gathering power to himself is almost an accident.”

“It is a dangerous scheme, this business of witch-hunting,” Martha said. “Once the hangings start, who is to say he will be able to control its course?”

“He is at war with the devil, and there can be no victory without risk,” I said. “But that is also why he needs Rebecca Hooke. So long as she is his Searcher and does his bidding, he will decide who will hang and who will not.”

Martha swore. “So they will find witches only among their enemies. And you are chief among them.”

“Precisely,” I replied. “That is why we must be on our guard. Joseph and Rebecca have cast an incendiary into the city, and there is no telling which way the wind will take the fires once they start.”

*   *   *

After supper, Martha and I set out into the darkness, walking south toward the Ouse Bridge and the hall where the Council would meet. The full moon shone down on us, painting York’s streets a shimmering silver. Were it not so breathtakingly cold we might have paused to admire the scene; instead we pulled our cloaks tight, lowered our heads, and pushed forward. Within moments I was shivering, and I could hear Martha’s teeth chattering together.

As we neared the bridge we caught a glimpse of the river, and we both stopped, shocked at the sight that greeted us.

“The river has frozen over,” Martha said at last. Neither of us had ever seen—or even imagined!—such a thing. York relied on the Ouse to bring food in and send goods out; if trade came to a halt we all would suffer.

“Perhaps it will thaw in the morning,” I said. But neither of us believed it. God had not yet shown Himself to be a merciful Father, and I had no reason to think He would start now.

When we reached the hall we found two men standing outside. Will (or the man I took to be Will, for I could hardly see him under his coats and heavy wool muffler) held a lantern and waved when he saw us. The other man—George Breary, I assumed—unlocked the door and ushered us inside.

The meeting would not start for an hour, and we had the room to ourselves. By the light of day it was nearly as impressive as the Merchant Adventurers’ Hall, with vaulted ceilings and richly covered oak furniture. But at night and without its torches lit, the shadows above seemed ominous rather than awe inspiring.

George hurried over to the large fireplace, added wood, and fanned the embers into flame. Only then did he begin to unwrap himself. “I sent the keeper home,” he said. “The fewer people who know you are here, the less chance that Joseph will find out.” I nodded my thanks. Will took a torch from the wall and lit it from the fire. While Martha and I huddled next to the hearth, he walked around the room lighting the remaining torches. Soon the lower portion of the hall had a pleasant glow about it.

“Come with me,” George said when Will had finished. “I know a place for you to stay during the meeting.” He led us up a set of stairs to a balcony overlooking the room. A few chairs and other odd bits of furniture had been stored up there, but the space was mostly empty. I peered over the edge and saw the large table where the Council would sit.

“Will, can you see us?” I called down.

Will looked up from his seat at the table. “Take one step back,” he replied. We did, and he nodded. “Nobody will see you if you stay still,” he said.

I started to respond, but I swallowed my words when we heard the hall door creak open. I nodded to George, and he disappeared down the stairs to meet whoever had arrived. By ones and twos, the members of the Council and their followers arrived at the hall, and soon the sounds of their conversation bubbled up to us. I envied them their nearness to the hearth, for I could feel the cold seeping into my bones.

I peered into the growing crowd, occasionally catching a glimpse of friends and more distant family. When I married a Hodgson, I had married most of York. After what seemed an eternity, the Sergeant of the Mace called the Council into session, and we heard the sound of chairs scraping on the floor as the Councilmen took their seats. A minister offered a short prayer, and then the Lord Mayor stood to speak.

Matthew Greenbury had been elected Lord Mayor some months before, and it was the fourth time that he had held the office. As it happened it was also his fourth decade on the Council, and every year was etched on his ancient face. Despite his advanced age, Greenbury remained sound in body and retained every bit of the authority he must have had in his youth. Even before the war between King and Parliament had begun, Greenbury had refused to choose one side over the other, wearing the title “neutralist” as a badge. While it endeared him to no one, once the fighting broke out it made him the most logical choice to lead the city.

“As most of you know, we are here at the request of Mr. Joseph Hodgson,” Greenbury announced. “So without further delay I will turn the meeting over to him.”

When Joseph began to speak, I leaned forward hoping to catch a view of him. I caught my breath when I saw Mark Preston’s familiar and entirely unwelcome face. He stood against the far wall, facing us, and when I glanced down at his ruined hand a shiver ran through me. While Joseph and Rebecca were the architects of the scheme to rid York of its witches, it would be a mistake to forget about so dangerous a man as Preston, and I vowed not to do so.

Joseph sat with his back to us, but in my mind I could see the hard lines of his face and his cold, clear eyes. When he’d left to fight in the wars, he’d been a kind young man, a bit aloof perhaps, but not a bad sort at all. He’d returned from Cromwell’s side soaked in blood and well schooled in the ruthlessness necessary to succeed in politics. When Edward died, Joseph stepped into his place without a moment’s hesitation, and he made it his business to purge the city of sin—and of his enemies.

Joseph’s chair scraped back as he stood to speak. “It is no secret that York has suffered, and continues to suffer at God’s hands,” he said. “Summer heat has turned to the iron cold of winter, and many in the city know not where to turn for relief. The answer, of course, is that they should turn to the Lord, but too many have not seen this simple truth, and even to this day they wallow in their sin.” Joseph continued in this vein for some time, and had I not known who was speaking, I would have thought it was a godly minister preaching to his flock. Joseph dropped his voice to a whisper, drawing in his listeners, and then shouted about God’s law or God’s glory, overwhelming the Council with the power of his voice and the sheer force of his will.

“Good and learned ministers of the gospel have shown us that the End of Days is upon us,” Joseph continued. “Soon, very soon, the Risen Christ will do battle with the fallen Antichrist, and all men will have to choose whether they are among God’s people or Satan’s. Even now, the battle is joined, as the hanging of the witch Hester Jackson has shown.” At this Martha and I stood a little straighter. This was why we’d come.

“In years past, learned men have amply proved that witches—these handmaidens of the devil himself—never work alone. In this, witches are like the rats that so often suckle from their hideous teats. If one rat is found in the kitchen, there must be more within the walls. And if one witch is in the city, there must be more within
its
walls.” I could hear members of the Council murmuring in agreement with Joseph’s logic.

“Although it is unusual, I should like now to bring an expert on witches and their evil ways before the Council.” Martha and I looked at each other in alarm. “I am sure you all know Mrs. Rebecca Hooke,” Joseph continued. “She was born and bred in the city, and worked for many years as a midwife. Indeed, the wives of more than a few Councilmen benefitted from her care. Mrs. Hooke examined Hester Jackson and found the Witch’s Mark on her body. And she knows far more about witches and witchcraft than any one of us.”

When none on the Council objected, the clerk called for Rebecca Hooke. Confidence and cruelty echoed through the hall each time her heel struck the rough wood floor. I could not resist peering over the edge of the balcony to watch Rebecca’s performance. She stood at the head of the table and looked around the room. Once she was sure that she had the attention of every Alderman she began to speak.

Chapter 6

“Gentlemen,” Rebecca Hooke said, “no good man would deny that Satan is active in the world, more now than at any time since Jesus Christ walked the earth. We hear daily of witches acting on behalf of the King to destroy godly religion and hasten the fall of all men into perdition.”

Such pious words from such a harridan were absurd, of course. When the King had held York, Rebecca had been as strong a royalist as you’d care to meet, but once Parliament had taken power she donned the garb of the Puritan and became a reformer. I had no doubt that if the King returned to the city, so too would her love of monarchy. As best I could judge, Rebecca was a bit older than me, nearing her fortieth year. And while men assured me of my comeliness, she far surpassed me in beauty. Her high cheeks and ice-blue eyes seemed perfectly suited to the winter’s cold. The Councilmen couldn’t look away.

“When Hester Jackson was arrested as a witch, Mr. Hodgson summoned me to search her body for unnatural teats.” Rebecca’s voice echoed through the chamber. “I found just such teats near her fundament. She confessed her guilt to me, to Mr. Hodgson, and to the court of Special Assizes. There can be no doubt of her guilt, or the justice of her hanging. This you know already.”

The Councilmen nodded in agreement.

As much as I hated Rebecca, I could not help admiring her strength and how far she had come in this life. While I had the privilege of an ancient name and estates, Rebecca had made her way from nothing. Some said that she was the bastard daughter of a maidservant, while others claimed that she had deliberately gotten with child so she could force the man of her choosing into marriage. None dared say such things anymore, for Rebecca had made it her business to exact terrible revenge on those who trafficked in such news. Her favored weapon was gossip, and she spread rumors so vicious they drove entire families from the city. After marrying Richard Hooke, she had become merciless in her pursuit of power and money, harrying the poor man into great wealth and a seat on the City Council. If he had not been every bit as weak as my own Phineas, Richard Hooke might have been able to resist his wife’s base nature, but in the end she bent him to her will.

“But there are things you do not know,” Rebecca continued, “things Mr. Hodgson and I have kept in the greatest confidence for fear of exciting tumult within the city.”

The Councilmen feared disorder more than anything else, and they leaned forward in their seats, unwilling to miss a single word.

“As Mr. Hodgson said, it is not in a witch’s nature to labor alone in the vineyards of Satan. And before she died, Hester swore to us that she was not the only witch in the city. There are others, many others.” The Councilmen looked at each other in alarm and began to whisper among themselves. I glanced at Martha and saw the surprise on her face, for Hester has denied knowing of other witches in the city. I was not surprised that Rebecca would lie, of course, but I could not help being struck by her audacity in doing so before the Council. At the same time I realized that it was a brilliant stroke: With Hester dead, who could gainsay Rebecca’s words?

“Mrs. Hooke,” the Lord Mayor said. “Did the witch Hester Jackson tell you who these other witches are?”

“No, my Lord Mayor,” Rebecca said. “I am afraid she would not go so far as that. It seems even Satan’s handmaidens have a sense of loyalty.”