The Witch Hunter's Tale

by Sam Thomas

  Once Will and I had settled in the parlor, Martha brought three glasses of wine and sat with us. An outsider might have considered us an odd little family—a gentlewoman, her deputy and maidservant, and her club-footed nephew—but the love we felt for each other overcame the strangeness.

  “So tell us the gossip of the town,” Martha said. A mischievous lilt crept into her voice, but Will, who could sometimes fall into fits of pomposity, missed it entirely.

  “’Tis not gossip,” Will objected. “It is news.”

  Martha and I burst out laughing, and Will joined in once he realized that he’d been the butt of Martha’s joke. We talked for a time of the city’s business, and just as we emptied our glasses, Will brought us back to a more serious matter.

  “And did you hear the news of Hester Jackson?” he asked at last. “Joseph has taken the lead in the investigation. The Searcher they called in to replace you discovered what she called ‘a most unnatural and fiendish teat.’”

  “Poor woman,” I said. Her hanging now seemed inevitable.

  “That is not all,” Will said. “The Searcher was Rebecca Hooke.”

  My stomach lurched, for I knew without a doubt that for me and mine, the city had just become a much more dangerous place.

  Chapter 3

  “Rebecca Hooke?” I cried. “How so?” I felt myself pulled between the Scylla of fury and the Charybdis of despair. It had been over a year since I had last spoken to her, but she and the evil she had done still haunted my dreams.

  Before my arrival in York, Rebecca had been the most famous midwife in the city, but one who violated her oath with astonishing regularity. She would assist the poor only if it was convenient and if she could see an advantage in it for herself. In the delivery room she was a horror, bullying the gossips and threatening the mothers that they would die if they did not follow her every command. She was no better after the delivery, as she used the secrets she learned to terrify women and men alike into doing her bidding. When Henry Perkins sued Rebecca’s husband over a business matter, Rebecca announced that he was a whoremaster and had put the French Pox on his wife. She should know, she said, for she had seen the sores with her own eyes. And when Elizabeth Stoppard offered Rebecca some slight—to this day, I know not what it was—Rebecca told all who would listen that Elizabeth’s stillborn child had been born as black as trash and smelled of a turd. Of course, she was not the midwife anyone wanted, but the women of York quickly learned that she would have her revenge on anyone who spoke against her or went to another. Soon Rebecca had the choicest clients in the city.

  It was not until I convinced a handful of my neighbors that my wealth and name could protect them from Rebecca that they began to abandon her, and soon others followed. Rebecca’s fury knew no bounds, and she swore she’d see me out of the practice. I had no choice but to have her license taken. She never forgave me for that insult. Ultimately, what little sympathy I’d had for her—there was no denying she’d led a hard life—died when I discovered that she was guilty of a crime that would break even the hardest of hearts. Now my only regret was that I’d not been able to see her hanged.

  “How is this possible?” Martha demanded. She looked as pale as I felt. “Who in the city would want her to have such power?”

  “My brother Joseph,” Will admitted. “He is behind it.”

  “But why?” Martha asked. “She is so malicious, what good could come of it?”

  “He is concerned with power, not guilt or innocence,” I replied. “He requires a Searcher who will find witches where she is told, no matter the circumstances.”

  “And that is Rebecca,” Martha said.

  “She would welcome the opportunity to judge women guilty of witchcraft,” I said. “She loved the authority of a midwife, and a position as a Searcher would bring her even more. Now she can threaten death itself.”

  “And you think she found the Witch’s Mark on Hester Jackson?” Martha asked.

  “If it would be to her advantage, she would have found such a mark on a new sheet of paper,” I replied. “Joseph didn’t make her Searcher so she could find Hester innocent.”

  “But why is he hunting witches at all?” Martha persisted. “What advantage does it bring him?” Martha and I had long ago realized that like too many of the Puritan faction, Joseph’s love of God was matched only by his love of power. The fact that doing God’s will also served his own interests would strike Joseph as another example of God’s goodness.

  “He wants to show the city what a good and godly ruler he would be if only they would invest him with more authority. And if he has an unscrupulous Searcher on his side, they would be a powerful pair. There is no end to the mischief they could make. We shall have to tread carefully until we know the nature of their scheme.”

  Together, Joseph and Rebecca brought death, of course. We knew they would bring death for Hester; there could be no avoiding that. But if I had known how many would follow Hester to the grave, or that those I loved would find themselves in Joseph and Rebecca’s path, I would have taken my family, fled the city, and never looked back.

  * * *

  Once Rebecca Hooke had found the Witch’s Mark on Hester, the City Council had to determine how to try her. Before the war, we would have waited for the Assizes, the court that tried all felonies. But the King could hardly send judges into a city held by Parliament, so the city had to handle such matters itself. During the previous year, York’s governors had tried felons themselves, with disastrous results. Now they were more cautious, and the City Council tried to create formal courts with judges who had served in the office before; they called these courts Special Assizes.

  And so it was that Hester languished in York Castle for weeks before her trial. I hated to think how she suffered, for I had seen the low gaol where the city put its worst criminals. These poor souls resided in darkness and filth so complete that many prisoners welcomed their hanging if only for the few moments of sunlight and fresh air that preceded it.

  When the judges of the Assizes came, the city put itself on display. Musicians and a platoon of the Town Watch met the Earl of Lancashire when he arrived at the gate, and with his judges trailing behind him he rode from Micklegate Bar to the Castle. After a few days of preliminaries, the trials began with their usual pageantry and the slow parade of criminals. Some marched from the court to freedom, others to the stocks, and a few to the gallows. There was no reason for me to attend any of the trials, so I did my best to ignore the entire process. In my youth, I would have found myself caught up in the majesty of the occasion and embraced the Court’s decisions without question, full of confidence that they offered justice. But in recent years I had seen the law go astray too many times to keep my faith in the Court. To my eyes, the law seemed to be a weapon the powerful used to plunder from the weak or to destroy their enemies. Perhaps things had been different before the war. Or perhaps I’d learned to see the corruption that had always been there.

  The Special Assizes were still in session when I received an invitation to dine with George Breary. Since Will had entered George’s service such invitations had become more common, and as I dressed for supper I assumed that it would be a social visit. Will accompanied me as we made our way through the city, heads bowed against the rain that the wind whipped into our faces. I said a prayer of thanks that George lived near me in one of the city’s northern wards, rather than across the river in Micklegate. Will and I weaved back and forth across the cobbled streets to avoid the puddles, most of which now had a thin layer of ice across the top. One misstep would mean a cold and unpleasant evening.

  When we arrived at George’s stately home, we found him hard at work on some business matter, but he put that aside and we retired to the parlor. He was perhaps fifteen years my senior—I would have put him at around fifty—and had the air of a man comfortable with the authority that God had given him. His clothes were of fine wool and like many who had stood by the King, he wore his hair to his collar. I sometim
es wondered what would have happened if I’d married a man such as George rather than so weak a specimen as Phineas. But what use are such fantasies? As I settled into my chair I noticed the richness of the fabric. The poor were suffering from the wars, but George was doing well enough. We talked for a time of the news of the town, especially the rain and cold that fall had brought, before George suddenly turned our conversation to more serious matters.

  “Lady Bridget, I must speak to you of your nephew Joseph,” he said.

  “What is it?” I asked. “I have not seen him since Edward died.” I glanced at Will, unsure how much he had told George of our suspicions about Joseph’s true nature. The previous summer, a prisoner had died in York Castle. Though we could not prove it, we had good reason to think Joseph was behind the death.

  “I believe that Joseph soon will make another attempt to drive all manner of sin and sinners out of the city. Last summer it was drunkenness and fornication; now it is witchcraft. It is all of a piece.”

  “Will and I already discussed this,” I replied. “We shall have to be careful indeed.”

  “As soon as Hester Jackson was arrested, Joseph asked the Council to hire Rebecca Hooke as the Searcher,” George continued as if I had not spoken.

  I sighed impatiently. “Yes, yes,” I said. “We know all this.”

  “There is more,” he said. “I had hoped that you would be a part of our defense against Joseph’s scheme. I had hoped you would play a role in the hunt for witches.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. I did not like where George’s fancy was taking him.

  “When Joseph proposed hiring Rebecca, I thwarted him by telling the Council that you had agreed to act as our Searcher in this and all other cases that might arise.”

  “You did what?” I cried. “You told them this without speaking with me first?”

  George seemed surprised by my anger.

  “I had no choice,” he complained. “I could not stand idly by and let Joseph Hodgson and Rebecca Hooke seize such power for themselves. If Hester Jackson is guilty, then let her be hanged. But Joseph and Rebecca have no interest in guilt or innocence, only in making the city their own. I thought my plan was quite brilliant. At least until I learned that you had chosen a woman in travail over the search of Hester Jackson’s body.”

  I heard a note of reproach in his voice, as if I had somehow betrayed him by going to a labor. I would have none of it.

  “You did not consult me beforehand, and you know I cannot abandon my clients.” I gave my anger free rein, for he had far overstepped his bounds. “I’ve done enough business with the city to expect such ill-treatment from most men, but I expect more from you. That kind of stupidity drives me mad.”

  George hung his head for a moment in a show of contrition before continuing as if I’d said nothing of consequence. “My fear is that they have more ambitious plans than the hanging of one old woman. I think they are conspiring against me and others who are not zealous enough for Parliament.”

  I nodded. “Again, that is no news. He means to make York his own, as he always has. He will use the law to rid York of its sinners, whether whores or witches, and once he’s done so he will turn it against his enemies. If a few old women are hanged along the way, so be it; you are right to be afraid.”

  “The danger is imminent, and we cannot wait to act,” George said. “They say that Suffolk has hanged hundreds of witches. If Joseph were to make himself a Witch Finder…” We fell silent at the prospect of Joseph presiding over scores of hangings.

  “Give me a writ to question Hester Jackson,” I said at last.

  “What? Why?” George asked. “What good will that do? She is to be hanged.”

  “If Rebecca and Joseph are scheming to see her executed, there must be a reason, and she may know what it is. If I speak to her, I might be able to discover their next move.” In truth, I was not convinced that such a strategy would work—Joseph and Rebecca were far too careful to tip their hand to a woman such as Hester Jackson—but it could do no harm.

  George nodded. “She is to be hanged on Friday, so you will have to go tomorrow. I will send a letter to the Castle’s Warden ensuring that you are allowed to see her. Will your deputy accompany you?”

  “If I am going as a spy, there is nobody I would rather have at my side,” I replied. George did not know of Martha’s past as a cutpurse and burglar, but the truth was that when our work drew us across the border between the lawful and the criminal, I was her deputy.

  After that, I steered the evening’s conversation onto subjects more comfortable than witchcraft and executions, and we had a pleasant time of it. When I arrived at my home, I acquainted Martha with the task that lay before us. As I expected she warmed to the challenge, but she recognized that we could not enter the fray without some danger to ourselves.

  “Mr. Hodgson and Mrs. Hooke will know that we’ve visited Hester Jackson,” she said, “and they’ll not be pleased.”

  I nodded in agreement. Rebecca was as smart as she was malevolent, and I knew that if she saw the opportunity to destroy me she would take it, particularly if she thought I was opposing her plans to regain her power within the city.

  “Once the battle has been joined we shall have to act quickly,” I replied. “For we will surely hazard all.”

  * * *

  Martha and I rose early the next morning and made our way to the Castle. Clouds hung low overhead and the wind still tore at our cloaks, but the rain had stopped and I gave thanks for that. The Special Assizes would be in session two more days, so even at that hour, a steady stream of people joined us in our journey. When I looked toward the Thursday Market I could see workmen assembling the three-legged mare for the hangings that would begin the next day. I imagined that Hester would be among the first to die.

  As we neared the edge of the city, the stone keep known as Lord Clifford’s Tower came into view, standing watch over the city as it had for centuries. We passed around the Tower and approached the drawbridge. Like many visitors, Martha had been disappointed the first time she saw the Castle, for it was hardly worthy of the name. No lord would deign to live there, for it was little more than a wall surrounding a courtyard, with towers at the corners. During the siege of 1644, it had been at the heart of the King’s defenses, but now it served only as the city’s prison.

  Our progress slowed as the crowd squeezed through the narrow gate into the Castle yard. “Let us see Samuel first,” I suggested. Martha nodded, and we crossed to the small tower where Samuel Short lived and worked as one of the Castle’s jailors. When I rapped on the tower door, a small window opened and Tree’s face appeared. He grinned when he saw us, and let us in.

  “Lady Bridget,” Tree cried as we entered, and Samuel bade us sit. I had met Samuel when a friend of mine had been taken for murder and imprisoned in his tower. The Warden saw to it that most women sent to the Castle found themselves in Samuel’s care. He thought that because Samuel was a dwarf, he was less likely to take advantage of the women in his charge. I do not know if he was right, but I had never heard anything to the contrary. Unfortunately, Hester Jackson was too poor and her crime too heinous to receive such courtesy, so she would be in one of the lower dungeons. If the jailors abused her, what of it? She had rebelled against God and deserved her fate.

  “Welcome, Lady Bridget,” Samuel said as we joined him around his rough-hewn table. Samuel and Tree lived in two rooms in the tower, with the luckier (and wealthier) prisoners above, and the poor or unlucky in cells belowground. “I heard you would be coming to us. The other jailors wonder how you will top the commotion that accompanied your last visit.”

  “I imagine so,” I replied with a tight smile. The commotion, as he called it, had ended in four deaths.

  Samuel must have recognized that he’d stepped out of line, for he moved on as quickly as he could. “What business brings you to the Castle?”

  “I wondered what you might know of Hester Jackson.”

  “Yes, yes
, the witch,” Samuel replied. “Not very much, I’m afraid. The Warden put her in the Castle’s lowest dungeon. Her keeper’s surprised she hasn’t died of gaol-fever. Nobody down there lasts for long. She was lucky to live to see her trial.”

  “Lucky?” asked Martha. “She’ll be hanged tomorrow!”

  “Better a quick death at the end of a rope than a slow one by the fever,” Samuel replied flatly. “Believe me, I know whereof I speak.”

  “Do you hear anything of her interrogation?” I asked.

  “Ah, that’s why you’re here. Anything that brings Joseph Hodgson and Rebecca Hooke together must give you fits of the night-mare.”

  “It is not the friendship I most hoped for,” I admitted. “And I must know what they are planning. Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing of interest to you, I don’t think,” Samuel replied. “Mr. Hodgson and some of the other Justices questioned her, and she confessed. When Mrs. Hooke found the teat, there was little left to do except wait for the judge and the hangman.” He must have read the disappointment on my face. “If I hear that anything untoward happened, I’ll pass it along,” he added.

  “No,” I replied, “I did not think they would be bold enough to announce their scheme so plainly, but one can hope. Where are they keeping her?”

  “She’s in the tower nearest the Ouse,” he replied. “I will take you there.” The three of us crossed the Castle yard to the tower where Hester Jackson was being held.