Martha and I stared at Rebecca, unable to speak.
“You are not so cruel,” Martha managed to say at last, but we both knew that she was.
Rebecca smiled. “I am simply doing the Lord’s work. That is what Joseph would say. And I quite like the idea that God would make me the instrument of bringing you to your knees. So look to your own, Bridget, for you are not so safe as you think.” She turned and walked away, the sound of her boot heels echoing through the street.
I watched her go, hardly daring to breathe lest she return with more threats and dangers. Once she’d passed out of sight I exhaled. “Let us go home,” I said to Martha.
“Did you see James Hooke?” she asked by way of a reply.
“What do you mean? James was with her?”
“Aye,” Martha replied. “He was skulking in the alley over there, peering about like he was a member of the Town Watch.”
Such news was curious, and I knew not what to make of it. James had never been one to dote on Rebecca (not that she would have allowed it), preferring instead to keep his distance. I could not fault him in that.
When we arrived at my house I gazed at the door. Soon after I’d taken up midwifery I’d had it painted red so people could find me more easily, and for years I’d loved coming home to see it. But on this day, the afternoon sun bathed my street in a passing strange light that made the door seem darker than usual, the color of clotting blood. I pushed my way inside and breathed a sigh of relief when Hannah and Elizabeth greeted us.
“I’ve gathered all you’ll need for Mr. Hodgson,” Hannah announced, indicating a large basket by the door. “Blankets and a bolster for his bed, and enough food for days.”
I embraced Hannah and kissed Elizabeth on the crown of her head. “I’ll be back very soon,” I promised. “I need to take these to Will so that he keeps warm tonight.”
“I wrote him a note,” Elizabeth replied. “It’s in with the food. When will he be home?”
“Soon,” I said. “Just as soon as we can get him.”
In just the few minutes that Martha and I had been inside, the sun had disappeared below the horizon, leaving us with the merest sliver of daylight. We hurried toward High Petergate and then to the west side of the Minster to Peter’s Prison. The heavy wood door loomed over us, and I felt small and ineffectual when I pounded on it. When we received no response, Martha cast about until she found a loose cobblestone. She lifted the stone above her head and hurled at the door with all her might. The crash echoed through the street. A few moments later the door groaned open a few inches.
To my amazement we were greeted not by a guard but by Will himself. A broad smile lit up his face when he saw us.
“Thank God it’s you, Aunt Bridget,” he whispered. “Come in quickly.”
“Will, what in God’s name is going on?” Martha cried.
“Keep your voice down,” Will said. “You’ll wake everyone.” Though I’d never been called to testify in the Minster court, I knew that the floor above us served as a courtroom, the ground floor housed the jailors, and the cells—where I’d thought I’d find Will—were beneath our feet. Will ushered us inside, and I struggled to make sense of the scene before us. A fire roared in the large stone hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow, and it was clear that we’d arrived in the aftermath of a particularly unruly supper. A half dozen wine bottles stood on the rough wood table in the center of the room, surrounded by glasses, tankards, and plates of half-eaten food. The capon that had provided the main course sat in the middle of the table, stripped down to its bones. I looked around the room for the guards, but the three of us were alone.
“Will, what is going on here?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Bridget, it’s fine,” he said. “It turned out that I knew the jailors from my drinking days, and they were quite hospitable.” In his early youth, Will had lived a far more dissolute life than I or his father would have liked, drinking and fighting with the town’s lower sort. He had left that life behind (thanks in no small part to my efforts), but it seemed that his time in York’s alehouses had yielded some surprising benefits.
“Where are they?” Martha asked.
“They’ve been asleep for some time now,” Will replied, gesturing at a door that led to the jailors’ quarters. “I kept pouring, and they kept drinking. Have you brought any money? I promised I’d repay them for supper and the wine if they allowed me to sleep up here rather than in the cells below. They’re awful.”