The Witch Hunter's Tale(34)

“Mark Preston is the most likely suspect, and he knows it,” I said. “We would have to approach him with caution.”

“Then let’s begin somewhere less dangerous,” Martha suggested. “We could start with Mr. Breary’s mistress and see where she takes us.”

I nodded in agreement. “Preston will think we’re letting the constables do their jobs. If we are discreet, he may not realize that he is our quarry. At least not right away.”

With that matter decided, Will climbed the stairs to his chamber, leaving Martha and me alone.

“You don’t believe Mark Preston killed Mr. Breary,” Martha said. It was not a question.

“He may have, but only with Joseph’s permission,” I said. “But you saw Will’s face. If I persisted in accusing Joseph, he would have rebelled entirely. But Preston is so close to Joseph that stalking him will do, at least for the moment.”

“But how will we find Mr. Breary’s mistress?” Martha asked. “I’ve heard no gossip about it, and if Will doesn’t know, who does?”

“We can fight that battle in the morning,” I said. “But I think I know who to ask.”

* * *

Our search for George Breary’s mistress got off to a slow start when Tree appeared at my door, eager for breakfast and Elizabeth’s company.

“I’m going to walk across the river,” he announced. “Other boys have done it, and they’re no braver than me!”

Elizabeth, of course, was enraptured by the idea, and imagined Tree to be as heroic as David had been when he took the field against Goliath. By the time we’d finished our pottage, Tree and Elizabeth were so ardent for their adventure, I could hardly deny them. So Will, Martha, and I trailed after the children as they raced down to the King’s Staith on the north side of the river.

“It is a wondrous sight,” Will said. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen it like this.”

“Is it safe to cross?” I asked.

Will hopped off the staith onto the ice and stomped his feet. “Solid as stone,” he replied.

A group of children had gathered at the edge of the river, and some of the braver boys had ventured out onto the ice, arguing over who would be the first one to cross. Tree joined them and, with his chest thrust forward, announced his intention to lead the way. No other boy volunteered, so to my trepidation—and to Elizabeth’s delight—Tree tiptoed further onto the river. Every few steps he looked back over his shoulder at us, his face shining with excitement.

His expression turned to horror when the ice gave a terrific crack. He turned to face us, his mouth a tiny O as he realized what was about to happen. Then the ice opened up, and in an instant he disappeared.

At that moment the world around me slowed to a crawl. As if in a dream, I heard Will and Martha crying out in horror, the other boys shouting, and Elizabeth wailing in fear. After a terrible moment, Tree’s head and shoulders reappeared. I could see his mouth moving as he cried out for help, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the ice. As if guided by another hand—God’s, perhaps—I jumped down to the ice and took a few tentative steps toward Tree, as though treading softly would lessen my weight.

As I drew near him, the ice began to creak and crackle beneath my feet, and soon these sounds were all I could hear. I took another step, heard another crack, and stopped. If I retreated, Tree would die. If I continued toward him, I would join him in the river and we both would die.

As I gazed into Tree’s eyes, I became aware that another boy had come out onto the ice, and that he was shouting at me.

“Lie down!” he shouted at me in accented English. “You must lie down!”

I stared at him. What could he mean?

“You must crawl out to him on your … your buik,” he cried, patting his stomach. “Your belly!”

Then I understood. As slowly as I could, I lowered myself onto my stomach. The ice seemed to quiet a bit, and I took a shallow breath. I hardly felt the cold as I pushed myself inch by terrible inch toward Tree. Our fingertips just touched once, and with one more push forward I held his hands in mine.

His teeth chattered madly as I pulled myself backward and he slowly emerged from the river. His lips had turned a frightening blue and his breath came only in fits. I continued to crawl backward until I felt someone (Will, it turned out) grasp my ankles and pull both Tree and me to safety.

Without a word, we bundled Tree in our cloaks and raced toward my home. I counted it as a blessing, perhaps even a miracle, that despite our haste we did not slip on the ice-covered stones. Within minutes, we had buried Tree in goose-down quilts, and Hannah brought him a hot bowl of pottage. Once his chattering had slowed enough for him to talk, he began to tell an enraptured Elizabeth his account of the morning’s adventures. The fact that he had nearly died seemed not to matter to either one of them.