by Sam Thomas
“They believed her to be a witch?” Martha asked.
“They never said as much,” I answered. “I think they decided it was better to give her a few pennies than to lose a sow or have a cow run mad.”
“Or worse,” Martha said. “She could have taken you.”
“Aye, she could have.” I did not relish the idea that Widow Rugge had used me as a lever to move my parents to charity.
“What became of her?” Martha asked.
“She died in her sleep just before I married Luke,” I answered.
A look of surprise crossed Martha’s face. Just as she rarely mentioned her brother Tom, I did not often speak of my first husband.
“I don’t think Mother Lee will enjoy the same quiet death,” Martha said.
“No,” I replied. “I don’t think she will.”
* * *
For the rest of the week all of York held its breath in anticipation of the witch-hunt. The city vibrated with the same mixture of excitement and dread that precedes a terrible storm. We all knew there would be blood and some would suffer terribly. But the hope was that the slaughter of York’s witches would appease God, and that His wrath against the city—wrath made visible by the icy river and audible by the howling winter wind—would abate.
One of the more pleasing effects of the December wind had been to drive Tree down from the Castle for days at a time, which gave me the chance to mother him and Elizabeth both. Elizabeth was no less pleased by Tree’s arrival, and the two of them soon were joined in the excitation of the coming witch-hunt. I found them one afternoon peering out the parlor window trying to guess which passersby might be witches. Whenever anyone looked in their direction, they would cry out in horror and seek shelter behind the curtains until the danger had passed. Martha and I looked on their antics with amusement, but I heard Hannah reprimanding both of them.
“And what do you think a witch would do to the two of you if she thought you were mocking her?” she demanded. Elizabeth and Tree—wisely, I thought—stayed silent. “Why, she could bewitch you with a glance or a word, and there’d be naught that anyone could do to save you.”
I thought she had gone too far in scaring the children and stepped in.
“Hannah, that is enough. There’s no need to frighten them so.”
If Hannah heard me, she gave no sign of it.
“And if anyone offers you food or seeks to pinch your cheek, you must flee from them, for that is how children are bewitched,” she continued. “The day of reckoning is upon us, and the evil ones will not give up their place in the city so easily.” She looked at me. “If the city troubles the witches, the witches will trouble the city, for they will not be hanged without a fight. We’d best be prepared.”
I shooed the children upstairs where, I was quite sure, they would continue their game, but Hannah would not harry them so long as they were out of sight. I considered her claim that if the city’s witches feared extermination they might be driven to do even more evil. It was one thing to hang a frail old woman like Hester Jackson, one who had fallen into witchcraft by accident. But what if the magistrates threatened a genuinely powerful witch? What revenge would she exact on the city? Even worse, what if there truly were an entire company of witches in York and they acted together? I said a prayer that God would have mercy on us, and pushed such fearful thoughts from my head.
That afternoon, just as we were sitting down for dinner, I heard the front door open and a few moments later Will entered the dining room.
“We did not expect you,” I said. “Why aren’t you at the hall with Mr. Breary?” I had heard that the Council was meeting again to discuss the witch-hunt.
“The meeting is nearly over,” he said. “And I wanted to give you the latest news. The first witches will soon be taken.”
“Will Mother Lee be among them?” I had told him about Lucy Pierce’s labor and asked him to keep his ears pricked for any news from Upper Poppleton.
“Probably in the morning,” Will replied. “Joseph has been collecting the names of witches and will give the beadles their orders this afternoon.” I could not hide my surprise at the speed with which Joseph had moved. But I supposed there could be no dallying once the battle against Satan had begun.
“And then what?” Martha asked.
“They’ll be taken to the Castle, and Joseph will interrogate them there.”
“Is Mr. Breary still at the hall?” I asked.
Will nodded. “He said he’d be there a while longer, but he asked that you join us tonight for supper. He wishes to discuss the witch-hunt, but he said he has other business for you as well. I suggested that Martha should join us, and he agreed.”
“Thank you, Will,” I said. “Are you returning to Mr. Breary now?” He’d not removed his coat, and he seemed anxious to go.
“Aye, I will see you this evening.” He stepped forward as if to give Martha a kiss before recovering himself. His ears were bright pink by the time he made it to the door.
“Supper with an Alderman!” Hannah teased Martha. “Soon enough you’ll be the Lord Mayor’s guest!”
Martha’s ears pinked, and I could not help laughing along. “It’s the lot of a midwife,” I said. “Rich silks, fine wines, and sumptuous meals.”
“And bastard births, blood, and death,” Martha added. I could see she regretted her words, but it was too late, and they cast a shadow over the meal.
I nodded. “Those, too. And soon enough, witches and hangings.”
Chapter 8
That afternoon, as Martha and I turned from High Petergate onto George Breary’s street, it occurred to me that the city hardly needed a night watch; only fools such as ourselves would venture abroad, and we moved as quickly as we could. If someone were lying in wait, he would be frozen before he found his prey. Though George’s home was just a few minutes’ walk from my own, Martha and I were both shivering by the time we arrived.
“Thank God,” Martha sighed as we stepped into George’s parlor, shed our cloaks, and allowed the heat from his hearth to wash over us.
George and Will stood when we entered, and George crossed the room to embrace me. Over his shoulder, I could see Will and Martha looking into each other’s eyes, and they clasped hands briefly. George called for spiced wine, and soon the cold had been banished from our bones.
For a time we talked of the smaller news of the city and nation, avoiding the darker developments that plagued York of late. Of course the brutal winter was near the top of everyone’s concerns.
“This afternoon a boy walked across the Ouse,” Will said. “He went all the way from the King’s Staith to the Queen’s. He said he heard the ice crack once, but it held firm.”
George nodded. “And I heard the Thames has frozen as well. You should think such happenings would warn the Parliament-men that the Lord does not own their cause. The closer they come to overthrowing His Majesty, the more terrible God’s wrath becomes.”
I could tell from the expression on her face that Martha was about to argue the point, and I shook my head slightly. Such arguments could be found in both of our warring factions, as both the King’s men and Parliament’s believed God had a hand in everyday affairs. The victor in every battle took it as proof that God fought on their side. Strangely enough, the losers never interpreted defeat as God’s rejection of their cause: They simply claimed that the Lord was testing them as He had tested Israel.
Of course Martha rejected all such arguments, and I could see that she wanted nothing more than to dispute them with George. But this was hardly the time or place for her to contest the finer points of theology with a gentleman. I might tolerate—or even welcome—such tussles, but serious men such as George never would.
When we made our way into the dining hall I marveled at the wealth it displayed. The chair coverings and tablecloth were of a rich red silk, and the golden candle-branch held a dozen or more tapers, which set the room to glowing. The servants refilled our glasses with red wine and we settle
d into a marvelous meal of roast fowl, beef, and other spiced meats. As we ate, I asked George how the Council meeting had gone.
A sly smile spread across his lips, and he nodded triumphantly. “I was going to save the sweetest news for dessert, but you have forced my hand. We have won, I think. I have bested both your brother Joseph and that harpy Rebecca Hooke. We have nothing to fear from them.”
The three of us stared at George in amazement.
“How is this possible?” I managed at last. “This is wonderful. What did you do?”
George settled back in his chair, clearly pleased by our reaction and enjoying his moment as cock of all the city. “Well, it cost me more money and favors than I’d care to recount, but I convinced a majority of the Aldermen to support a measure against Joseph.”
“What do you mean?” Will seemed no less shocked than I. Could our problems have been solved by a few well-placed bribes?
“I simply offered a new motion to the Council. I agreed that the city faced a dire threat from witches, but pointed out that until we discovered Hester Jackson, neither Joseph nor Rebecca had ever interrogated a witch.” George stopped and smiled beatifically.
“And?” I demanded.
“I suggested that we look outside the city for someone with more experience hunting witches. I convinced the Council to send for a man named Matthew Hopkins. He has led the witch-hunts in the south, and had great success.”
“So Joseph will not oversee the search?” I asked. “And Rebecca is no longer Searcher?” My heart thrilled at the news.
“Aye,” George replied. “And there is more. I had them name you as the city’s Chief Witch Searcher. When Mr. Hopkins arrives, you will be his assistant. You will search the city’s women for the Witch’s Mark.”
Silence settled across the table as George smiled broadly and awaited further praise. Martha and Will looked at me awaiting my reaction. After a moment George’s smile faded and his triumph turned to puzzlement.
“What is it?” he asked. “I should have thought you’d welcome the change.”
“You had me named the city’s Chief Witch Searcher—whatever that is—and you did not see fit to consult me beforehand?” Anger rose within me as I spoke.
“Well, yes,” he said. “But…”
“But nothing. I did not want the position before and I do not want it now. What is more, I do not want you acting on my behalf without consulting me!”
“I did not think you’d object.”
“Obviously not,” I said through clenched teeth. “Obviously you did not think about my wishes at all. Why would I want to become involved in such a bloody business? I am a midwife, George, my work is to bring young souls into the world. I did not learn the art and mystery of that craft so that I could see a gaggle of old women hanged.”
“But you’ve done it before,” George objected.
“No, I haven’t,” I cried. “I questioned Hester Jackson after she’d been convicted. And there is many a mile between talking to a lone witch who cursed her neighbor, and the slaughter that Joseph has proposed. Do you really believe that the city has been overrun by witches? Or that hanging a few dozen old women will convince the Lord to welcome us back into His good graces?”
George stared at me in astonishment. “But you were worried about Joseph and Rebecca.” he said. “And with one shot I felled them both from their perches. I thought you would be grateful.” He said the last of these words with the petulance of child unused to reprimand.
“Grateful that you purchased me a terrible office, George?” I asked. I felt my anger turning to exasperation. “Have I not earned my place in the city through honest work as a midwife? Have I ever traded on my name in such a blatant fashion? Have I ever said that I wanted to be a part of such a hunt?”
George said nothing, choosing instead to stare at the candlelight refracting in crimson through the crystal of his glass.
At that moment I became aware that Martha and Will had witnessed the entire conversation, and I found them staring at us, aghast and unable to speak. We sat in silence for far too long, each of us in desperate search of words that might temper the embarrassment I’d just caused.
“Now, George, why don’t you call for the sweetmeats?” I asked at last, and joined him in staring at my wine.
* * *
After we had finished dessert and forgotten, for the moment at least, George’s importunity, Martha, Will, and I prepared to walk home. While we waited for the servant to bring our cloaks, George joined us in the entry hall and cleared his throat.
“Lady Bridget, might I speak to you in the parlor?” He opened the door, and I followed him through.
“George, there is no need for you to apologize,” I said before he could speak. “You were trying to help me, and did what you thought was best. It is what friends do for each other. We will find a solution in the morning, but now it is quite late.”
“Er, that is not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He shifted from foot to foot as if he were anxious to use the jakes.
“What is it then?” I could hear the edge in my voice. If he thought I’d forgotten about his audacity in making me the city’s Witch Searcher, he was wrong.
“Lady Bridget, you know that I have admired you ever since you came to York. I have always held you in the highest esteem, and value your friendship above that of any other woman. And I do not think I am overstepping my bounds if I say that you truly are a handsome woman.”
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach, and suddenly I was the one who needed to use the jakes. “George…,” I started to interrupt, but he would not be stopped.
“Under the best of circumstances, we would make a powerful couple, and I would still make this proposal,” he continued. “But even if my maneuver against Joseph and Rebecca is successful, the circumstances remain most dire, for they will not give up so easily.”
He paused for a moment, and I steeled myself for what I knew he would say next.
“I think it would be best for both of us if we were to marry,” he said at last. “You, Martha, Elizabeth, and even Hannah would benefit from my protection. And I would…” He trailed off as he tried to think what benefit — beyond my wealth of course — that he would reap from such an arrangement.
“George,” I repeated, but once again he ignored me.
“I will not have an answer tonight,” he said. “Whether it is yea or nay, I will wait until you have had the chance to think about my offer at length. Please tell me you will consider it.”
I could only nod in response.
“And in the event you decline,” he said, “I trust you will keep the matter between us.” He nodded curtly and hurried from the room as if he were a guest who had pocketed the silver plate from supper.
Martha poked her head into the parlor, a puzzled look on her face.
“Later,” I said before she could even ask the question. “Outside.”
Once we were outside, however, we found conversation to be nearly impossible, for the evening had brought a gale-wind that threatened to tear the clothes from our bodies. We would have had to shout in order to be heard. We bent before the snow and wind, and trudged toward our home.
Just before we reached St. Michael le Belfrey, I thought I heard a cry from behind us, and stopped to look back. I could tell from Will’s and Martha’s reactions that they had heard it as well, and the three of us peered into the dark.
“What was that?” Will shouted over the wind. I shook my head.
“It must have been the wind,” Martha replied. “When it passes through the belfries it moans something strange. And what bloody-minded fool would be out in this if he could help it?”
I cast my eyes behind us one more time, but nothing moved save the blowing snow. “Let’s go,” I said at last, and we hurried home.
The three of us tumbled through the door, eager to put the cold wind and the terrible, distant cry—if that is what it was—behind us. Hannah took our cloaks and hurried us in
to the parlor where a fire burned bright and warm. “I’ll be back with some chocolate,” she said, and bustled off to the kitchen.
“So what did he need to speak to you about?” Will asked. I studied his face before I spoke, wondering if he’d known about George’s proposal before I did. It did not take him long to confess.
“I warned him not to ask you,” Will said desperately. “Not in that way.”
Martha looked between us in utter confusion. “What are you talking about, Will? What happened?”
“Mr. Breary had a second proposal for me, didn’t he, Will?” I said. “And when you came to me this afternoon, you knew what he would ask me but you said nothing.”
“Aunt Bridget, please,” he cried. “I told him he should not ask you, but he would not be deterred. There was nothing I could do!”
In truth I was not angry with Will, for I knew he was right: He could not have dissuaded George from his offer. Like so many men who found success in business, once George settled on a course, there would be no changing his mind regardless of what contras presented themselves; challenges were to be overcome, not yielded to. Finally I released Will from my gaze and turned to Martha.
“Mr. Breary asked me to marry him,” I said.
“What?” Martha cried, her face the very picture of alarm and astonishment. “You didn’t … What did you say?”
“He wouldn’t have an answer,” I replied. “He wanted me to reflect on it until tomorrow.”
A look of uncertainty crossed Martha’s face. She had an opinion on the matter—and I had a good sense of what it was—but did not want to overstep her bounds. Though it undoubtedly took a heroic effort for her to hold her tongue, she managed admirably.
“He said he could better protect us from Joseph and Rebecca,” I said. “And I suppose he might be right.”
Of course I had no intention of marrying George, but I had said I would consider the matter. Martha stared at me with ill-disguised surprise, but before she could speak her mind, a knock came at the door.
