The Midwife's Tale (27 page)

“Tell Dorothy,” I said. “She will look into it and search her body. If the maid is indeed with child, Dorothy will inform the churchwardens.”

The prospect of a bastard birth and the thought of an infanticide soured the mood for a time, but the good cheer returned when Ann Young joined the crowd. I didn’t know her, but Abigail told me that she had been married just the week before, and this was her first time among the matrons. The guests promptly began to interrogate her about the wedding night. “How many times? How long?” they called out. Ann blushed a bright crimson and refused to answer but was clearly happy to be counted among the neighborhood’s respectable women.

“How long, you ask?” cried Mary Horton. “Her Harry’s a tall one, so I’d say about this long.” She held her hands an unlikely distance apart, and once again we descended into fits of laughter. At that moment, one of the husbands had the misfortune to poke his head into our parlor in search of his wife. We greeted his appearance with catcalls and quickly chased him from the room. His young wife started unsteadily for the door. In the few seconds it took her to cross the room, she replaced Ann as the center of attention. She’d not yet borne a child, and we encouraged her to take full advantage of the evening.

As she closed the door behind her, I said to Mary, “When these women find their husbands, this one christening will beget a thousand more.”

“It is a good night,” she said, laughing. I could not have agreed more. As more husbands came in search of their wives and wives went to find their husbands, the crowd in Abigail’s room slowly thinned. The wine continued to flow, but at a more leisurely pace, and the conversation quieted. I found myself sitting on a couch with Abigail as we watched another couple depart for home.

“Will you marry again?” she asked.

I was not surprised at the question. I was young enough to have at least a few more children, and still handsome, to some eyes, at least. I also knew that my name and my wealth would counterbalance any deficiencies a gentleman might find in my body or mind. As I considered the question, I became aware of the exquisite warmth that the wine had brought to me. I thought of my gossips throughout the city: rich and poor, sinners and saints, Royalists and Parliament-men. All the women of York called on me when they were in need. I eased new mothers’ fears when they became pregnant, swearing to them that with God’s help I would deliver them safely. How many mothers had I helped in their travail? How many times had I done all I could to ensure that a mother and her child would survive? How often had I rejoiced with mothers like Abigail? Three hundred? Five hundred? But in his wisdom, the Lord took more children and mothers than I cared to remember. Some babies, like little Ben Wood, were born weak and never seemed long for this world. Some, like Birdy, seemed full of life from the day they were born, but God struck them down all the same. As a midwife, I helped the women when I could and comforted them when I could not.

But as surely as the women needed me, I needed them. Without my work, who would I be? A wealthy widow and nothing more. I would fill my days with visits to other gentlewomen and discuss my options for marriage. I could buy one house in Hereford and another in London and divide each year between city and country. Over time, I could create a household known for its exquisite manners and taste, and women of quality would clamor for the chance to dine at my table. The thought of such an uneventful and powerless existence filled me with dread, for my work as a midwife mattered in a way that mere housewifery never could. I ensured that men who fathered bastards had to pay for their children and that the women who bore them were whipped. If a maiden was raped, who but a midwife would stand with her against her assailant? Who better than a midwife could recognize the signs of bewitchment and find the witch’s mark? Without midwives, lust would reign, and order would turn to chaos. I looked at Abigail and thought of how many of the women I had delivered later became my dear friends. No, I would never give up my work. But what of marriage? Some part of me longed for the happiness I had enjoyed with my first husband. But Phineas taught me the hard lesson that contentment in marriage could not be taken for granted. I preferred the certainty of my work to the unknowns of married life.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think I will.” She nodded and seemed to understand.

When the time came for me to go, I took my leave of Abigail and found Will waiting for me in the parlor. As I crossed the room, he began to laugh.

“My God, Aunt Bridget, how much wine did you have?”

“It is unseemly to mock your elders, Will,” I scolded.

“Here, take my arm. It’s raining and the streets are slick.”

I started to reject his offer, but a look at the steady rain convinced me of its wisdom. With one hand holding his cane and his other supporting me, Will could not even hold his cloak over us, so he draped it over my head and shoulders. Nevertheless, within minutes we both were drenched. I knew my clothes would be soaked by the time we got home, but the cool rain did much to bring me back to my senses.

Just as I began to feel myself again, Will froze and pulled his arm free.

“What is it?” I asked. “Did you see something?” Instead of answering, he twisted the handle of his cane and drew the sword hidden inside.

“Stay behind me,” he whispered. “Somebody’s laying in wait for us in that alleyway.” I began to pray as he raised his sword and stepped toward the shadows of the alley.

Chapter 19

With an unnerving shriek, a dark figure raced toward us. I cried out and stepped backward in hope of avoiding its charge. Will stood his ground, and moments before he was knocked to the ground he lashed out with his sword, and I saw it find its mark. Will sat up and started to scramble to his feet before he noticed that he had just killed a sow. I could not help laughing.

“Well done, Will! The Lord Mayor will be very pleased that
someone
is taking seriously his injunctions against keeping pigs in the city.”

He smiled ruefully and wiped his sword on the pig’s carcass. He started to speak when I heard the sound of footsteps racing up behind me. My heart leapt in my throat, for I knew this was no pig. I spun around to face our attacker but slipped on the cobblestones and fell to my hands and knees. Will’s sodden cloak fell over my head, and the world went dark. My heart raced as I tried to fight my way out from under the cloak. I heard the bright crash of metal on metal and a shout of pain. A body fell on top of me and pressed me into whatever filth lay in the street. Chest heaving, I clawed my way out from under the cloak and found Will sitting next to me, sword still in hand. He pointed wordlessly, and I saw a figure disappear around a distant corner. Will scrambled to his feet and helped me up, all the while keeping his eyes on the street.

“Aunt Bridget, are you all right?”

“Just a little wet,” I said. “And I cut my hand when I fell. It’s all right. Are you hurt? Your sleeve is covered in blood.”

I checked him for wounds but found none. “It could be the pig’s,” he said. “And I think I cut him before I fell.”

“Did you see who it was?”

Will shook his head. “He covered his face. But he knew how to use a sword.”

“You saved my life, Will. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. We need to get home. We can talk when we’re safe.”

We hurried the rest of the way to my house, trying to steer clear of narrower streets and alleys. Will supported me with one hand while keeping his sword in the other. He constantly looked back over his shoulder for fear our attacker would try again. When the guards in front of my house saw our condition, they raced toward us, their pistols drawn.

“We’re fine,” Will called to them. “Help me get Lady Hodgson inside.”

Martha met us at the door and cried out in shock at my appearance. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror and understood her reaction, for I looked as if the attempt on my life had succeeded. Mud and blood covered my clothes, my hat was gone, and my hair hung down in strands around my face. Hannah heard the commotion and raced down the stairs, still in her shift. She paled when she saw me and raced back upstairs for towels. Martha took me by the arm and led me to the parlor.

“What happened?” she asked urgently.

“Lady Hodgson was attacked,” Will said. “She’s fine, but it was close.”

Before we could say any more, Hannah returned with the towels. Will retreated to the front entry hall as she helped me out of my clothes and dried me off. Hannah told Martha to fetch me a glass of wine and went upstairs for a clean shift and bandages for my hand.

“Martha, I’d rather have barley water. I think I’ve had enough wine for tonight.”

Once Hannah had finished binding my hand and getting me dressed, she allowed Will back into the room. He had dried off as well, and Hannah had found him a change of clothes that had belonged to Phineas. He sat on the sofa next to Martha, and the three of us tried to make sense of the evening’s events.

“Did you see who it was?” Martha asked.

“He attacked us from behind, and between the rain and dark, it could have been the devil himself and I’d not have recognized him. As I told Lady Bridget, he could handle a sword tolerably well.”

“Do you think you hurt him?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “My sword had some blood on it, but thanks to the damned pig I don’t know whose it was. Whoever it was could be dead already or in an alehouse plotting against us.”

“And even if you wounded him seriously, we might not be any safer,” I said. Will looked at me in confusion. “It could also have been a paid assassin. Between Charles Yeoman, the Lord Mayor, and Rebecca Hooke, there are plenty of people who might be behind this attack, and all of them have the means to hire a killer.”

“What are you talking about, Aunt Bridget?” Will cried. “Charles Yeoman? The Lord Mayor? Why would they want to kill you?”

As quickly as I could, I explained the course of our investigation into Stephen Cooper’s death and the variety of suspects we’d found. “Mr. Yeoman admitted that he would not have hesitated to kill Stephen if he thought it would save the city. Lorenzo Bacca said that the Lord Mayor would be furious if I did not agree to change my judgment on Esther, and he as much as told me he’d attack me away from my house. And with the garrison overflowing with mercenaries, the Lord knows that neither Mr. Yeoman nor Rebecca Hooke would have to look very hard to find a murderer for hire.”

“We also need to ask if it might have been Tom,” Martha said.

“Why would he want to kill me?” I asked. “He came to York for you.”

“You humiliated him, and he needs no reason beyond that. Also, if he killed you, I would have no protection and would be an easy target. Perhaps he thinks that if you died at his hands, I might rejoin him, and the two of us could loot your estate. He has several reasons and needs only one.”

“It might not have been any of these people,” Will said.

“Surely you don’t think it was a common robbery,” Martha objected.

“Of course not. But how many people know you are looking for the apothecary who sold the ratsbane that killed Stephen Cooper?”

“We spoke to a few of apothecaries but then asked them to tell others of our search,” I said. “Richard Baker is smart enough, so he likely knows. By the time everyone finished talking, half the town would have known.” I sat back, dismayed. “Whoever killed Stephen Cooper now knows we are close to finding him. We spent the afternoon tying nooses around our own necks.”

“And it won’t get better soon. If Stephen Cooper’s murderer is willing to attack you on a city street, he must be desperate. They can’t hang him twice, so he has nothing to lose. He’ll try again,” Will said.

“Then the best thing we can do is see him hanged as quickly as possible. Will, you should stay here tonight. Tomorrow morning we’ll return to Penrose’s shop and catch him when he is still abed.”

*   *   *

I awoke early the next morning and went downstairs. Hannah and Martha had already begun their day’s work, and I slipped into the parlor to read in my Bible without disturbing them. I heard heavy footsteps and a man’s voice and knew that Will had risen. I finished my portion and found Will in the kitchen, wolfing down oatmeal and bread with butter.

“How are you, Aunt Bridget?”

“Alive,” I said with a wan smile. “After last night, I could not ask for much more. Thank you again.” Will nodded, and his ears turned a bit pink. It seemed that playing the hero embarrassed him. “Dare I ask if you are prepared to rejoin the fray? We’ll go to Penrose’s shop immediately.”

He stood up, pleased at the prospect. “Of course. The sooner we find the killer, the safer you’ll be.”

By the time we arrived in the Pavement, all of the neighboring shops had opened for business, but we found Penrose’s locked up tight. I rapped loudly on the door but received no answer. Will stepped forward and pounded on the door with nearly enough force to shake it from its hinges. While neither Penrose nor Richard Baker appeared, he did get the attention of the tailor in the shop next door.

“If you’re looking for Mr. Penrose, your man will have to pound even harder than that.” He was a thin, nervous man, with the disconcerting habit of constantly looking back over his shoulder, as if someone might attack at any moment.

“Why is that?” I asked.

“I’ve not seen him in days. He’s hardly ever around. He lets his apprentice run things. Then he beats the poor lad for even the slightest mistake. Someone ought to report him to the guild. But it’s none of my affair, really. The other apothecaries have said nothing. Quite shameful.” He shook his head disapprovingly. He suddenly turned his attention to Will.

“That is a passably fine suit of clothes,” he said.

Will looked at him blankly for a moment. “Er … thank you,” he ventured.

“But a gentleman such as yourself certainly deserves better.” He took Will by the arm and started pulling him into the shop. “I am George Cawton, and I think that when you see the fabrics I have on hand, you will agree that these clothes are mere rags.” Will looked at me helplessly.