The Midwife's Tale (25 page)

He struggled briefly for an answer. “Yes, of course,” he said at last.

“Excellent,” I said. “The city needs good apothecaries.”

I thanked Richard again, and Martha and I left the shop and began to walk toward Peasholme.

“What do you make of that?” Martha asked excitedly as soon as we exited the shop.

“If the bottle came from the shop,” I said, “the ratsbane probably did as well. We’re that much closer to finding the murderer.”

“You know the apprentice. Could he have forgotten selling it? Or could he be lying?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “He is too conscientious to forget such a thing, and you saw him try to lie on behalf of his master. He’s a good lad. Besides, there’s no crime in selling ratsbane, so he has no reason to lie. That leaves only Mr. Penrose—with any luck we can find him at the Black Swan.”

We passed the entrance to the Shambles and continued toward Peasholme. As we neared the northeast wall of the city, we saw fewer city residents and more soldiers. The occasional thump of rebel guns grew louder, and we saw more and more houses that had been hit. I don’t know what the rebels hoped to achieve by this—destroying citizens’ homes would not bring the siege to an end any sooner.

Within a few minutes, St. Anthony’s Hall and the Black Swan came into view. The Black Swan ranked among the oldest alehouses in the city, and while its half-timbered frame was solid enough, the cracks in the plaster walls showed that it had enjoyed better days. As we neared the entrance, we stepped over a soldier who lay in a stupor against the side of the building. Suddenly the alehouse door flew open and yet another drunken soldier stumbled out, shocked by the bright sun. He bumped into Martha and drew himself up, ready for a fight. He stopped short when he saw two women and that I was a woman of quality.

“I think you’re in the wrong place, my lady,” he said before weaving across the street toward the gate into St. Anthony’s. I glanced at Martha, and even she looked nervous at her surroundings. Steeling ourselves for the worst, we stepped into the alehouse.

The smell of the place struck me like a fist in the stomach. The rooms reeked of sweat, spoiled ale, and rotting food. We found ourselves in a short hallway, with doorways leading to four large rooms where the patrons did their drinking. A narrow staircase led to a second floor where, I had to imagine, even less savory business went on. In their drunken revels, nobody seemed to notice that we’d entered. Despite the fact that night would not fall for several hours, the alehouse’s interior was dim, as filth-covered windows kept out most of the daylight. Rough tables and stools lay scattered around the drinking rooms, which resonated with the rough laughter of drunken soldiers. Mixed in with the soldiers were a handful of tired-looking whores, perhaps the only city residents profiting from the siege.

“How will we find Penrose?” I muttered once my stomach had settled.

Martha and I peered through the first doorway we came to, but nobody inside appeared old enough to be our apothecary. The second room contained only soldiers and whores, but in the third we spied a likely candidate. A man who clearly was not a soldier sat on a bench, slumped against the wall with a flagon in front of him. He was in his forties, and while his clothes were filthy, their quality marked him as a man of some means.

“That’s probably him,” I said, and Martha and I started across the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a soldier rise to his feet and advance toward us, followed by four of his compatriots. Martha let out a frightened gasp and took a step back. The soldier leading the group was a young man wearing the rank of sergeant. He ignored me entirely, staring instead at Martha. He had one hand on his sword, the other on the handle of his dagger. Even in the dim light of the alehouse, I could see the anger in his eyes, and I realized that they were the same color blue as Martha’s. The resemblance and Martha’s reaction told me that this could only be her brother, Tom. My heart began to race, for I also knew that if even half of what Martha had said about him was true, we had just walked into very deep trouble.

The man crossed the room in a few purposeful strides and stopped when his face was just a few inches from Martha’s. He looked down at her with a cruel smile on his face.

“Hello, Martha,” he said, and I felt my stomach lurch. His accent echoed Martha’s, confirming my guess as to his identity. “If I judged you by your clothes, I would ask what a respectable maid like you is doing in such a disreputable establishment. But I know far too much about you to think of you as respectable.” Martha stared back at him, trying to remain impassive, but I could see a flicker of fear in her eyes. Tom Hawkins glanced at me. “I don’t imagine your mistress here knows as much as I do … shall I tell of our most recent adventure?” The soldiers formed a circle around us—now we could not simply back out of the room. I looked again at the stripes on Tom’s shoulders and realized how we might escape the alehouse with our lives.

“Sergeant!” I said in as sharp a voice as I could muster. Even as I spoke, I realized that my hands had begun to shake, so I gripped my apron to stop them before Tom noticed. I could only pray that my voice did not betray my fear, for once I challenged Tom’s authority over his men, there would be no going back. “I am a gentlewoman of this city, and this is my maidservant. We have come here by the command of the Lord Mayor. I don’t know who you think my servant is, but you are mistaken. You
will
step back.” He looked at me, surprised but not yet angry. By the expression on his face, I think he welcomed the prospect of shaming a gentlewoman. Before he could speak, I turned to his soldiers and picked out the youngest. “Private! Summon your lieutenant immediately.” He looked to Tom for direction, but I stepped between them, looking the private in the eye. “Private, do you make a habit of disobeying your superiors?”

“No, m-my lady,” he stammered.

“I thought not. Go now.” I turned on my heel to face Tom, hoping that the boy would obey. “Sergeant, while we await your lieutenant, why don’t you explain to me, and to your soldiers, what exactly you mean by meddling with a gentlewoman on the Lord Mayor’s business.”

Tom and I locked eyes, and I saw his surprise and anger at losing control of the situation. He may have expected trouble from Martha, but certainly not from a gentlewoman so far out of her element. What authority could I have in an alehouse filled with soldiers, drunkards, and whores? A look of rage flashed across his face, and I saw the knuckles whiten as he gripped his dagger. My breath stopped as I wondered if I might meet a bloody end on the ale-soaked floor of the Black Swan. To my surprise, he regained his composure without drawing his dagger or even raising his hand. He may have been of the meaner sort, but he knew when he had been beaten. He recognized that no good could come from assaulting a gentlewoman in public, so he retreated.

“You are quite right, my lady,” he said with a bow. “I mistook your servant for someone else. This is no place for respectable women, so I did not see you as such. I don’t know how I could have been mistaken.”

I took Martha’s arm and began to guide her toward the door. I knew Tom was trying to find a way to regain the upper hand in the confrontation, and this would be our best chance to escape. I saw Martha look back, not at her brother, but at the figure in the corner whom we took to be Thomas Penrose. I nudged her forward. Penrose could wait until we returned with more weapons than just my wits. As we neared the door, Tom’s voice followed us.

“It’s a small city, my lady. I’m quite sure we will see each other again … soon.”

At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up; I knew that he spoke the truth.

Chapter 18

Once we reached the street, Martha and I walked quickly, retracing our steps toward the Pavement. Neither of us spoke, but we each cast hurried glances over our shoulders, fearful that we might be followed. When we reached the relative safety of the crowds in the Pavement, we slowed our pace but kept moving toward Coneystreet, which would take us home. As we passed the Angel, one of York’s finest inns, I grasped Martha’s arm and stopped.

“A glass of sack would suit me quite nicely right now,” I said. “Would you care for one?” She gulped and nodded her assent.

As soon as we entered the inn, the hostess ushered us into the dining room. She took us to a table at the window looking out on the street, but as soon as we sat, I regretted it. Sitting in front of the large window, I felt exposed and worried that Tom might catch sight of us. I knew such fears were groundless—he could never attack us in so public a place—but I nevertheless asked the hostess to seat us away from the window. She brought us our drinks and asked if we would be dining. At that moment I realized that I was famished and asked her to bring us whatever was hot and ready. She disappeared into the kitchen, and Martha and I could finally speak in private.

“My God,” she said, exhaling heavily. “That was an unwelcome surprise. How did he insinuate himself into the garrison, and as a noncommissioned officer, no less?”

I nodded and swallowed half my sack in a single draught. “We were lucky to escape. The question is where this leaves us. I think it gives us an advantage at least for the moment. So long as he’s in uniform and surrounded by his men, he’ll have to play the sergeant’s part. The last thing he’d want is to be imprisoned for abandoning his post, so he will have to spend most of his time doing the work of a soldier.”

“Not Tom. He won’t let that stop him for long. He can change his clothes and disappear into the city easily enough. I’ve seen him do it.”

“Then I’ll alert Sergeant Smith immediately, and ask him to double the guard on the house. I don’t know what else we can do.”

“You could tell your brother about Tom,” she said evenly. “Now that we know where to look, he’ll be easier to find. It would be safer for you. I saw the look in his eyes—he’ll not forget what happened. He means to kill us both.”

“And I saw the look he gave you. I won’t have you tried alongside that rogue just to save myself from danger. The guards can protect us until we figure out a better plan.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she murmured. Though she tried to hide it by clearing her throat and looking away, for a moment I thought Martha might cry tears of gratitude, and it warmed my heart.

“But I’m afraid that this complicates efforts to question Penrose,” I said. “Even if we bring Will or one of the guards, I don’t relish the thought of another row with Tom. Next time we might not escape without violence.”

“We can avoid the Black Swan entirely by coming to the shop first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “If we arrive early enough, we can catch him before he goes out. Men like him are not early risers.”

“We’ll do that, but it will have to wait until Monday. His shop will be closed tomorrow, and after Sunday’s service we’ve each got a christening to attend. You’ll be with Mercy Harris, and I’ll be at Abigail Stoppard’s.”

“Surely we could go after the christenings,” she protested. “He lives above the shop, we could see him even though it’s closed. He might be out again, but we could get lucky. It’s worth a try.”

I laughed. “After the baptism, you will join in the drinking,” I said. “I’ll be at Abigail’s all night, and while Mercy’s poor, you might be surprised what her friends will do on her behalf.”

“Do you attend all your clients’ revels?” she asked.

“It compensates in some measure for the funerals,” I said. “Though the headaches the morning after are no treat. You’ll see tomorrow.”

*   *   *

As Martha and I walked home in the fading light, I explained her place in the christening of Mercy’s baby. She would carry the baby to the font, tell the priest what to name her, and then return to Mercy’s.

“How long will the drinking last?” she asked. “I’d rather not wander around the city at night.”

“No, I don’t think either of us has that luxury anymore. I’ll send one of the guards with you, and ask Will to accompany me to Abigail Stoppard’s house.” I was relieved to see that Sergeant Smith himself was standing at my door when we arrived. Martha went inside and I explained my desire to double the guard.

“I can have a second man here starting tomorrow morning,” he said, but a note of concern crept into his voice. “Is there anything we should worry about, my lady?”

“I am afraid so. We have learned that the man who threatens me is well armed, and has disguised himself as a noncommissioned officer with the garrison.”

Sergeant Smith grimaced. “I’ll have to pay my men more. It’s one thing to face down a lone ruffian, but if he’s armed and in uniform, things are much more difficult.”

“Of course,” I said, and described Tom in as much detail as I could.

“I’ll tell my men to watch for him,” he said. “And arm them with pistols. That should give him pause if he shows his face around here.”

I began to close the door when I heard the sound of someone running toward my house and a woman’s voice crying, “Lady Hodgson!” A few seconds later, Margaret Goodwin arrived at my door. I led her inside and took her to the parlor as she tried to catch her breath.

“Margaret, what is it?” I asked. I knew it had to do with Anne and that it must be important. I felt a sinking in my stomach. Had something happened to her? Martha heard the commotion and appeared at the door.

“I just saw Anne,” Margaret said between breaths. “She came to the shop a few minutes ago.”

Questions tumbled out. Did she say where has she been? How was she? Where is she now? Was she still pregnant? Did she say what had happened to her child? Margaret tried to answer, but in her excitement her story tumbled over itself.

“Slow down, Margaret. Tell me exactly what she said.”

Margaret took a deep breath and gathered herself. “She came to the shop and called to us from the street. She refused to come inside, for fear of being trapped. She said that Rebecca Hooke is a murderer. She heard her confess as much to James.”

“Did she say what she meant? Who did she kill? Was it Stephen Cooper?”

“No, my lady, she didn’t say,” she said, as she began to weep. “I asked about the baby, and she refused to tell me anything.”