“Sergeant,” I called out. “You say have a warrant?”
He poked his head through the front door and cast a worried eye toward Martha and Hannah. “Yes, my lady, signed by the Lord Mayor.” He held up a sheet of paper that I took to be the writ in question.
“And what is the reason for taking him?”
“For murder,” the sergeant replied. Martha, Will, and I looked at each other trying to make sense of the accusation.
“Murder?” I asked. “Certainly not of George Breary.” It could only be that, of course, but I still could not fathom it.
“Yes, my lady,” said the Sergeant. “Mr. Breary.”
“Then he will go with you,” I said. “There is no need to use violence or to invade my home.”
Will and Martha started to object, but I held up my hand to silence them.
“Will, I will take care of this, but you must go.” I turned to the sergeant. “Are you taking him to the Castle?”
The sergeant shook his head. “With the Castle so overtaken with witches, I am to carry him to Peter’s Prison.”
I was surprised and not a little pleased by this news. For as long as anyone could remember, the Minster had maintained its own gaol for those who ran afoul of the law within the cathedral’s grounds. Peter’s Prison was much smaller than the Castle, of course, and much closer to my house. With luck—and liberal payments to his jailors—I could reasonably hope that Will would not suffer too much during his confinement.
After the soldiers led Will away, Martha turned to me, her eyes alive with fury. “How could you let them take him?” she demanded.
“We had no choice,” I replied. “They had a warrant, so all was in order. Should we have tried to overpower the guards and send Will out of the city?”
“But he was with us when Mr. Breary died! Joseph is behind this.”
“Or the Lord Mayor,” I replied. “He signed the warrant. Whatever the case, we will see him released as soon as we can.”
Martha stared at me in sullen silence.
Elizabeth had stopped crying and looked up at me. “What has happened to Will?” she asked.
“The watch has taken him,” I replied. “But do not worry. He will not be far, and we will see him home soon.” Elizabeth nodded. “Now go with Hannah, she’ll need your help with dinner.”
Elizabeth descended the stairs, and Hannah took her hand. “Don’t forget the woman in travail,” Hannah said. “She’s waiting.”
I nodded my thanks. I nearly had forgotten. I turned to retrieve my tools and my eyes lit upon Will’s cane. He had dropped it during his fight with the watch. I said a prayer of thanks that he’d not drawn the sword hidden inside and spilled even more blood. I picked it up and leaned it in the corner. It would wait there until he returned.
Martha and I gathered my valise and the birthing stool, and stepped into the cold. She maintained her silence, angry that I’d allowed Will to be taken but unable to explain what we should have done differently.
“If he is in Peter’s Prison we shall be able to care for him,” I said at last. “Things could be much worse.”
“He is in gaol in winter,” she replied. “Things will be terrible enough.”
“I will do my best,” I said. “And it will be enough.” I hoped it was true.
“If Joseph is behind this, what does he mean to do?” Martha asked. By now we’d reached the top of Stonegate and turned east toward the Holy Trinity Church in Goodramgate.
“If he murdered George, this could have been his plan all along,” I said. “He rids himself of a rival on the Council and sees his brother in gaol for the crime. Of course, the same could be true of the Lord Mayor if he ordered Will to be taken. His wife’s lover is dead, and another man accused of the deed.”
“Will cannot be convicted,” Martha said. “We were with him when we heard Mr. Breary cry out.”
“Conviction may be beside the point. Joseph may just want Will imprisoned for the time being.”
“Or he may hope Will dies in gaol,” Martha said.
“Or that,” I admitted.
We walked in silence, each doing our best to fight back the sorrow and fear that threatened to overwhelm us. I reached out and took Martha’s hand.
“We will save him,” I said. “We have accomplished more difficult tasks, haven’t we?”
Martha squeezed my hand. “Aye, we have.”
By now we’d reached the church. The heavy, square bell tower loomed above us, gray and threatening against the clouded sky. A lone figure stood before the church door peering in our direction. She was wrapped in layers upon layers, and she stomped her feet in hope of keeping warm. I took her to be the woman who had come to my house, for who else would be foolish enough to stand about in such cold?