Forman had always conversed with angels. To conjure devils was a hanging offense. It was only a matter of months since the country had been set on edge by the discovery of covens in Yorkshire; hanging the witches had not quelled fear of their evil. It was deemed possible that they could still work magic from the grave.

“We want it to happen quickly,” said Frankie, sitting on a stool opposite Mary Woods, who did not uncross her arms. “How long might it take?”

“How long could what take?” asked Mary Woods, looking at Frankie and pursing her fat lips so they oozed out from her face like raw sausages. The room grew dark as snow began to fall outside. Frankie hesitated and I cleared my throat, willing her to keep quiet.

“To release me from my marriage?” she whispered. I began to suspect that Frankie was ill as well as drunk. The separation from Essex appeared to have removed all discretion.

The visitor made a mummery of looking around her. “Got ghosts, have you? Who’s going to hear us?” Frankie shook her head and looked at her hands. I had not seen her cowed before. Desperation had weakened her.

“Once you pay me, I can start work straightaway,” said Mary Woods, her voice loud. “My clients are satisfied within a few weeks.”

“How?” I repeated.

A smile spread across the wide jaw of Mary Woods. “My husband keeps from my bed and does not complain who takes his place. He bored two holes in my chamber door to watch me with another man but said nothing and never will. He is in my power and so is any man I choose.”

Frankie’s eyes flicked over this grubby laundress to see what made her so tempting to men. I was convinced of nothing but the woman’s impertinence.

“Yet he remains your husband. What proof have you of putting marriages asunder?” I asked again. Essex would never welcome Robin into Frankie’s bed; though separated, they were still married.

“You doubt me?” said Mary Woods, looking out of the windows at the swirling gray sky.

“To break the holy bond of matrimony is beyond the powers of most … healers,” I said.

“I don’t break it. My devils do. They do as I say, just as men do.”

“What do they do?” I said. It was growing so dark in the room that the woman’s moon face was all I could clearly see. Frankie put a hand on my arm.

“Speaking of my work lessens its effect.”

“You don’t wish harm on the husbands?” I insisted.

The washerwoman lumbered to her feet and nodded at Frankie. “Your friend is too suspicious, m’lady. I’ll go before I’m trapped by the snow. They say it’s going to be bad.”