“Lady Hodgson,” he called out. “It is a strange time to be here in York, is it not? First the city is overrun with witches, and now an Alderman is murdered as he walks the streets? I cannot but wonder what bloody crime will follow.”
His tone was light—and why not? Each murder would increase his profits. I thought to reprimand him, but I realized he could not know that George had been my friend or that my nephew had been taken for the murder. No good would come from pointing out his misstep, so I did not correct him.
“And it seems the city has regained its appetite for hanging felons,” Newcome continued.
This brought me up short. “What do you mean?”
Newcome smiled when he realized that, once again, he knew more than I. He drew such pleasure from spreading news, good or bad, that he truly was the perfect chapman. “Nothing is settled, but there are plans to convene another Special Assize. Too many witches, too many murders, too long to wait for the Parliament to send out judges.” He held out a pamphlet. “It’s all here if you read closely enough.”
Bloody Murder in York, the title shouted above a crude woodcut showing a two figures, one lying on the ground, the other standing with a hammer in his hand. Beneath the picture, the title continued: Or, an Ungrateful Son Butchers His Father. My stomach roiled as I took the pamphlet and began to read. While it did not mention Will by name, the author claimed that George’s murderer had been captured, and now awaited trial and execution. When I reached the end of the little book I found a passage that worried me all the more.
In a city so overrun with Satan’s agents, can we delay our efforts to restore order and bring justice? If God’s will is to be done, we must not tarry, but act on His behalf. Our magistrates cannot, must not, wait to do their duty or the Lord shall strike them down as He has promised to strike down all those who are lukewarm in their love of Him.
“And from this you think that the city will start trials soon?” I asked. “How can you know this?”
“I was right about the witch-hunt, wasn’t I?” Newcome replied. “And it is not just this, but what people are saying throughout the city. They say the witches must be tried and murderers must be found out and punished. As they say, Blood cries out for blood. What is more, the man who killed the Alderman has murdered before—his own father, if the gossip is to be believed.”
“He never did,” I whispered, but my words could not turn back the fear I felt within my chest. Joseph had convinced so many people that Will was to blame for their father’s death, my opinions would carry no weight.
Newcome shrugged at my feeble protests. “Whatever the case, the city will not allow him to escape the hangman a second time. Besides, if the Lord Mayor did not intend to make a court, why would he allow the printing of such a pamphlet?”
I turned back to the cover of the book and saw that, like the pamphlet describing Hester Jackson’s fate, it had been approved by the Lord Mayor and Aldermen. This discovery only doubled my fear, and I cursed under my breath.
“My lady!” Newcome cried in mock horror. “I’d expect such language from … well, from myself, but not a gentlewoman.”
I looked up at him, so worried for Will I could not be angry at his impudence. “The man they intend to hang for Alderman Breary’s murder is my nephew. He was with me when Mr. Breary was killed, so I know he is innocent. But there are powerful men who might like to see him hanged for the crime.”
To my surprise, Newcome nodded sympathetically. “My brother was hanged as a highwayman,” he said. “He was guilty, of course, but it was a horrible thing all the same. They cut him down only to discover he was still alive. The bailiffs pulled him from our mother’s arms and dragged him back to the gallows. I’d never heard her scream so. It is a terrible thing for a mother to watch her son hang.” He forced a smile. “It seemed wrong to hang him twice for the same crime; where is the justice in that? But you should have seen the pamphlets that were written about it. They are still to be had if you care to search for them.
“If I hear anything of note,” he continued, “or can do anything to help you or your nephew, I will. My business thrives on hangings, but that does not mean I wish to see more of them.”
I nodded my thanks. “I wish I could think of something you can do. But…” My voice trailed off to nothing.
“To start, I can speak against this pamphlet,” Newcome replied. “People come to me for books, but also for gossip. If I sell the book with a warning that it contains only lies, word will spread soon enough.”