The Midwife's Tale (21 page)

“What now, then?”

“We return to Charles Yeoman’s,” I said. “I want to see his reaction when I tell him what I read in Stephen’s journal. But before that, I need to see a client up in St. Savior’s.”

“How can you know a client needs you? Did a message come to you at the Castle?”

I laughed. “A midwife’s work doesn’t end when she cuts the cord. Some mothers need more assistance than others, especially if it is their first child and they don’t have a family or proper gossips.”

“The client is an unwed mother?” she asked.

“It’s a girl named Mercy Harris. I delivered her the day the soldiers burned the suburbs. Mercy’s sister is just a child herself, and she has no family here in York. I’ll do my best to care for Mercy in her mother’s stead.”

We wound our way through the alleys and side streets to Mercy’s home and found the front door open to let in some air and light. Mercy sat on the bed, holding the sleeping child. When we entered, she looked up and smiled.

“Look,” she whispered, pride evident in her voice. The baby was a pleasant pink and seemed to be taking milk tolerably well. A young man stood next to the bed, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I looked at him sternly, and his ears turned a lovely shade of crimson.

“I take it you are the baby’s father?” I asked.

“Yes, m-my lady,” he stammered.

“It is good that you’re here,” I said. “Make a habit of it.”

“Yes, my lady. I pleaded with my master, and he will allow me to marry after Mercy’s lying-in,” he said.

“Good lad,” I said with a smile. “I don’t know where you were the night she was delivered, but better late than never. Now run along, I need to examine Mercy.” He bade farewell to Mercy, bowed to me, and slipped out the door. I turned to Mercy. “If you hold him to the marriage, you may escape whipping,” I said.

The prospect of punishment sobered her. I had no desire to see Mercy whipped. It pained me to think of a new mother subjected to such brutal treatment, particularly when the father had agreed to marry her. She had not been wanton in her behavior, just unlucky. I would do my best to help her avoid such a humiliation, but some men believed that if the spectacle of one maid’s whipping caused another maid to remain chaste, then it was well done. But those concerns were for another day.

While Martha held the baby, I examined Mercy’s privities and found that with God’s help she was healing very well. I undressed the baby and saw that she too was in excellent health, though displeased at being unwrapped. My mind wandered to Elizabeth Wood’s sickly child, and I wondered at God’s providence—why would He give Elizabeth a sickly child and Mercy a healthy one? My mind then asked why He would take Michael and Birdy from me, and I pushed that question away as I had so many times before. Finding God’s plan in the life and death of infants was a difficult task, and one I preferred not to dwell upon.

“Your sister and the child’s father seem to be taking good care of you,” I said. “Have you made arrangements for baptism?”

“We should like to do it on Sunday. Will you be there to name her?” she asked hopefully. At that I was torn. Sunday also would be the christening of a child I had delivered just before Mercy’s, and I had already agreed to attend that one.

“Mercy, it pains me to say this, but I cannot be there,” I said gently, and explained the conflict. “But as is my practice, I can send Martha in my stead. She has assisted me in many births.” Mercy looked at Martha, who nodded encouragingly and then glanced at me, uncertain of what she had just agreed to do.

Before leaving, I slipped ten shillings into Mercy’s hand. She looked at me in shock—it was more than she could have hoped to earn in two months. As she stammered her thanks, I swaddled the child and gave her back. With that, I embraced both Mercy and Sairy and bade them farewell, and then Martha and I started toward my home. When we arrived, we found the guard in place, no crisis brewing, and dinner almost ready. Compared with past days, this seemed like no small victory.

A few minutes after we had dined, Will appeared at the door, and I met him in the parlor. As he entered, he looked at me with concern. “An armed guard at your front door, Aunt Bridget?” he said. “Surely your maid wasn’t so dangerous as that, or so foolhardy as to return after you dismissed her.”

“Martha is still in my household,” I said. Will’s mouth gaped in surprise, and he started to speak, but I continued. “The guard
is
here on her account, but not for the reason you think. The man you saw her with in the market is as dangerous as you thought. He is a thief and murderer from Hereford. But he is her brother, not her accomplice. She came to York in hope of escaping from him, and he followed.”

“How do you know all this?” he asked worriedly.

“She told me.”

“Aunt Bridget, you can’t be serious! You are inviting danger into your home. Who knows what she has planned.”

I crossed the room and took Will’s hand. “I appreciate your concern,” I said. “But I believe her, and unless she gives me a reason to rethink my decision, it is final. You will see that she is a good and trustworthy servant.”

“I hope you are right. But why has he followed her here? He does not seem to be the kind of man driven by a brother’s love for his sister.”

“That is an understatement,” I said with a grim smile. “She betrayed him and he won’t rest until he has his revenge. If he can rob me in the process, so much the better. It is a long story. Perhaps she will tell you one day. The guards are here until I am sure that we are safe from Tom.”

I don’t think I convinced him my decision to keep Martha was a wise one, and I was thankful when he changed the subject. “I heard from my father that you are investigating Stephen Cooper’s death. Have you found anything of interest?”

“I learned that the city officials were more interested in convicting Esther than catching the real murderer,” I said, and told him everything I had found in Stephen’s letters. “Stephen had many enemies in the city, and any one of them might have had him killed.”

“And you are hoping Rebecca Hooke had him killed over the lawsuit? It
would
be lovely to see her brought low.…”

“I am hoping for nothing,” I objected. “I am only trying to find out who killed Stephen Cooper. If it was the Hookes, so be it, but they are not the only ones who might have done so.”

“What is your next step?” he asked. “You could visit Richard and ask if he murdered Stephen.” He paused, considering the idea. “In truth, that might work. If he did do it, he is just fool enough to tell you. You’d have to find a way past Rebecca, though.”

“No, I’m taking a less direct route first,” I said with a laugh. I then told him about Stephen’s troubled relationship with Charles Yeoman and my intention to visit him that afternoon.

“Charles Yeoman!” he said with a low whistle. “The Member of Parliament? I heard that he’d retired to York in order to avoid involvement in the wars. He was a powerful man in his time.”

“I don’t care about his politics. I just hope he can help me with this case. Would you like to accompany us?”

“Of course,” he said. “There is no harm in making connections with such a man.”

At that moment, Martha came from the kitchen and began to clean the dining room. While she worked, Will kept a close eye on her, as if he expected to catch her in the act of stealing my silver plate. I saw that Martha had been right: Will was terrible at spying. I couldn’t tell if she was more annoyed by his suspicion or his lack of subtlety. Eventually her patience ran out.

“My lady, I wonder if I could ask you a question.”

“Of course,” I said.

“I’ve only been here in York a short time, but I think that a young man wishes to court me.” I tried to suppress a smile as I caught on to Martha’s game.

“Really? How exciting! But you are not sure? Have you spoken to him?”

“He’s hardly said a word to me, but when we are together, he stares at me constantly. When I look at him, he looks away and pretends to stare at the wall. It’s quite obvious what has happened.”

“He has fallen in love with you,” I said.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And that’s the tragedy of it, for it is a match that cannot be.”

“How sad!” I exclaimed with only a little too much enthusiasm. “Why is that? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think there is. The first problem is that I am not inclined to marry yet. But even if I were, it is impossible. He is far above my station. His family would never allow him to marry a servant.” I risked a glance over at Will. He had picked up a book and was staring at it intently.

“Do you know his family?”

“They are merchants here in the city. His father is an Alderman. I know his aunt very well.” That last comment was too obvious by half, and I saw Will furrow his brow as he realized that Martha and I were having a jest at his expense.

“That sounds serious,” I said. “Does he know that you are aware of his love for you?”

She turned to stare at Will. “I think he is beginning to figure it out.”

With that, Will slammed the book shut and leapt to his feet, sputtering with indignation. He was not accustomed to being teased by servants, even with the connivance of a gentlewoman. I burst out laughing even as I tried to mollify him. Martha smiled sweetly, curtsied (whether to me or to Will I could not tell), and wisely retreated to the kitchen. By this time Will’s face had become quite red, and he turned his anger and embarrassment in my direction.

“How could you let your servant mock me in such a fashion? I like her less and less.”

“And I like her more and more,” I replied, still laughing. “You were far too obvious. She could hardly ignore your stares.” I squeezed his arm, and he began to regain control of himself. “Will, I cannot tell you the details, but I have good reason to trust her. It is true that she brought trouble in her wake, but it was not entirely of her own making. Except for her murderous brother, she has no family in Yorkshire. If I cast her out, I would lose a valuable servant, and she would be killed by Tom. She also has a number of skills that I think you will appreciate, and perhaps ask her to teach you.”

“Aunt Bridget, really. She is a servant. I don’t think I have a future in cooking or cleaning.”

“Very well,” I said lightly, quite sure that he would change his mind if he saw her use a knife or a lock-pick. “Now, shall we go see Charles Yeoman?”

*   *   *

During the journey, Will looked everywhere except at Martha, a fact that amused her nearly as much as his earlier surveillance, and she had little success hiding her pleasure at his discomfort. I was less pleased, however, for the many years of ridicule Will had suffered on account of his clubfoot meant that he took seriously every insult to his honor. What seemed like good-natured teasing to Martha might seem like a deliberate provocation to Will. Moreover, since Will could hardly respond to this offense in his customary fashion by beating her senseless, he retreated within himself and refused to speak at all. By the time we reached Petergate, I’d had my fill of the silence and regretted my role in Martha’s performance.

“Martha, we should apologize to my nephew for our behavior a few minutes ago,” I said. She looked surprised and opened her mouth to speak, but I continued. “Will has only my best interests at heart, and he does not know you as well as I do. Regardless of how out of place his concerns may seem, they are born of love, and should not be mocked.” I turned to Will, looking him in the eyes. “Will, I was wrong and I am sorry. I ask your forgiveness.”

“Sir, I ask your forgiveness as well,” Martha echoed, bowing her head, suddenly the very picture of contrition.

Will looked uncomfortable at having to admit that Martha’s little play had cut him so deeply and tried to dispense with our apologies as quickly as possible. “No, no, it is quite all right,” he said. “It is not just that you made sport of me. I’ve been thinking about the events of recent days, and the times in which we live. Parliament accuses the King of tyranny, the King calls Parliament rebels. Wives are murdering their husbands and mothers discarding their infants into privies—the world is on its head.” He paused before continuing. “I read in my grandfather’s commonplace book yesterday. He copied part of a poem that struck me.

The sun is lost, and the earth, and no man’s wit

Can well direct him where to look for it.

’Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone;

All just supply, and all relation:

Prince, subject, Father, Son, are things forgot.

“Do you know who wrote it?” he asked. I shook my head. “He didn’t note the author. I wish I knew.” With that, Will robbed us of our good cheer, but not unjustly so, for we had bought it at his expense.

“Come,” I said in a subdued tone. “We should go.” We turned onto Low Petergate and walked the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrived, I told Yeoman’s servant we would like to meet with his master. He led us to the parlor and disappeared into Yeoman’s study.

“I’m afraid Mr. Yeoman is far too busy to meet with you at the moment,” the servant announced upon his return. “He suggests you send him a letter. He assures you that he will try to find time to meet with you.”

I hadn’t thought Yeoman would confess to murdering his nephew immediately upon my arrival, but neither had I expected this degree of intransigence. The servant took Martha by the arm and started leading her to the front door.

“Tell Mr. Yeoman that I would like to discuss Stephen Cooper’s diary with him,” I said.

“I will certainly give him the message, my lady. Now, as I said, Mr. Yeoman is attending to important business. You should go.”

As Martha struggled to free her arm, I strode across the room and seized the servant’s ear and pulled with all my strength. With a cry of surprise and pain, he let go of Martha and followed me across the room toward Yeoman’s study. “Nay, sirrah, you will remember your place and give him my message right now.” I pushed him down the hall. “Tell him I eagerly await his reply.” The servant scarcely paused to knock before scampering through Yeoman’s door. I turned back to the room and found Will and Martha both shaking with suppressed laughter.