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The Harlot's Tale (The Midwife's Tale)

Page 13

by Sam Thomas


  Chapter 12

  “I’d hoped to keep this secret for a few hours at least,” Edward said with a rueful smile. “But hiding secrets from a midwife is a fool’s errand.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “There are two more bodies,” Edward said. “Another man and woman.”

  “Ah, God,” I sighed. “As bad as the last?”

  “There’s blood enough, I think.”

  I looked over Edward’s shoulder at Mark. If he had been discomposed by the amount of blood or by the fact that two more people had been murdered, he hid it well.

  “Do you know who was killed?” I asked. “Was it another whore?”

  “Probably,” Edward replied. “The man is a carpenter from St. Cuthbert’s parish. He had some business before the council last year, and I remember him from that. We’ve sent for a churchwarden from there who’ll know his name.”

  “And the woman?”

  “Another whore, I imagine,” Edward said with a shrug, as if her death were of slight interest.

  I suppose I should not have been surprised by his callousness, he’d rarely shown himself to be concerned with the fate of the undeserving poor—as he would put it—especially if they were whores. I swallowed my desire to reprimand him for his want of Christian charity, for I knew it would do no good.

  “Father! Aunt Bridget!” Will’s voice echoed through the courtyard as he tried to shoulder his way past the watchman who held him by the arm. “Get out of my way!” cried.

  “Let him through,” Edward called. “It is all right.”

  The guard loosed his grip, and Will crossed the courtyard.

  “What is it, Will?” Edward asked.

  “I heard about the murders,” Will said. “I thought I should come.”

  I hoped Edward would recognize that Will was simply acting as a dutiful and capable son, and accept the help he had offered.

  “Why would the guard not let me through?” Will continued.

  I could tell that he took the watchman’s effort to keep him out of the courtyard as yet another attack on his wounded pride and that he blamed his father for the insult.

  “I told him to keep everyone out,” Edward explained. “Your aunt Bridget simply would not be refused.”

  “What is he doing here?” I inclined my head toward Helen Wright’s man.

  “That’s Stephen Daniels,” Edward said. “He discovered the bodies. He says that his mistress owns the building and he is here minding her interests.”

  I wondered if Edward knew who Stephen’s mistress was. I looked over at Stephen, and he shook his head slightly, his eyes begging my connivance. Either he’d lied to Edward or he’d simply failed to mention who owned the building. I had no love for Helen Wright, but something in his look convinced me to let him play his game for a bit longer. I looked at Will, who seemed more than happy to keep his father in the dark.

  We crossed to the tenement door. Mark Preston opened it and stepped in. Will started to follow, but Edward held up his hand. “Just Lady Bridget,” he said.

  “Edward,” I said. “He is working with me, and he might see something we miss. Let him in.”

  Edward thought for a moment and nodded. “Just for a moment,” he said, and the three of us stepped into the room.

  Upon entering, the first thing I saw was a man’s body lying atop the collapsed remains of a rough-hewn table. Like the man at Jennet’s, this one had suffered a terrible beating, and once again the killer had left his weapon—this time a heavy iron hammer—next to the body. The left side of the poor man’s head was misshapen, leaving no doubt as to which wound had killed him. He seemed to be casting his eyes toward the heavens. Perhaps he’d known that his life had come to an end and he sought God’s help; if so, the Lord had ignored the poor man’s entreaties. I dwelt a moment too long on the rivulets of blood that flowed from his head and felt my stomach tighten. I turned away, only to have my eyes settle on a second body.

  I snapped my eyes shut, but it took only a moment for the violence the murderer had visited upon the whore to engrave itself into my mind. I saw a bloodied face, legs splayed in casual lewdness, an arm bent back at an impossible angle, and, worst of all, a pale neck, stretched and bent, with marks from the murderer’s fingers still visible on the skin. I kept my eyes closed as I fought to compose myself. I told myself that this was less gruesome than Jennet’s fate, and far less terrible than delivering a child with instruments. I slowly opened my eyes.

  The whore lay on the floor next to a low bed, with one leg propped up on the thin mattress. As I gazed at the scene, I began to feel a sense of unease that went beyond the presence of two dead bodies. I crossed the room to look more closely and then I realized what had disturbed me. The whore’s clothes were wrong.

  “Edward,” I said. “This is no whore—look at her dress.”

  Edward strode over to join me. He’d made his fortune in the cloth trade, so I did not need to point out the quality of the woman’s skirts. They were hardly the clothes worn by the kind of whore who would bring a man to a tenement such as this.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I didn’t notice. Well, who is she then?”

  “Give me your handkerchief,” I said. A bowl of water sat on a table in the corner. I moistened the cloth, knelt by the woman’s body, and began to wipe away the blood. As I did, I noticed that most of it had come from her nose and a cut above her eye, and surmised that the murderer had not used the hammer on her.

  “Oh, no,” I sighed as a face I recognized came into view. “It’s Mary Dodsworth.”

  Edward gazed at the body in confusion and then looked around the room in search of an explanation for this turn of events.

  “What in the world is she doing here?” he cried. “She’s an honorable woman! What is she doing with … whoever that was?”

  I had no answers either until I remembered that Helen Wright’s man stood outside the door, and that Helen would rent rooms to couples who wanted to meet in secret.

  “She was an adulteress,” I said. “She’d come here to meet in secret with her lover; the dead man must be him.”

  “Impossible,” Edward said. “Her husband is a citizen. He served with me on the common council!”

  “You’d be less surprised if you knew how Mr. Dodsworth treated Mary,” I replied. “In his eyes, she was no better than a willful child. I can’t say I’m surprised that she sought comfort elsewhere, for he offered her none.”

  “Ah, no,” Edward sighed. “Who will tell her husband? He will be in a state when he hears the news.”

  “Send Will,” I suggested. It would not be a pleasant task, but I knew Will would be happy to have the responsibility. Edward considered my suggestion and, to my relief, gave his assent.

  “Just tell him there’s been an accident and he must come immediately.”

  Will nodded.

  “I must examine her privities,” I said. Edward nodded at Mark and Will, and the three men stepped out of the tenement.

  Once I was alone, I looked more closely at Mary’s body. Her hands were bent into claws, and when I examined them, I found traces of blood beneath her nails. At least she had wounded the killer before she died. I took a deep breath and with no small sense of dread lifted her skirts. I expected that the killer would have mutilated her in the same way he had Jennet, and said a prayer of thanks when I found that she’d not been hurt in this way.

  I cast my eyes around the room for anything else that could explain what had happened. Nothing suggested itself. A table, two stools, and a bed—what else did an adulterous couple need? I stepped into the courtyard.

  “What did you find?” Edward asked.

  “She’d not been cut like Jennet was,” I said. “And he hit her with his fists rather than with the hammer.”

  “That is all?”

  “There is blood under her fingernails,” I said. “She probably scratched the murderer while she was being choked.” I closed my eyes for a moment as an image of Mary’s
final moments came unbidden to my mind.

  “That will help if we find the murderer,” Edward observed. “But it’s not much help to find the murderer.” He turned to Will. “Do you know where Mr. Dodsworth lives?”

  “Near the Foss Bridge,” Will said. “I’ll find him.

  “I should return to Eleanor Hutchinson,” I said. “I left her in travail.”

  “If you hear anything about … this affair, send someone to me,” Edward said.

  I nodded and turned to Helen Wright’s man. “Stephen, would you be willing to walk with me? It isn’t far. I should like to learn more of your mistress.” He nodded and followed Will and me as we ducked out of the courtyard and back onto the street.

  “This is quite a coincidence,” Stephen said once we were safely out of Edward’s hearing.

  “That this week alone four people have been slaughtered in your mistress’s tenements?” I asked. “A remarkable coincidence indeed.”

  “How many people know that your mistress owns those buildings?” Will asked.

  “For obvious reasons, Mrs. Wright is as discreet as she can be,” Stephen said. “But York’s not like London, where you can do as you please and nobody is any the wiser. People talk.”

  “Am I right in thinking that you’ve been tasked to investigate the murders?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Wright feels an obligation to protect her tenants, just as any landlord would. The city’s common women are vulnerable in the best of times, but between the godly meddling and the murderer, things could not be much worse.” Stephen paused. “My mistress wonders if it might be possible to make an arrangement.” This brought me up short.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Mrs. Wright has connections within the city, and knows information that many would prefer to keep secret.” A smile crossed his face. “In this, she is not unlike a midwife, I suppose. You both are privy to the city’s sins of concupiscence. The difference is that she learns about them nine months before you do.”

  I did not relish being compared to a bawd, but this did not seem to be the time to complain.

  “What does she propose?” I asked.

  “Given the circumstances of the murders,” Daniels said, “you might find people who refuse to talk to you, particularly when the conversation touches on their illicit activities. If that happens, you tell me.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “If someone traffics with whores, it is possible—likely, even—that Mrs. Wright has information that they would prefer to keep private. You could use that information as a lever of sorts.”

  “I am a sworn midwife, not a common tattler.” I stood as tall as I could and squared my shoulders. “And you may tell your mistress that I do not traffic in such garbage.”

  “Mrs. Wright thought you would say that,” he said with a satisfied smile. “She said she only traffics in the truth. Besides, you would not be exposing secrets, but offering to conceal them. You would only spread them about if someone refused to help capture a terrible villain. And what kind of man would object to that?”

  I saw his point but could not bring myself to relent, not to a bawd.

  “Tell her we will find the killer without her help,” I said.

  “I will do that, my lady,” he said with a bow. “But if you change your mind, please do not hesitate to send someone to us. Mrs. Wright is eager to solve these crimes. She used to be one of these women, and feels a certain kinship. Imagine if this man were killing midwives. That is how she feels. Good day.” Daniels turned and disappeared into the crowd without a backward look.

  “I cannot believe she thought I would resort to extortion,” I fumed to Will. “What would that mean for my reputation?”

  “Oh, come now, Aunt Bridget,” Will said with a laugh. “I will be the first one to say that you are as discreet as any woman in the city. But you must admit that you’ve acted in exactly that fashion in the past.”

  “I never have!” I exclaimed.

  “Didn’t you warn Mr. Hewley that if he did not pay his bastard’s school fees you would announce his sins to the entire city? And when Margaret Watkins miscarried, you said it was from too much drink.”

  “That is not at all the same,” I objected. “The boy is bound for Oxford, and Margaret was a sot and a soaker. She’s not conceived a single child since that time and it is because of her evil living.”

  “I know, I know.” Will laughed. “I am not saying you are malicious, but you have to admit that you do traffic in secrets. And if Helen Wright can help you find the murderer, you ought to let her.”

  “Perhaps,” I said after a moment’s thought. We’d arrived at Eleanor’s door. “But right now I must attend to Mrs. Hutchinson, and you must find Mr. Dodsworth.”

  Will nodded soberly. “Thank you for asking my father to send me,” he said softly.

  “He would have anyway,” I replied, and placed my hand on his arm. “He will come around to you.”

  Will nodded again. “I hope so.” We embraced, and Will set off in search of Mary’s husband to tell him he’d been widowed.

  Inside the house, I found that Eleanor’s travail had not yet begun in earnest, and Martha was still in control of the gossips.

  “She’s at least an hour from needing the stool,” Martha reported. I lay Eleanor on the bed and confirmed her condition before taking Martha aside.

  “What did you find?” Martha asked.

  An image of Mary Dodsworth’s battered face and bloodied fingernails leaped into my mind.

  “It wasn’t a whore this time,” I said. “The killer chose adulterers instead. Did you know Mary Dodsworth?” Martha shook her head. “She was killed along with her lover.”

  “Did the murderer leave any signs?” she asked.

  “Nothing of use,” I said. “He left the hammer that he used to kill Mary’s lover. And she had blood on her fingers, so she likely scratched him. Beyond that, there were only the bodies.”

  “So if we find marks on John Stubb’s face, we’ll know that it’s him,” Martha said.

  “Perhaps,” I said. “But that would require the devil’s own luck. No, I fear that we’re still some way from the end of the killings.”

  Martha and I stood in silence, fearful of what new deaths the future would bring, and despairing at our powerlessness to prevent them.

  “Come,” Martha said with forced enthusiasm. “We should eat before Eleanor’s child arrives.”

  I nodded. She was right, of course. At that moment, the living needed us more than the dead.

  * * *

  It was not until the early evening that we left Eleanor’s side. While the travail had gone well, Martha and I felt half-dead from the day’s events. Eleanor’s chamber had been pleasant enough in the morning, but by late afternoon we all felt less like her gossips and more like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, cast into Babylon’s furnace. Eleanor conducted herself well, and her final travail was blessedly free from excitement—mother and daughter were doing well when Martha and I stepped into the evening shadows and walked home.

  Once there, I retired to my chamber so Hannah could help me into a fresh set of clothes and then I joined Martha in the dining room for a late supper. I had just poured a second glass of wine when a rapping came from my front door.

  “It’s Will,” Martha said, recognizing the distinctive sound of his cane. A moment later, he began to pound with his fist.

  “Aunt Bridget,” he shouted. “Hannah! Martha! Please come!”

  I leaped to my feet, my heart suddenly in my throat. What could have gone so wrong? Surely the murderer hadn’t killed again, not on the same day. Martha and I hurried to the door, arriving at the same time as Hannah. Will burst in as soon as he heard the latch open.

  “They’ve found another body,” he managed at last. “Another whore.”

  “What?” Martha cried. “So soon?”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “In the southern part of the city this time,” Will s
aid. “They found her in a room near Micklegate Bar.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Martha and I followed Will into the night, and we began to wind our way toward Ouse Bridge. Will held a lantern aloft to help us avoid the roughest patches of road, but the broken stones occasionally reached up and grabbed a heel or a toe, nearly sending us sprawling into the gutter.

  Despite the lantern—or perhaps because its flickering light made the shadows that much darker—it seemed to me that every alley and alcove could hide an assailant. In the last year, I had been attacked twice under such circumstances, and the threatening note I’d received that morning made the danger seem all the more acute. I felt my body relax when we reached the Ouse Bridge, for one could always find a member of the city watch on duty there.

  “Halt!” a voice cried out. “What business do you have at this time of night?” Two men armed with clubs stood in the middle of the bridge. As we approached, one of them recognized me, and bowed. “Good evening, my lady,” he said. “You have been called to a birth?”

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  “Enjoy the cool of the evening.” The guards laughed and waved us through. Once off the bridge, we entered Micklegate Ward. Here the wider streets allowed us to avoid dark alleyways, and we were able to move forward with more confidence.

  “Did your father tell you anything else?” I asked.

  “I don’t think he knew anything else. An alehouse keeper discovered the body and sent for Joseph around eight o’clock. He called for my father.”

  “And he brought you along?” I asked. Edward could be so changeable where Will was concerned, I wondered if he had finally decided to treat him and Joseph with an even hand.

  “Well, he didn’t object when I followed him,” Will replied.

  I thought I caught a ghost of a smile on his face.

  By now we were trotting along Micklegate, and I could not help noticing that it was the same route we’d taken to Helen Wright’s. Just before we reached the city gate, Will led us onto a side street. Almost immediately, I caught sight of Edward standing at the center of a group of men who had gathered at a tavern door. Perhaps it was the weak light of the lantern, but I thought he looked more pale than usual. This would be the fifth corpse of the week, so I could hardly blame him for that.

 

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