The Midwife's Tale (6 page)

“Yes, my lady. She’s doing laundry.”

“Tell her I’m going out shortly, and I’ll need her to accompany me.” Hannah curtsied and disappeared down the stairs.

With all of the uncertainty surrounding Cooper’s death, I decided to visit my brother-in-law, Edward. He was Phineas’s elder brother, and in the years since Phineas’s death we had remained close. Despite his relative youth, he had risen to become one of the most powerful of the city’s Aldermen and doubtless knew where the truth about Stephen’s murder ended and the rumors began. Edward was handsome, intelligent, and dedicated to the welfare of York. Unlike my husband’s pathetic efforts, Edward’s business ventures usually succeeded, and as a result he followed his father up the ladder of civic government.

After Phineas’s death, I had been beset by creditors claiming that they had loaned him money for one or another of his disastrous business ventures. Some of their claims may have been true, for nobody had ever accused Phineas of competence, but I had fought long and hard to protect my fortune from his outlandish schemes, and I had no intention of handing it over to these snakes. When it became clear how far in debt Phineas had been, I approached Edward for help. I never asked him how he accomplished his end, but within a few days, lawsuits had been withdrawn, and I even received a letter of apology from one creditor. It was said that in his youth, Edward ordered his sleeves cut an inch longer than was fashionable in order to hide the pommel of his dagger. This seemed right to me.

Like many of the city’s ruling families, the Hodgsons were inclined to Puritanism, and while Edward was not as hot as some, he spent large sums of money to bring godly preachers to the city. In 1640, he went so far as to hire a Puritan to be vicar for his parish of St. Gregory’s. I had rarely seen Edward so angry as when the Royalists took control of the city and expelled his minister. Once war broke out, he muted his political voice for fear of angering the King’s friends, but everyone knew that he supported Parliament. While Edward knew I had little sympathy for the rebels, we remained friends by carefully steering around our political differences.

Martha and I walked down Stonegate toward the Ouse, and with each step the stench of the river grew stronger. By the time we reached Coneystreet, Martha looked positively ill and held a handkerchief to her nose.

“What in Christ’s name is that smell?”

“The river brings us goods from abroad, and provides the city with a port forty miles from the sea,” I said. “In return we give it our filth.”

“It is horrid!”

I laughed. “I thought the entire city reeked when I first arrived. It was the worst part of coming here from Hereford. They say London is worse, but even there you become accustomed to the smell. If it’s any relief, this is the foulest part of the city. The currents pass by this spot, and leave the filth behind. Phineas almost bought a house down here, but I refused.”

“And for that I am very grateful, my lady.”

We turned onto Coneystreet and the smell of the river faded a bit. As we neared the Ouse Bridge, I was reminded of my nightmare from the day before. We passed the spot where I saw Mercy Harris throw her child into the river, and I remembered how her child had become my own lost boy. Martha looked at me strangely when I said a prayer under my breath, but I couldn’t find the words to explain.

Crossing the bridge into Micklegate Ward gave one the feeling of entering a different and much more prosperous city. Not coincidentally, over the years most of the city’s governors had migrated there. The streets on the south side of the Ouse were much wider than those on the north, and the houses were not built so closely together. Most impressive, while my backyard consisted of a small courtyard and stables, houses in Edward’s neighborhood featured large, carefully tended gardens. Edward’s house had once belonged to his father, and it was one of the grandest in that part of the city. I could see the surprise on Martha’s face as we approached. My house was likely the largest she’d ever been in, but Edward’s was on a different scale altogether. We ascended the steps to the front door, and a servant opened it before we could knock; Edward ran an efficient household. The servant ushered us into the front parlor, and I declined his offer of a glass of wine while I waited.

I had not sat there long when Edward’s younger son, Will, came in. He smiled when he saw me and, despite walking with the aid of a cane, moved quickly across the room to embrace me. Will’s mother had died when he and his brother, Joseph, were just boys, and while Edward remarried soon after, Will had never taken to his step-mother. Instead, he’d become a frequent fixture in my house, knowing that neither Hannah nor I could resist his earnest entreaties for cakes. From the time he was old enough to roam York’s streets alone, other children had teased him about his clubfoot, and he’d quickly learned that the best way to stop the taunts was to fight. For years he took more clouts than he gave out, and I spent many afternoons dressing his wounds and drying his tears. Eventually, he’d become skilled enough with his fists that his tormentors sought less dangerous targets for their malicious fun. While his foot hardly made him a cripple, it did keep him out of the war, and his shame at this seemed to have grown each time I saw him. To make matters worse, in recent months word reached York that Joseph had been promoted to captain in Cromwell’s cavalry, and Edward took visible pride in his older son’s heroics. To make up for his inability to fight on the battlefield, Will became too quick with his fists when another man challenged his honor. Rumor had it that while his father had concealed a dagger in his sleeve, Will hid a sword in his cane. I looked at his face and saw an unusually colorful complement of bruises.

“Oh, Will, now what?” I exclaimed, exasperated. “It is one thing to fight as a boy, but you are a man of twenty-one, and you have no need to prove yourself in an alehouse brawl.” He cast his eyes downward and took a step back.

“It was nothing, Aunt Bridget,” he said. “Just one insult too many.” I was prepared to remonstrate with him further, but Edward’s servant entered and announced that he would see me now. I put my hands on Will’s cheeks and looked in his eyes.

“Be careful. These days you may be up against a soldier who knows how to kill, not a drunken apprentice.” He nodded and slipped out of the room. I had no illusions that I’d changed his mind and could only hope he would outgrow that sort of behavior.

When I entered Edward’s study, he came around his massive desk to embrace me. Edward was a voracious reader, and the walls of the room were covered with bookshelves containing works on every subject imaginable. There were books in English and Latin, of course, but also French and what looked like Greek. Massive folios of Shakespeare’s plays sat comfortably next to cheap pamphlets detailing a monstrous birth in Sussex, and next to them lay account books from his many financial interests. His desk was a riot of correspondence and commonplace books in which he scrawled notes to himself or his secretary. Despite all this, the room exuded not chaos, but a sort of controlled energy. This was a place where business was done and problems were solved. Edward’s appearance contributed to this aura. He stood a bit shorter than me and was powerfully built. Despite the gray in his carefully trimmed beard, he moved with a quickness that belied his forty-five years. He poured each of us a glass of wine, and we sat down to talk.

“To what good fortune do I owe your visit?” he asked with a smile. “All is well, I hope. Surely another of Phineas’s creditors has not crawled out from under a rock.”

“No, no…” I laughed. “I think I’ve seen the last of them. I come about the news of the town, the murder of Stephen Cooper.”

“The
possible
murder of Stephen Cooper,” he corrected. “Until we complete the inquest, we have no idea how he died. But it is not a matter that concerns you, I shouldn’t think.” I wasn’t surprised at his reluctance to discuss the subject. The murder of a citizen could cause a political crisis under the best of circumstances, and in a city under siege it could easily turn the city’s factions against each other.

“Of course, of course,” I said quickly. “It’s just that there are the most remarkable and pernicious rumors being discussed. Some say he was murdered by the King’s party. Others say that the killer was a Parliament-man, perhaps even one from within city government.”

Edward’s eyebrows flew up, and he leapt from his chair, sputtering, “That is absurd—why would we do that? Stephen was on
our
side! He wanted nothing more than to expel the Marquess, the Lord Mayor, and all their Catholic cronies.”

“I know, I know,” I said, shaking my head in sympathy. “But once rumors start to spread, they are devilishly hard to stop.”

“Well,
that
rumor is one that must be put to rest at once. It is far too dangerous at a time like this.”

“If I knew the truth, I would certainly do my best to dispel the more fantastic stories.”

“Until the coroner completes his inquest, we won’t know what happened. Tell
that
to your gossips.”

“Very well,” I said. There would be no getting anything out of him today. I paused before broaching a more delicate subject. “I also heard that Stephen’s was not the only violent death in York last night.”

He scowled at me in annoyance. “Trying to keep a secret from a midwife is like trying to keep Ouse from rising in the spring. Yes, there was
one
murder last night, but there’s no mystery about it. One of the members of the garrison was stabbed in an alley on your side of the river. He’d been in an alehouse drinking most of the evening, and most likely picked a fight with someone meaner than he was.”

“How horrible,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. “What an awful fate.”

“It was grisly, to be sure, but in some measure he got what he deserved. He had a reputation as a brawler and plenty of enemies.”

“So you don’t know who did it?”

“It doesn’t appear to have involved any of the city residents, so we’re leaving it to the garrison. They can find and punish the offender if they care enough,” he said. “But that too is none of your concern.” This was good news indeed. I would have liked to know more, but I decided not to push him.

We continued to talk, mostly about city politics. I could never hold office myself, of course, but I found the covert maneuverings fascinating and did what I could to help Edward. As different factions fought for control of the city, secrets and gossip could be more valuable than gold, and soon after my arrival in York, Edward realized that a well-connected midwife could be a valuable ally. While I never betrayed the women I served, I had no qualms about revealing the names of the men who got their servants or mistresses with child. But today, we talked mostly of the siege. Edward said that for now the city had enough grain to feed the people. Even better, the King’s men had begun to negotiate with the rebels, and so long as the talks continued, an assault on the city was unlikely. Edward clearly hoped that they would surrender to Parliament without a fight, while I prayed that the King would relieve the city before the situation became too dire; neither of us said as much, of course. Edward gave me a bottle of claret as a parting gift, and Martha and I began the trip back to St. Helen’s.

“There are two pieces of good news about last night,” I said to Martha as we crossed the bridge. I kept my voice as low as possible, and the hubbub from the crowd meant only she could hear me. “The army is convinced that the rogue we encountered last night was killed by another of his kind. They will look first among their own ranks, and doubtless give up before long. They know what kind of man he was, and he will not be mourned. Mr. Hodgson also said that Mr. Cooper might not have been murdered at all. They only know that he died suddenly.”

“Oh no, my lady, he was murdered,” Martha replied. “Poisoned, actually.” I stopped and stared at her.

“Why in heaven would you say such a thing?” I asked. “The rumors are awful enough as it is, and I don’t need you adding to them!”

“It’s not a rumor, my lady. While you were with Mr. Hodgson, I talked with the other servants. They told me everything.” I was scandalized that Edward’s servants would betray his business, and she knew it. “Well, it’s not as if they deliberately eavesdropped. What with all the coming and going, it would have been impossible for them
not
to overhear what was said. The Lord Mayor and his man came, the surgeon was there, and Mr. Hodgson even summoned an apothecary. If Mr. Hodgson wants to keep his secrets, he should raise his voice less often. His servants said he was quite upset by the news.” She had a point. I relented.

“Well, what else did you hear?” I asked.

“Mr. Cooper’s wife discovered him in the parlor. He died so suddenly, she thought he’d suffered a stroke. Mrs. Cooper summoned servants, neighbors, and the vicar, and they all agreed with her. But a house-cat began to drink the milk from his cup, and within a few minutes it began to yowl fearfully and died shortly after. That’s when the neighbors began to suspect poison. They sent the servants for a stray dog, and gave it some of the milk. It died the same way.”

“So if the cat hadn’t drunk the milk, his wife would have buried him and nobody would have been the wiser.”

Martha nodded. “Those fools see the hand of God in it.”

I began to reprimand Martha for her blasphemy, but the words died on my lips when I realized the implications of her news. “Whoever poisoned the milk put in just enough to kill Stephen, but not so much that he showed symptoms of poisoning.”

Martha immediately saw what I was thinking. “Someone was either very lucky or very good with poison.”

I agreed. “Did they say what poison it was?”

“The surgeon said it was ratsbane, but none was found in the kitchen.”

“Do they have any idea how the poison got into the milk?”

Martha shook her head. “It must have been someone in the household. His wife? Or perhaps a servant? Nobody else could have put the poison in the milk unobserved.”

“Esther would never have done such a thing,” I said. “And what maidservant can use poison so precisely? Could you?”