by Sam Thomas
“Sit,” Will said. When Praise-God hesitated, Will put a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sit, now, before things get worse for you.”
To his credit, Praise-God understood that Will did not speak in jest. Without another word, he dropped onto the bed next to his sister. Will turned to James and pointed to the bed. “Sit with them.”
Once James, Silence, and Praise-God were seated, I stepped in front of them and looked each of them in the eye. Of the three, only Silence held my gaze; both James and Praise-God tried, but looked to the floor after a few moments.
“Do you remember me?” I asked. James did, of course, but like the other two, he remained silent. “I am Lady Bridget Hodgson. As you know, a terrible murder took place on Monday, and we have been charged by the city to find the killer.”
“And what does that have to do with us?” Silence stared up at me, her eyes as black as her hair. Despite her youth—she couldn’t have been much older than twenty—Silence showed none of the deference due to a gentlewoman. Such were the godly: overthrowing the King would never suffice—they would not rest until they had extirpated God’s order, root and branch. In that moment, between her beauty and the steel that lay beneath the surface, she reminded me of Rebecca Hooke. I could see why James had taken to her. I decided to ignore her challenge for the present.
“There were signs at the site of the murder indicating that the killer comes from your faction,” I said. James started to protest, but I held up my hand. “We do not think any of you are guilty of this terrible crime, but we must find out what you know of Mr. Ward’s other followers.”
“What signs do you have?” Silence stood and leaned toward me. “You’ve no right to be here. Get out before I summon a constable.”
I felt rage rise within me, and as if it had a will of its own, my hand flew up and struck her across the face. I knew that in order to salvage the day, I had to remind Silence of her place, so I did not regret it. The blow did its work. Silence’s eyes bulged, and her lips pulled back in a furious grimace, but she sat back down.
“As I said, there were signs that one of the godly—one who has lost his way—is behind the murder. The nature of the signs is unimportant.” My body still hummed with the fury I felt at Silence’s impertinence, but I regained control of myself as best I could. “It is enough to say that I have seen them with my own eyes, and they are real.”
“What do you want from us?” Where his sister’s voice carried admirable strength, Praise-God’s wanted all authority. As much as Silence reminded me of James’s mother, Praise-God seemed the very mirror of James himself, weak and ineffectual.
“We think you know the murderer,” Will answered, staring at Praise-God. “It is one thing to hate the sin of whoredom. But who among you hated the sinner, too? Who among your number is a killer? You must know. You must have suspicions.”
“God is the author of all things,” Silence replied. She kept her eyes down, but there was no mistaking the anger in her voice. “The hand of God imposed His punishment on that whore and her whoremaster, and it was just. Coming from God, how could it be otherwise? I can only hope that through the destruction of the flesh, the souls of the dead may be saved when the Lord Jesus returns. God is merciful indeed.” She spoke these last words through bared teeth, and seemed ready to sink them into Will’s neck. Will had never wanted for courage, but even he seemed unnerved by her fury.
“It was not God who killed those people,” Martha answered. “And we will see whoever did it hanged.”
“God is the author of all things,” Silence said again, her voice rising and falling as her father’s did when he stood before a crowd. “He is riding a circuit that includes all the world, and He shall judge all men. He judges by Himself or by earthly magistrates, but if magistrates do not act, God will. Yea, He demands that we take vengeance and inflict punishment upon offenders. If we fail to do so, we are no better than the sinners themselves, and God will judge us no less severely.
“And when the Beast comes—and he is coming—the whores shall suffer most. The Beast will make them desolate and naked. And he will eat their flesh, and burn them with fire.”
Martha stared at Silence, stumbling for a suitable response.
“You are a true fanatic,” Martha said at last.
“You do not see?” Silence said with a bitter laugh. “God is daily burning the city to ashes for its sins, and you do not see. The sun is but a foretaste of the wrath and terror to come. It is far better for the sinners to suffer for their sins than for all mankind to die on their account.”
“And John Stubb agrees with you on this?” I asked, hoping to wrest control of the conversation away from this girl. “Might he see himself as one of God’s judges, sent to destroy the flesh of whores? To make them desolate and burn them with fire?” I expected a hot denial, a claim that he would do no such thing, that despite his size, John Stubb was as meek and mild as a lamb.
“John is a good man, and will do whatever God commands him,” answered Praise-God. “It is not for us to question His will. God told Moses, Honor thy father and thy mother, and God is father to us all. There is no command greater than this one.” He still had not looked up from the floor, but there was a new strength in his voice.
“How long has Stubb been with you?” I asked. “When did he join your father’s company?” Praise-God seemed taken aback by such a simple question.
“He first felt God working on his soul after a sermon my father preached in Manchester. He came to my father, and confessed his sinful nature. He’s been with us since.”
“Was he from Manchester?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Praise-God replied. “He had been a soldier for Parliament. He said that.”
“And a soldier he remains,” Silence added. “You’ll not find a more courageous man in the army of the Lord.” From the corner of my eye, I saw James wince as if he’d been struck. Could he be jealous of Stubb? Silence seemed intent on defending him, even to the point of justifying murder. Perhaps James would be my way into this crew.
“Stubb is back,” Martha said from the window. “Will, your brother is with him.” I looked out the window and thanked God for making Stubb so tall. He was impossible to miss, even from a distance. He and Joseph were engaged in an animated conversation, and Joseph seemed to be angry. I considered our options. I could not see any profit in confronting Stubb before I knew more, certainly not with Joseph present.
“We should go then,” I said. “There is no sense in courting danger.” I turned back to the trio on the bed. “You know more than you are saying, and I will find out the truth. If you are hiding anything, it will come out, and I will see you punished.”
Will opened the door, and Martha and I followed him toward the stairs.
“I don’t care what happened!” Joseph’s voice echoed up the staircase. The three of us froze midway down the stairs. Were Joseph and Stubb coming up, or going to the inn’s dining room? Stubb mumbled a response, but whatever he said did not satisfy Joseph. “Enough!” Joseph shouted. “I don’t want to hear your excuses!” I had never heard such a sharp edge in Joseph’s voice, and supposed it was his time with Cromwell that had made it so. When we heard the sound of boots mounting the stairs, it became clear that we would not escape that way.
I grasped Martha’s arm and pulled her back the way we’d come. “Up,” I hissed. “We’ll hide on the story above.” As we climbed the stairs, I said a prayer that Stubb hadn’t taken one of the inn’s garrets. If he and Joseph were going to the top, we would be caught for sure. The thought of Edward’s fury if Joseph told him we’d troubled the Wards spurred me up the final set of stairs. We reached the top and slipped into the hallway. None of the doors was open, and there was nowhere else to hide. If Stubb lived on the third story, we were done for. We stood stock-still listening to Stubb and Joseph mounting the stairs, and my mind raced for an explanation as to why we had disobeyed Edward. None presented itself.
A door below slammed shu
t, cutting off Joseph’s voice; we were safe. It was only then that I realized I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled softly, grateful for the reprieve. Before we could start back down the stairs, we heard another raised voice, this time much closer.
“I have had enough of it and you must stop!” a woman shouted. I looked at Martha. We’d heard the voice before, but where? “It is the rankest hypocrisy, and I will not stand for it,” she continued. “And neither will the Lord. He will not be mocked.” Then I knew.
“It’s Deborah Ward,” I whispered.
Martha smiled and nodded in agreement. “I only hope that it’s Mr. Ward who’s in there with her,” she murmured. “He deserves such a lashing.” God granted her wish.
“You must hear me, my chick,” Ward pleaded.
Will’s eyes widened at the crashing sound that followed Ward’s plea, and Martha’s mouth dropped open. I could not imagine what Deborah had thrown at her husband, but it sounded heavy.
“I must hear you?” Deborah demanded. “I have done nothing but hear you. I’ve heard your sermons, your excuses, your rank deceptions, and you will stop!”
“But darling, I am your husband.” His voice was barely a whimper. I realized with a start that Hezekiah Ward’s mewling sounded precisely like Phineas’s as he tried to convince me to sell one of my estates to fund his harebrained business schemes. I could only hope I never sounded as malicious as Deborah did.
“We will continue this later and you will heed me,” Deborah said. “But you must prepare for this afternoon’s sermon.” She paused. “Here. Wipe the blood from your nose before it drips on your Bible.”
After a few moments of silence, I inclined my head toward the stairs and we hastened toward the safety of the crowds on Coneystreet. As soon as we were away from the Three Crowns, Will turned into another of Coneystreet’s inns, eager to discuss what we’d heard.
“My God, what a woman!” Will laughed.
“From his sermons, you’d never have guessed he’s so timid,” Martha replied with a smile. “If only other women were so sharp with their husbands, the world would be a finer place.”
Will laughed again, this time more uneasily.
“Let us concern ourselves with the business at hand,” I said. I had no desire to revisit my own unhappy marriage. “What do you make of the younger Wards?”
Martha needed no further prodding to vent her fury.
“Is this what Englishmen have come to?” she hissed. “Laying two murders at God’s door, and washing their hands of the crime? Stubb is a soldier in God’s army? God, what rot!”
“Control yourself,” Will whispered. “If we start shouting about the Wards, my father will surely hear of it.”
“Did you not hear what that girl said?” Martha objected. “The Beast will make them desolate and naked. He will eat their flesh, and burn them with fire?” She turned to me. “Have you forgotten how she treated you? Her impudence?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But that is not the point—finding Jennet’s murderer is. To that end, we should focus on Stubb. From what we’ve seen, he’s the most likely suspect.”
Will nodded in agreement. “Stubb fought in the wars, so we should take him seriously. He’s fanatic enough to see fighting against sin as no different from fighting against the King. What better way to glorify God?”
“Praise-God said Stubb came to God after a sermon in Manchester,” I said. “Will, can you write to one of your father’s contacts there and see if they know of him?”
“I’ll ask my father to send a messenger immediately. I should think he’d be happy to learn that the killer is a stranger to York.”
“In the meantime, we need to question James when he is alone,” I said.
“Aye,” agreed Martha with ill-disguised pleasure. “Did you see the look on his face when Silence went on about Stubb’s courage? If there is anything to learn about Stubb, James will tell us.”
I nodded in agreement—I had seen the same thing.
“Can you find out when in the afternoon Ward will preach?” Martha asked Will. “If Silence is present, James will be, too. We can try to catch him afterward.”
“I’ll keep my ears open,” Will replied. “I’m sure my father will hear something about it. When I do, I’ll send word and we can meet there.”
“Good,” I said. For the first time since Jennet’s murder, I felt like we were making progress in finding the killer.
Will departed for his father’s house while Martha and I returned to Stonegate. Less than an hour later, Will appeared at our door, red-faced and sweating from the blazing sun.
“Well, you are a quick one,” Martha joked as she brought him a glass of barley water. “You can’t have heard from Manchester already, can you?”
Will mopped his brow and drank the water in two large gulps.
“My father did send the messenger,” he said. “But I’m here about Ward—he’s going to preach at four this afternoon.”
“Oh, very good,” I said. “Where will he be this time? Not on Ouse Bridge again, I hope.”
“That’s why I made the trip myself. He’s going to preach in St. Michael le Belfrey.” I looked at Will in astonishment.
“Surely not in the church itself,” I said. “The vicar is a moderate man. How could he let such a zealot into his pulpit? Why would he?”
“According to Joseph, it’s Rebecca Hooke’s doing. She wants to make it clear that in parish affairs, her voice speaks the loudest. If that means forcing the vicar from his pulpit, even for a day, then she’ll do it.”
“How did Joseph find out about the sermon?” I asked.
“One of the godly sent him a letter,” Will said, pulling a paper from his pocket. “Mr. Ward will preach at four o’clock at St. Michael’s church. The texts will be Deuteronomy 23:17 and 22:21.”
I went to the parlor and retrieved my Bible. I found the first passage and read it aloud: “There shall be no whore among the daughters of Israel, nor a Sodomite among of the sons of Israel.”
“What is it with the Wards and whores?” Martha cried out. “Surely there are other sins they could root out.”
“Perhaps he’s turned his attention to sodomites,” Will ventured.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and read the second passage. “Then they shall bring the damsel to the door of her father’s house, and the men of her city shall stone her with stones that she die, because she hath wrought folly in Israel, to play the whore in her father’s house: so shalt thou put evil away from among you.”
“Oh, no,” Martha whispered. “If he preaches on that text and the killer listens…”
“Then God help us,” I said softly. “We must stop the sermon.”
Chapter 11
“Do we have time to stop him?” Martha asked. I raced to the parlor to see my clock.
“It is almost four,” I said. “It will be close.” The three of us hurried from my home, to Stonegate, and then north toward St. Michael’s church. The church was among the finest in the city, dwarfing St. Helen’s in both size and magnificence. It had the added advantage of lying not a hundred yards from the Minster itself and was made all the more impressive by its proximity to the cathedral.
The moment we turned the corner of Petergate, I knew we would be hard pressed to prevent Ward from preaching, for the church and its surrounding streets resembled nothing so much as an Oriental bazaar, with a crowd seemingly in the thousands surrounding the church to hear Ward preach. With Will clearing a path before us, we approached the church’s west doors, but within a few steps, the throng became too thick for us to advance any further. To make matters worse, as soon as we stopped, we were overtaken by those behind us and trapped in place.
“We’ll not be reaching Ward,” Will said. “I’m sorry, Aunt Bridget. If I’d come to you sooner…”
“From the size of the crowd, it would not have mattered,” I said. “We simply would have gotten closer to the church before we became frustrated.”
&
nbsp; “I don’t envy the poor souls inside,” said Martha. “I cannot imagine the heat within. It must be akin to hell itself.”
I had no doubt that she appreciated the irony of her statement, and she was right: the afternoon sun seemed hot enough to melt the church’s leaded roof, and the interior of the church must have been unbearable. Will stood tall, looking over the crowd in search of a route by which we could escape the throng. He shook his head in dismay.
“We’re not going anywhere for a while,” he said.
At that moment the people closest to the church door fell silent, and the rest of the crowd followed suit. I could see the crowd ahead of us make room for someone coming out of the church, and then Hezekiah Ward appeared above the crowd.
“They’ve fashioned a stage of sorts in the doorway,” Will said. “From there he can preach to the crowds inside and out.”
Within moments, Ward had been joined on one side by Deborah, his wife, and on the other by Praise-God. I peered at Deborah’s face, trying to find some sign of the woman who’d bloodied her husband’s nose just a few hours earlier, but found none. She seemed as meek and mild as any man could have wanted. Once in place, Ward did not await any sort of introduction, but immediately began to preach.
“My dear and beloved people, this city, this city of sin, suffers under the lash of a righteous God, and we must ask ourselves: how long will we suffer? How long, O Israel? How long?
“The truth is that we will suffer until we transform York into a city on a hill. We will suffer until it becomes not a city of sin, but a city of God!” He spoke with the same power he had on the bridge, and with each call for reformation, with each exhortation to holiness, the cries of Amen became louder and more widespread.
“How is it that he can preach with such power in public, and suffer such abuse from his wife in private?” Will asked. I shook my head in wonder. Ward continued in this vein for some time; I quickly lost interest, but the crowd did not. Eventually he made his way to the texts for his sermon and began to rail against the city’s whores, calling them unclean and blaming them in particular for God’s wrath against the city.
