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

by Sam Thomas

  “I need two guards,” I said. “I’ll pay them twopence apiece, and they won’t have to do much.”

  “I’ve got no prisoners to mind,” Samuel replied with a laugh. “And twopence happens to be what I charge for not doing very much.”

  “Of course,” I said. “And usually I would come to you first. But on this occasion I need guards who can frighten a man, and—”

  “And you don’t think a dwarf is up to the job?” he asked with mock outrage. “You were there when I overcame Praise-God with just one blow, weren’t you? He’s a murderer, many times over, and I bested him!”

  “Except that my hope is to frighten someone,” I explained. “And while you are many things, intimidating is not one of them.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll find you your boys. They’ll be big enough for you. Where do you need them?”

  I told him I’d meet them at the bridge into the Castle, and as Will and Martha followed me there, I explained my plan to them. We had to wait only a few minutes before two of the Castle guards approached. Even from a distance, I knew they would serve my needs. They both stood at least a half head taller than Will, and must have outweighed him by three stone each.

  “Lady Hodgson?” one of the men asked. “I am Corporal Matthews. Samuel said you needed help.”

  “Just for a bit,” I said. “We’re not going far.” I explained my plan as quickly as I could, and the five of us trooped across the Castle bridge.

  The Dodsworths’ home lay near Fossgate Bridge in the eastern reaches of the city. Three-story buildings crowded the narrow cobbled street; after the heat of the Castle yard, the shadows of Fossgate felt especially welcome. The Dodsworths lived on one of the main roads into York, so whatever happened next soon would be known throughout the city. When we arrived, I nodded at the corporal, who stepped forward and pounded on the door.

  “Open up,” he bellowed.

  We heard the scurrying of footsteps inside, and a moment later the door opened, revealing the Dodsworths’ maidservant. She was perhaps twenty years old, with thin blond hair hanging down around her carrion-lean face.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Mr. Dodsworth is occupied with important matters and does not wish to be disturbed.”

  I stepped forward and looked the girl in the eye. She held my gaze for a moment, and then bowed her head.

  “Is that how you address a gentlewoman?” I demanded. “I know that your mistress taught you better manners than that.”

  “Yes, my lady,” she said with a deep curtsy. “I am sorry.”

  “Much better,” I said. “Mr. Dodsworth’s wishes are not of our concern. Tell him if he does not come down immediately, these men will fetch him out.”

  The girl’s eyes widened at my threat, no doubt imagining her master’s wrath if his household were invaded by strangers. She started to close the door, but I pushed back against her.

  “Leave the door and summon your master,” I said. She nodded and dashed up the stairs.

  Jonathan Dodsworth appeared at the top of the stairs, simultaneously trying to tuck in his shirt and lace his breeches, and doing a bad job of both. He clattered down the stairs, and when he arrived at the door, he drew himself up as if he were cock of all men. I judged that in a proper state he would be quite handsome, but he’d not shaved or even washed in some time, and even from the doorstep I could smell the liquor on his breath.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Why are you troubling me when I have so recently buried my wife?”

  I did not reply, but waited as his eyes took in the scene before him and his fuddled mind tried to figure out why we had come.

  “Lady Hodgson?” he asked, momentarily puzzled. Then he looked at the guards standing behind me, and he realized what had happened. In that instant, his face fell and the air of bellicosity he’d brought with him vanished.

  “You knew we would be here eventually,” I said.

  “I thought it would be sooner,” he replied. His body seemed to shrink with every word. “Every time someone knocked at the door to offer condolence, I thought it would be the beadles come to take me away. Why did you wait so long?”

  “Open your shirt,” I said. He untied his shirt and bared his trunk. Angry red wounds crossed his chest and neck.

  “Do you see what she did to me?” he asked softly. “She called me a beast, but it was she who savaged me. First by her whoredom and then with her claws, she savaged me through and through.” By the time he finished speaking, his voice had fallen to a whisper.

  “So you killed her,” I replied.

  “It’s not why I went there,” he said, sounding more like a boy than a man. “I knew she had a secret, so I followed her. When I saw where she’d gone, when I looked through the window and saw what they were doing…” His face twitched as he fought to keep control of himself, but after a few seconds he lost the battle. He clapped his hands over his face, but they could not muffle the sobs that sounded as if they had been torn from his chest.

  I marveled that the same man who had murdered his own wife now could grieve for her. I stepped aside, and the guards moved forward, taking Dodsworth by his arms. He offered no resistance as they led him back to the Castle.

  By now it seemed all the neighborhood had come out to see Dodsworth’s fate. I recognized one of the women and called her over. “Their maidservant is still inside,” I said. “Tell her what has happened. If you can, find her a kind mistress.” The woman nodded, and Martha, Will, and I set out for the Castle and what I hoped would be the final act of the bloody play in which we’d found ourselves.

  * * *

  As we passed through the Castle gate, I could see the guards leading Jonathan Dodsworth into the same tower where Praise-God was being kept. I sought out the Castle’s commanding officer, and told him what had happened. I waited while his clerk wrote up a letter to the Lord Mayor explaining the case and the need for a trial. Though there would not be the same rush to execute Dodsworth as there had been to hang Praise-God, I doubted he would see another Sabbath. Good riddance. Now I could turn my attention to the Wards.

  “I asked your father to be here at four,” I said to Will. I glanced at the sun, to gage the time. Was it was my imagination, or did it burn less fiercely? “He should be here soon.” We walked to Samuel’s tower where we found him and Tree sitting down to a dinner of bread, fish, and cheese, along with ale for Samuel and a small beer for Tree.

  “Ah, good!” Tree cried. “I hoped you’d be back, so I got some extra.” He dashed to the cupboard and produced a loaf of bread and a large piece of cheese. We found places to sit as best we could—Martha and Will sat together on the stairs leading to the upper cells—and had a more enjoyable meal than we’d had all summer. Whether it was the arrests of Praise-God and Jonathan Dodsworth or the hope that we’d soon have Deborah Ward in prison, the tide seemed to have turned in our favor; soon all the guilty would be punished and life could return to normal.

  When we’d eaten I went into the yard to wait for Edward, who arrived at four o’clock, just as I’d asked him to. My mood soured somewhat when I saw he was accompanied by both his son Joseph and Mark Preston. The next hour would be a difficult one, and their presence would not make it any easier.

  “Why so secretive, Lady Bridget?” Edward asked as we approached each other. “If you want me to interrogate Praise-God Ward again, you’ve wasted both my time and yours.”

  “It’s not an interrogation,” I said. “More like a complete confession. But he is in a very delicate state, and if he is overtaxed, he could return to his prayers and then we would hear nothing more from him. I should like the two of us to see him alone.”

  “Father, I really should be there,” Joseph objected. “I sent him here, and helped to try him. If there is more to his story, I want to hear it.” To my dismay, Edward nodded.

  “Joseph will accompany us,” Edward declared. “But Lady Bridget will do the talking. You will remain silent.”

&n
bsp; Joseph looked none too pleased, but he nodded in assent. The guard gave Edward a lantern and led the three of us down the stairs.

  “I’ll go in first,” I murmured. “We do not want to startle him.” Joseph and Edward nodded, and I entered Praise-God’s cell, closing the door behind me. He was kneeling at the side of his bed, precisely where he had been when we left. Only his whispered prayers distinguished him from a statue.

  “Praise-God, I have come back,” I said.

  “I heard you come in,” he replied. He stood and faced me. “You have brought men for me to tell?”

  “Aye,” I said. “They need the truth to put the matter to rest.”

  The lad nodded. “They can come in.” I opened the door for Joseph and Edward, and they slipped in as if they were housebreakers rather than city officials.

  “Tell me again about the murders,” I said to Praise-God. “Start with the first.”

  In a calm, quiet voice, Praise-God and I talked through each of the murders. While he described his mother’s actions in terrible detail, he kept his promise not to mention his father. I did not demand it for fear of losing his trust. When he finished, I turned to Edward.

  “Have you heard enough?” I asked.

  He nodded. “He will have to say as much to the jury, but I will order the arrest of Mrs. Ward.”

  As soon as the words passed Edward’s lips, my stomach lurched, for I knew what chaos would ensue. Praise-God gasped and I turned to face him. His eyes had become impossibly wide, and he’d drawn his lips back, baring his teeth. He looked as if he meant to rip out my throat.

  “Arrest my mother?” he hissed. “She is alive? You lying whore! You told me she had been killed!”

  Even before he lunged, I ducked my head and darted for the cell door. If the situation had not been so dire, the astonished looks on Joseph’s and Edward’s faces would have moved me to laughter. But at that moment I wanted nothing more than to escape from Praise-God before he got his chains around my neck. As I pulled open the cell door, Joseph cried out in alarm. I heard the sound of a fist striking flesh, and a body crashed to the floor.

  Joseph and Edward followed me out the door, and secured it behind them. Inside, Praise-God began to howl anew, and I knew that if he saw me again, he’d try to kill me. Praise-God’s curses—the foulest imaginable—chased us up the stairs. I found Martha and Will at the top. They stared at me in confusion, wondering what had gone wrong.

  “What in God’s name happened down there?” Joseph shouted at me. “You told him his mother was dead?”

  “I told him that a whore killed her,” I replied.

  Joseph’s eyes bulged and he opened his mouth to protest.

  “Hear me out,” I said. “You saw what he was like before. He was so lost in prayer that he wouldn’t speak to anyone. I convinced him to tell the truth. Will and Martha can attest that it was the only way to find out what happened.”

  Both nodded in agreement, but Joseph would not be mollified.

  “And how did you think he would react when he learned that it was all a ruse? Did you consider that?”

  Joseph had taken the same tone with me that he would with an incompetent servant. Whatever the merits of his complaint, and I had made a mistake, I felt my anger rising. I would not be harangued by my own nephew.

  “You are in no position to give lectures,” I replied. “Were it not for me, you would have hanged him in on the morrow, and the truth would have died alongside him. Now we know that his mother is no less guilty than he is, a fact you had no interest in discovering.”

  “I did nothing untoward,” Joseph replied, barely containing his fury. “And I’ll not stand for such sauciness, even from you.”

  “Aye, you will, boy,” I said. “So long as I live, I’ll speak my mind as I see fit.”

  Joseph stepped toward me—I cannot imagine what he intended—and Will moved to meet him. Edward intervened before the brothers came to blows.

  “All of you, stop,” he commanded. “What’s done is done. Joseph should have been more diligent in seeking the truth, and Lady Bridget should have found another route to it. But now we have it, and that is what matters.”

  Joseph started at me with ill-disguised anger, and I am sure that my face reflected the contempt I felt at that moment.

  “Joseph,” Edward continued, “take some men and arrest Mrs. Ward. I will assemble a jury and arrange for a trial in the morning.”

  “Yes, Father,” Joseph growled. He cast one more poisonous look in my direction before disappearing into the Castle yard.

  “Lady Bridget,” Edward said, “you must forgive Joseph. He made a terrible mistake, and his reputation will suffer. He will be removed as constable at the very least.” He paused, shaking his head in disbelief. “I cannot imagine the scandal that will come from this business—the son and wife of a godly minister both hanged for murder? The reputations of godly men throughout England will suffer terribly. This is a dark day indeed. But do not worry, Lady Bridget. I do not hold you responsible for what has happened.”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, but before I could, Edward followed Joseph into the Castle yard.

  “Well, that must be a relief,” Will teased. “To think that he might have blamed you for what people will say about the Wards!”

  I shook my head in disbelief. I loved Edward deeply, but at times his blindness seemed willful.

  “The matter is finished,” I said. “And that’s what is important. As for consequences, I will take what comes. Will, would you join us for a glass of Canary sack at the Angel? I hear they have received new bottles.”

  Will smiled, and with Praise-God’s shouts fading behind us, we started back toward the city.

  Before we reached the end of Castlegate, however, it became clear that our journey would not be so smooth. A crowd blocked the street, and even from a distance, we could hear the now-familiar cries of Hezekiah Ward. He stood on the back of a cart, surrounded as usual by Silence, Deborah, and John Stubb. Deborah clearly had no idea that she would soon be taken for murder.

  “My God, he never stops, does he?” Martha sighed. “If he is preaching against whores, I’ll pull him down myself.”

  But when we came close enough to hear his words, it became clear that York’s whores were no longer on his mind.

  “Is not the example of my own iniquitous son enough to prove that wickedness lies in every man’s heart? Was not Adam, the father of all men, also the father of the murderer Cain? What man knows the sinful hearts of their children? Tomorrow my son will be hanged, and God’s justice will be done, for the land doth indeed cry out for blood. And we should take his death as a warning against following in his footsteps, for in our hearts we are all base murderers, just as he is, and we all deserve eternal damnation!”

  “I do wish Joseph would hurry,” Will said. “I would give my last penny to see Ward’s face when his wife is arrested.”

  “Oh, my people, my beloved flock,” Ward continued. “On this day, I have terrible, heart breaking news. Tomorrow I will preach on the occasion of my son’s hanging, and then I will bid you farewell.”

  Martha, Will, and I looked at each other. He would preach at his own son’s execution?

  “I have received a call to London, that den of depravity and sin, a place whose brothels are rivaled only by Rome’s, a place where evil carriage is complimented rather than condemned. The Lord demands that I seek out sin, and there is no place else where the need for godly preaching is so great. So farewell, my people, farewell!” When Ward stepped down from the cart, the crowd surged forward, crying No! No! You must stay!

  “God help us,” Martha said. “Now I surely need that drink.” The three of us edged around the crowd, and made our way to the Angel. The innkeeper offered us a table by the window, and brought us a bottle to share. We’d just poured our drinks when Will pointed out the window and smiled.

  “Here he comes,” he said.

  A moment later, Joseph marched by, followed clo
sely by a half-dozen beadles.

  “He’s not taking any chances, even when he arrests a woman,” Martha said.

  As Joseph and his troop disappeared in the direction of the Three Crowns, we drank to their success and to ours. After we’d finished, Will went south to his father’s house, while Martha and I returned to mine. That night I gave thanks to God for bringing two murderers to the scaffold and allowing me to take an instrumental role in it.

  * * *

  Early the next morning Will arrived, overflowing with fury and taking it out on my door. “What on earth is it?” Martha cried as she let him in.

  “Praise-God is dead,” Will announced. “And my father refuses to try Deborah Ward without him. She is to be released from gaol this morning.”

  Chapter 22

  “What has happened?” I cried, trying to make sense of this news. “He seemed well enough when we left him.”

  Will shook his head in despair. “A messenger came from the Castle. He meant to tell only my father, but word spread throughout the house soon enough. If you’d heard my father raging, you would have thought the world had come to an end.”

  “Will!” I demanded. “Tell me what happened!”

  “I don’t know. Nobody does. When the turnkey brought Praise-God his breakfast, the door was jammed shut from the inside, and even two stout guards could not open it.”

  “Then how do they know he hasn’t just barricaded the door?” Martha asked. “He might not want to be hanged.”

  “The gaoler went around the outside, so he could look in the window. I don’t know what he saw, but it was enough for him to send word that Praise-God was dead.”

  “Come,” I said. “We must hurry to the Castle. You can tell us the rest on the way.”

  That morning the sun blazed down upon the city with renewed fury, mocking us for thinking that God’s anger had been assuaged by the mere capture of a murderer.

  “Why is it that your father intends to free Deborah Ward?” I asked as we walked east on Castlegate. We shaded our eyes against the sun, but it did little good.