The Midwife's Tale (7 page)

“I have many useful skills, but poisoning is not among them. One servant said she heard someone talking with Mr. Cooper before the body was found. Perhaps a visitor was with him when he died, and slipped something into his drink.”

“God save us,” I said. “Perhaps the rumors of an assassin are not as fanciful as I thought.” I paused. “Be sure that in the future you do not follow the example of my brother’s servants. Many women’s secrets are made known in the birthing chamber, and neither a midwife nor her servants can reveal them.”

“No, my lady,” she said. After a moment she asked, “My lady, I have a question about the city. Today we have been in Holy Trinity, Micklegate and St. Martin, Micklegate, but have yet to see a gate or even the city wall.”

“At the moment, you are
on
Micklegate,” I said. She looked around her, and I could not help laughing at her confusion. “It is one of the peculiarities of the city. The streets are called gates: Micklegate, Walmgate, Petergate, and so on.”

“If the streets are called gates, the city gates are … what?”

“The gates are called bars, oddly enough. There are four of them in the city. You came in Monk Bar on the north. That’s the poorest part of the city, and as you’ve seen it can be dangerous at night.” She smiled ruefully. “There are many others, and it’s a bit bewildering, but it will seem familiar soon enough.” We continued down Coneystreet, home to York’s best inns and shops, before reaching Stonegate, which led to my house. Along the way, Martha studied the churches and shops that would help her find her way in the future.

“The Thursday Market is down that street,” she noted when we reached St. Helen’s church. “Hannah told me that a cannonball killed a maid there last week.”

“Yes, while she bought salt for her mistress. It was a terrible thing.” I wondered briefly what profit the rebels had from killing her. She was no political animal, yet the rebels slaughtered her just the same. I pushed such dreadful thoughts from my mind. “Up ahead is Swinegate, which will take you to the Shambles. Most of the city’s butchers have their shops there; it is a stinking place.”

Soon enough we reached my home, and Hannah let us in. I had a small meal and read in the Bible for a time. Before retiring, I called for Hannah.

“Susan Dobson’s churching is tomorrow afternoon, and there will be a supper afterwards. Be sure that one of my best dresses is ready. And tell Martha to make sure that her dress is clean. I’ll take her with me.” She curtsied and disappeared downstairs.

Churchings occasioned much gossip, and I had no doubt that the chief topic of conversation at the feast would be Stephen Cooper’s murder. As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered what new rumors would have appeared by then. I never suspected, of course, that gossip exchanged in Susan’s parlor soon would lead me to another murder, this one even more pitiful than Cooper’s.

Chapter 5

I awoke Monday morning to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and, still half-asleep, I rolled over to make room for Birdy. Even as I moved, I realized the steps could not be Birdy’s, and I was overcome by melancholy. Until the day she died, Birdy joined me in my bed every morning as soon as she awoke. For many years, I’d begged her just to lie still and perhaps go back to sleep, but I could not recall her ever doing so. As soon as her eyes opened, Birdy’s mind went to work, deciphering the world around her. Such work was neither quiet nor solitary. I prayed for strength, for God to take from me my pain, but on this morning He denied me. Reluctantly, I rose and picked up a second drawing of Birdy, one I kept on the table by my bed. In the early morning light, her features were indistinct, but I did not need to see them, for each one, from the shape of her brow, to the curve of her nose, to the line of her mouth, would stay with me until I breathed my last.

After my tears had stopped, I called Hannah. As she dressed me, I heard someone rapping on the front door. I sighed and tried to think which of my regular clients were far enough along to be going into labor. I went down and was happy to find not a servant calling me to a labor, but my nephew Will. I crossed the parlor to embrace him and was struck simultaneously by the richness of his clothes and the distress evident in his face. Whatever the clothes meant, his visage made clear that his visit was not for pleasure.

“Aunt Bridget, I know you came to my father regarding the death of Stephen Cooper, and that you know his wife. I wanted to bring you this news in person.” He paused. I almost told him that I knew that Stephen had been murdered, but something in his voice made me hold my tongue. His news went beyond the murder itself.

“The surgeon says that Mr. Cooper was murdered by poison,” he continued. “After my father discovered this, he ordered the constable to search his home. I went with him to oversee the search. The maid helped them with the search and she discovered a vial of ratsbane hidden in Esther Cooper’s clothes chest. Aunt Bridget, Esther killed him. The constable arrested her, and took her to the Castle.”

I sat abruptly and tried to absorb what my nephew had told me. Esther, a murderess? It seemed impossible—for all his faults, I knew that she loved Stephen. My eyes drifted to Phineas’s portrait, and I had the most absurd thought: I had lived with Phineas without killing him; surely Esther could have tolerated Stephen.

“How can you be so sure it was her?” I asked.

“The apothecary and surgeon agreed that ratsbane killed Mr. Cooper, and we found the vial in her chest. She had hidden it there.”

“Did she confess?”

“Not yet, I don’t think. As they took her to gaol, she sobbed and protested her innocence. She might have confessed since. I don’t know how hard they’ve pressed her.”

“God save us,” I said. I sat in silence, trying to imagine why Esther would poison her husband’s milk and then hide the poison in her own chamber. Even if Stephen had driven her to kill, he surely hadn’t made her into an idiot.

“Will, is that the only evidence you have? That the poison was in her chamber?”

“The neighbors said that they fought,” he said. Before I could object, he continued. “There is more news than this. She’ll be tried tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? With that evidence? You must be jesting! And who will oversee the trial? The city is under siege. Has the Lord Mayor smuggled an assize judge into the city?”

“The Aldermen have met and decided to hold a special court just for this purpose. The Lord Mayor will preside, and the rest of the Aldermen will sit as the jury. It’s a more learned group than she could hope for in a conventional trial. My father will be there. He will see that justice is done.”

“But the Lord Mayor wasn’t even elected!” I objected. “He was installed by order of the King, and has been kept there on the King’s insistence. This is no court at all. Surely you can see that.”

“It is irregular,” he conceded. “But the evidence is damning. And what would you have them do? Does the siege suspend the laws of God? The Lord Mayor believes that the presence of rebels at the city gates makes it more necessary than ever to prosecute treason, wherever it takes place. And my father agrees.”

“And you? Do you support this court?” I was incensed.

“Aunt Bridget, she murdered her natural lord and master,” he insisted. “Whether it is a servant who kills his master, a son his father or a wife her husband, by law it is petty treason.” He knew my sympathies lay with the King and hadn’t expected this reaction.

“And she deserves a trial. A real trial, not one intended to show how much the Lord Mayor loves the King and hates rebellion.”

“Well, it wasn’t
my
decision,” he said. “It’s not even my father’s. There’s really nothing to be done, not by me, and certainly not by you.” I considered his point and relented.

“Ah, Will, I am sorry. You are the bearer of bad tidings, not the cause.” He nodded, accepting my apology. “But I will have words with your father, you can be sure of that.”

“I will warn him, though I can’t imagine it will do him much good,” said Will with a smile.

“Will, can you join us for dinner?” I asked. He was never one to turn down Hannah’s cooking.

“I’m afraid I cannot. My father has business to which I must attend.” As he spoke, Will’s voice swelled with pride. With Joseph at war, Edward had begun to give Will some political responsibility. The change pleased Will to no end, but I feared that when Joseph returned to York, Edward would push Will to the side once again.

“Well, that explains the clothes, at least.”

His ears turned red at the compliment. “Are they too much?” he asked, suddenly worried. “I just had them made. They cost me a pretty penny.”

“And it was money well spent,” I assured him. “You cut an authoritative figure. Dare I ask what the mission is?”

“I’m to be one of the city’s representatives at today’s parley with the rebels. A minor role, I’m sure, but I wanted to look the part.” Will seemed to be the only one in the city who believed that the talks were anything more than a delaying tactic by both sides. The King’s men hoped to put off an assault on the city until the King could send assistance, and the rebels, I was quite sure, were using the time to tunnel beneath the city’s walls. But he was so enthusiastic, I held my tongue.

“God be with you,” I said. “As you go,” I continued, “would you mind seeing Martha to the Shambles? Capons are so dear, and I was hoping she could find one at a reasonable price for our supper.” He agreed, and I saw the two of them off.

Within an hour Martha had returned, capon under her arm, but I could tell that the journey had not gone as planned. The blood had drained from her face and her entire body shook as if she suffered from an ague. Perhaps it was because my mind had been much on Birdy, but Martha’s pale and feverish appearance reminded me of nothing so much as my daughter on the day that she died.

“Martha, are you all right?” I exclaimed. “What happened?”

“My lady, it was…” She groped for words. “I thought I saw the man from that night, the soldier,” she whispered. “In the Shambles, peering at me from an alley.”

I didn’t know what to make of this. Obviously she had not seen the same soldier, but it was equally clear that something had given her a terrible fright. I led her to the parlor and asked Hannah to bring a glass of wine. In her fear, Martha suddenly seemed like nothing more than a girl, far from home and afraid for her life. My heart compassioned after her, and I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to save her.

“You are safe now. Tell me what you saw,” I said. She took a deep breath and drank some of the wine. It seemed to calm her nerves.

“It was him,” she said, and then paused. “I mean, I know it wasn’t, but it looked like him. He had the same broken teeth and the same horrible look in his eyes when he smiled.”

“Listen to me, Martha,” I said. “The city is full of soldiers like him. It may even have been a brother or cousin, but you know it wasn’t him. It can’t have been.”

“I know,” she said, gazing into the bottom of her glass. She seemed to have regained herself. “But he gave me such a fright. I’ll be seeing him in my sleep. My lady, could you send Hannah to the market for a few days? I think I’d rather not go back for a while.” Her hands still shook. I could not refuse.

“Of course,” I said. “I’ll let her know, but you’ll have to pick up some of her duties. Now why don’t you go help her in the kitchen. I’ll take her with me to the churching this afternoon, and you can have an evening here.” She nodded and went back to work, but I could see that something still weighed heavily on her mind, and I sensed that there was more to the story than she had told me.

*   *   *

After we had dined, I changed into a more elaborate skirt and bodice, and Hannah and I walked to Susan Dobson’s house. Susan and Francis had married about a year before, and as we all had hoped, she soon became pregnant, giving birth to a girl in May. Today marked the end of her lying-in, and she would leave her house for the first time since giving birth. We met the rest of the party, about a dozen in all, at the front door. Naturally enough, Susan was the focus of attention, and I joined in. After a few minutes, we all made our way to St. Helen’s. Susan wrapped a beautiful veil of French lace around her face and head, proceeded up the aisle, and knelt near the communion table. There, the minister blessed her and read from Psalms, and she made a gift of thanksgiving for surviving the perils of childbirth.

After the ceremony ended, the joyful company returned to Susan’s home for the festivities that always followed a churching. There were meat and wine aplenty—clearly Francis was a better merchant than I had thought!—and we were very merry. The servants took care of Susan’s daughter and saw to it that no wineglass went unfilled. Soon enough, the talk turned to the more tawdry doings of our neighbors. Mary Hudson announced in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear that one of her neighbor’s servants was with child. As she’d hoped, the news of an illicit pregnancy drew everyone’s attention.

“Well, at first it was nothing I could be sure of,” Mary said, feigning reluctance to tell her story. “She wore her skirts in such a way that hid her condition for many months.” The women knew what kind of woman tried to hide a pregnancy and shook their heads in disapproval, but they laughed raucously when Mary added, “But like the little bastard himself, the truth will come out eventually!”

“Who is it?” one of the women called out, and many others echoed the cry. “Tell us!” Mary had warmed to the task but coyly refused to answer.

“All I can say is that she is as wanton a wench as I’ve ever seen. You could tell by the way she looked men in the eye that she was no maiden. I have an eye for that sort of thing, you know. It was only a matter of time before she allowed some apprentice or soldier to get under her skirts.”

The company laughed at the girl’s foolishness. We all were listening attentively, but I did so not just as a neighbor and gossip, but as a sworn midwife. Once I knew the mother, I could press her for the father’s name and at the same time make sure that she had a midwife when she delivered her child. Despite the danger, too many pregnant maids hid their condition and gave birth like wild beasts, in secret and without help. To my surprise, Mary steadfastly refused to name the mother, which made for a poor ending to the story.