Will’s fortunes within the city took an unexpected turn for the better when, in the wake of Edward’s death, his godfather took an interest in him. George Breary had been Edward Hodgson’s friend and rival since they had been youths, competing first for the affection of York’s women, and then in business and in government. When the wars had started, Edward favored Parliament, while George remained loyal to the King. Despite all this, the two remained friends, bound by their love for Will and York. To my great pleasure, George recognized Will’s plight after Edward’s death and took him into his service. In the past months George had given Will greater responsibility for his business, even sending him to London in search of silk he could trade to the Scots. If Will’s fortunes continued to improve, he could hope to match his brother’s power and to marry Martha. That is what I begged of God, at least.
Once Will and I had settled in the parlor, Martha brought three glasses of wine and sat with us. An outsider might have considered us an odd little family—a gentlewoman, her deputy and maidservant, and her club-footed nephew—but the love we felt for each other overcame the strangeness.
“So tell us the gossip of the town,” Martha said. A mischievous lilt crept into her voice, but Will, who could sometimes fall into fits of pomposity, missed it entirely.
“’Tis not gossip,” Will objected. “It is news.”
Martha and I burst out laughing, and Will joined in once he realized that he’d been the butt of Martha’s joke. We talked for a time of the city’s business, and just as we emptied our glasses, Will brought us back to a more serious matter.
“And did you hear the news of Hester Jackson?” he asked at last. “Joseph has taken the lead in the investigation. The Searcher they called in to replace you discovered what she called ‘a most unnatural and fiendish teat.’”
“Poor woman,” I said. Her hanging now seemed inevitable.
“That is not all,” Will said. “The Searcher was Rebecca Hooke.”
My stomach lurched, for I knew without a doubt that for me and mine, the city had just become a much more dangerous place.
Chapter 3
“Rebecca Hooke?” I cried. “How so?” I felt myself pulled between the Scylla of fury and the Charybdis of despair. It had been over a year since I had last spoken to her, but she and the evil she had done still haunted my dreams.
Before my arrival in York, Rebecca had been the most famous midwife in the city, but one who violated her oath with astonishing regularity. She would assist the poor only if it was convenient and if she could see an advantage in it for herself. In the delivery room she was a horror, bullying the gossips and threatening the mothers that they would die if they did not follow her every command. She was no better after the delivery, as she used the secrets she learned to terrify women and men alike into doing her bidding. When Henry Perkins sued Rebecca’s husband over a business matter, Rebecca announced that he was a whoremaster and had put the French Pox on his wife. She should know, she said, for she had seen the sores with her own eyes. And when Elizabeth Stoppard offered Rebecca some slight—to this day, I know not what it was—Rebecca told all who would listen that Elizabeth’s stillborn child had been born as black as trash and smelled of a turd. Of course, she was not the midwife anyone wanted, but the women of York quickly learned that she would have her revenge on anyone who spoke against her or went to another. Soon Rebecca had the choicest clients in the city.
It was not until I convinced a handful of my neighbors that my wealth and name could protect them from Rebecca that they began to abandon her, and soon others followed. Rebecca’s fury knew no bounds, and she swore she’d see me out of the practice. I had no choice but to have her license taken. She never forgave me for that insult. Ultimately, what little sympathy I’d had for her—there was no denying she’d led a hard life—died when I discovered that she was guilty of a crime that would break even the hardest of hearts. Now my only regret was that I’d not been able to see her hanged.
“How is this possible?” Martha demanded. She looked as pale as I felt. “Who in the city would want her to have such power?”
“My brother Joseph,” Will admitted. “He is behind it.”
“But why?” Martha asked. “She is so malicious, what good could come of it?”
“He is concerned with power, not guilt or innocence,” I replied. “He requires a Searcher who will find witches where she is told, no matter the circumstances.”
“And that is Rebecca,” Martha said.