The Witch Hunter's Tale(13)

“She is my deputy.”

Hester nodded and turned back to me.

“What do you want then?” she challenged. I supposed the prospect of hanging had freed her of the need for common courtesy.

“I need to speak with you about your case.”

“Why? I’m convicted and sentenced. Tomorrow I’ll hang, won’t I?”

I nodded. “Yes, you will. There is nothing I can do about that, even if I wished.” I peered into Hester’s eyes, trying to find a sign of a woman who would kill a child over a crust of bread. In the end I gave up: She seemed no different than a hundred other ancient widows and spinsters who lived in the city.

“Well, all right then,” she said. “What is it?”

“I need to know about your interrogation by Mr. Hodgson and Mrs. Hooke.”

Hester looked confused. “What for? There was little to it. They asked me what I’d done, and I told them.”

“You told them that you bewitched the Asquiths?” Martha blurted out. “How could you have?”

Hester offered a toothless smile.

“You want to learn how to witch your neighbors?” she asked with a bitter laugh. “You see where it will get you.” Hester’s manacles rattled when she held up her hands.

“That’s not what I meant,” Martha replied.

“I know what you meant,” Hester said. “You are wondering how an old woman became a witch, and why I would kill a young mother and her innocent babe.”

Martha nodded.

“God’s truth, I don’t know how it happened.” Hester shook her head at the mystery. “I went to Mr. Asquith’s door, begged some bread of him. When he denied me, I told him that he would suffer for refusing me simple Christian charity. The next day his boy fell ill, after that his wife,” she concluded.

“So you did curse them?” I asked.

Hester shook her head. “If I did, I didn’t mean to. I never said a word to curse the boy or his mother, not on purpose. They were innocent. They had none of Mr. Asquith’s sin on them. I wanted him to suffer. But not them, not like this. If Satan heard my words and killed them at my urging, I … I … I never meant to do it. I am sorry.”

A single tear shimmered in the lantern light. I fought against the sorrow that welled up in my belly. I did not know what to make of Hester’s confession. Had she truly bewitched the Asquiths? Or did her guilt grow out of some overheated imaginings? Could Satan have twisted her words as she claimed? Could he have acted without her knowledge or permission? We could never know the truth, of course; indeed, even she did not seem to know it. But on this day the truth did not much matter, and now was not the time to think melancholy thoughts about a child and mother bewitched to death or the woman who would be hanged for the crime. No matter what I did, Hester Jackson would die the next day, but Rebecca and Joseph would remain a threat to me and my family long after she was in the ground.

“And the imp?” I asked. “You told them about your familiar?” I’d never interrogated a confessed witch before, and I wanted to learn as much as I could. God only knew how many more witches Rebecca could find if she set her mind to it.

“What, the French mouse they keep talking about?” Hester asked. “What do they call him, Mousnier?”

I nodded.

“The mouse came from their fevered brains,” she said. “Satan might have killed the Asquiths, but I never saw an imp whether mouse, cat, or mole.”

“And you told all this to Mr. Hodgson?” I asked.

Hester nodded. “But after I told him about the curse I laid, it did not matter what I said.” She paused and stared into my eyes. I could still see a flicker of life in her. Not much, but it was there. “Lady Hodgson, I will tell you now that I did not mean for them two to die, but I said the killing words. And I’m sorry for it.”

I nodded. I could not help feeling that she wanted some sort of absolution for her crime, but that was something I could not give.

“Did Mr. Hodgson ask you anything else?” I pressed. “Did he ask about any other witches?”

Hester shook her head. “Nay, he never did. Once I told him what I’d done, he called in the Searcher.”

“Mrs. Hooke?” I asked.

“Aye. She was a rough one, poking around my privities like that. I’m glad she’ll not be doing the hanging tomorrow.”

“But if you didn’t have an imp, how could she have found a teat?” Martha asked.

Hester shrugged. “I don’t know. I cannot say I care either. Perhaps I have an imp who suckles at night without me knowing. Who can say how Satan does his work?”