The Midwife's Tale (19 page)

I sat back in my chair, stunned by what I’d found. Charles Yeoman had sworn to me that Stephen was not conspiring with the rebels, yet the letters before me, written in Stephen’s own hand, proved the contrary. This lie paled in comparison with his exaggeration about Stephen’s suit with the Hookes, but it raised the same question. Why would he mislead me in such a way? Why did he want me to focus on the Hookes but ignore Stephen’s ties to the rebels? But my puzzlement at Yeoman’s lies was more than matched by my anger at Edward. He knew that Stephen had planned a rising within the city and had hatched a conspiracy against the Lord Mayor but had said nothing about it. If Stephen had become involved in the dangerous business of treason, and had made deadly enemies among the King’s party, how could Edward allow Esther to be burned for the crime? He would answer for his deception when I next saw him.

I retied the bundles, though not so neatly as Stephen would have wanted, and placed them in my own secure chest. As I went to put away my valise, I noticed one last letter in it, the one that I had found beneath all the others in Stephen’s strongbox. I opened it and was first struck by the hand in which it was written. Unlike the rest of the letters, which clearly came from the desks of educated men, this one had been written by someone who rarely picked up a pen. The letters were out of proportion, and some were made incorrectly—it seemed to me a woman’s hand, but I could not be sure. More remarkable than the handwriting, however, was what the letter said.

Mr. Cooper,

I know what you have done and what kind of man you are. If you do not give me ten pounds, I will tell everyone what you have done. I will have the money in one week’s time. I will tell you when to deliver it.

It was unsigned, of course, but also undated, so I had no idea whether it was relevant to his murder. If it had been lying at the bottom of his strongbox for ten years, it told us little except that he had his secrets. In light of this letter, it seemed even more important that I see Esther Cooper, though I knew my next visit would be far more delicate than my first. I would have to ask about her husband’s violent outbursts, of course, but also the changed lock on the strongbox, the money missing from inside, and now the extortion letter. With every new piece of information I found, the facts of the case became ever cloudier. As I said my prayers that night, I asked God to protect Anne Goodwin, to give life to Elizabeth Wood’s son, and to provide me guidance in speaking to my brother-in-law.

That night I was visited once again by foul dreams. This time I was outside the city walls, part of a joyous throng awaiting Esther’s execution. When the sledge approached, I could see Esther wearing nothing except a white shift and holding a bundle of faggots. She was praying fervently. Then I saw her tied to the stake, up to her knees in wood. I looked down and saw that I had a torch in my hand and realized I was to be her executioner. Blessedly, I awoke before I started the blaze. I lay in bed for a time, wondering if I would be the one who sent my friend to the stake.

Chapter 14

After a dream such as that, I was not surprised when I awoke feeling no less tired than when I went to sleep. After my morning prayers I wrote letters to friends on Ellen’s behalf, praising her diligence and loyalty, and then considered the day that lay before me. My first order of business would be to confront Edward about the half-truths he’d told me regarding Stephen Cooper’s political activities and business rivalries. I was furious and would let him know in no uncertain terms. But I also knew that by confronting him with his deception, I could obtain a letter allowing me to visit Esther again. Then Martha and I could question her about her relationship with Stephen and all that I’d found in his correspondence.

After breakfast, Martha and I crossed the Ouse Bridge toward Edward’s house. A wind blew from the east, bringing with it the sound of the rebel artillery firing into the city and the King’s guns firing back. As we walked, I told her what I had discovered in Stephen Cooper’s letters.

“Even if Mr. Cooper was working that closely with the rebels,” Martha said, “would the Lord Mayor murder him? Certainly he could have just had him arrested.”

“I don’t know. If he knew that Mr. Cooper planned a rebellion within the city, he might have feared that arresting him would inspire his friends to rise up. On the other hand, if he murdered Mr. Cooper, he could eliminate a rebel and prevent the rising with one blow. That could be why the murderer tried to hide his crime.”

“And it would explain Bacca’s visits to Mr. Cooper as well.”

“Aye,” I said. “He might have been questioning him or warning him against conspiring with the rebels.”

“Where does that leave the Hookes?” Martha asked. “Do you think that they would kill a man over a lawsuit when the outcome was still in doubt?”

“If you told me that Rebecca Hooke had eaten her own child for supper, I would believe it.” I considered this image for a moment. “Of course, she hates James so deeply that it’s not so outlandish an idea.” Martha looked at me quizzically. “You met James at Rebecca’s door. He was the one she dragged in by his ear.” Martha smiled at the memory. “James reminds me of no one so much as Phineas. He is among the weakest of men that you will meet, a fault particularly grievous in one of his rank. There are worse men, to be sure—James can’t even manage to choose a vice—but none so ineffective. His parents tried to groom him for a life in trade, but he has no head for figures, and no heart for business. They sent him to London to purchase some fine silk, and he came back with neither the silk nor the money. Even the servants who went with him could not give any account of how he had lost such a fortune. He may have been cozened, but if so he does not know it.”

Martha smiled broadly, enjoying the Hookes’ misfortune. “And Mrs. Hooke hoped for more in her son?”

I could not help laughing. “She sees weakness as a vice worse than lechery or sloth, and feels only contempt for men who suffer from it. A man with her strength, intellect, and ruthlessness would be formidable indeed, but James takes after his father, and outshines him in every one of his deficiencies. I wonder sometimes if Rebecca would be less cruel if any of the men in her household could match her. It is a hard thing for a woman to rule her family, but given the limitations of her men, she has little choice.” I paused. “If Phineas had lived a long life, we might not be so different, she and I.” There was a thought.

“So the Lord Mayor had his reasons for killing Mr. Cooper, and the Hookes had theirs. Your friends certainly lead interesting lives.”

“Then there is the extortion letter,” I said. “My hope is that Esther will be able to offer some idea of when he received it. Until we know that, we cannot know whether it is connected to his death. Of course, if he paid the money, she might have no knowledge of the matter.”

“It is also unlikely someone extorting money would murder him,” Martha pointed out. “If he paid once, he would pay again. Success at extortion is just a matter of knowing how much a man will pay to keep his secrets.” I looked at her sharply. “Tom trafficked in information as well as stolen goods,” she explained without apology. “But he wished those victims long and healthy lives. It never occurred to him to harm them—that would be killing the golden goose.”

Just as we reached the south side of the bridge, a terrifying shriek tore through the morning air, and a cart coming toward us exploded in a cloud of dust and blood. Martha and I ran to see if there was anything we could do. As we approached, we could hear the shrieks of the horse that had been drawing the cart. He was trying to regain his feet, but even from a distance I could see that his hindquarters had been wrecked by the cannonball—his rear legs were naught but a twisted, bloody mess. The horse continued to bellow, his eyes wide and rolling. Mercifully, one of the shopkeepers raced out of his store with a mattock and felled the horse with a single blow, bringing a sudden and eerie silence to the street. Martha stared wide-eyed at the carnage, pale and shaking.

Ahead, I saw that the door to St. John’s church was open, so I took Martha’s arm and steered her toward it. She offered no resistance when I led her inside and helped her into one of the pews. Once safely in the darkness and quiet of the church, I felt tremors race through my body, and my heart began to hammer as never before. Without meaning to, I fell to my knees and with tears coursing down my cheeks I gave thanks to God for our survival. Martha remained seated, apparently unmoved by our deliverance, but I didn’t care. After I had regained control of myself, I sat down next to Martha.

“My God,” she said. “If we’d left the house a few seconds earlier, that cannonball could have found us.”

“God was with us,” I said.

“Or He really disliked that horse,” Martha said, and began to laugh.

Though I would never have predicted it, Martha’s blasphemy—spoken in a church!—made me laugh harder than I had in many weeks, and once I started, there was little I could do to stop. Despite all that we had seen, or perhaps because of it, Martha and I roared until tears rolled down our cheeks, and the vicar rushed into the chancel, demanding what was the matter. Without answering—indeed, we could hardly breathe—Martha and I stumbled back to the street and continued on to Edward’s house.

By the time we arrived, we had regained our breath and except for a little extra pink in our cheeks, we looked none the worse for our brush with death. Edward’s servant led us into the parlor before disappearing into Edward’s study. Moments later, he emerged and told me that Alderman Hodgson would see me presently. When he left us alone, I had the opening I needed. I strode across the parlor and, without pausing to knock, burst into the study. Edward sat at his desk and looked up quickly, shocked at the interruption. Before he could gain his feet, I crossed to his desk and stood over him while I had my say.

“How dare you make me complicit in the murder of Esther Cooper!” The look on his face told me I had succeeded in putting him on the defensive. “You sent me into York Castle to hasten Esther Cooper’s execution, when you knew that Stephen’s enemies were competing for the privilege of killing him. Did you investigate anyone other than Esther?”

“Lady Bridget, I assure you…,” he sputtered.

“Can you assure me you did not know he was conspiring with the rebels? Can you assure me that you did not know that he and Richard Hooke were each bent on the other’s destruction?” Edward looked harried but said nothing. He could say nothing.

“Well?” I demanded. “Have you no explanation?”

“Lady Bridget,” he started, and then stopped. “The evidence marked her as guilty, and the Lord Mayor demanded a trial for petty treason; as you well know, he had his reasons. By the time I involved you, her guilt had been established in court.”

“That was no trial, and you know it. If I had known the true circumstances, you would have had to find another midwife to do your bidding.”

“If the Lord Mayor had found a more malleable midwife, Esther would have burned yesterday,” he pointed out. It was a fair point, but I had no interest in being fair.

“Is this a comedy to you? As her midwife, I will need to see Mrs. Cooper regularly. She requires special care if the child is to live until birth. I will not leave your office until I have a letter granting me access whenever I please.”

As I hoped, he leapt at the opportunity to mollify me. “Yes, of course. I will send word to the Castle, and write a letter for you immediately.” He fumbled for a piece of paper and scrawled his instructions. As he placed a wax seal on the letter, he glanced up to see if my anger had abated. “Now, you must tell me how you found out about Stephen’s enemies, and whom else you suspect,” he said. “I doubt he told Esther. He was of the opinion that knowledge of such matters ought to be reserved for men.”

“Esther insists on her innocence and has asked me to find out who might have murdered her husband. She said I should look at Stephen’s private correspondence for clues.”

Edward looked at me in shock, the blood draining from his face. “You have read his correspondence? Where is it?”

I could not help smiling at his reaction. “It is secure in my house,” I said. “I take it you know the danger you’d be in if the Lord Mayor read the letters. Corresponding with a rebel such as Stephen Cooper? You’d be in irons before the day was out.”

Edward sighed in relief that the letters were safe. “I simply did my best to save York. Stephen was willing to see the city sacked if that was the only way to deliver it to Parliament. How could I support that?”

At that moment, a realization struck me like a pistol shot. “
You
have Stephen’s diary!” I cried. “That is what he was writing in the night he was killed. You knew that it would implicate you in his schemes, and you took it so the Lord Mayor would not find it! I must see it immediately.”

Edward’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. He gibbered a denial but quickly became too flustered to continue the ruse. Without further protests, he opened his desk and removed a leather-bound octavo. “You may read it here, but it may not leave my house. I am quite sure you will find plenty of fuel to fire your suspicions. The biggest mystery surrounding Stephen’s death is why it took so long for someone to kill him.” I reached for the book, but he held tight and looked into my eyes. “I have no illusions about persuading you from your mission, but remember that Esther has been tried and convicted. Merely raising questions about the verdict will do no good. All you will do is anger some very powerful and dangerous men.”

“I have to find the truth,” I said. “I cannot let them burn Esther if she did not murder Stephen.”

Edward nodded and let go of the book. “I have business to attend to at the Merchant Adventurer’s Hall. I’ll leave you here to read. Again, do not take the book with you. It is far too dangerous.”

“Thank you, Edward,” I said. “You are a good brother.”

“We’ll see,” he said with a shrug. “If I end my days on the gibbet, or if the Lord Mayor sends his men after you, things might look a bit different.” He left his office, closing the door behind him.