The Aldermen looked between Rebecca and me before their eyes settled on Joseph. He remained still, but I had no doubt he was considering how best to defend himself. The answer seemed obvious: He would cast both Rebecca and me as witches and see us hanged. The question was whether he could accomplish this end.
“And my fears were well founded,” Rebecca continued, her voice rising as she spoke. The Aldermen’s eyes returned to her. “For today, mere moments after I determined to tell the truth about Mr. Hodgson, one of his devils—perhaps it was his familiar—burst into my chamber and did this!” Rebecca violently pulled down her scarf to reveal the bruises, by now a bright and angry purple, that I had given her just a few hours before.
The Aldermen gasped as one, and I choked back a cry of amazement at her audacity. Joseph started to speak, but Rebecca would not give him space.
“Even as I was at prayer this creature burst into my chamber and laid violent hands on me. Oh men, his black-scaled hands were hard as glass and cold as ice. I have no doubt that he had come to murder me, and I can only thank the good Lord that I did not perish at that demon’s hands.”
Rebecca glanced in my direction, and I thought a smile dashed across her face. I was the demon, of course.
“But it was not the Lord’s will that I should die,” she continued. “Nor was it His will that Mr. Hodgson should triumph, for neither Satan nor his agents ever will. But if the Council wishes to cleanse York of the stain of witchcraft, you should turn your attention to one of your own. The chief witch in all York is Joseph Hodgson.”
The Aldermen looked at Joseph with a mix of fear and uncertainty. They had followed him for so long and were reluctant to turn against him. This was the moment when the battle would be decided, either for good or for ill.
Joseph stood to speak. “My Lord Mayor, these accusations are baseless, slanderous, and a crime against God’s truth. It is well known that, through no fault of my own, Lady Hodgson has become my avowed enemy. And I need not remind you that her nephew has been taken for the murder of George Breary. Nor do I need to say that a boy from her household has been accused of witchcraft. I bear no malice toward her for her wanton words. She is merely a woman, a widow without a master to govern her, who will say anything in order to save her murderous family. She does not care that they have committed the most hateful of sins, she thinks only of her private interests. Let us drive this woman from the Council chamber and return to business.”
It was a weak reply at best, and for that I had to give credit to Rebecca. How could Joseph argue with the bruises she had displayed? She had shaken him to his bones.
“And what of Mrs. Hooke?” The Lord Mayor’s voice echoed through the hall, cold as stone and steel. “The meanest beggar in York knows that she hates Lady Hodgson above all others in the city. Why would she turn against you and run into the arms of her enemy?”
Joseph stared at the Lord Mayor and Rebecca, trying to find an answer to this question. Why had Rebecca betrayed him? His answer did not come soon enough. The Lord Mayor inclined his head to the side, and two bailiffs stepped forward to seize Joseph by his arms. As they did, Joseph began to berate all who were present in the most horrible terms. He called Rebecca and me lying whores, and he accused the Lord Mayor and the rest of the Aldermen of being bewitched by the two of us. The Alderman shouted back at him, and confusion ruled the day.
I watched Joseph’s face as the bailiffs bound his hands and saw him come to some sort of realization. He straightened himself and set his shoulders. “My Lord Mayor,” he cried. “You must hear me! It was James Hooke! He—”
Before Joseph could say any more, Rebecca took a candlestick from the table and struck him a vicious clout to the mouth. Joseph tried to continue, but Rebecca’s blow left him spitting blood and teeth onto the floor. The bailiffs dragged him from the hall before he could say another word. I found Martha in a corner of the room, where she had hidden. She stood there, wide eyed and open mouthed.
“She did it,” Martha breathed when I reached her side. “She brought him down.”
“That is not all,” I said. “I know who killed George Breary.”
Martha looked at me in confusion. “Not Mark Preston? Or Joseph Hodgson?”
I shook my head and gestured for the door. It would not do to have this conversation in public. We slipped outside, and I guided her to the shelter of a doorway where we could speak without fear of being overheard.
“When we were at Grace Thompson’s travail, the gossips were talking of the Lord Mayor’s wife,” I said.