her hands together. ‘It explains why Matthew returned to Manningtree and Mistley. Why do that unless you’ve got a reason to come back to the place? It’s the scene of his first prosecutions. The tide had turned. His actions here had caused several families to suffer. Why come back when you know you’ll be greeted with hostility? Why not go back to Great Wenham instead? The village where you were born and a place where no witches were to be found. The Wenham population might be more, let’s say, welcoming?’
Her hands were open, facing up to the ceiling.
I had my hand on my chin. ‘Why not indeed?’ I said slowly. ‘You’re suggesting he came back here because his mother was in Manningtree. Interesting.’ I was processing the information at a pace now, absorbing each detail wholly and completely. ‘But it’s hardly front page news.’ I spoke without thinking and saw Amelia bristle.
‘No. You’re not listening to what I’m saying. How old was Hopkins in 1647 – twenty-six, twenty-seven?’
‘One of those. No one is sure.’
‘He’s young though, right? What if he didn’t die of TB?’
‘Stearne said he did.’
‘Yes, well, Master Stearne had his own reasons for distancing himself from the unpopular Master Hopkins.’
‘So what are you saying? That he didn’t die? That Mary Hopkins persuaded her husband …’
‘Matthew’s stepfather …’
‘… to enter the record of Matthew’s death falsely? Why?’
‘The war was ending. Men were returning home to find their villages decimated and their womenfolk gone, dead. They wanted someone to blame. Manningtree and Mistley had lost a fair few souls. Belligerence towards her son must have characterised many of the returning villagers and concerned Matthew’s mother. The situation may have got very nasty indeed. Mr and Mrs Witham had other children to protect. It would compromise everyone if Matthew continued to live with them. He had no respectable future any more. One way out for them all would be to tell everyone the Witchfinder had died, then get him out of the country. Just as Bishop Hutchinson wrote.’
I thought about this for a moment. ‘But where would he have gone?’
She unfolded a photocopy of a photograph – the original will, proved in 1634, for James Hopkins, the vicar of Great Wenham.
I recognised it. ‘Matthew Hopkins’ father.’
‘That’s right.’ She pointed at a paragraph.
It read ‘My sonne Thomas My Mynede & Will is that my Executrix shall as soone as she can finde opportunitie send him over the seas to such our friends in Newe England as she shall thinke fitt.’
‘New England,’ I murmured. ‘Of course.’
‘Uh huh,’ Amelia harrumphed with victory.
My hand was starting to tingle. It made sense.
‘So,’ continued Amelia. ‘Then I thought – what if he did go out there and couldn’t resist getting up to his old tricks?’
I was nodding along with her, willing her to speed up. She pulled another piece of paper out of her bag. ‘Well, looky here. I looked up “early witch hunts in New England” and guess when the first one is?’
I shook my head.
‘1648. One year after Hopkins disappears off the face of the earth. Well, the Essex earth anyway. How long would it have taken to cross the Atlantic back then? Maybe four, five months?’
‘About that, I’d say.’
‘And guess what else? In that very same essay that Bishop Hutchinson talks of Hopkins leaving the country, he also mentions Cotton Mather. Mather was actively involved in the Salem witch hunts. He writes about it in his History of New England. And,’ she drew the last word out for drama, ‘he also mentions two cases in Chelmsford from the year 1645.’
‘The Hopkins witch hunts,’ I said and exhaled all my breath.
Amelia nodded. ‘Hopkins’ stories were out there in the New World. Was he?’
She sat back, picked up her glass and drained it.
‘Bloody hell, Amelia. You’re a little gem. You really bloody are. This is excellent. Shit. I suppose you want to investigate this now?’
Amelia smiled. ‘To be honest I’ve done all I want to on this horrid man. This is for you. Also I’ve got no time now. I’d rather read a couple of books with a bit of a Greek flavour. Soak up the atmosphere out there. Just let me know how you get on and give me a credit when you publish your piece – Amelia Whitting.’
That was extremely generous and I told her so. The implications that this could have for my book were fantastic. ‘It could be a staggering revelation,’ I piped up and rather excitedly clapped my hands together with