The Witch Hunter's Tale(36)

Stephen remembered as well, and he laughed out loud. “Of course you are! You should come in, then.” He opened the door and led us into Helen’s parlor. As on my last visit, the room announced Helen’s wealth and elegance: Rich fabric covered finely wrought furniture, and splendid paintings adorned the walls. It was not what I’d originally expected from a country girl who found herself awash in cash, but Helen had surprised me in many ways.

On this visit, she did not make us wait for long. She swept into the parlor, resplendent in silk and lace, and I felt my old prejudices come roaring back. Will had once pointed out that she and I had much in common: We both dealt in the city’s secrets and matters of the body, and through our own efforts we each had gained a measure of power within the city. Whatever the merits of his argument I had no interest in dwelling upon it, and I pushed it from my mind.

Helen smiled at Will and Martha, and—to my surprise—at me as well. I felt quite sure that any happiness she felt grew from the fact that, once again, I’d come to her for help. Nothing would give her more pleasure than to see me beg.

“Lady Hodgson, it is good of you to visit. Tell me what you need.” She nearly laughed as she spoke, and I could feel anger rising within me. I took a deep breath to cool my blood. This was not the time to vent my spleen.

“Thank you,” I said. I knew she wanted me to add Mrs. Wright, but I would not do her that honor, no matter how much we needed her help. “Once again, it is tragedy that brings me to your door, and I can only hope that you will be as helpful as you were last summer.”

“I assume you are here about Mr. Breary’s murder.”

“We are,” I said. “We have heard…” I paused. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Breary…” I stopped again. I could not defame my friend to such a woman.

“Mr. Breary had a mistress,” Martha blurted out. “And since he never brought her to his home, we thought he might have rented a room from you. We need to find her.”

Helen nodded. “You don’t think the Justices will find her on their own?”

“They don’t know she exists,” Martha replied. “And even if they did, they would hesitate before parading his sins before all the city.”

“Fair enough,” Helen conceded. “And you have indeed come to the right place. Mr. Breary had a head for government and an eye for business, but his pillock led him nowhere but astray.”

I stared at Helen for a moment, surprised by her forthrightness—I’d expected minutes, if not hours, of denials. I could not help wondering what her motive might be.

“You know who his mistress was?” I asked.

“Aye,” she said, the smile returning to her face. “I rented him a room from time to time, and had Stephen watch his comings and goings. He saw her regularly.”

“And you’ll tell us?” I could not help worrying that Helen was simply toying with me or that she would announce some new and extravagant demand in exchange for the woman’s name.

“Aye, I’ll tell you,” she said. “She’s Agnes Greenbury, the Lord Mayor’s wife.”





Chapter 10

“Agnes Greenbury,” I repeated. My mind worked furiously to make sense of Helen’s words. “She is but a girl.”

Will could hardly hide his smile. “She might be a girl, but she’s as comely as any in the city.” Martha stared daggers at him, but he paid her no mind. “When she came to York, the alehouses would talk of little else. Many of the lads wondered how long it would be until she wandered away from that old toad, but none thought it would be so soon.”

“Or that she’d choose yet another ancient,” Martha remarked.

As distasteful as it was to consider, I had to admit that Will’s memory matched my own. When Matthew Greenbury, the Lord Mayor, had been widowed two summers before, the whole town assumed he would remarry within a few months; it was the way of the world. But, led by his pintle rather than common sense, Greenbury had chosen a girl of no more than seventeen years, younger even than several of his grandchildren. So strange was the match that when Agnes first appeared at his side, many took her for his stepdaughter rather than his betrothed. The Lord Mayor showered his bride with the finest silks and jewelry, and soon became the town laughingstock. But behind the laughter was envy, for every man in York wished that he were the one bedding down with Agnes each night.

“Why are you telling us this?” Martha’s eyes narrowed and bore into Helen’s. I recognized the look—it was the one she gave to bastard-bearers whom she suspected of lying about the true father of their child. “You don’t make a habit of announcing your clients’ business to the world.”