At that moment, a realization struck me like a pistol shot. “You have Stephen’s diary!” I cried. “That is what he was writing in the night he was killed. You knew that it would implicate you in his schemes, and you took it so the Lord Mayor would not find it! I must see it immediately.”
Edward’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. He gibbered a denial but quickly became too flustered to continue the ruse. Without further protests, he opened his desk and removed a leather-bound octavo. “You may read it here, but it may not leave my house. I am quite sure you will find plenty of fuel to fire your suspicions. The biggest mystery surrounding Stephen’s death is why it took so long for someone to kill him.” I reached for the book, but he held tight and looked into my eyes. “I have no illusions about persuading you from your mission, but remember that Esther has been tried and convicted. Merely raising questions about the verdict will do no good. All you will do is anger some very powerful and dangerous men.”
“I have to find the truth,” I said. “I cannot let them burn Esther if she did not murder Stephen.”
Edward nodded and let go of the book. “I have business to attend to at the Merchant Adventurer’s Hall. I’ll leave you here to read. Again, do not take the book with you. It is far too dangerous.”
“Thank you, Edward,” I said. “You are a good brother.”
“We’ll see,” he said with a shrug. “If I end my days on the gibbet, or if the Lord Mayor sends his men after you, things might look a bit different.” He left his office, closing the door behind him.
I opened Stephen’s diary and began to read. The first entries were from early in the year and chronicled the daily life of a merchant and his growing anxiety about the war. He made no secret of his leaning toward Parliament and his disgust with the Royalist occupation of the city. Unlike most residents, Stephen exulted when the rebels laid siege to the city, and he unashamedly described his efforts both to foment a rebellion within the city and to contact the rebel generals outside. He summarily dismissed efforts by Edward and by Charles Yeoman to convince him to be more discreet in his activity, saying there was no half-way position between God and Satan. Stephen also wrote at length about his suit with the Hookes and the enormous sums he spent in order to secure victory. He claimed that the Hookes had matched him pound for pound, suborning witnesses and lining the pockets of any government official they thought could help their cause. Naturally, he saw God’s hand in every victory, however small, and believed that it proved his own righteousness rather than his lawyer’s skill.
As I neared the end of the diary, I began to see what Edward had meant about Stephen courting death in the final weeks before his murder. In the last few days before he died, Stephen’s conspiracy with the rebels had become widely known among the city’s leaders. Stephen wrote of Charles Yeoman’s desperate efforts to forestall the uprising out of fear it would lead to the destruction of the city. He described a series of increasingly acrimonious arguments as Yeoman argued for moderation and Stephen insisted he was doing the Lord’s work. I felt a shiver run through my body when I read the entry from June 8, the day after the suburbs were burned:
Uncle Yeoman visited again today with harsh and uncharitable words about the siege and my recent actions, urged me to hold my tongue. I told him I could not hide my lantern under a bushel, said he had sided with Antichrist against the Lord. He said, “I came to York to save the city from destruction, and I have come as a friend and kinsman to warn you. If you will not stop your conspiracy, then for the sake of the city I will. If you will not promise to forbear, you must take what falls. God have mercy on your soul.” I told him I was sure of my salvation and God would protect me from his schemes.
I reread the passage several times, trying to make sense of what Stephen had written. Charles Yeoman had been clear that his first priority was to save the city from pillaging. It never occurred to me that he might have been willing to murder his own nephew in the process. And if Yeoman was behind Stephen’s murder, it would explain his deception; he wanted nothing more than to shift my attention from him to the Hookes.
I continued to read, wondering who else might have had reason to kill Stephen. I did not have far to go, for in the next day’s entry, Stephen noted the visit by Lorenzo Bacca that Ellen had described:
An Italian came to me today, saying he was the Lord Mayor’s creature. He said he knew of my plans for York, and would not allow me to succeed. I told the Papist that God would decide the outcome of the coming battle. He went away unpleased, with many harsh threats. I know that the Lord has placed these men before me to test my faithfulness to Him.