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

by Sam Thomas

  Martha furrowed her brow.

  “Wait!” she cried out. I could hear the excitement in her voice. “How is he doing it?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Doing what?”

  Before she could answer, a woman’s scream tore through the night. The sound was human, but barely so, and seemed born of rage rather than terror or pain. We stopped and stared into the shadows.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Martha asked. My heart thundered so loudly I wondered that I could hear her words.

  “Let’s get inside,” I whispered and we backed toward my door.

  Without warning, a woman hurtled out of the doorway accross from mine, and once again the street echoed with her screams. She drove her shoulder into Martha’s chest, and they both fell to the ground. I heard Martha cursing as she fought to disentangle herself from her assailant.

  I threw myself into the fray, grabbing a handful of hair and hauling up and back. Once again the woman’s screams rent the night, but this time they were of pain and frustration. Martha leaped to her feet and delivered a ferocious clout to her attacker’s face. The stranger fell to her hands and knees, dazed by the blow. I rushed to Martha’s side and together we faced our attacker.

  When she looked up at us, I recognized the plump and pretty woman from Hezekiah Ward’s sermons. Blood dripped from her nose, which appeared to be broken. She stared into my eyes and drew back her lips in a terrible, bloody smile.

  “Touch not the Lord’s anointed,” she hissed. Martha and I backed slowly away. The woman stood and pointed at us. “The Lord will not suffer your sins. He will not.” She turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  “Inside,” I said. “Now.”

  Martha nodded, and we took the last few steps to my door. Once I locked the door behind us, I felt as if I could breathe again.

  “My God, Martha,” I said. “Are you all right?”

  “My dress is in tatters, but I’m fine. Who in God’s name was that?”

  “One of Ward’s more vicious sheep,” I said. “I’ve seen her at his sermons.”

  Martha thought for a moment.

  “Touch not the Lord’s anointed,” she said. “She must be the one who left the note.”

  “Or it could be one of the others in that crowd,” I said. “Who knows how many fevered brains have joined up with Ward? God, any of them could be the murderer.” I dropped onto my couch. How could we sort out the murderous from the mad?

  “No, it couldn’t be any of them,” Martha said. “That’s what I was going to say before that demon attacked us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If it is Stubb, how is he getting around the city?” she asked. “He’s killed five people, all of them at night. And he’s done so on both sides of the river. How is he managing to escape the town watch? They stopped us twice on the night we viewed Betty’s body, once on the way there and once on the way home. Surely if they found Stubb wandering the street, they’d arrest him.”

  “If he knew the city well enough, he might be able to slip by on the backstreets.” I said.

  “But he only just arrived in York,” Martha replied. “If he wandered off the main streets at night, he’d walk for hours just trying to find his way home, never mind finding the whore of his choosing. And there are no backstreets that cross the river—just the bridge.”

  “So how is he doing it?” I asked.

  “He has help,” Martha said. “It’s someone who knows the city, and can talk his way past the town watch. And it is someone who knows Helen Wright’s business.” She paused, weighing her next words with extreme caution. “It is your nephew Joseph. He’s behind the killing.”

  Chapter 16

  “You can’t mean that!” I cried. “Joseph? Are you mad?”

  “If you consider what we know, it makes sense,” Martha insisted. “He’ll freely admit that he’s part of the godly faction, and you heard him when he thought I’d blasphemed. He threatened to put me in the stocks! He knew Stubb from their time in the army, and he knows the city well enough to guide Stubb through the backstreets. And if they were discovered by the city watch, Joseph could simply explain that he is a constable on city business.”

  “But he would not do such a thing!”

  “Why not?” Martha asked. She seemed so sure of herself, she nearly carried me along by the force of her will. “The boy who left for the wars might not be a part of such a scheme, but you’ve seen how war can change a man. How many men did he kill? Half a dozen in just a few minutes, and who knows how many more before that. What was done to Jennet, Betty, and the others is nothing compared to what he did every day.”

  “Martha, it cannot be,” I said, but with less certainty.

  “And Helen Wright said that Joseph knew as much about her business as anyone in the city,” Martha continued. “That’s why the murderer killed people in her buildings—Joseph led him there!”

  “And Betty?” I asked. “She neither worked for Helen nor lived in one of her tenements.”

  “I don’t know,” Martha replied, undaunted. “Perhaps they couldn’t find the whore they had in mind, or Stubb chose her on his own. But it was with Joseph’s connivance. It must have been.”

  “You can’t say anything to Will,” I said. “Not until I’ve had time to consider this.”

  “Of course not,” Martha said. “But if we’re going to follow Joseph’s trail, we’ll have to tell Will sooner rather than later.”

  “I know,” I said. “But not yet.”

  That night as I lay in bed, I puzzled over Martha’s suggestion that Joseph was behind the murders. The more I thought about it, the more plausible the idea became. I recalled my time with Joseph before he’d joined Cromwell’s Ironsides. He’d been a nice enough lad, godly in the mold of his father but not a fanatic in any way. We assumed that after he returned from the army, he would marry and then wait patiently for his chance to follow in his father’s footsteps. A tolerable life to be sure, and one that many a man—including Will—would envy. There was no place in this future for him to become the executioner of defenseless whores.

  But the war had changed him, hadn’t it? He’d come back a harder and more ambitious man, one who was willing to do business with a woman like Helen Wright. Joseph was not content to wait for decades until his father’s power and money passed into his hands; rather, like the Prodigal Son, he would have his portion now. He had become used to power while in the army, and what greater power could there be than to kill?

  But as I drifted toward sleep, it was not Joseph’s face that came to mind but Mark Preston’s. I thought of the cruelty of his smile, and of his indifference as the bodies piled up. Could he be behind the murders? Or could he and Joseph be killing together, as they had on the battlefield? Perhaps this was why Joseph had brought him to York in the first place.

  The question of when to alert Will of Martha’s suspicions—suspicions I now shared—crept back into my mind. I knew we had to tell him, but could not imagine how to do so, or how he would react. What words would you use to say I think your brother is a cruel and vicious murderer? Would Will accept the possibility or turn his anger against us? I also worried that Edward might find out. If Will would be upset at the suggestion, Edward would be furious at me for merely countenancing the thought. And if our suspicions about his son turned out to be true, it would ruin him forever.

  The next morning, as the sun rose and began its daily assault on the city, there came a pounding at my door and I felt my stomach sink. The murderer must have killed again. As I’d feared, Will awaited me in the parlor, but his face radiated excitement rather than sorrow. Clearly he brought a different kind of news.

  “Aunt Bridget,” he said as soon as I came into the room, “the messenger has returned from Manchester.”

  “From the look on your face, I’d guess that it’s good news.”

  “Nothing that’ll see Stubb to the gallows, but it will put another loop in the hangman’s knot.”
/>   “The constables knew him?” Martha asked as she entered the parlor. She’d been baking, and her hands still were covered with flour.

  “They knew the entire mob. All the Wards: Hezekiah, Deborah, Praise-God, and Silence. They knew Stubb, too.”

  “What did they say?” I asked. “Were there murders there as well?”

  “Everything but,” Will said. “Mr. Ward preached against whores just as he has here. He ever used the same verses.”

  “And the rest of it?” Martha asked. “Did they trouble the city’s whores?”

  “And divided the city against itself,” Will replied. “Neighbors nearly came to blows over his sermons, and both Praise-God and Deborah were attacked by one woman’s pimp. They escaped a thrashing only because Stubb arrived on the scene.”

  “Deborah Ward thrashed by a pimp?” Martha cried. “What I’d have given to see that!”

  “It says she was the worst of the bunch,” Will said. “The constables nearly arrested her for riot.”

  “How did they escape the city?” I asked.

  “Joseph’s invitation to York came just in time to save their skins.”

  At the mention of Joseph’s name, Martha and I froze and looked at each other. Will realized he’d said something significant, but had no idea what it was.

  “Aunt Bridget? Martha?” he asked, his eyes shifting nervously between us. “What is it?”

  “Joseph invited the Wards to York?” I asked. “You’re sure?”

  “It’s what the letter says,” Will said with a shrug. “The city council summoned Hezekiah Ward to answer for the tumult and divisions he’d sown within the city, and he said he’d been invited to York. Some thought he was lying in order to escape the courts, but he showed them the letter from my brother. What is it?”

  Martha and I exchanged another glance. Neither of us wanted to say what we were thinking.

  “I suppose now is the time to tell you,” I said at last. “Do you think it is possible that Joseph is behind the murders, perhaps with Stubb or Mark Preston as his accomplice?”

  “What?” Will cried. “Are you crazed? Joseph?”

  “We know how it sounds,” I said, taking his arm and turning him away from Martha. I did not want him to think that she had first pointed the finger at his brother. “It seems absurd, but we must consider the evidence before us, and you have added to it. Joseph knew Stubb during the wars, and we know that he’s in league with Helen Wright.”

  Will started to object.

  “You must hear me out,” I said. “Then he intervened to keep Stubb out of jail after the first murders.” Will nodded slowly. His face had grown pale. “And now we find out that it was he who brought the Wards to the city. Joseph is the connection between John Stubb and Helen Wright.”

  “He wouldn’t do such a thing,” Will said.

  “And whoever the murderer is, he’s able to move about the city at night without being taken by the town watch. Joseph could do that. He knows the city as well as you do.” I did not mention Joseph’s newfound enthusiasm for wild religion—Will knew of that all too well.

  “Aunt Bridget, it is impossible,” Will said, but I could tell he was considering the possibility even as he spoke. “What would he gain by this?”

  “Power to reform the city,” Martha said. “The knowledge that he is doing God’s work. Would that not be enough?”

  “He would never,” Will said, but with less certainty than before. “Yes, he’s changed, but not into a murderer. My brother is not a murderer.”

  “We hope not,” I said. “But if Stubb is the killer, he must have help from someone who knows the city. And someone who knows Helen Wright.” Will stared out the window for a time, not saying anything. At last he came to a decision.

  “I think you are wrong,” he said. “But it is something we need to consider. Aunt Bridget, you mustn’t tell my father—not until we have something more than mere suspicion. It would destroy him entirely.”

  “Of course,” I said. There was nothing to be gained from upsetting Edward.

  “What do we do now?” Will asked. “I can’t interrupt dinner to ask Joseph if he’s schemed to murder five people in the hope of ending whoredom.”

  “You could search his chamber,” Martha suggested.

  “He’s not fool enough to be caught that way,” Will said. “And if Stubb is doing the killing there would be no evidence to find.”

  “Have you noticed him coming and going at night?” Martha asked.

  Will shook his head. “The house is big enough that he can do what he pleases and nobody is the wiser. And even if I did, such is the life of a constable, especially one who hopes to drive sin from the city. He’s fond of telling me, the Lord did not rest in the nighttime. Bloody fool.”

  “For now, you can watch him,” I said. “Offer to accompany him if he goes out at night. Tell him you want to learn more about the duties of a constable.”

  “I don’t think that will work,” Will snorted. “He talks to me like my father used to. With your foot, you’ll never keep up. Or if he’s feeling sorry for me it will be even worse: A constable must be of sound mind and body, Will. I’m sorry. No, I’ll have to find another way.”

  Will gazed out the window. The pain on his face could not have been clearer, and I put my arm around him. I marveled that any man could reject his own brother for nothing more than a malformed foot, but knew that the fault lay with Edward. He taught Joseph such lessons, both by his refusal to groom Will for government and through his daily condescension.

  At my invitation, Will joined us for breakfast, and we talked more of the murders and of what we should do next.

  “Perhaps Mark Preston is the one behind the murders,” Will suggested hopefully. “He’s a born killer to be sure.”

  “I considered that,” I said. “Even though he is in your father’s house, he still is subject to the town watch. They would take him as quickly as they would Stubb. No, somehow the killer has convinced the town watch to let him travel around the city at night.”

  “What do you propose we do?” Martha asked.

  I considered the question, but had no good answers. If we were right about Joseph, how would we prove it?

  “Why don’t we go back to the harlots?” I suggested at last.

  “What do you mean?” Will asked.

  “We should find the women we talked to before, Barbara Rearsby and Isabel Dalton,” I said. “Perhaps they’ve seen or heard something since we last spoke to them.”

  “We could ask them if they have seen Joseph and Mark lurking about,” Martha added.

  “They might not have mentioned it before,” Will said, nodding. “They’d hardly bother to mention a constable chasing whores.”

  “Who should we visit first?” Martha asked.

  I thought of Isabel Dalton and Elizabeth, her red-haired daughter.

  “Let us start with Isabel,” I said. “She seemed most likely to notice if something were out of the ordinary.”

  We wound our way through Hungate parish, this time avoiding the wrong turns we’d taken the previous week. When we neared Isabel’s house, we saw two women standing at her door. As we approached, one of them started toward us at a dead run. It was Barbara Rearsby, the whore we’d talked to in the Castle.

  “Lady Hodgson, thank God you’re here!” she cried. The poor girl’s eyes were red from crying and even now she fought to control her sobs. She fell to her knees when she reached us, and broke down in tears.

  “Barbara, what is it? What has happened?” Martha asked.

  “It’s Isabel,” she said at last. “She’s been murdered.”

  Martha and I looked at each other in horror.

  “Ah, God,” I said. The news pierced my heart like an arrow, and my mind immediately leaped to Elizabeth. “What about her daughter? Where is Elizabeth?”

  “One of the other women had her last night while Isabel worked. She’s safe, but hasn’t stopped crying.”

  I said a pray
er of thanks for this small mercy.

  “Is Isabel’s body inside?” I asked. Barbara nodded and led us to the door. Even from a distance, I could see that the second woman was with child, and very near her travail.

  Barbara explained who I was, and that I was trying to find whoever had been murdering the city’s whores. The pregnant woman curtsied before looking at Will with ill-disguised suspicion.

  “He is not with the city,” I said. “He is with me.”

  “He can stay, but he’ll not go in,” she replied. “Men have uncovered her enough, I think.”

  “And who are you?” I asked. I was not accustomed to other women deciding such matters on my behalf.

  “Sarah Briggs,” she said. “I worked with Isabel until my condition forced me to stop. Now I help the others as best I can until I am delivered.”

  I thought I could probably force my will, but did not see the benefit. I nodded to Will and he took a step backward, relinquishing his place. Sarah opened the door so we could enter, and my eyes were drawn immediately to Isabel’s body where it lay next to the bed. Someone had put a cloak over her, but her bare legs splayed crazily out from underneath as if she’d been captured in the midst of some wild dance.

  Martha and I drew back the cloak. Though I had prepared myself for a terrible sight, I still gasped at her blood-covered face. Rather than killing her in fulfillment of some obscure verse from the Bible, the murderer had chosen to stave in her head and leave it at that. I looked around the room for a weapon—perhaps a fire poker again?—but found none.

  After a moment I realized that once the initial shock of seeing Isabel’s face had passed, I felt only the barest sense of terror and revulsion and this troubled me. I had seen so much death that Isabel’s corpse contained no new horrors. Yes, a whore died here today, my heart told me. What of it? Is this what had happened to Joseph? Did death no longer matter to him?

  “We should look in her hands,” I said. Martha knelt to open one of Isabel’s hands, and I the other. They were both empty.