“I wish I knew,” I replied. “And there’s only one way to find out.”
“Well, if you would care to tell me after, I’m always on watch for a good story,” Newcome called after us as we crossed the Castle yard.
We entered the tower, and after the customary haggling for fees, the jailor led us down the spiral stairs. After unlocking the door, he handed Martha a lantern and turned to go.
“You will not stay?” I called after him. “They say he is a dangerous man.”
“Not any more he ain’t,” the jailor replied. “I got him in irons.” He disappeared up the stairs without a backward look.
Martha and I glanced at each other and pushed open the door. Our breath turned to mist before us, and I could feel the cold seeping into my bones even before we crossed the threshold. The walls, which in summer glistened with water and slime, were now covered by a layer of ice and shimmered celestial silver in the flickering lamplight.
As in most of the lower cells, there was only one piece of furniture, a heavy wood bed with a rough mattress on it. Joseph sat on the bed, staring at us. He had drawn his knees to his chest, and I could see that, like the women jailed for witchcraft, he’d been shackled hand and foot. Unlike the women, however, Joseph seemed in perfect health. Indeed, so perfect was his visage that for a moment I wondered if it might not be entirely natural. Could Rebecca’s accusations of witchcraft, however false in intent, have been true?
When we entered his cell, Joseph smiled at us. It was a terrible thing to behold, for his broken teeth now seemed more like fangs.
“You never could resist a summons,” Joseph said. Even his voice bespoke his strength. If Joseph were going to die, it would not be of gaol-fever. “Have they released Will yet?”
“No,” I replied. “The Lord Mayor said that he would wait until after your trial.”
“Yes, I imagine that so cautious a man would want to do that.” Joseph smiled mirthlessly.
“What do you want with us?” Martha asked.
“I don’t really know,” Joseph sighed. “Perhaps I wanted you to see what they’d done to me. I was awake for days as they beat me. Who were your familiars? they asked, and What did the devil look like when he came to you? I suppose I should have just given them answers and been done with it. Then, at least, they would have eased my torture.”
“You never confessed?” I asked.
Joseph barked with laughter. “Everyone confesses, Aunt Bridget. Everyone. I know not what I said, but they would not have let me alone if I’d stood mute.”
“And you want me to feel pity for you?” I asked. I could not believe his audacity.
“No, of course not,” Joseph said. “You are not so tender as that. But tell me, will you have a hand in sending me to the gallows? Or will you let Rebecca Hooke do that?”
“The court has called me to testify, and I will do so,” I said. “But Rebecca Hooke will do her part as well.”
“I oughtn’t have put my trust in such a harpy,” Joseph said.
“No,” I replied. “That was a mistake.”
“And you’ll join her in sending an innocent man to his death?” Joseph asked. “You know I’m no witch. You know James Hooke is the one who killed George Breary.”
“You might not be guilty of those crimes, but you are far from innocent.” I wondered if he would remember speaking those very words about Will.
“I did say that, didn’t I?” Joseph said with a slight and terrible smile. “But if you do this, Aunt Bridget, it will change who you are. You will be an outlaw in all but name.”
My mind turned to the guards who had died during Will’s escape from Ouse Bridge gaol. I glanced at my hands, still surprised that they were not stained crimson. “That will be no new thing,” I murmured.
“If you testify, you will become Rebecca Hooke’s maidservant,” Joseph said. “And you can see from my poor example where such a joining will get you.” His manacles clinked softly when he held up his hands.
He was right, of course. For months, York had talked of nothing at all except the women who had fallen into the devil’s snare when they traded their souls for power over their neighbors. Yet here I was, doing the very same thing, only my devil would be named Rebecca Hooke. Once Joseph was hanged, Rebecca and I would be comrades of a sort, partners in his murder. The problem for me, of course, was that her ruthlessness would give her the upper hand in all our future dealings. I could no more escape her than a witch could escape Satan.
“Join me,” Joseph said.
I looked at him in shock. “What do you mean?”