‘Lots of things, I think. One was class aggression – you look at the European witch hunts and they had it in for all different types of people: aristocrats got burnt at the stake and their lands neatly confiscated by the Church. But in the Essex witch hunts the victims are mostly poor. At the same time you’ve got a mini Ice Age, crop failures, Civil War, a general breakdown of law and order. Indictments in Essex were already higher than elsewhere in the country. Then suddenly in 1644 the numbers spike dramatically. It was down to Matthew Hopkins, whose dick must have fallen off or something.’
Maggie raised an eyebrow. ‘Language, darling.’
‘Well, he’s got serious issues with women. Killed more than any of the other Witchfinders put together. Decided to call himself the Witchfinder General and got rid of whole families of,’ I lifted my fingers to draw imaginary quotation marks, ‘“witches” in his brief career from 1644 to 1647. Some sources suggest that he was from Lancashire, others from Essex or Suffolk. That he worked in shipping as a clerk and spent some time in Amsterdam learning his official trade, where he witnessed several witch trials.’
I looked up to catch her expression. ‘And?’ she said, eyebrows furrowed, not giving anything away.
‘So he comes back and starts on Essex Girls in Manningtree. That’s where he was based. There and Mistley. The Thorn Inn is where he had his headquarters.’ I jerked my chair closer to the desk. ‘Killed a good hundred more people than Harold Shipman, who I might add, we can draw comparisons with – he also enjoyed murdering older women living on their own. But, like I said, it’s thought that Hopkins killed more. Possibly making him the number one serial killer of all time. Conservative estimates look to about 350-odd victims. And,’ I drew breath for emphasis, ‘he was only twenty-six or twenty-seven when he snuffed it. That was in 1647. In 1692 you get the Salem witch hunts – and guess where they were?’
Maggie drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘I’d put my money on Salem.’
‘Okay. I didn’t phrase that well. What county do you reckon Salem is in?’
‘It’s in Massachusetts, no?’
‘Yes, that’s the state though. Salem is in Essex County.’
‘That, I didn’t know,’ said Maggie thoughtfully. ‘You have my full attention. What are you thinking?’
‘Not sure yet. I have to do some digging. I’ve got a tingling feeling going on. I think I could come up with something strong. Perhaps, and this is just a perhaps at the moment, it could be part of a bigger series – The Essex Girls’ History of the World.’
Maggie’s eyes brightened – pound signs were presumably whizzing through her brain. ‘Now you’re talking. What are you saying – six, twelve articles?’
‘I don’t know yet. Let me see what I can come up with.’
‘I like it. I really like it. Sounds like you’re talking ahead of the next deadline. Can you come up with this in three weeks?’
I’d already thought about that and shook my head. ‘I’ll definitely need longer.’
Her eyes dipped and hardened. ‘You’ve got a current deadline. This is like an ongoing column. Readers will be expecting a piece in the next issue. Be a dear and sort something out for that please.’
I already had something up my sleeve. ‘What about little-known Essex Girls of import … ?’
Maggie picked up my line. ‘That go against the stereotype …’
I gave her a stony stare. ‘All Essex Girls go against the stereotype …’
She ignored my comment. ‘Yes, okay, you can have that. But I don’t want you trotting out the regulars: Helen Mirren; Sally Gunnell … yada yada. There was a piece like that in the Standard just the other week.’
‘I’ve got enough research to concoct a decent article pretty quickly. There’s Anne Knight who campaigned against slavery and for women’s suffrage …’
Maggie sniffed. ‘Not too political though please, Sadie. We need an arts or culture steer.’
‘Come on – she’s a notable woman. A lesser-known
notable …’
‘Oh dear. I’m going off the idea. Who else have you got?’
‘Okay,’ I said, reaching mentally for someone a little more exciting. ‘Maggie Smith?’
‘Mmm.’
‘Oh and also Mary Boleyn – the “other Boleyn Girl”. You could run a nice pic of Scarlett beside it.’
‘Was Mary from Essex?’
‘Lived in Rochford for about ten years.’
‘Born here?’
‘Not exactly …’
‘She’ll do. Stick in a couple more like that and think pictures.’
She wrote something down in the book on her desk. ‘Good, good,’ she said to herself and