My heart sank when I realized what must have happened.
Joseph turned to the fire and tossed the pamphlet in to the flames. “That was the last copy, of course. And the printer now knows better than to even consider printing such scurrilous words about one of the city’s Aldermen.” He turned to face me. “The question, of course, is what I am going to do about you. You set yourself against my witch trials, you pen a pamphlet accusing me of murder, and you allow your maidservant to assault my man. Obviously, I cannot allow this to continue.”
“Will did not murder George Breary, and I’ll not let him hang for it,” I replied. “And you both should know that I’ll not rest until I see George’s true murderer dead and buried.”
I’d hoped my reply would give Joseph pause, but he laughed out loud.
“I have no desire to hang Will,” he replied. “At least not if he is innocent. But if it does come to pass, it would be just. I’ve neither forgotten nor forgiven his role in our father’s death. My brother might not have murdered Mr. Breary, but he is far from guiltless.”
“Whatever the case, you should not concern yourself with Will,” Mark Preston said. His voice rattled thanks to Martha’s blow. “He is safe enough in Ouse Bridge gaol.”
Joseph nodded in agreement. “Were I in your place, Aunt Bridget, I would look to my little ones. They are so vulnerable. Mrs. Hooke reminded you of that, but perhaps you forgot.”
Fury roared within me and tore at my throat for release. I felt my hands fly up and watched my fingers, now claws, slash at Joseph’s face. If my work as a midwife did not demand short fingernails, I might have had his eyes out. As it was, I did woefully little damage before he seized my wrists and forced my hands to my sides. Then he infuriated me all the more by laughing.
“Now this is a side of you I’ve never seen!” He squeezed my wrists and twisted my arms with such force that I had no choice but to sit. He leaned over me, and his smile vanished. “Because of your rank and your work as a midwife, the city’s women look to you for guidance. I cannot have you working against me. If you continue to do so, I will take your family, I will take your work, and if that is not enough I will kill you myself. When my father was alive, you had his ear, and that made you a powerful woman. But he is dead, and I am in his place. His power is now mine.”
Joseph released my wrists and stepped back. My body so trembled with fear and fury I did not dare rise.
“You will let the law run its course.” Joseph spoke softly, but there could be no mistaking the steel edge to his words. “The witches will be tried, and the guilty will hang. Then my brother will face a jury. I will not interfere in their verdict, but if he is convicted, he too will hang. And you will do nothing about any of this, or you will feel my wrath.”
Without waiting for a response, Joseph turned on his heel and strode from the room with Preston close behind. As if to show their contempt, or perhaps my vulnerability, they left the door wide open. They could return any time they chose, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
After Martha locked the door we sat in silence. What action could we take that would not result in further mayhem? I asked the Lord for guidance. He kept His own council.
After a few minutes Hannah bustled in from the kitchen, and she immediately felt the dread that had filled the room. “What is it?” she asked. “What has happened?”
I shook my head. “I do not know.”
The rest of the morning passed with torturing slowness. Martha and I attended our work only halfheartedly and with dread as our constant companion. We knew we had to find a way to save Will, but neither of us had the slightest idea of how we might do so. It was as if we awaited some awful and unavoidable news, and could not act until we knew the worst.
A knock at the door pulled us from our state. Hannah answered and called me downstairs where I found a girl of perhaps eleven years standing in the street. She had wrapped herself in a ragged wool cloak that billowed around her.
“Lady Hodgson?” she asked. “My mother sent me for you. She is in travail.”
For a moment I considered sending her to another midwife, but I realized that I was doing no good to anyone by staying home. I sent Martha for my valise, and we followed the girl into the bitter cold of the day. The girl told me her name was Jane Potter, and that her family had only recently come to the city. She had one sister, and they lived above her father’s tailor shop in Coney Street parish. Her mother had heard from her neighbors that I was a ready-handed midwife, and she sent for me when her travail started.