life before she’d come to live with me, for she had lived in just such a tenement. I wondered what she would remember of her childhood when she was grown, and whether she would recall the decaying house in which she’d lived, or her mother’s illicit profession. Or would she simply put the past behind her and live the life of a gentlewoman’s daughter?
In truth, I did not know which would be best. I did not want Elizabeth to forget her past entirely, but it was so terrible, what parts would I have her keep? She should remember her mother’s love, of course. And I wanted her to see the struggles of the poor, for how else could she love them as God intended? If my work as a midwife did nothing else, it showed me how the lower sort lived, and I felt I was a better Christian for it.
By the time I reached my house, my bones ached from the cold, and I hurried to the warmth of the kitchen, where I found Hannah and Martha teaching Elizabeth how to make bread. I immediately joined in, and soon the four of us were covered with enough flour to make yet another loaf. When Hannah opened the oven door, the firelight shone through Elizabeth’s golden-red hair, and for a moment it seemed as if she were the sun itself.
As we did our best to knock the flour from our clothes, Martha looked at me with a raised eyebrow, asking where I’d been. I inclined my head toward the dining room, and we withdrew from the kitchen.
“Elizabeth told you about the printer and the three-fingered man?” I asked.
Martha nodded. “Aye. What’s that mongrel Preston got to do with a pamphlet?”
I explained what I’d learned from the printer.
“And you think Joseph is priming the pump for more witch hangings,” she said.
“Aye,” I replied. I crossed to the window and looked past my reflection. We were just a few days from the brumal solstice, and even at this early hour the street was cloaked in shadows. “I think the pump is already well primed. The question is when Joseph and Rebecca will start to work the handle.”
Martha rarely showed signs of fear, but I could see that the prospect of a witch-hunt coming to York unnerved her.
“Why in God’s name is he doing this?” she asked. “What profit is there in starting down this road?”
We both knew the answer to these questions; indeed she had answered one even as she asked it. Joseph’s brutality was matched only by his righteousness. While some men sought power for its own sake, or for the wealth it would bring, Joseph wanted it in order to do the Lord’s work. The previous summer (how long ago it seemed!) Joseph had become constable and used his office to suppress all manner of sin. His goal, the goal of all the city’s Puritans, was to turn York into a “city upon a hill.” In his mind, the minister and the magistrate should work together to drive the city’s residents away from their sinful habits.
“It’s no different than when he harried the city’s doxies,” I said. “He believes that he is doing God’s bidding by ridding York of Satan’s handmaidens. That he is also gathering power to himself is almost an accident.”
“It is a dangerous scheme, this business of witch-hunting,” Martha said. “Once the hangings start, who is to say he will be able to control its course?”
“He is at war with the devil, and there can be no victory without risk,” I said. “But that is also why he needs Rebecca Hooke. So long as she is his Searcher and does his bidding, he will decide who will hang and who will not.”
Martha swore. “So they will find witches only among their enemies. And you are chief among them.”
“Precisely,” I replied. “That is why we must be on our guard. Joseph and Rebecca have cast an incendiary into the city, and there is no telling which way the wind will take the fires once they start.”
* * *
After supper, Martha and I set out into the darkness, walking south toward the Ouse Bridge and the hall where the Council would
In truth, I did not know which would be best. I did not want Elizabeth to forget her past entirely, but it was so terrible, what parts would I have her keep? She should remember her mother’s love, of course. And I wanted her to see the struggles of the poor, for how else could she love them as God intended? If my work as a midwife did nothing else, it showed me how the lower sort lived, and I felt I was a better Christian for it.
By the time I reached my house, my bones ached from the cold, and I hurried to the warmth of the kitchen, where I found Hannah and Martha teaching Elizabeth how to make bread. I immediately joined in, and soon the four of us were covered with enough flour to make yet another loaf. When Hannah opened the oven door, the firelight shone through Elizabeth’s golden-red hair, and for a moment it seemed as if she were the sun itself.
As we did our best to knock the flour from our clothes, Martha looked at me with a raised eyebrow, asking where I’d been. I inclined my head toward the dining room, and we withdrew from the kitchen.
“Elizabeth told you about the printer and the three-fingered man?” I asked.
Martha nodded. “Aye. What’s that mongrel Preston got to do with a pamphlet?”
I explained what I’d learned from the printer.
“And you think Joseph is priming the pump for more witch hangings,” she said.
“Aye,” I replied. I crossed to the window and looked past my reflection. We were just a few days from the brumal solstice, and even at this early hour the street was cloaked in shadows. “I think the pump is already well primed. The question is when Joseph and Rebecca will start to work the handle.”
Martha rarely showed signs of fear, but I could see that the prospect of a witch-hunt coming to York unnerved her.
“Why in God’s name is he doing this?” she asked. “What profit is there in starting down this road?”
We both knew the answer to these questions; indeed she had answered one even as she asked it. Joseph’s brutality was matched only by his righteousness. While some men sought power for its own sake, or for the wealth it would bring, Joseph wanted it in order to do the Lord’s work. The previous summer (how long ago it seemed!) Joseph had become constable and used his office to suppress all manner of sin. His goal, the goal of all the city’s Puritans, was to turn York into a “city upon a hill.” In his mind, the minister and the magistrate should work together to drive the city’s residents away from their sinful habits.
“It’s no different than when he harried the city’s doxies,” I said. “He believes that he is doing God’s bidding by ridding York of Satan’s handmaidens. That he is also gathering power to himself is almost an accident.”
“It is a dangerous scheme, this business of witch-hunting,” Martha said. “Once the hangings start, who is to say he will be able to control its course?”
“He is at war with the devil, and there can be no victory without risk,” I said. “But that is also why he needs Rebecca Hooke. So long as she is his Searcher and does his bidding, he will decide who will hang and who will not.”
Martha swore. “So they will find witches only among their enemies. And you are chief among them.”
“Precisely,” I replied. “That is why we must be on our guard. Joseph and Rebecca have cast an incendiary into the city, and there is no telling which way the wind will take the fires once they start.”
* * *
After supper, Martha and I set out into the darkness, walking south toward the Ouse Bridge and the hall where the Council would
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