“You will tell the Justices?” Stephen Fisher asked. “What will they do to us, to Sarah and me?”
The question gave me pause, for I’d not yet thought about it. In the past, I would have reported the birth and the sinful behavior that preceded it to the city’s authorities. Depending on their disposition, the city might have carted Sarah or simply required her to make public penance for her sin. Stephen would suffer less, at least in body. The Quarter Sessions would order him to maintain the child until he came of age, but he was wealthy enough that I did not think he would be carted or stocked.
The problem, of course, was that the present was entirely unlike the past. Now the law was dispensed by men like Joseph, godly men who took every opportunity to show off their devotion to the Lord and their power over men. I would lose no sleep over whatever they did to Stephen Fisher, but what about Sarah? She had done nothing to warrant whipping.
As I considered the choice before me, I realized that something in me had changed: I now trusted the law no more than I would a stranger on a dark street. Eighteen months before, during the siege of the city, York’s governors had sought to burn a wife for murdering her husband, her innocence be damned. A year later, they had been unwilling to hang a murderer whom they knew to be guilty. And now Will sat in a cell for a crime he did not commit. In every case, the law showed itself incapable or, even worse, uninterested in doing what was just. I felt like Paul on the road to Damascus, but my revelation was not a joyful one. I now knew that when it came to the law, what was right and just mattered not one whit—there was only power and its use.
Could I turn Sarah over to the same men who were preparing to hang witches by the dozen?
“You will own the child?” I asked Stephen.
“He will,” Grace answered for him. Stephen nodded.
“Good,” I said. “Then I will tell nobody you are the father.”
The Fishers stared at me in complete bewilderment.
“When you take the child to be christened,” I continued, “tell the vicar that the father was her betrothed and that he was pressed into the army before they could marry. If he challenges you, send for me, and I will testify that she told me this at the height of her travail.”
It took Stephen a moment to find his voice. “Why are you doing this?”
“Never you mind that,” I replied. “Just make sure that you maintain the child as if he were your own lawful son.”
Relief spread across his face, and he struggled to give voice to his gratitude.
“But know this well,” I continued. “If I hear so much as a whisper that you have neglected Sarah or your son, I’ll lay the next bastard I deliver at your door, and the one after that as well. Soon enough you’ll be supporting a troop of bastards, and famous throughout the city for your lechery.”
Blood and gratitude drained from Stephen’s face. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course I can,” I replied. “But it is entirely your choice whether I do. If you keep your word, I will keep mine.”
“He will support the child,” Grace said. “I give you my word as well.”
I nodded. “See to it.” I returned to Sarah and Martha and found them well. The child slept in his mother’s arms, and I could see that Sarah would soon join him.
“The Fishers will see that neither you nor your child want for food or shelter,” I told her. “But you must never tell anyone who the true father is.”
Martha and Sarah both looked at me in confusion.
“They will explain the agreement we have made,” I said. “Now you should sleep.” Sarah closed her eyes, and soon enough she was snoring softly, the weight of the day finally lifted from her shoulders. Martha and I slipped quietly from the room and descended the stairs. We did not see the Fishers as we left, nor did I seek them out.
“What did he promise?” Martha asked once we closed the door behind us. I described the demands I’d made of the Fishers, though not the reason behind them. While I had lost my faith in the law, I was not yet ready to say so aloud. Martha nodded in satisfaction at my decision.
As we neared St. Michael le Belfrey we both gazed in the direction of Peter’s Prison, where the guards had taken Will. The sun had nearly set, and the wind tugged insistently at our cloaks, promising another chill night. Martha and I glanced at each other, each of us wondering how Will would fare.
“We’ll gather blankets and food and take them to him tonight,” I said. “No doubt his jailors are cold enough that they’ll accept whatever aid we can offer, and let us give Will anything he needs.”