by Sam Thomas
After the inquest, Martha and I returned home and I retired to my chamber for prayer. To the surprise of some within the city, the summer’s heat had continued with undiminished fury. The ministers continued to beg God for mercy and redoubled their calls for repentance and reform.
For my part, I asked God to find a just solution to Will’s situation, and to soothe the wounds of those who had suffered so much during that terrible week. As I meditated upon all who had died, an image leaped into my mind—I saw Martha reaching into Hezekiah Ward’s clothes chest and snatching something away before I could see what it was. I ended my prayers as quickly as I could without giving offense to God and sought out Martha. I found her and Hannah in the courtyard doing laundry. I sent Hannah inside and turned to Martha.
“What did you find in Mr. Ward’s chest?”
She stopped washing and stood. I waited while she dried her hands and considered her response.
“If I tell you, it will make you a part of what happened,” she said. “And your knowledge will change nothing, for you can do nothing with it. Do you still want to know?”
I nodded.
“It’s inside.”
We went into the kitchen and Martha ducked through the low door into the buttery. She returned a moment later. She held out her hand and opened it. Sitting in her palm was an intricately carved wooden serpent, a twin to the one that Stephen Daniels had given her the week before.
Chapter 24
“You found that in Hezekiah Ward’s chest?” I asked.
“Tucked into the sleeve of his coat,” she replied. I knew what it meant, of course, but my mind whirled as I sought another explanation, one that would not make my deputy a murderess.
“Tell me what happened,” I said finally.
“When we left the Castle after Praise-God died, I went to Helen Wright’s.” Martha looked everywhere in the kitchen save into my eyes. “I did not know what else to do. I could not simply shrug my shoulders, and walk away from the murders. Those poor women…” Her voice trailed off and she took a deep breath before continuing. “Where else was I to go? To another constable? A Justice of the Peace? A maidservant—even your maidservant—would not carry much weight with such men. And even if I convinced him to examine the murder, what good would that have done? Praise-God was dead, and Joseph and Edward had decided to end the case there.”
“What did you tell Helen Wright?” I asked.
“The truth.” Martha looked at me for the first time when she said it. “Only the truth. I told her that Deborah Ward and Praise-God had killed all those women. That they had left Elizabeth an orphan. I told her that Hezekiah Ward was a whoremonger and a hypocrite. And that justice would never be done, that the dead would never be avenged … that those with power would not suffer for their ill deeds.”
For a moment I thought of Martha’s master, who had met his own bloody end after he had raped Martha. I pushed that image away and brought myself back to the present.
“Helen Wright did this,” I said. “She sent her man to kill the Wards.” Martha looked down at the miniature viper in her hand but did not respond. Nor did she protest when I took the snake from her. “Finish the washing,” I said. I did not ask Martha if Helen had told her what she intended. I told myself that it did not matter, but in truth I did not want to know the answer.
After Martha had gone, I stared at the wooden figure for a time. I could not say her decision to go to Helen Wright surprised me: Martha had less faith in the law than I, and fewer misgivings about acting outside of it. I also felt that by taking the serpent, I had assumed a portion of Martha’s guilt; now I had to decide what to do with that burden.
But what could I do? The little viper did not prove who had killed the Wards, and it would not convince a jury to hang Stephen Daniels. Nor could I say that I would want that to happen. Martha had gone to Helen Wright in the hope of obtaining a measure of justice, and Helen had provided it.
I opened the oven door and tossed the viper on top of the embers. It took only a moment for the figure to blacken and then burst into flame with a small puff of smoke.
* * *
The next morning, before the sun had begun to hammer the city, I slipped out of my house and made my way south toward Micklegate. I gazed at Edward’s house with its black banners draped over the windows and doors before continuing through the gate and out of the city. When I reached my destination, I climbed the stone steps and pounded on the door.
Stephen Daniels smiled when he saw me, and ushered me into the parlor. “Mrs. Wright will be with you in a moment,” he said. “She has been expecting you. You may sit if you wish.”
I nodded my thanks and he left me alone.
A few minutes later, Helen swept into the parlor, Stephen close behind her. As always, she had chosen a dress made from the finest silk decorated with the richest and most delicate needlework.
“Lady Hodgson,” she said. “It is a pleasant surprise to see you again.”
“Your man told me that you’ve been expecting me,” I replied, unwilling to give even an inch.
“And so I have,” she said, as if being caught in a lie were of no consequence. “Please accept my deepest condolences on the death of your brother-in-law.”
“That is not why I am here,” I said.
“No, I expect not.”
“Your man murdered Hezekiah and Deborah Ward.” I looked at Stephen, but his face remained impassive.
“That is a serious accusation, Lady Hodgson,” Helen said evenly. “I trust you have some evidence of this?”
“You’ll not turn this into a legal debate,” I replied. “You overstepped your bounds, and by your actions you’ve made my deputy into a murderess.”
To my surprise, Helen Wright began to laugh.
“I am flattered that you think I have the power to transform an innocent maiden into a murderess,” she said. “But I could no more do that than I could make her into one of my whores. She left my house the same woman she was when she arrived.”
“She was not a murderess,” I insisted.
“Nor is she now,” Helen replied. “She knew of a crime, and she testified about it. The guilty are hanged. Justice is done. You do not think that Deborah Ward should have been allowed to leave the city, do you? Even if you have no interest in vengeance, ask yourself how many more women she would have killed, even without the help of her lunatic son.”
“And what of Hezekiah?” I demanded. “You were an accomplice to both his crimes and his death, weren’t you?”
Helen’s face became serious as she considered my questions. She nodded slowly and glanced at Stephen.
“I did not know he frequented whores. If I had, we might have ended this sorry business days sooner.
“And I will bear some responsibility for his death,” she continued softly. “But it was he who led us down this road. He preached against the very sin he committed, and he dragged his son down with him.”
“And you killed him for that?”
“What would you have had us do?” Stephen asked, taking a few steps forward. I don’t think he meant to frighten me, but my heart leaped in my chest. If he would kill a famous minister, why would he balk at doing the same to a midwife?
Helen must have noticed the fear in my eyes, for she put a hand on Stephen’s arm and drew him back.
“If they had left the city,” she said, “they would have escaped justice forever. I have power in York, but my writ does not run all the way to London. I told Stephen that if he could not get Deborah alone, he should hang them both. Of all who died this week, Hezekiah Ward was far from the most innocent.”
I could not argue with that sentiment, so I said nothing.
“I am afraid I have other business to attend to,” Helen said. “I have no doubt we will see each other again. I hope it is under less morbid circumstances.”
It seemed that for the second time in a week, a bawd had dismissed me. The world had indeed been turned upside down.
&nbs
p; As I walked home, I puzzled over what Helen had said. No sane man would argue that Deborah Ward should have gone free; God demanded justice and Helen Wright had provided it. But I also dwelled on the murder—could there be another word?—of Hezekiah Ward. What thoughts went through his head as the noose tightened around his neck? What prayers did he say as his feet left the floor? Perhaps he’d thought of his son and daughter, and the horror he’d wrought upon his own family. I hoped so.
* * *
In the wake of the inquest into Edward’s death, the question that gripped the city was what would happen to Joseph and Will. Nobody could recall such a case, and none could say what should be done. The Lord Mayor kept to his house while he deliberated, as secretive as Papists choosing a new pontiff. My greatest fear was that the godly would convince him that the heat was a sign of God’s enduring wrath, and he would order an execution in the hope of appeasing Him.
A few days after the inquest, the Lord Mayor made his decision. As evening approached, he sent a Justice to the Castle to release both Joseph and Will. There would be no formal announcement of their release, and no public trial of either man. Edward’s death was an accident, and from that day forward it would be spoken of only in hushed voices.
I did not know all this, of course, when I heard a soft knock at my door. The sun was almost down, and I could not imagine who was out at such an hour. Hannah cried out in surprise when she opened the door, and I hurried in to see what the matter was.
Will stood in the doorway, filthy and shrunken from his time in the Castle. He wore the same blood-soaked clothes he’d been arrested in. As soon as he saw me, his face crumpled and he began to wail like the boy he’d been not so long before. I stepped toward him and he collapsed into my arms, wrung out from grief, fear, and exhaustion. Martha appeared beside me, and Will reached out for her, desperate for consolation.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” he moaned, tightening his grip on both of us. His body shook as we half carried and half dragged him into the parlor and laid him on the couch. He threw an arm across his eyes and continued to sob.
“Get him some new clothes,” I said to Martha. She looked pleadingly at Hannah, who nodded and disappeared upstairs while Martha knelt by Will’s side and took his hand. I retreated to the kitchen and put a pot of water on the fire. While the water warmed, I fetched some towels and brought them to the parlor. Will remained on the couch, his eyes closed. Tears washed a path through the grime and blood on his face. Martha held his hand but said nothing.
I looked more closely at his clothes and decided they were beyond saving. When I returned from the kitchen with the warmed water, I brought a pair of scissors, and as gently as I could, cut Will’s shirt from his body. Martha and I laid him on the towels and washed the many small wounds that Joseph had inflicted. When we cut away his trousers, I was surprised to find that the wound on his leg had been cleaned and bound with a fresh bandage. Will had opened his eyes and noticed my interest.
“Samuel Short bribed my keeper to let him in,” he said. “You’d never know it to look at him, but he’d be a fine surgeon.”
I made a note to send thanks to Samuel in the morning.
Once he was clean and dry, Martha and I helped Will upstairs to one of my spare chambers. He’d just laid down when I realized the room seemed cold. I looked out the window to find the city enveloped in a cooling fog. As I watched, the mist slowly gave way to a soft, soaking rain.
* * *
For the next few days, we all stayed in as best we could. Part of it was the rain, of course, which lasted nearly a week, as God made up for its long summer absence. But we also wanted to stay close to Will. He showed little interest in leaving his room, to say nothing of venturing out of doors. Indeed the day after his release from the Castle, he spoke hardly a word, and only slowly returned to some semblance of himself.
Hannah and Martha ventured out for food and to gather what gossip could be had. Rather than extinguishing interest in Edward’s death, the Lord Mayor’s decision to release both Joseph and Will simply inflamed it all the more. How could it be that an Alderman had been slain by his own son, and there would be no trial? Some said that Will (or Joseph) had bribed the Lord Mayor with a share of Edward’s fortune. Others claimed that one brother had deliberately killed Edward and then threatened the other into silence.
Two days after Will’s arrival, I awoke before dawn and, as quietly as I could, made my way to the kitchen. I thought I was the first one awake, but when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard voices from the parlor.
“Will, you don’t have to thank me,” Martha whispered. “I swore I’d never tell anyone, and I won’t.”
I stood stock-still as Martha’s words echoed through my mind. I told myself that Will’s secret could be anything. Perhaps he had fathered a bastard child, or fallen in love with Edward’s serving-maid, or found himself with the French pox. But I could not help thinking that Martha knew more about Edward’s death than she’d admitted to me or to the jury. Had she seen Will’s sword strike the killing blow? I was pulled out of my reverie by Will’s next question.
“Will you still marry me?”
My heart leaped at the words. I’d harbored the suspicion that Will and Martha had become fond of each other, but even so, it surprised me that things had progressed to the point of betrothal. Such a revelation explained the violence of Will’s reaction when Joseph had struck Martha: he was defending not my maidservant, but his own beloved. Without warning, a tickle in my throat became a cough, and I unintentionally announced my presence.
“There you are, Aunt Bridget,” Will called. From his voice I’d have thought that nothing was amiss, and I wondered if the secret he shared with Martha might be entirely innocent. I did not ask what they had been talking about. I knew they would tell me when they were ready.
Will seemed better with each passing day, at least until we learned that Edward’s will had been read and his estate settled. Mark Preston brought the news.
“Mr. Hodgson asked me to bring you a letter,” he said when I met him in the parlor. “And I have one for Will as well.”
I could not help noticing that the cut and quality of his clothes had improved since Edward’s death. Were it not for the missing fingers on his hand, one might not know of his bloody history.
“Mr. Hodgson sent it?” I asked. “He included a letter to me in his testament?” Posthumous letters were not unheard of, but were usually sent from ageing parents to their children. Edward had not known he would die so soon, so why would he write one?
“No, my lady,” he replied. “Mr. Joseph Hodgson. He has been kind enough to keep me in his service as he assumes his father’s estate.”
I knew then that Will could expect little of Edward’s wealth. Even in death, Edward had favored Joseph. I opened the letter with my name on it.
Aunt Bridget,
In his testament, my late and beloved father made a generous gift to you of 100 pounds, lawful English money. Unfortunately, his estate does not include that much ready money, and I—as his executor and chief heir—cannot pay you at this time. I have enclosed with this letter a bond for the full amount.
Your loving and loyal nephew,
Jos. Hodgson, Esq.
Except for the speed with which he’d started referring to himself as “esquire,” I could not say that the letter surprised me; it might even speak the truth. Trade in the midst of a civil war was no certain thing, and £100 was a lot of money to keep locked away. I also had no doubt that Joseph would pay me, albeit on his own terms and in his own time.
What concerned me most was not the money, but Joseph’s claim that Edward had made him his heir— What of Will?
I felt the desire to keep Joseph’s letter from Will, for I knew that it could only bring sorrow and anger. But I also knew he would read it eventually and time would not lessen its sting. I called for Will and gave him the letter.
He read it in mere seconds then refolded the paper. From his reacti
on, I’d have thought it had informed him that the sun would rise in the morning. He crossed to the hearth, laid the letter on the fire, and watched while it burned.
“Will?” I said. He shrugged and turned around.
“I’ll get almost nothing,” he said. “Ten pounds now, but after that it will be however much Joseph sees fit. And I think we know what that will mean.”
“You will be fine,” I said. I had money and land enough to make up for Edward’s neglect and Joseph’s malice.
“It would not surprise me if Joseph spreads rumors that—jury or no—I struck the blow that killed our father,” Will continued. “What better way to clear his own name?”
“He wouldn’t say that,” I objected. “Even he doesn’t know what happened.” My mind returned to the conversation I’d overheard between Will and Martha. Joseph might not know how Edward died, but did they?
“It doesn’t matter,” Will said. “People will talk about this, and soon they will talk about something else. I don’t imagine I can go home, though.”
“Well, for now you’ll stay with me,” I said. “You’re the only family I’ve got, and I’m sure Martha and Hannah would be happy to see more of you.”
“Thank you,” he said. I could not be sure, but I thought I saw his ears turn pink.
From that day forward, my household found a new rhythm, one that now included Will. Women in travail sent for me and Martha, and we delivered them. We christened children, and attended churchings and sometimes funerals. We went back to being midwives with no concern for murder. If we went out at night, Will came along, but during the day he either stayed home and read or wandered up to the Castle to sit with Tree and Samuel. Sometimes he drank with Samuel, but to my relief he did not return to haunting alehouses. I watched him and Martha and saw signs of their love for each other, but said nothing. For the present at least, Will was in no position to marry.
It turned out that Will’s prediction about his brother was right: soon it became common “knowledge” that Will had killed his father, and the Lord Mayor had wanted to try him for murder. Joseph, in the spirit of mercy, had convinced him otherwise. Will took a grim satisfaction in his prescience and made no effort to answer the rumors.
