The Midwife's Tale (31 page)

“Out of guilt. I’ve seen it too often in mothers. They deny everything at first, but all men seek forgiveness in this world, no matter what their fate might be in the next. Bacca was right: Papists have their priests for confession—we Protestants are not so fortunate. We must confess to each other, or live and die with the burden of our sins. James is unaccustomed to living with a guilty conscience. If we give him the chance to unburden his soul, he may confess.”

“I must assume you have some idea how to do this,” Will said.

“I do, and you are the key player. We’ll need Tree as well.” I laid out my ideas, and shortly after supper Will left the house to set the plan in motion.

*   *   *

After Will had been gone for nearly two hours, there came a knock at the door. Martha opened it to admit Tree. “They’ve been in the alehouse since four,” he reported. “Mr. Hodgson has had two pints, but the other man has doubled that, and drunk some liquor as well.”

“Well done, Tree,” I said. “Do you remember the rest of your job?”

“Of course,” he said tartly.

Martha, Tree, and I walked swiftly up Stonegate to an alehouse not far from the Minster. Martha and I waited out of sight, while Tree ducked inside to signal Will. A few moments later, Will and the boy exited the alehouse and crossed to the alley where Martha and I had hidden.

“He’s inside. I told him I had to go to the jakes.”

“Good man,” I said, and turned to Tree. “Here’s the three pennies we agreed upon, and another for doing such a fine job.”

“Thank you,” he said, his eyes widening at the sum. I looked at him hard, withholding the coins. “Thank you, my lady,” he said.

I smiled and gave him the coins. “We’ll civilize you yet. Now, be off with you.” Tree scampered off toward the Castle, reveling in his newfound wealth.

I set my sights on the alehouse and the serious business that lay before us. “Will, I hope you will stay close and watch the door. I’d like to avoid any unpleasant surprises.” He nodded.

Martha and I entered the alehouse and saw James Hooke sitting at a small corner table, staring sullenly into a mug of ale. We crossed the room and sat on either side of him. If he wanted to leave, he’d have to climb over us or across the table. James glanced up and then back at his ale.

“Hello, James,” I said. At this he looked more closely at me, squinting slightly as he tried to clear his vision. He was extremely drunk—Will had done his job well. “We’re here for Anne Goodwin,” I continued. “She asked us to come see you.” To my surprise, at the mention of Anne’s name, James’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears, and he reached over and clutched my hand.

“You’ve seen Anne?” he asked. “She is alive?”

“She is alive, and she sent us to you,” Martha said. “She hopes you are well.”

“She did? Anne said that?” he asked eagerly. “Where is she? Will she see me?”

“She will,” Martha said. “But not now.”

“No, of course not,” James said hastily. “What would my mother do if she knew?” Tears overflowed his eyes an ran down his cheeks. “She is in good spirits?” My heart went out to the lad, and I briefly wondered whether he was about to put his life in my hands. If he had a role in his son’s death, he would have to die.

“James,” I said, “before she sees you, she wants you to tell us about the baby.” The guilt and shame that filled James’s face told me that he knew what I meant. He gazed into my eyes, and I watched impassively as his face crumpled and he began to sob. Other customers looked over at us, but if he noticed, he didn’t care. He buried his face in his hands and continued to cry.

“Tell me, James,” I said gently. “Tell me.” I put my arm around his shoulders, and he leaned into me, his body shaking. I doubted Rebecca had ever offered him even this much consolation.

“I didn’t know,” he said. His eyes were bright from crying. “I didn’t know what she was going to do. I thought I could change her mind.”

“What happened, James? Anne went to sleep, and when she awoke the baby was gone. What happened?”

“I thought if I brought the baby to my mother, she might not hate Anne so much. She might not hate me.” Here is a man who does not know his own mother, I thought.

“Did she change her mind?” I asked, knowing the answer before he gave it. The only remaining question was how the child had died.

“I thought she did. She asked to hold him, and when she looked into his eyes, I thought she saw her grandson. I thought holding him had softened her heart.” Martha started to speak, but I shook my head to silence her. James would tell us everything in his own time. “She asked me to go to a wine shop and bring back the finest bottle I could find, so that we could welcome her grandson properly. When I returned I gave my mother the wine, and she called for two glasses. I asked if she had given the baby back to Anne. She looked at me as if I were an idiot. She said, ‘Never you mind what has become of the bastard. I’ve cleaned up your mess.’ Then she poured the wine and made me drink.”

“Your mother murdered her own grandson?” Martha said. It was as much a statement as a question. James nodded. “What should we do?” she asked me.

“I’ll tell you what to do, you pocky-arsed whore. Move away from my son!”

I looked up and saw Rebecca Hooke striding across the room, eyes fixed on James. I wondered how she had gotten past Will. Then I saw her footman following close behind. He bore all the marks of a fight, so I knew that Will had not given up easily. I prayed that he had not been hurt. Heart pounding, I stood up and stepped forward to confront Rebecca. Without breaking stride, she planted her hand in the middle of my chest and shoved me backward. I tripped on the bench behind me and tumbled to the floor. Rebecca ignored me, instead fixing her baleful stare on James, who steadfastly refused to meet her eyes. Rebecca turned to her footman. “Take him back to the house and keep him there.” The footman stepped past Martha, grabbed James roughly by the arm, and jerked him to his feet.

“Come on, Mr. Hooke,” he said, dragging him toward the door.

Rebecca looked down at me with a baleful gaze. “Stay away from my son,” she hissed before starting for the door.

Martha looked at me, desperate for guidance. Fearing that our last chance to obtain justice for Anne’s son was slipping away, I scrambled to my feet and charged after Rebecca. When I reached the door, it opened before me, and Will appeared. He leaned unsteadily against the frame, bleeding profusely from the nose.

“Stay with him,” I said to Martha, and started up the street. Rebecca had caught up to James and her footman, but her son’s stumbling gait slowed them, and I was able to draw within earshot. Just before they reached Davygate, I cried out, “You’re a murdering bitch, Rebecca Hooke.” The words had their intended effect. She stopped and turned slowly to face me.

Without taking her eyes off me, she called to her footman, “Take him home. I will be there shortly.” She walked toward me, staring at me with a mixture of hatred and disdain. I could feel my heart racing as she approached. “A murdering bitch? I’m a murdering bitch?”

“Your son thinks so. He told me what you did.”

“My son,” she spat. “I will tell him what to think. He’s no better than his father. But I don’t need to tell you about weak and useless husbands.” By now she stood with her face just a few inches from mine. From a distance you might have thought we were good friends having a talk.

“You murdered your own grandchild,” I said softly. “You threw him into a privy and left him there to die.”

“I protected my family. Do you really think I would allow my son to marry our washing-maid? I raised my family up from nothing, and I will not see it brought low by that silly boy and his whore. I will choose his wife, and by God she will be a woman of means and honor. You, of all women, should understand that. She will guide him the way I have guided Richard and you guided your useless husband.” I started to speak, but she gave me no chance. “Would
you
have let your son marry a washing-maid? Do you think that stupid girl could protect my fortune from the vain fancies of a profligate boy like James? She knows nothing save housewifery, nothing of business or government. In her hands my estate would waste away to nothing. I could no more allow James to marry a girl like that than you could allow your daughter to marry the pennyman who comes to kill your hog.”

“And for this you murdered your own grandson?”

“That bastard, born of a whore? He was no more my grandson than he was King Jesus Himself. Who knows where else that whore raised her skirts? That child could be my husband’s, my footman’s, or any other man’s. I did what I did in order to look after my family. If you say you wouldn’t have done the same, you’re a liar or a fool. In truth I did her a favor. Now she’s free to find a husband closer to her own station—perhaps a rag-picker.”

I stood in silence, amazed by her malice. “I’ll go to my brother,” I whispered. “And tell him.”

“And tell him what?” she said with a cruel laugh. “That I confessed to murdering an infant? Tell me, Bridget, who has heard me confess? You’ve hated me for years, and none will believe you. I’d sue you for defamation, and I’d win.” A thin smile spread across her face. “Perhaps I’ll sue you anyway. If women think you spread malicious gossip, they’ll find another midwife soon enough. We shall see.” She started to walk away but stopped after a few steps. “I have heard that you think I murdered that penny-pinching Jew Stephen Cooper. Remember two things, Bridget Hodgson. You’ll never prove that I killed Stephen Cooper, and if you continue to meddle in my business, I swear that I’ll have my revenge.” She smiled at me before turning away.

Once she disappeared into her house, my body began to shake and I worried I might collapse on the spot. I stumbled out of the street and leaned heavily on the wall surrounding St. Helen’s churchyard. Without warning my stomach clenched, and I vomited over the wall into the graveyard. Keeping one hand on the wall, I walked slowly back to the alehouse to see how Will and Martha fared.

Chapter 22

I found Will and Martha inside the alehouse, at the table James and I had just left. Will held a cloth to his nose to stem the bleeding, but he removed it periodically so he could drink his ale. He would bear the marks of his fight for days to come. They looked relieved when I entered, and I quickly crossed the room to their table.

“How are you, Will?” I asked.

“The blackguard hit me without a word of warning. He just walked up and started swinging,” he said morosely. He hated losing a fight under any circumstances, and I knew that this loss felt worse than most.

“I saw the footman’s face. It looked like you gave as good as you got,” I said, trying to comfort him.

“Not good enough,” he said, signaling the barmaid for another ale.

“Did you catch them?” asked Martha.

“Yes. She all but admitted throwing the child in the privy herself. She came close to
bragging
that she had done it. She wanted to protect her family from the shame of a bastard and prevent James and Anne from marrying. She sacrificed the child for that.”

“James wanted to marry her?” Will asked. “What did he
think
his parents would say to that?”

“He still cannot see his mother for what she is. He thought he could change his mother’s mind if she saw the child.”

“What do we do now?” Martha asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She won’t give James the opportunity to make that mistake again. From the look on her face, she may cut out his tongue just to be sure.” Martha looked despondent, and I put my hand on her shoulder. “Justice can be slow in coming,” I said. I almost added that the Lord would see that justice was done, but I knew she would find cold comfort in such a suggestion.

“I know. I just hoped that this time the rich might be subject to the same laws as the poor.” I could say nothing to this. She knew that was not the world in which we lived.

“She also brought up Stephen Cooper’s murder,” I said.

“I don’t imagine she took the opportunity to confess,” Martha said.

“It was a weak denial at best, and she coupled it with a threat. She said that if I continue to pursue her for Stephen’s murder, she will take her revenge.”

Will suppressed a laugh and winced in pain. “I seem to remember similar threats when you saw her banned from practicing midwifery.”

“Perhaps, but if she really did kill Stephen Cooper, her threats won’t be so empty. All I did then was take her license, and the stakes are much higher now. If she killed Stephen to protect her fortune, she would not hesitate to kill me to protect her life. As you said, she cannot be hanged twice.”

“Where does this leave our search for Mr. Cooper’s murderer?” Martha asked. “The bottle led us to Penrose, but the killer snipped that loose end and tried to do you in as well.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We have to do something, but I cannot imagine what.”

Will smiled ruefully. “We could wait for him to try to kill you again. That would be a pretty sure sign of guilt.”

“That might work, but why don’t we come up with another plan as well,” I suggested.

“We should return to Penrose’s shop,” said Martha. “It’s where the killer bought the ratsbane, so it’s our best hope. Perhaps there is another account book we missed, or something hidden in Mr. Penrose’s room.”

“It’s possible,” I said, but without much hope. “We can talk more about it in the morning. Right now it’s time to sleep.”

Will finished his ale, and we left together. He saw us home and disappeared into the darkening night. I dismissed Martha and had Hannah help me dress for bed. As was my custom, I tried to pray, but this time I found myself unable to do so. I knew I should put my faith in God, but He seemed less interested than ever in earthly justice. With a sigh I climbed into bed, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming.

*   *   *

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when Hannah shook me awake.

“Lady Hodgson, there is a messenger at the door. Dorothy Mann sent him. She needs your help.” Dorothy was another of the city’s midwives, and a good one. If she called for my help, the situation must be dire indeed. I dressed quickly and collected my valise. “Shall I wake Martha?” Hannah asked.