The Midwife's Tale (16 page)

“But if the Lord Mayor couldn’t try him, he might have simply had him killed.”

“Precisely,” I said. “We’ve already seen he has no respect for the law if it cannot be bent to his will. I also can’t help wondering if Stephen might have had a role in the attack on the city. If he were in league with the rebels, it is quite the coincidence that his killer struck just days before the assault.”

“And with that Italian in his pay, he has someone who knows poisons. Tom was always going on about Papists and poisons, and whenever he met an Italian he’d ask for lessons. He swore they learned it in the nursery.”

With Bacca in his pay, the Lord Mayor has someone to do the killing for him. He said he prefers the knife, but I expect that he knows his poisons as well.”

“What are you going to do about the Lord Mayor’s demand?” Martha asked. “And where does that leave us with the Hookes?”

“I’ve no idea—I had no idea Stephen had made so many enemies. If Rebecca Hooke saw Stephen as a threat to her family’s fortune, she might have resorted to murder. As for the Lord Mayor, we’ll see what we can do with the two days he gave us. Tomorrow we’ll search Stephen’s study, and see what we can learn from his letters and diary. If we can find the truth before the Sabbath, perhaps we can save Esther and ourselves.” I paused. “Does this mean that you have changed your mind about Esther’s guilt?”

Martha thought for a moment and shook her head. “I’ll grant you that Mr. Cooper had more than his share of enemies, but she’s still the one who would have had the easiest time giving him the poison. I’ll wager you a week’s wages that there is more to their marriage than Mrs. Cooper said.”

I could not help smiling. “A week’s wages it is.”

Chapter 12

I woke early the next morning and went to prayer, but my mind wandered to Stephen’s death and the growing number of people with a motive for killing him. I could only hope that his letters would help me figure out who had actually accomplished their goal. Once I heard Hannah rise, I went downstairs and read in the Gospels while she prepared breakfast. Before she had finished, a girl appeared at the door, summoning me to the labor of Elizabeth Wood. Elizabeth lived south of the Ouse and was one of my regular clients. I knew her time was near, so the call came as no surprise.

“Her labor started late last night,” the servant said. “It began in earnest this morning.”

“How is she?” I asked.

“Mrs. Wood is well, but—” The girl broke off, uncomfortable with the rest of her message. “It’s the gossips. They have been there drinking wine all night. Mr. Wood is at a loss.”

I thanked the girl and gave her a penny for her trouble. I called for Martha, and together we wolfed down a cold breakfast of bread and cheese. “Never arrive at a labor hungry,” I told her as we ate. “Elizabeth’s husband is wealthy, but she may be far enough along that I’ll need to get right to work. It also sounds like the gossips may have already emptied the larder.” Without being told, Martha gathered the case that contained my birthing stool as well as my valise, and the two of us set out for Micklegate.

We crossed the bridge and followed Skeldergate along the river until we came to the Woods’ home. It was not as large as my own, but comfortable enough. When we arrived, Elizabeth’s harried and helpless husband met us at the door. “Please help,” he said in a nervous whisper, though Martha and I were the only people within earshot. “The women have drunk all my wine, and are calling for more. I told them I had none, and they beat me with their hats and sent me out to buy some. And they want a suckling pig. What should I do?” I knew he was a good husband, but at that moment his demeanor reminded me too much of Phineas’s.

“I’d get the wine and pig,” I said. “You should always do what the women tell you, particularly if they are drunk.” I was quite sure that my voice dripped with sarcasm, but he proved incapable of hearing it. He gave me a despairing look and scurried off. I shook my head in wonder. “Lord knows I have no love for overbearing husbands, but a man should at least control his own house.”

With Elizabeth’s husband gone, Martha and I went in search of the delivery room. It wasn’t hard to find—even from the front door, we could hear the drunken laughter of Elizabeth’s gossips. I opened the chamber door and thought that we had found a drinking rather than a birthing. The gossips gave Martha and me a warm welcome and pushed glasses of wine into our hands. (“We told that dolt we were out of wine, and sent him out for more,” cackled one woman.) My first concern, of course, was for Elizabeth, but the room was so full of company that it took me a few moments to find her. She lay on her bed, clearly miserable. The gossips had lost interest in her travail, and she was attended only by a nervous servant, too young to know anything of childbirth. To my dismay, one of the gossips lay next to Elizabeth, very drunk and snoring loudly.

“This is not like most labors,” I said to Martha. “But sometimes the gossips can be as much a hindrance as a help. Help me get them under control. Let’s start with this one.” I indicated the sleeping woman on the bed. She had rolled onto her side and thrown one arm over Elizabeth’s chest.

“What niceties must we observe?” Martha asked warily.

“I can rely on my rank, but if you want anyone to obey you, you will have to make them,” I said. “So long as it’s for the benefit of the mother, none will complain.”

Martha nodded and without another word reached down and seized the sleeping woman by her ears. As Martha hauled to her feet, the woman let out a squeal loud enough to shake the windows. “Time for you to be on your way, madam,” Martha announced, as much for the other gossips as for the woman whose ears she held tight. Martha dragged her hapless victim across the room, opened the door, and fairly hurled her out. I was relieved not to hear a body tumbling downstairs; few mothers wanted a midwife to kill her gossips, however unruly they became.

Martha turned to the rest of the group and announced loudly, “Now, if you are here to assist Mrs. Wood in her travail, and are sober enough to do so, you may stay. If not, please be on your way. Now.”

The women looked dumbly at the maid who had just taken over their gathering. When none moved, Martha marched around the room, snatching glasses from the women’s hands and emptying them into the chamber pot. One woman tried to protect her glass, but Martha was having none of it. She wrestled it away none too gently, saying, “Now, now, give it to me, madam. You’ve had your fun. It’s time to leave poor Mrs. Wood. She must have her baby in peace.” Once she’d confiscated the glasses, Martha herded the women toward the door and shooed them down the stairs. She later told me that Elizabeth’s husband had the misfortune to return as the women were leaving. “They plundered him of his new-bought wine, and left him quivering in their wake,” she said. Watching Martha take over the delivery room, I felt a certain amount of pride—it took a strong woman to handle a gaggle such as this.

With the gossips taken care of, I began my examination of Elizabeth. I could feel the child’s head. “It won’t be long now,” I told her, but after six children she already knew that. In the quiet of the room, I gossiped with Elizabeth about the news of the town, carefully avoiding the topic of Stephen Cooper’s murder. Martha asked a few questions about childbirth and how a woman’s first travail differed from her second and her sixth. She was a quick study and asked good questions. Soon it was time for the child to be born, and since it promised to be an easy delivery, I let Martha receive the child. She gently cradled the infant as he was born, and the look on her face reminded me of the first time I’d delivered a child. A midwife’s work was never easy, but few things brought more joy than welcoming a new soul into the world.

I turned my attention to the child, and my heart sank. His complexion was pallid and his cries weak. “The child is sickly,” I said quietly. “We must help him.”

While Martha held the child, I put my hand into Elizabeth to deliver the placenta. I usually preferred to let it fall naturally, but we had no time. Once I had the placenta out, I put the dull edge of my knife to the cord and used it to force what blood was still in it back into him—a sickly child needed every drop. After I cut his cord and tied it tight, Martha and I gave him a bath of warm wine, being sure to rub his limbs to give them strength. “Swaddle him well,” I told her. “I’ll talk to Elizabeth.” Martha looked at me blankly, and I remembered that she’d never served in a household with children. I quickly showed her the best way to wrap a newborn. “Now he must be put to the breast. He will turn the milk to blood, which will give him strength.” I handed the infant to Elizabeth, and he began to nurse, but with less vigor than I would have liked. Elizabeth looked at me nervously. Her other children had been lusty eaters, and she was worried. I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Good.” Soon the child slept, but it was too soon for my liking. I told Elizabeth to give him suck as often as he would take it, and when she fell asleep, Martha and I left.

“Will he live?” she asked when we reached the street.

I didn’t know what to tell her. The joy of welcoming a child into the world was matched only by the sorrow of seeing one out. “He is in God’s hands,” I said. It was the only response I could think of. Martha snorted rudely, so I tried another explanation. “It is not good that he was born in such a state, but I have seen weaker children thrive, and lusty ones waste away within days. He is lucky to have Elizabeth as his mother, for she has raised her share of healthy children.” Martha only nodded. “You could say a prayer,” I added. She cast me a sideways glance, silently dismissing the idea.

We crossed back over the Ouse, and when we didn’t turn toward my house, Martha looked at me curiously. “It won’t get dark for several hours,” I said. “I thought we might go to Esther Cooper’s house and see if we can get that box of letters she is so keen for us to read.” My plan seemed to give Martha some cheer. While she would likely remain melancholy until Elizabeth’s son gained strength, this would at least keep her mind on other things.

When we reached the Coopers’ house, I knocked on the door. We heard someone moving about inside, but nobody opened the door. After a few moments, I knocked again, this time more forcefully. Whoever was inside must have decided we were not going away, for we heard the lock click, and the door opened slightly. A young woman peered out at us. “Yes?” she said.

“We are here at the behest of your mistress,” I announced. “She sent you a letter about us. Open the door.” The maid hesitated. Disobeying a gentlewoman would not come naturally, but she clearly did not relish the prospect of admitting strangers to her mistress’s home.

“How do I know you are the ones in her letter?” she asked.

“I am the Lady Bridget Hodgson. I assume she mentioned my name in the letter.”

The maid hesitated again. “How do I know you’re really her?” she asked. I took a breath and tried to control my temper. The girl was scared, an idiot, or both. If I pushed too hard, she would slam the door in our faces. Martha stepped in.

“Have any other women claiming to be Lady Hodgson tried to enter?” she asked with more kindness than I could have mustered. The maid shook her head, as if this were a reasonable question. “This is Lady Hodgson. I give you my word.” To my surprise the door swung open, and the maidservant motioned for us to enter. Martha was proving more valuable an assistant than I’d dared hope, first clearing out the drunken gossips, now persuading a frightened maid to let us into her house.

Once we were inside, I allowed Martha to continue doing the talking for us. She asked the servant her name, which would not have occurred to me, but the question seemed to put the girl at ease.

“Ellen Hutton,” she said. She was a handsome young woman around Martha’s age, pleasingly plump, and ready for marriage. She still seemed nervous, but I could not fault her for that. With her master dead and her mistress condemned for his murder, her future was uncertain. Good servants rarely went without employment, but her background would work against her, to say the least.

“Mrs. Cooper asked us to come to her house and retrieve some items from Mr. Cooper’s study,” Martha said gently.

“You’ve seen her?” the girl asked. “What did she say?”

“We visited her Tuesday,” Martha said. “She said that you’ve been much on her mind. She’s worried about you.”

“She is too kind,” she said, the blood rising in her cheeks. Too kind by half, I thought impatiently, Esther barely mentioned her at all.

“Where is Mr. Cooper’s study?” I asked, wearying of the small talk.

“It is on the third floor,” Ellen said, suddenly nervous again.

Martha took Ellen by the arm and turned her away from me. “Before we go up could I ask you some questions about Mr. and Mrs. Cooper?”

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of master was Mr. Cooper? Was he unkind? I’ve had unkind masters before.”

“Oh, no,” Ellen said quickly. “He was a godly man and this was a godly home. We rose every morning at half-past four for family prayer.”

“What were your duties?”

“Prayer ended at five and I made oatmeal for breakfast. Every breakfast was oatmeal and every supper was a boiled chicken with carrots.”

“You had the same food every day?” Martha asked in disbelief.

“Once, Mrs. Cooper suggested roasting the chicken. For her insolence, Mr. Cooper whipped her bare back ten times with a rod.” I tried to hide my surprise at this. I had no great love for Stephen, but I’d no idea he could be so zealous in his search for order.

“Did he beat her often?” Martha asked. I thought I detected a note of hope in her voice.

“Not often. She learned quickly. But sometimes she was willful.”

Martha looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. She clearly thought she’d just won an extra week’s wages.

“Did he beat you?” Martha asked. “Sometimes masters can be cruel.”

“No, never,” she exclaimed. “I was very careful. He only became angry once when he found out I was courting a boy. I told Mr. Cooper that he was respectable—an apprentice and would be free soon. I said he would make a good husband. But Mr. Cooper wouldn’t listen. Said he wouldn’t let my ‘lewd carriage’ bring shame on his home. But he never struck me.”