The Witch Hunter's Tale(96)

“No, my Lord Mayor.” I lowered my eyes, hoping that my deference might purge him of his ill humor.

“Your scheme to destroy your nephew would put Machiavelli himself to shame,” he said after a moment. This was why he’d summoned me.

I could think of no response that would satisfy him, so I lowered my eyes once again and remained silent.

“I should thank you, I suppose,” he continued. “It was clear to all that Joseph intended to make himself lord of the city. I did not know how I would stop him until you and Rebecca Hooke laid him at my feet, as neatly as a spaniel with a fowl. You and she make a fine brace of dogs.”

I found the comparison to be irksome, and my pairing with Rebecca hateful, but I held my tongue. I did not know where our conversation would end, and I did not wish to anger him.

“If you have any similar scheme to rid me of James Hooke, I should be equally grateful,” he said. “I would rather not have a murderer walking the city’s streets, gloring over my wife.”

I gasped and looked up. “You know James murdered George Breary?”

“Of course,” the Lord Mayor replied with a laugh. “The fool told Agnes what he’d done, and she came straight to me. I know few would recognize it, but she is a good girl in her own fashion. So long as she was discreet and kept me warm on these cold winter nights, I could tolerate her youthful dalliances.” His mirthless smile returned, and I could not help thinking that he believed he had the better part of their agreement.

“I saw the bruises on her wrist,” I said. “They are not the sign of someone so liberal.”

“Oh, that wasn’t for her jumbling,” the Lord Mayor corrected me. “It was because I had to clean up the mess she made. The city might forgive adultery, especially in one so young and trifling, but if she became enmeshed in Mr. Breary’s murder? That would be a far more serious matter. And I will tell you, hiding her relationship to George Breary was neither easy nor cheap.”

With this admission I realized I could answer one more question about George’s murder.

“You are the one who burned George’s papers.”

“Well I didn’t, of course,” he replied. “I paid one of his servants to do it. Who knew what that besotted fool might have written down? It is better to be safe.”

“What do you intend to do about James Hooke?” I asked.

“What can I do?” He shrugged. “You saw to it that your nephew hanged for George’s murder. I can’t hang another man for the same crime even if he is guilty. The people are often senseless, but they are not so forgetful as that.”

He paused for a moment and stared into my eyes.

“I should warn you,” he said, “James Hooke’s guilt in the matter is a private affair. You will tell nobody. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord Mayor.” What else could I have said?

I stood in silence for a moment, reflecting on what had just happened. Once again, the law had failed to provide justice, only this time I’d had a hand in its failure. I wondered if perhaps the preachers were right when they said that the summer’s heat and the winter’s brutal cold were the Lord’s punishment of an unjust nation. But I was a part of the nation, wasn’t I?

“One more thing,” the Lord Mayor said. “Will Hodgson is here. You should probably see him before you leave the city.”





Chapter 26

My head spun as I tried to grasp all that the Lord Mayor had said. At first my heart leaped at the prospect of finding Will, safe and sound, but what did he mean by before you leave the city?

Greenbury rang a bell on his desk, and a servant entered. “Bring Mr. Hodgson,” Greenbury said. “And Lady Hodgson’s deputy as well.” The servant bowed and slipped soundlessly from the room.

“I will leave you alone,” the Lord Mayor said. “But we will talk again before you go.”

Before I could answer, or ask him to explain his words, he strode from the room.

Martha came in first, her eyes wide with excitement. “He is here?” she asked. “He has been here all along? How so?”

I started to reply, but the door opened again and Will came in. I was shocked by his incongruous appearance, for his clothes, which the Lord Mayor must have gifted him, bespoke a man at the prime of life: rich wool was matched with fine silk, and the style could not have been more in fashion, nor could the suit have been better cut to Will’s figure. But the clothes seemed to have been made for a dead man, for Will’s shaven head, sunken cheeks, and hollowed eyes gave him the look of a corpse. As soon as he saw us, his face crumpled, and he began to cry uncontrollably. He stumbled across the room and in to Martha’s arms.