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

by Sam Thomas

  “It is a fine theory,” Martha said, nodding. “But Joseph still could be the one directing Praise-God. He would have a different motive for the same crimes.”

  I considered this for a moment, and realized that she could be right, for it would explain why Joseph was so eager to see Praise-God hanged. Hezekiah or Joseph could be behind the murders.

  “Only Praise-God knows for sure,” I said. “And he is to hang the day after tomorrow.”

  “Then we’d better find the truth soon,” Martha said.

  “Edward is our best hope for stopping the execution,” I said. “We must speak to him as soon as possible.”

  “Why would he help us?” Martha asked. “If you are right that Hezekiah Ward is behind the killing, a godly minister will be hanged, and your brother’s entire party will be humiliated. If I am right, Joseph will be hanged.”

  “He is still interested in justice,” I said. “And we’ll not mention our suspicions about Joseph.”

  * * *

  We arrived at Edward’s house in good time, and Mark Preston met us at the door.

  “What business do you have with Mr. Hodgson?” he asked.

  I looked closely at his face, wondering once again if he might be somehow connected to the murders. Would it be too much to think that he’d connived with Joseph and Praise-God?

  “It is none of your concern,” I replied. “But I am sure he will see us.”

  Mark gave me a mirthless smile and bowed. “I am sure he will,” he said, and led us to Edward’s study.

  We found Edward behind his desk studying a large sheet of figures, and when we entered, he came around to embrace me. Martha, Edward, and I settled in large, opulently covered chairs, while Mark hovered behind his master.

  “Joseph told me about your role in finding the man who’s been murdering York’s whores. The city is very grateful.”

  I glanced at Martha, unsure of how to broach the matter that had brought us to his house. I was especially wary of doing so in Mark’s presence, but I saw no option other than forging ahead.

  “Actually, that is why we are here,” I said. “I would like you to postpone Praise-God’s execution.”

  “Whatever for?” he asked. “You found the evidence yourself, and even heard him confess. Why should we wait?”

  “We don’t think he was the only one who killed the women,” I said.

  “Of course he was,” Edward said. “You found the crowbar in his room. You found the blood on his shirt. He confessed in your presence.”

  “He was there and he deserves to hang,” I said. “Of that there is no doubt. But someone else was with him when he killed those people.” I looked up at Mark, but his face remained impassive.

  “Why do you think this?” Edward asked.

  “A woman saw two people fleeing Isabel Dalton’s home,” I said. “She recognized Praise-God, but not the other.” The lie escaped my lips even before I knew it had formed on my tongue. Mrs. Cowper had seen only one man and hadn’t been able to say who he was. I had not come to Edward’s intending to deceive him, but now it was too late.

  “What is more, you have met Praise-God,” Martha volunteered. “Do you believe that he has the stomach for such violence?”

  Edward considered the question.

  “From what we’ve seen of him,” I added, “he’s more likely to have observed the crimes than committed them himself.”

  At last Edward nodded. “You may be right,” he said. “But Joseph interrogated Praise-God, so we should speak with him as well.”

  I felt my heart sink. Joseph would never countenance the postponement of Praise-God’s execution, not if he were guilty as well.

  Preston disappeared and a few moments later returned with Joseph. A look of surprise—or was it fear?—flitted across Joseph’s face when he saw me and Martha, but he quickly regained himself.

  “Your aunt wants to delay the execution of Praise-God Ward,” Edward said. “She says that someone helped him kill the women.”

  “Really?” he asked. His surprise seemed genuine. “I questioned him myself, and he says he was alone when he killed them. He was very clear on that point.”

  “But a witness saw two people at the site of the last murder,” Edward said. “Isn’t that right, Lady Bridget? Who is the witness? Perhaps we should speak to him.”

  I hesitated. If Joseph and Edward questioned Mrs. Cowper about what she’d seen, the truth would come out.

  “I was not clear,” I said. “Mrs. Cowper did not see two people. She saw Praise-God calling after another as he hurried from the tenement. But she was sure there were two people.”

  Joseph’s eyes shone as he pounced. “I know Mrs. Cowper. She is quite aged. I am surprised she could recognize Praise-God at night.”

  I felt myself losing control of the situation as Joseph picked at the small lies I’d told. Someday he would make a fine Justice of the Peace.

  “She saw a man fleeing the tenement,” I said. “As he fled, he called on someone else to wait. There had to be two people.”

  “So she didn’t even recognize Praise-God?” Joseph asked. “I am not saying he is innocent—he is not—but it does not sound like Mrs. Cowper saw anything at all.”

  “She says there were two people,” I insisted. “One must have been Praise-God, and we should discover who the other was.”

  “Or,” Joseph said, “she saw one person who was mad. Given all that he’s done, Praise-God could have been calling to Satan, the Holy Spirit, or nobody at all. While I will grant that Mrs. Cowper saw Praise-God, that is all we can be sure of.”

  “Why don’t you ask him again?” Edward asked.

  “Father, we should not trouble an already troubled mind,” Joseph said. “If we open this door, who knows what will step through? He might say anything to delay his hanging. He could accuse anyone of helping him in his crimes.” Joseph seemed so sure, so believable, that I knew what Edward would decide before he spoke the words.

  “I appreciate your concern, Lady Bridget,” Edward said. “And I am not unmindful that the last time we had a conversation such as this, you were right and I was wrong. But the lad admits that he killed the whores and insists that he was alone. Delaying his hanging would simply give him hope where there is none, and offer him the opportunity for more mischief. Praise-God will hang on Thursday, when the executioner arrives from Hull.”

  When Martha and I left Edward’s study, we found Will waiting for us.

  “I heard you’d come to see my father,” he said. “What about?”

  “Not here,” I said softly. “Come with us.”

  Once we were safely outside, I told him what we’d learned about Hezekiah Ward from Mrs. Cowper and the whore.

  “Hezekiah Ward resorts to whores?” he said. “That is certainly a surprise. And you thought my father should know?”

  “Well, no, not exactly,” I said. I explained my theory that Hezekiah rather than Joseph had been Praise-God’s comrade.

  “But here Lady Hodgson and I part ways,” Martha interjected. “I admit that Hezekiah Ward is a fool and a fornicator, but I still suspect your brother. He is far too intent on hanging Praise-God. He is hiding something.” She looked up at Will as if to gage his reaction.

  Will nodded. “I know it might be him. I pray it is not, but…” His voice trailed off.

  “Whatever the case, only Praise-God knows the truth,” I said. “We’d hoped your father would delay his hanging so he could be questioned further.”

  “And Joseph convinced him otherwise?” Will asked. I nodded.

  The three of us trudged back across the river, our spirits low and sinking.

  “If Joseph is behind the murders, he’s well on his way to covering his tracks,” Will observed. “That was neatly done indeed.” I could not recall ever hearing him sound so morose.

  “We still don’t know if he’s guilty,” I insisted. “Hezekiah could be the one.”

  “Why don’t we talk to James Hooke again?” Will said.
“If anyone has seen the Wards’ comings and goings, it’s him. Perhaps he will remember whom Praise-God went with the night Isabel died, whether Joseph or Hezekiah. Whoever it was is likely the killer.”

  Martha and I looked at each other. She nodded.

  “It couldn’t hurt to talk to him,” I said. “Find him and bring him to me.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, Will arrived at my door with James Hooke in tow. He sent James into the parlor and pulled me and Martha aside. To my surprise, Will had the smell of liquor on him. I opened my mouth to reprimand him, but Martha spoke first.

  “I told you what would happen if you went back to drinking, didn’t I?” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Did you think I spoke in jest?” Her anger was clear to see, and I was surprised by her intensity.

  “I know, I know,” Will said, putting up his hands in a futile attempt to ward her off her fury. “But I found him in an alehouse, well on his way to drunk. What was I to do—sit there and ask for barley water?”

  Even in her state, Martha recognized the logic behind Will’s argument.

  “James is back to his old habits?” I asked. While James had haunted York’s alehouses in his youth, he’d stopped the previous winter after he joined in with the godly.

  “Silence Ward refuses to speak to him,” Will said. “She’s mourning what happened to Praise-God, and won’t see anyone except her mother. He’s trying to drink away her memory.”

  “Well, you can hardly blame her for wanting to be alone,” Martha said. “Her brother’s going to hang for murder. He should let her grieve.”

  “James thinks he could comfort her,” Will said. “He may be a fool, but he’s a loyal one.”

  “How did you convince him to come here?” I asked.

  “Ah, that,” Will said. “I told him that we think Praise-God is innocent.”

  “You did what?” Martha and I said together.

  “It seemed the best way to get him off the alehouse bench. I convinced him that if we can prove Praise-God is innocent, Silence will speak to him again. And if he is the instrument of Praise-God’s release, she’ll be grateful to him.”

  “But we know he’s guilty!” Martha cried. “For God’s sake, we proved he’s guilty.”

  “Yes, but he doesn’t know that. Just talk to him. Pretend you’re trying to prove that Praise-God couldn’t have committed the murders.”

  I considered this for a moment and saw how his plan could work.

  “We say we want to prove that Praise-God was with his father when the murders took place,” I said.

  “Or with Joseph,” Martha suggested. “And that he couldn’t have done it.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “If we find out who he was with when the murders took place, we’ll know who our second murderer is.”

  Martha and I joined James in the parlor. In the time we’d been talking to Will, James had given in to the alcohol and drowsed. Martha shook his knee, and he woke with a start.

  “Hullo, I’m awake,” he said, pulling himself upright. The smell of liquor was overpowering, and he appeared to have poured quite a bit down the front of his shirt.

  “How are you, James?” I asked.

  “I talked to Will,” James replied. “He said that you could prove that Silence’s brother didn’t kill those whores. Is that true?”

  “We don’t think he killed the whores,” Martha said. “It is just a matter of proving he was somewhere else when they died.” She was far more adept than I at the art of deception, so I let her continue. “We want to find out who he was with, and we think you might be able to help us.”

  “What do you mean? How can I help?”

  “Were you with Praise-God on Sunday night? It was the night of the last murder.”

  James nodded enthusiastically. “Mr. Ward had many people to the inn for bread, beer, and broth.”

  “Did Praise-God leave before you did?” Martha asked. At this, the lad’s face fell.

  “Everyone was there when I left.” He shook his head in despair.

  “What about before Sunday?” Martha asked. “Did Praise-God ever go off with someone at night? With Joseph Hodgson, perhaps?”

  “No, only his parents,” James said. “Sometimes Mr. Ward took him. Sometimes Mrs. Ward did.” At the mention of Hezekiah Ward, I smiled slightly at Martha. My suspicions seemed on the verge of being proven correct.

  “Where did Mr. Ward take him?” I asked. “Did he ever talk about it?”

  “The two of them went to preach together,” James said. “Mr. Ward said the city was filled with lost sheep. He would be their shepherd no matter the time of day.”

  “Do you know where they went?” Martha asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” James said, and tears began to course down his cheeks. “It won’t save Praise-God. He is a good man. He and his father tried to save the whores, the two of them. And for their trouble Praise-God will hang. He will hang, then Silence will flee the city with her mother and John Stubb, and I’ll never see her again.”

  “You knew that Hezekiah and Praise-God went to the whores together, just the two of them?” I asked. I had assumed that they would keep these visits a secret.

  James nodded. “The two of them preached against the whores, and afterward they went to offer solace. They told the whores that if they repented, they could be saved.”

  “Do you remember the last time the two of them went to a whore?” I asked.

  “Aye,” James said. “Do you know the whore who died Sunday night?” He meant Isabel. “Mr. Ward and Praise-God preached to her the day before she was killed.”

  “They preached to Isabel on Saturday?” Martha asked. “Not on Sunday? Are you sure?”

  James nodded enthusiastically. “I remember because I’d gone to court Silence. I was there when Mrs. Ward found out that Mr. Ward had gone to the whores.”

  “James, you must be clear,” I said. “Mrs. Ward knew that her husband had gone to the whores?” If this were true, it would change everything.

  “Well, not like that,” James said. “I told you: Mr. Ward only wanted to save them. It nearly drove Mrs. Ward mad, though. Her fury reminded me of my mother’s.”

  Martha and I looked at each other, and I could see that neither of us believed Deborah Ward could be fooled by so transparent a lie. The pieces of the puzzle had just shifted.

  James saw the look and once again leaped to Hezekiah Ward’s defense. “It is not how it sounds,” James insisted. “He didn’t go to use them as most men would. He and Praise-God were preaching to them.”

  “Yes, of course they were,” I said. “And when Mrs. Ward found out that Mr. Ward was preaching to the whores, what did she say? What were her words?”

  “She said she’d not live with a man who did such things, which seems uncharitable to me. She said she wondered that he never learned the price of his sins.” James shook his head in wonder. “Her anger was something to behold.” He paused and furrowed his brow in thought. “But how does this help free Praise-God? Mr. Ward and Praise-God went to Isabel on Saturday and the murder wasn’t until Sunday.”

  I took his arm and led him to the door. “We have more to learn, James, but you have helped us enormously,” I said. “We will tell you when Praise-God goes free.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but I closed the door before he could and returned to the parlor.

  “It wasn’t Hezekiah Ward or Joseph who was with Praise-God,” I said. “It was Deborah Ward. She is the one who killed the whores.”

  Chapter 20

  “Mrs. Ward?” Martha cried. “A moment ago we were sure it was Hezekiah.”

  “And before that you thought it was John Stubb,” Will added.

  “We should have seen it, shouldn’t we?” I continued. “We know how she hates whores, and if she discoverd that her husband frequents them it is no wonder. How could that not drive her to madness?”

  “How is she getting around York at night, then?” Martha asked. “The guards will
let a minister or an Alderman pass, but they would certainly stop an old woman and her son.”

  “I don’t know,” I said after a pause. “Perhaps she said she was visiting a dying friend, or going to comfort a soul-sick member of her husband’s congregation. You’ve seen her. If she set her mind and her tongue to it, the sheep on the night watch would run to get out of her way.”

  “Even if you’re right,” Will said. “How can we prove it? If Praise-God wouldn’t confess to Joseph before, why would he confess to us now?”

  “We have to try,” I said. “Or else he’ll hang and his accomplice will escape.”

  They couldn’t argue with that.

  “We’ll go to the Castle and talk to Samuel,” I said. “Perhaps he can help us.”

  * * *

  The moment we stepped into the street, late afternoon sun assaulted us, as if it were bent on doing us harm. The oppressive heat did much to thin the crowds on the streets as the city’s residents sought refuge indoors until evening offered some scant relief. As we crossed the bridge into the Castle, we saw a soldier standing over a draught horse that had died while still in the harness. The Castle yard seemed a little desert sent straight from Araby and even the slightest wind drew up sand and dust. We found the door to Samuel’s tower wide open and walked in. Tree sat at a small table watching closely as Samuel showed him a new trick at cards.

  “What, he’s not yet taken enough of my money?” Will cried when he recognized the nature of the lesson.

  “Hullo, Will,” Tree replied. “Samuel is showing me how to deal myself the ace when I need it most.”

  “A useful skill, I’m sure,” I replied, staring at Samuel. “But is it one for a boy to learn?”

  “Oh yes,” Tree replied with boundless enthusiasm. “It’s the best card in the deck, and if your opponent has it, you could lose all your pennies. So it is better to be sure that it is in your hand. When I have learned how to deal it, I’ll show you.”

  I could not help smiling at the boy’s guilelessness.