The Midwife's Tale (29 page)

“Are you all right?” Martha asked.

“Fine, fine,” I said too quickly. “Help me with my bodice, and I’ll come down and tell you what I found.” Once I had dressed, Martha and I found Will waiting impatiently in the parlor. We all sat, and I told them what I had seen.

“Last night Mr. Penrose was murdered in the Black Swan. The constable had fetched Richard Baker so he could identify him.”

“We guessed as much,” said Will. “How was he killed?”

I described the scene in all its gore. “The killer was strong and fast. If you come upon him, be on your guard.”

“Do they have any idea who might have killed him?” Martha asked.

“Henry Thompson is leading the search. He thinks—wants to think—that a whore and her accomplice tried to rob Mr. Penrose, but killed him instead. He sees it as divine justice for Mr. Penrose’s sins.”

“That seems a bit far-fetched,” said Martha. “Two thieves just happened to kill the man who could tell us who murdered Mr. Cooper? And they do this a few hours after we tried to question him?”

I shrugged. “In troubled times, men like Henry crave clarity. It’s much easier to believe that God struck down Penrose for his evil living than to admit that the city council wrongly convicted Esther. Remember, he sat on the jury and voted to burn her. That is not all. Lorenzo Bacca was there.”

“Could it have been a coincidence? The Lord Mayor might have sent him. The murder of a second citizen in as many weeks is sure to get his close attention.”

“I don’t know why he was there. If he killed Penrose to keep him quiet, he would likely want to steer the investigation in another direction. But there is more. Sometime between yesterday afternoon and this morning, he suffered a wound to his hand that demanded bandaging. Will, do you think you might have stabbed our assailant in the hand?”

“It is possible. But between the dark and the rain, I don’t know.”

“Could the Hookes have killed Penrose?” asked Martha. “Or someone hired by Charles Yeoman?”

“I wouldn’t want to rule anyone out. Either Yeoman or the Hookes could have hired a killer without undue trouble.”

“Have they found the whore?” Martha asked.

“There was no whore.” I sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“The killer had an accomplice, and she lured Penrose upstairs, but she was no whore. Nobody had seen her before, and what whore murders her first client?”

“Then who was she?”

“I have no idea, and that’s what troubles me. We nearly found out who was behind Stephen Cooper’s death, but still know almost nothing about the case. We don’t know who his killers are, or why they killed him. We don’t even have a suspect. And thanks to Penrose’s death, the search seems near its end. Once the siege is lifted, the killers can simply flee the city and disappear forever.”

Martha cleared her throat. “I think we have to consider whether my brother might have done this. He’s killed before, and he saw us looking at Penrose.”

“But that is hardly a reason to murder,” objected Will. “Surely he doesn’t hate you enough to kill a complete stranger out of spite.”

“Lady Hodgson bested him once. If he was the one who attacked you last night, his fury at a second humiliation would know no bounds. He would have killed Penrose for the pleasure of it. The fact that it made our lives more difficult would have made it all the more enjoyable.”

“So where are we?” Will asked gloomily.

“We still have no idea who killed Stephen Cooper, or why they did so,” I said.

“And while the same people might have killed Thomas Penrose,” continued Martha, “it also might have been my brother.”

“Perhaps we need to speak with Richard Baker again,” Will suggested. “He lived with Penrose, and we could convince him to let us search the house. Who knows what we will find?”

I did not believe that going back to Penrose’s shop would yield any new information, but I didn’t have any better ideas. “Very well,” I said. “You will join us for dinner, and then we will return to the shop to talk to Richard.”

“We should bring a guard with us,” said Martha.

To my surprise, Will nodded in agreement. “She is right,” he said. “I am happy to defend you against one killer, but it now seems you have two men stalking you—Martha’s brother and whoever attacked us last night. What is more, we know that whoever killed Penrose was not alone.”

“Very well,” I said. “Sergeant Smith is on duty. We’ll ask him to accompany us.”

*   *   *

After we’d eaten I explained the circumstances to Sergeant Smith, and he agreed to accompany us. The four of us set out for Penrose’s shop, but when we arrived we found it locked. I peered through the windows and saw no sign of activity inside. Had Richard returned to the shop? Or had he simply disappeared after the death of his master? Will pounded on the door, and once again the tailor from next door popped his head out of his shop.

“Hello again!” he chirped. “Did you find Mr. Penrose?”

“Er, no not yet,” said Will. “I don’t suppose you have seen him or Richard since we were last here, have you?”

“No, no, not Mr. Penrose. Miss Helen came around looking for Richard. But I haven’t seen him either.”

“Who is Helen?” Will asked.

“A serving-maid. Quiet girl. Richard’s been courting her, I think.” He paused and turned to Sergeant Smith. “My, that is a handsome coat.” Smith looked bewildered and stammered out thanks. “But,” the tailor continued, “I think you can do better, and I know you’ll like what I can offer. I’m George Cawton. Come in. I’ll show you my wares.” Before Sergeant Smith could react, Cawton had his arm and pulled him into his shop. The poor sergeant looked over his shoulder at us, wondering just how this had happened.

“The tailor may not be the most observant man,” Will said with a laugh, “but I’ll wager Sergeant Smith will have a new suit of clothes before he escapes.” He took a more serious tone. “Now what do we do? Stand here until the apprentice comes back? With his master dead, he may be gone for good.”

Will’s question was a good one, and I didn’t have a ready answer.

“We only wanted to find Richard so he could let us into the shop,” said Martha. “Perhaps we can find another way in.” She peered at me hopefully. Will looked confused, but I understood well enough.

“Do you have your tools?” I asked.

She smiled and nodded. “I thought we might need them once inside, but they’ll work on the front door as well.”

“Will,” I said, “stand over here next to me, in front of the door.” Still unsure what was happening, Will moved in front of the door, and Martha stooped to peer at the lock.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Standing here waiting for Richard Baker to return,” I said. “And don’t whisper. It will make passersby suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“Mr. Hodgson,” Martha said, “may I borrow your dagger? One good turn ought to do it.”

Will looked behind him, still unsure exactly what was happening. Nevertheless, he slipped his dagger out of his belt and handed it to Martha. A moment later, Martha proved as good as her word, and the door to Penrose’s shop swung open. Martha entered first, enjoying the puzzled look on Will’s face. Will and I followed, closing the door behind us. Will drew the curtains lest Cawton or any of Penrose’s other neighbors saw us inside, and we began our search.

Will went into the back room, while Martha and I searched the shop itself. Richard’s neat work made our search mercifully quick. He had carefully labeled every drawer, shelf, bottle, and envelope. We found everything in exactly the right place. Will finished his search and returned, shaking his head.

“What did you find?” I asked.

“The cleanest workshop you’ll ever see. Nothing is out of place, and nothing to help us find out who bought the ratsbane. I did find a locked cabinet—did you say that’s where Penrose kept the poisons?”

“That’s what Richard told us. Martha, could you have a look?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She disappeared into the back room, and we followed her. Martha made short work of the lock on the cabinet, and we crowded around as she opened the doors. Not surprisingly, the poisons were as organized as the more benign substances. I noticed mercury, henbane, ratsbane, arsenic, and opium, but there was no book of sales that might tell us who had bought the poison.

“Shall we look upstairs?” Will asked.

“We’re already felons for breaking in.” I sighed. “We’ve no reason to stop now.”

We climbed the stairs to the living quarters and found ourselves in a hallway that ran from the front of the house to the back. Through one door we found a room that had to be Penrose’s bedchamber. Clothes were strewn across the room, clearly left wherever he had dropped them after a long night at the Black Swan. The sheets themselves stank of sweat, and the smell emanating from one corner of the room told me that he had vomited into one of his chamber pots.

We looked in the second bedchamber and knew in a moment it was Richard’s. The room was as orderly as the shop and completely spotless. Richard had attached a small shelf to the wall and begun to fill it with books. The two largest were the Bible and a collection of recipes for making medicines called
The Charitable Physician with the Charitable Apothecary
. I opened the book and found that he had made notes in the margins, changing the amounts of different ingredients and even substituting some recipes of his own invention. Alongside these books, Richard kept a mix of cheaper pamphlets, including a book of prayers and a jest book called
The Friar and the Boy
. However modest it might have been, Richard was assembling a library. He seemed to be the ideal apprentice, and I lamented the suffering he had endured at Penrose’s hands. I hoped that Richard would take me up on my offer for a loan. I would happily bring my business to him in the future.

Will’s voice pulled me back to the present. “I’ve found something. It looks like the apprentice kept records of the shop’s stock.” He was leaning over a small table, peering at a ledger.

I crossed the room and looked over his shoulder. Richard had laid the book out in neat columns, the first listing all the ingredients in the shop and other columns tracking how much of each item he had bought, sold, or used. As Will scanned the ledger, I picked up a commonplace book that lay on the table. On the book’s first pages, Richard had written down more recipes for medicines and, as he had in the printed book, noted changes as he learned what worked best. I continued leafing through the book and found that in fact it was two books. At one end of the book he wrote his recipes and at the other he made more private entries. The first date was January 1st, and I was not surprised that his main concerns were the difficulty of his apprenticeship. His description of Penrose’s beatings broke my heart, and I wondered at his patience in the face of such abuse.

“I found it,” announced Will. I closed the commonplace book and looked up. “He purchased ratsbane a few months ago, but doesn’t appear to have used any since. If Penrose sold the ratsbane, he did it without Richard’s knowledge.”

“Well, that’s that.” I sighed. “Put things where you found them, and let’s go.”

We went downstairs and peered into the street. Sergeant Smith had not yet escaped from the tailor’s shop. “The street is clear,” Will said, and the three of us slipped out the door and closed it behind us.

“Martha, how are you at locking doors?” I asked.

“In truth, I’ve never tried it, but why not?” she said. With Will and me once again shielding her from view, Martha went to work on the lock. A few minutes later, we heard a click and she stood up, proud as could be. “It’s not so different,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. Will ducked into George Cawton’s shop and emerged a moment later with a visibly relieved Sergeant Smith.

“He sold me two new suits,” he said. “If you’d not intervened, I have no idea how many more I would have bought.”

When we turned onto my street, the guard saw us and called out, “Lady Hodgson, you have a visitor. He says he has a message from the Castle.”

A small figure stood next to him, though from the distance I could not tell who it was. We drew closer, and two things became clear. First, my visitor was a small boy who had not had a bath in some months, and second, the guard held him tightly by the neck. Despite the pain he must have suffered, the only trace of discomfort on the boy’s face was the slow clenching and unclenching of his jaw.

“Let him go!” I cried out. The guard looked surprised but complied. I looked at the boy’s neck and saw marks from the guard’s fingers that would become bruises the next day. I turned angrily to the guard. “Did you consider the boy dangerous?” He seemed taken aback by my concern for the boy. “Were you afraid he might overcome you and storm my house?”

“No, my lady,” he said. “But he’s just an urchin.”

I squatted next to the boy and cupped his face in my hands. His brown eyes were flecked with green and shone with intelligence, not unlike Birdy’s. “Who sent you to me?” I asked.

“Samuel Short, the jailor.” He showed no deference at all. Clearly he’d learned his ill manners from Short.

“Are you his boy?”

He thought about the question before answering. “He’s not my father, but he cares for me,” he said. “My mother died in the jail and he took me in.”

“What is your name?”

“Samuel calls me Tree, because I’m already taller than he is.”

“All right, Tree, come inside. Give me your message, and I’ll see what food we have for you.” At the prospect of a meal—from a gentlewoman’s larder, no less—his eyes lit up. As we passed the guard, I glared at him and he lowered his eyes. I whispered to Martha, “Take the boy to the kitchen, feed him well, and keep an eye on him. He’s not a danger, but he is poor enough that he might not be above pilfering.”

“Follow me, Tree,” she sang out, and we trooped to the back of the house.

Hannah set a plate of cheese and bread and a mug of small beer before the boy, and he told us his story.

“Samuel sent me with a message. He says that the soldiers captured a lady trying to flee the city last night. They brought her to the Castle, and when Samuel locked her up, she asked him to send for you.” Martha and I exchanged confused looks. We had assumed the message would be about Esther.