I heard a soft cry behind me and found Elizabeth standing there, her eyes wide with fright.
“Will is going to hang?” she asked before breaking down entirely.
I rushed across the room and scooped her in to my arms. “No, no, he is not going to hang,” I said. I felt tears on my cheeks as my fear for Will and hatred of Joseph overwhelmed me. “I will find a way to save him. I promise.” It took me nearly an hour to regain myself and bring Elizabeth back from the edge of despair. Eventually she accepted my assurances, and thanked me for keeping Will safe. My heart broke as she wandered off in search of Hannah, and I feared that I had just told the most horrid lie of my life.
* * *
But try as I might—and I did not sleep that night—I could find no way to free Will from the snare that had been laid for him. Joseph had spread so many rumors, all indicating Will’s guilt, that everyone in the city thought him a murderer twice over, culpable in George’s death as well as his and Joseph’s father’s. It was not until an hour before sunrise that I remembered the pamphlet that Martha and I had penned a few days before and that the printer had said would be finished soon. If it were read by enough people, perhaps George’s friends and allies on the City Council would rediscover their courage and act against Joseph. It seemed our only hope, and I resolved to go to the printer’s as soon as the sun rose and take the pamphlets throughout the city myself.
At breakfast I told Martha of my plan. “Let us go to the printer’s and see how many we can distribute today,” I said. “I’m sure Peter Newcome will help us as well.” She nodded sullenly, utterly unconvinced that it would make any difference. I could neither disagree with her sentiment nor propose another scheme.
Even before we had gathered our cloaks, someone began to pound on the front door. Martha peered out the window. When her face paled my heart began to race.
“It is Joseph,” she said. “And Mark Preston with him.”
“Ah, God’s blood,” I swore. What could he want? To this point Joseph and I had battled each other from afar. What did it mean that he now stood at my door?
He continued to knock. “Hollo! Aunt Bridget! I know you’re in there! And I saw your maidservant looking through the window!”
“Let him in,” I said. I did not see any other option.
Martha opened the door, and without awaiting an invitation Joseph and Mark bulled their way into my entry hall. Joseph smiled as soon as he saw me.
“There you are, Aunt Bridget!” He spoke as if we were the closest of friends. “I hope I haven’t pulled you away from more pressing work.”
“What do you want?” I demanded.
Joseph reached out and seized my hand before I could snatch it away. “I told you there’d be no ink, Mark,” he said as he inspected my fingertips. “She is tip-toe nice, even when she stoops to scribbling.”
“Perhaps she had her maid do the writing,” Preston replied, and reached for Martha’s hand.
With shocking speed, Martha pulled her left hand back and lashed out with her right, punching Preston squarely in the throat. He made a gugling sound as he fought for air, and his hands clawed at his neck. Martha followed her first blow with a second, this time striking him on the face. Preston toppled like a windblown tree and lay on the hall floor gasping for breath. Martha stood over him, fists clenched, daring him to continue the battle. It had been some time since I’d seen this side of her, and I thanked the Lord she’d not lost her skills in a fight.
I turned to Joseph, unsure how he would react to seeing his man humiliated, and found him on the verge of laughter.
“Very nice,” he cried, hauling Preston to his feet. “Mark, I hope you will be more careful of this one in the future. She’s of a different sort than her mistress.”
Preston stared at Martha, his eyes blazing as he tried to recover himself. He dropped his good hand to the dagger he wore on his belt, and my stomach roiled. Joseph grasped Preston’s arm and held it tight.
“None of that,” Joseph said. “You cannot murder a maidservant in her mistress’s hall simply for making a fool of you.” Preston relaxed, but from the look on his face I knew he soon would return for his revenge.
“Now, Aunt Bridget, back to business,” Joseph said. He brushed me aside and strode into the parlor. Unsure what to do and bewildered by his mention of business, I followed him. He crossed to the hearth and warmed his hands on the fire before turning to me.
“Your printer friend nearly made a very poor decision,” Joseph said. He produced a cheap pamphlet from his pocket and unfolded it. He read from the cover. “The Murderous Son Turn’d Murderous Brother. Aunt Bridget, I have to admit it’s a brilliant title. The town would have snatched these up in mere hours, even with the witch-trials. There’s no sating their appetite for scandal or blood, and this one has both.”