The Midwife's Tale (34 page)

As she prepared to strike again, I heard the sound of heavy footsteps and a man shout, “Stop!”

“Will!” I cried as he raced into the room, sword drawn.

For an instant, Will took his eyes off Ellen to look at me and nearly paid for his mistake with his life. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ellen swung the pestle at his head. Will stepped back, but not far enough, as the blow found its mark and sent him crashing to the ground. Ellen turned back to me, but I had already scrambled to my feet. I launched myself across the room, knocking her to the floor next to Richard’s corpse. I leapt up, found Will’s sword, and placed its tip on her throat. “Stay right there,” I said. “I don’t want any more blood on my hands today.” Ellen lay still for a few seconds and then turned to look into Richard’s face. Tears streamed from her eyes as she silently mourned her beloved.

I risked a glance at Will as he pulled himself to his feet. Blood ran down his forehead, but his eyes were clear. I said a prayer of thanks that the blow had not done serious damage. “My God, where did you come from?” I cried.

“I came to your house and Hannah told me where you had gone. I thought you might need some help, but I didn’t expect this.”

At that moment, Henry Thompson strode in and surveyed the scene. I can only imagine what he thought. By now, the once orderly workshop had been thoroughly destroyed. Richard lay dead in a pool of blood, and I stood next to him, holding a sword to Ellen’s throat. Blood continued to run down Will’s face, and Martha stood in the doorway, her arm hanging uselessly by her side.

“Hello, Lady Bridget,” Henry said dryly. “Might I ask why you sent for me? Everything seems to be under control.”

*   *   *

That night I dreamed of Richard Baker. In the dream we were back in the apothecary’s workshop. He entered the room, just as he had that afternoon, and attacked me. When he reached me, I stabbed him in the heart with a knife that had appeared in my hand. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain and rage. After I stabbed him, he lay on the floor for a moment before standing up. When he did, the knife reappeared in my hand, and he attacked again. And again. Sometimes he carried his club, sometimes a bottle of ratsbane, sometimes an iron bar. Sometimes he screamed with Ellen’s voice.

I must have killed him a thousand times that night before I finally pulled myself awake at dawn. I climbed from bed and sought refuge in the Gospels. When I heard Martha rise, I followed her downstairs and found her in the kitchen doing what work she could with her arm wrapped in bandages. It had taken the bonesetter three tries to get her arm in place, and she had nearly bitten through a leather belt while he worked, but she’d survived and he predicted a swift recovery.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, gesturing at her arm.

“It ached something fierce,” she said. “But from the circles under your eyes, I would guess that I slept better than you.”

“The dreams were as you said. I kept stabbing Richard, but he refused to stay dead.”

“In mine the soldier is chasing me through a maze of alleys and streets. No matter how fast I run, I can never escape him. Sometimes it’s Tom, but usually the soldier.” She paused for a moment. “What is going to happen to Ellen?”

“Nothing good,” I replied. “I imagine she’ll be tried shortly. If she’s with child, she won’t be executed yet, but there’s no escaping what she did.” We lapsed into a melancholy silence.

“You were right about Mrs. Cooper,” she said. “You saved her life.”

I smiled at her efforts to lift my mood. “Yes,” I said. “I suppose we did.” I knew what she said was true, but I felt neither triumph nor vindication. I was relieved that Esther had escaped execution, but I got no satisfaction from Richard’s death or the prospect of Ellen’s burning. I knew that blood cried out for blood, that treason could not go unpunished, but I also knew that Stephen Cooper’s and Thomas Penrose’s tyrannies had driven their servants into rebellion. The Lord Mayor would try to rebuild the natural order on top of the ashes of those who challenged it, but I could no longer see that as an end in itself. It seemed to me that God demanded justice, not merely order. And if Richard and Ellen were to be burned for their crimes, why could Rebecca Hooke escape unpunished for hers? The order of things had never seemed so unnatural.

A few hours later, my brother-in-law, Edward, appeared at the door. I met him in the parlor and asked Martha to join us.

“How is your arm?” Edward asked, glancing at Martha.

“Very well, sir, thank you.”

“Martha,” I said, “I don’t think my brother has ever acknowledged one of my servants before. He knows perfectly well that you saved my life. Take his question as the compliment it is.” Edward ignored me, of course, but Martha blushed and curtsied.

Edward got right to business. “The Lord Mayor has convened another special court to deal with the murders of Stephen Cooper and Thomas Penrose. He reversed the conviction of Esther Cooper and oversaw the trial of the maidservant.”

“I imagine that went as smoothly as Esther’s trial,” I remarked dryly.

“She confessed to both murders. The constable found the money she extorted from Stephen in her clothes chest. The Lord Mayor sentenced her to be burned to death for the murder of her master.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say next. “The Lord Mayor also ordered that Richard Baker be hanged and his body burned as a warning to all who would rise up against their masters. A gibbet has been built in front of the Black Swan.” He looked up at my clock. “The ceremony will begin shortly.”

“Surely you are joking,” Martha said. “You are going to hang and burn a dead man?”

Edward glanced at her but ignored the question. “Stephen Cooper’s maidservant has pleaded the belly. Dorothy Mann has confirmed that she is with child. She will burn in the fall, after the child is born.”

“Did the Lord Mayor admit his error to Esther?” I asked.

“He did not think it seemly for her to be in court. But she has been released from the Castle.”

“He’s a fountain of justice, he is,” murmured Martha. I shot her a look, but in truth I could not have agreed more.

“Lady Bridget,” Edward said, “may I have a word with you in private?” I nodded to Martha, and she slipped out of the room. “It has come to my attention that a member of the King’s garrison who was wounded in the fighting has been speaking of you and members of your household in most unsettling terms.”

“I—I do not know what you mean,” I stammered, trying to control the sinking feeling in my stomach.

“His name is Tom Hawkins. Isn’t Hawkins your maidservant’s name? He mentioned her as well. He says she is a murderess.”

Chapter 24

“There must be some kind of mistake,” I said. “Where is this man?”

“He is in the garrison’s hospital at Peasholme Green. He’s been swearing the vilest oaths against you and your servant. The surgeons are convinced he suffers from delirium caused by his wounds. They could be right, but in light of your recent adventures, I thought I should speak to you.”

“Martha has no kin here in the city, so he can’t mean her.” At that moment, I wished I had Martha’s ability to lie convincingly—I felt sure Edward could see the truth. “It is possible he overheard our names at the Black Swan, and in his delirium confused us with someone he knows, perhaps someone from before he came to York.”

“It is possible,” he said, but I did not think he believed it. “If you wish to see him, you should not wait. He will not live much longer.”

“The wounds are that serious?”

“A nasty cut on his leg. It should not have been fatal, but for some reason he waited several days before seeking treatment. Now it is badly infected.” I wondered if Martha would want to see her brother one last time before he died. I knew I should at least give her the choice.

“Thank you, Edward. Perhaps I will visit him. Even though he is a stranger, I may be able to put his mind at ease in his final hours.” I didn’t imagine for a moment that he believed so unconvincing a lie, but he left without challenging me. I called for Martha.

“Edward says that they’ve found Tom.”

“Is he alive?” she asked. I could not tell what answer she hoped for, but I could only imagine her anxiety. If he was alive, her new life in York would be in jeopardy; if he was dead, she would have lost her nearest kin.

“For now. Edward said he is in one of the garrison’s hospitals. He must have been the one who attacked me after the christening. Will wounded him, and now he is dying of the infection.” Martha’s eyes filled with tears, and I took her hand.

“How did Mr. Hodgson know to come to us?” she asked, wiping her cheeks.

“Tom’s been cursing us both by name.” Martha’s eyes widened with fear. “I think you’re safe,” I said. “Nobody takes such nonsensical accusations seriously. The doctors say it is the infection.”

“What should we do?”

“Edward suggested a visit,” I said cautiously.

“I want to see him before he dies,” she whispered.

*   *   *

The walk to St. Anthony’s Hall took longer than usual, because we took a roundabout route. Neither Martha nor I had any desire to pass by Penrose’s shop. I did not know when I would return to that neighborhood, but it would not be soon. There was no way to avoid the Black Swan, however—it lay directly across the street from the hospital entrance. From the outside, one would never have guessed that a murder had taken place there just a few days before. I wondered if the room where Penrose died had already been put back in use by the alehouse whores. The gibbet still stood in the street, but Richard’s body had been cut down, thank God. I averted my eyes as best I could until we reached the gate to St. Anthony’s.

“What is your business here?” barked the guard.

“We’re here to visit one of the wounded soldiers,” I said. “To give him comfort in his final hours.”

The guard looked us over, decided we posed no threat, and opened the gate. We climbed a set of narrow stairs to the main hall. Before the war, poor children had been taught to knit here, in the hope that they would not become a burden on the city. Now beds filled the hall, each one holding one of the garrison’s sick or wounded. When we entered, a young man in a blood-covered smock came over to greet us. I could smell the liquor on his breath long before he opened his mouth.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said. “I am Mr. Stevens, the surgeon here. How can I be of service?”

“We are here to see a wounded soldier, Sergeant Hawkins. We have heard he is delirious.”

“Yes, a regrettable case,” he said, shaking his head. “The wound itself would not have been serious if he had come to me immediately. For some reason, he tried to treat it himself. His bed is in the far corner. We moved him there because his yelling disturbed the other patients. It’s stopped now, though. He’s too weak.”

“How long will he live?” Martha asked.

“Not long, I don’t think. With infections it is hard to say, but he’ll be dead tomorrow.” I was appalled by his blunt language, but Martha nodded her thanks. I looked closely at her face, but I could not tell how she felt about her brother’s impending death. Perhaps she did not know, either.

We thanked Stevens again, and he wandered off to check on other patients, God help them. Martha and I went to the corner that he had indicated. We reached the last bed, and for a moment I thought we had come too late. Tom lay in the bed, but he was little more than a husk of the man I’d met at the Black Swan. His sallow complexion and sunken cheeks made his face the very mirror of death—only the slight movement of the sheet covering his chest indicated that he still lived. Even from the foot of the bed, I could smell the infected wound and knew that the surgeon’s prediction was likely on the mark. I did not regret his death, of course, but I knew that Martha’s reaction would be much more complicated, and I felt for her.

Martha pulled a stool from a neighboring bed and sat next to her brother. “Tom … Tom, can you hear me?” She reached out with her good hand and caressed his cheek. He took a deep, hitching breath and opened his eyes. He saw Martha and his features hardened. “Oh, Tom,” she whispered, “what have you done now?”

“Hello, sister,” he croaked. From the foot of his bed I could barely hear him. “Have you come to dance on my grave? Was betraying me in Hereford not enough?”

“Why did you do it, Tom? Why couldn’t you let me be?”

He started to laugh but dissolved into a coughing fit. “Let you be? After what you did? I’d kill you now if I could.”

“Tom, please!”

“What is your plan now, Martha? Will you spend your life as a servant?” Even in his weakened state, his voice dripped with scorn. “Didn’t you have enough of that life back home? Wasn’t Mr. Holdsworth’s cruelty enough? You could have been free of all that if you’d stayed with me.”

“For how long? Until I met my fate at the end of a rope?”

“That’s better than the life you’ve chosen. You’ll find out soon enough how ill suited you are for service.” He looked up at me. “Do you think she’ll carry your shit and wash your clothes forever? She’ll turn on you, just as she did me. It’s in her blood. She can’t bear to be ruled by another. A natural-born rebel she is.”

“You will die soon, Tom Hawkins,” I said. “You should repent for the things you’ve done. I can have the surgeon summon a minister.”

“The only thing I regret is that I didn’t cut your throat. If it weren’t for that cripple of yours, you would be the one lying on your deathbed, not me.” He turned back to look at Martha for the last time. “You’ll hang yet, sister, you’ll hang yet.” Then he turned his head and closed his eyes.

Martha looked impassively at her brother. Without a word, she stood and walked out of the hall. I hurried after her and caught her at the gate. I searched desperately for words to comfort her, but none came. Neither of us spoke as we walked back to my house. That afternoon, Edward sent word that Tom had died. I told Martha and she nodded but said nothing.

*   *   *

From that day, life in my household returned to something like normal. With Tom safely in the ground, I dismissed the guards. Esther sent profuse thanks by letter but kept to her house and refused all visitors. I understood her reluctance to see anyone. The Lord Mayor had made much of her conviction but said nary a word about her exoneration. Her friends and neighbors knew that she had escaped burning, but few could say why. As a result, rumors spread far and fast. Some said she had bewitched the Aldermen, while others claimed she had bribed or even seduced the Lord Mayor. I did not think she could stay in York for long. Better she should go to London and start anew. With the money left to her by Stephen, she would have no trouble finding another husband.