Again, the audience brayed and yelled, crude as groundlings in the theater yard. Coke motioned to the clerk, who went to a small trestle and pulled a black cloth from it. Underneath lay several objects. He showed one to the jury, some of whom stared while others looked away in distaste. The clerk then gave it to Coke, who held it up for all to see. It was a statue of two figures, cast from black lead, a man and a woman, naked and lying belly to belly.

“These copulating figures were used by Dr. Forman and Mistress Turner for their spells. Here is the brass mold from which it, and others, one must assume, were made. Were hairs, or nail clippings, or some such given into the lead to make the figures more potent?” asked Coke, not waiting for an answer but seeking to plant the thought into the minds of the jury.

Next, the clerk brought around a black scarf, covered in white crosses, then a parchment with the names of the Trinity written upon it, and another on which was stretched a piece of what appeared to be skin, bearing the word “corpus,” along with names of the devils Lord Coke accused Forman of conjuring to torment Robin Carr and Arthur Waring if they proved unfaithful toward Frankie or me.

A doll was held aloft, sumptuously appareled in a silk dress held together with pins, the French Baby I had made with a garment design for Forman’s wife.

“A puppet, into which pins are stuck to cause pain to whatever unfortunate the witch Turner wishes to torment!” shouted Coke. The crowd strained forward for a better view and a mighty crack issued from the scaffold. The spectators screamed and began pushing and yelling to get off the precarious structure before it collapsed on them.

“The Devil is here!” they cried.

“He is angered by the exposure of his works!”

Those on the lowest tier of benches began running to the doors, pushing off the spectators trying to scramble down from the benches above. A couple of people fell and made a great clatter as they tumbled.

I jumped at the sound of a mighty hammering. It was Lord Justice Coke, banging his gavel with all his strength. The clerks of court, several of whom looked shaken and afraid, called for order. The boards on the scaffolding were checked and, with much fussing and testing, the crowd reassembled. Lord Coke contained his irritation, wanting the crowd on his side to add weight to his lurid accusations in the absence of any proof.

“What say you of these tools of witchcraft?” he asked me.

“I know them not. The doll is but a—”

“You had nothing from Forman?” interrupted Coke.

“Only simples.”

“Simples? Simples for your own health?” Here I stumbled, realizing too late that I had better say nothing. “For whom were they intended? For Sir Arthur Waring?”