The previous month, just a few days before Peter had fallen ill, William had been in his shop when Hester entered and begged of him a little food. She was a poor old woman, she said, and with bread so dear she had nothing to eat. When William turned her away, Hester had muttered something under her breath. He thought nothing of it at the time, but with all that had happened since, he was convinced that Hester had taken her revenge by bewitching both Peter and Sarah. If we lived in some country hamlet, William might have broken the curse by burning a bit of thatch from her house, but Hester’s home, like so many in fire-frighted York, had a tiled roof. On such small happenings do men’s lives turn.
Desperate to save his wife, William went to the Justices and accused Hester of witchcraft. Some said that if a witch were taken by the law, her curses would be broken. I do not know if this was William’s hope, but if so, he was disappointed. Hester utterly denied that she was a witch and said she could not lift a curse that she had not cast. Because William stood alone against her, the Justices refused to make an arrest. Sick with fear and grief, William hurried home, only to discover that even as he’d stood before the Justices accusing Hester, Sarah had died.
With his wife and child newly dead, William found himself alone with his anger and sorrow. Though he never said as much, I think he blamed himself for the death of his family. If he had not denied Hester Jackson a pennyworth of charity, she would not have bewitched Peter and Sarah. But no man can bear such guilt for long, and soon William began his quest to avenge the destruction of his family. He found allies among his neighbors, who said that Hester had always been a bad neighbor and that they had long suspected her of witchery. One woman claimed that Hester had bewitched her churn so she could no longer make butter. Another said she so corrupted a cow that it would not give milk. People remembered that Hester’s mother had long been accounted a witch, and that her aunt (or was it some other relation?) had been hanged as a witch in Lancashire (or was it Cheshire?) some twenty years before.
After the Justices arrested Hester, the rumors and gossip took on lives of their own, and on some days it seemed that York talked of little else. And while the town might disagree on some of the details or challenge the more extravagant claims, no one denied her guilt.
“I heard that the devil came to her in the shape of a handsome young man,” Hannah confided to Martha and me one evening. “And he left her an imp, a mouse named Mousnier, to work evil for her.”
Martha did not even attempt to suppress her snort of disgust. “What, is the devil now a Frenchman? Or does he just employ French mice as his imps? Once their tongues start wagging, the people of this city are crack-brained fools.”
“Who are we to judge Satan?” Hannah replied, offended by Martha’s scorn. “They say that a company of devils traveled with the Queen from France when she came to marry His Majesty.”
“And the devils brought their own devil-mouse with them?” Martha shook her head in disbelief and stalked out of the room.
While Martha could mock the idea of devils and their mice crossing the Channel on a boat, I knew that once people began to gossip about devils and Hester’s imp, I could look forward to a visit from a Justice of the Peace.
As I expected, two days later a note arrived calling me to the Castle to search Hester’s body for the Witch’s Mark. While the summons did not come as a surprise, I was sorry all the same.
“You’ll do that?” Martha asked.
“I have little choice,” I replied. “If Hester had an imp, she must have a teat from which he sucked. And who better to find it than a midwife?”
“Will I accompany you?” Martha asked. I could hear the uncertainty in her voice. She’d become my apprentice to learn the art of midwifery, not to search old women for signs of witchcraft.
“It is a part of being a midwife,” I replied. “But remember this: Examining a witch is a delicate thing, and we must tread carefully. So many in the city are convinced that Hester is a witch—” I paused, trying to find the right words.
“That if we don’t find the Witch’s Mark they will turn their anger on us?” she asked.
I nodded. “Since she is already known to be a witch, they would wonder why we couldn’t find the Mark. After all, it must be there.”
“They wouldn’t accuse us, would they?” Martha asked.
“No, they never would,” I replied with a laugh. “Midwives are the last ones to be called witches. Who is more trusted by their neighbors? No, we are the women who send witches to the gallows, not the women who are sent.”