Thankfully, the Lord Mayor sent word of Elizabeth’s disappearance throughout York, and by God’s grace she was discovered in Micklegate. It tore at my heart to know that she had been so frightened, and the joy I felt when she rushed into my arms was matched only by the enduring sorrow at Tree and Will’s absence. I tried as best I could to live as if all would be well, but even Elizabeth could sense my worry. She wondered where the guards had taken Will and Tree, and if they had gone to live with poor widows as well.
“They are back in gaol,” I explained. “But the man who put them there is soon to be punished, and then they will come home.” That was what I prayed for, at least.
And there were signs that the storm had indeed passed. Rebecca Hooke recanted her testimony against the women still in gaol, and she claimed that Joseph had bewitched her into finding the Devil’s Mark upon them. When Rebecca swore to this, the trials of other witches stopped. All told, Rebecca’s scheme to overthrow Joseph seemed to be proceeding apace. But Grace Thompson’s death had shown me—as if I needed reminding—that an easy travail did not mean an easy birth.
The week after Elizabeth came home, a boy appeared at my door with two notes from the Castle. One came from the Court of Special Assizes, announcing that Joseph would be tried the next day and ordering my presence as a witness.
The other was from Joseph. He wanted to see me.
Chapter 24
Martha paled when I showed her Joseph’s note. “What could he want?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I asked the boy who brought it from the Castle, but he knew nothing either.”
“Will you go?” She sounded as uncertain as I felt.
I did not know why Joseph would want to see me, or what I could gain by going. But neither could I see any danger in speaking to him.
“There is little he can do to hurt us so long as he is in the Castle,” I said. “If Mark Preston were still alive I might worry, but without him, Joseph has been truly disarmed.” I paused for a moment, wondering if this were true. Joseph had not come so far both in war and in government without being prepared for all eventualities. In the end, it was this uncertainty that drove me to the Castle. For the sake of my family I had to discover whether he had one last arrow in his quiver, and the only way to find out was to see him myself.
The next morning Martha and I walked to the Castle. As we passed into the Castle yard we found the chapman Peter Newcome. He smiled and waved when he saw us, and we crossed the yard to speak with him.
“This is a remarkable turn of Fortune’s Wheel, is it not?” he cried out as we approached. “The witch-hunter Joseph Hodgson is now turned into a witch, and accused of murder to boot! The printer is having a devil of a time keeping up with the news.”
I could not help smiling at his enthusiasm. “I am grateful for your help in this affair. The book may not have found any readers, but you tried to help, which was very brave.”
“Oh, I helped you.” Newcome’s smile reminded me of a well-fed fox.
“How so?” Martha asked.
“You are not the only one to come to me for news of the town. Your nephew burned the books. But you can’t burn gossip, not when it concerns murder.”
I stared at Newcome for a moment. “You spread the rumor that Joseph killed George Breary?”
Newcome shrugged. “I only told my customers what I’d heard. And it turned out to be true, didn’t it? Else he’d not have been arrested.”
“Then I am in your debt,” I said. “You did not have to do that.”
“I wanted to help your nephew,” he replied. “That seemed the best way to go about it.”
“I am grateful as well,” Martha said. “Has there been any news about the women Mr. Hodgson imprisoned before his arrest?”
“Ah, there the Warden is in a bind,” Newcome replied. “He can’t try the women when one witness has recanted and another is accused of the same crime, can he? But if a prisoner owes him money for her keep, he can’t send her home.”
Martha stared at him in astonishment. “They are keeping women in gaol even if they have no plans to try them?”
“What choice does he have?” Newcome asked with a shrug. “Someone has to pay for their upkeep.”
Martha started to argue, but stopped when she realized that fault lay with the Warden, not the chapman. I wondered how many women would die of gaol-fever for the crime of being poor. I told Newcome why we had come to the Castle and asked if he knew which tower held Joseph.
“The easternmost,” Newcome replied, pointing across the yard. “Why would he ask to see you?”