“His will is burned?” Martha asked.
Will nodded. “There might be an older one somewhere, but he wrote a new one in November and I know he kept it close to hand.” He gestured at the open and entirely empty drawers of George’s desk.
“Did you see it?” I asked. With George’s death, a great deal of money soon would change hands; more than enough for some men to kill.
“No,” Will replied. “I summoned a scribe to write it and then witnessed his signature.”
“You did see it,” Martha exclaimed.
“I saw it, but he said he dared not let me read it,” Will said. Despair was etched into his face. “He told me that I would be very pleased, but I should merely sign at the bottom next to his footman. Now there is nothing.”
I could find no words to comfort Will, for I knew he was right. No matter how close the two men had become, Will was in nowise George’s kin, and could expect nothing out of his estate. Unless the will had somehow survived burning, some distant cousin of George’s would soon receive a very pleasant surprise.
The three of us searched the room for clues that clearly were not present.
“Where were his servants?” Martha asked suddenly. “How did someone get into the study and then have the leisure to burn so much paper?”
“I thought of that as well,” Will replied. “His serving-men have fled the house and taken all they owned. They may not even be in the city. The only servant left was his maid, and she said she knows nothing. Poor thing is terrified.”
“And for a guess she sleeps in the garret,” I said.
Will nodded. “Three stories up. If the incendiary came in the night, she wouldn’t have heard a thing.”
I sighed heavily and took one last look around the room. “Let’s go home,” I said. “There is nothing more here.”
As we walked back to my house, Martha and I told Will what we’d learned at the Castle.
“Mark Preston is questioning witches?” Will said. “So we know that Joseph is indeed taking an interest in the interrogations. That’s something.”
I shrugged. It didn’t tell us much, but after the disappointment of finding George’s papers burned, it seemed like a revelation. As we approached my house, the wind rose up, and I welcomed the thought of an afternoon next to the fire reading with Elizabeth. But as soon as we stepped through the front door, I knew it was not to be. My midwife’s valise and birthing stool waited in the entry hall, a sure sign that in our absence I’d been summoned to a labor. Hannah bustled in from the kitchen, Elizabeth close behind.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“A singlewoman from Goodramgate,” Hannah replied. “One of the matrons just was here. She said she’d wait for you at Goodramgate church and take you there.”
Martha picked up the stool and handed me the valise.
“We’ll see you in a few hours,” I said to Will as I embraced him.
Will started to reply when a pounding on my front door nearly frighted us from our skins.
Will swore and threw the door open to reveal a half-dozen members of the Town Watch.
I had not even opened my mouth to berate them for their impertinence when they rushed in and tried to seize Will by his arms and legs. The uproar that followed will remain with me for the rest of my days.
Will greeted the first solider through the door with the handle of his cane, and he fell to the ground, bright blood pouring from his nose. Will gave the second a terrible clout to the head, and he joined his comrade on the floor. The third and fourth threw themselves over their fallen mates, knocking Will to the ground. By now Martha had dropped my birthing stool and joined the fray, clapper-clawing one of the remaining soldiers so soundly he retreated into the street. With a roar, Hannah flew in from the kitchen wielding her rolling pin like a cudgel. She began to beat the soldiers who had tackled Will.
The sergeant in charge of the squad decided—wisely, I think—to fight the rest of the battle from afar. He stood outside and began to shout that he had a writ for Will Hodgson’s arrest.
“Stop!” I bellowed, and to my surprise all the combatants did. The two soldiers who had tackled Will looked at me, and Martha halted her attack on the last soldier who remained on his feet. Hannah gave the soldiers one last stroke and then lowered her weapon. I heard a sobbing behind me, and I found Elizabeth at the top of the stairs gazing down at the tumult, scared out of her senses.
“Stop,” I said again, more softly this time. “I’ll not have this in my home.” I climbed the stairs, sat next to Elizabeth, and took her in my arms. She buried her face in my chest and continued to cry.