The Master of Medicine (The Secret Healer Series Book 2)

by Ellin Carsta

  “We want to help you,” the sheriff said. “Can we speak with you?”

  Magdalena Grossherr’s face went white as chalk. “My husband is not home. He would undoubtedly think this improper. Come back in a few days and talk to him.”

  “I know he’s away. This is our golden opportunity to speak with you without your husband. May we?” the sheriff asked, tilting his head and bowing slightly.

  She hesitated, looking from the sheriff to Madlen. “I’m not feeling well right now.”

  “I can help you with that,” Madlen offered. “I could prepare a medicinal brew for you, if you happen to have some herbs nearby. Would you allow me?” She smiled, and after a brief hesitation the noblewoman stepped aside to let them in.

  Magdalena led them to the dining room. She offered them a seat and something to drink.

  “No, thank you,” Madlen said cheerfully.

  “It’s about your husband,” the sheriff said. Madlen touched his forearm as a signal for him not to proceed too quickly.

  “But first, how are you?” Madlen asked.

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “You said before that you didn’t feel well. May I prepare a brew for you?”

  “No, it’s all right. Why do you want to talk to me? Did something happen to my husband?”

  “No, nothing happened to him,” the sheriff said.

  “Well, what do you want, then?”

  “There are people who are worried about you,” Madlen said.

  “About me?” Magdalena smiled joylessly. “I doubt it. Nobody worries about me.”

  “If that were true, we wouldn’t be here.”

  Magdalena looked to the sheriff for an explanation.

  “Have you been treated well?” Madlen asked.

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “Because we believe you haven’t.”

  Magdalena looked down at her hands in embarrassment.

  Madlen continued, “Lady Grossherr, your husband beats you. And often quite badly, right?”

  Magdalena kept her head down and didn’t answer.

  “Nobody should have to endure what you’ve been through. Let us help.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She didn’t dare look either of them in the eyes.

  “Are you cold, Lady Grossherr?” Madlen asked.

  The noblewoman nodded. “A little.”

  “Or is there another reason you’ve laced up your collar so high on your neck? It’s to hide your bruises, isn’t that true?”

  Magdalena looked at Madlen. “I have no bruises,” she said listlessly.

  “I think you do. But that is your affair and not ours. If you don’t want to show us, that’s your decision.”

  “I don’t understand what you want from me.” Magdalena’s voice quivered.

  “We want to prevent your husband from abusing you again,” the sheriff said.

  Magdalena turned her gaze to the sheriff. “Nobody can prevent Albert from doing what he wants, not even you.”

  “That’s not true,” Madlen said gently. “What he does is against the law.”

  “But he does it anyway. And nobody can stop him.”

  “I can. If you report him,” the sheriff said.

  Her eyes welled up with tears. “He’d kill me.”

  The sheriff shook his head. “Then he’d risk being sentenced to death.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “No man has ever been brought before the court for that.”

  “That’s not true,” Madlen argued. “My husband is a lawyer in service to the archbishop of Cologne. He took on such a case and won a conviction.” Although she wasn’t telling the whole truth, Madlen felt that telling this little white lie would be worth the reassurance it could offer Magdalena.

  “Really?”

  “It would go like this,” the sheriff explained. “I would find a pretext to call your husband to the courthouse. Once there, he would await six councilmen, and only when they arrived would he find out why he was really there—to be charged with the assault and torture of his wife.”

  Magdalena’s face turned red.

  “At that point, we would tell your husband that the charges would be dropped, provided nothing else happened to you and your health improved. To ensure this, every three days, a policeman would come to your home to check in. A woman, a female advocate, would accompany him to see whether you had bruises on your body and, if you allowed it, she would examine you for any other signs of violence.”

  Magdalena’s face turned an even brighter shade of crimson.

  “If the police officer or the advocate found any signs of abuse, your husband would be arrested on the spot and put on trial.”

  “He would never forgive me for such an indignity.”

  “His forgiveness for this indignity, as you call it, wouldn’t matter, because he would never be able to return home.”

  The woman’s expression changed instantly. “But if he was arrested, who would take care of me?”

  The sheriff fell silent.

  Madlen felt compelled to intervene, to prevent them from being asked to leave in short order. “Did you love your husband when you married him?”

  Magdalena looked at her. “I, I don’t know. He was good-looking, and he’s descended from good stock. My parents paid him a decent dowry. I’ve never lacked for anything.”

  “Except he beats you, killing a little piece of you every time he does,” the sheriff said bitterly.

  “That’s how it is.” She sounded resigned to her fate.

  “It doesn’t have to be this way,” Madlen said. “I know that is easy for me to say—my husband has never raised a hand to me. We have two children. Do you have any children?”

  Magdalena shook her head and looked at the floor. “God has chosen not to send us any. It’s my fault. My womb is not fertile.”

  “Have you ever been pregnant?”

  “Yes, many times. But the babies haven’t survived because my womb is bad.”

  “Is that what your husband told you?”

  She nodded.

  “If you were pregnant, then your womb is fertile,” Madlen declared. “But your husband beat you during your pregnancies, isn’t that right?”

  Magdalena nodded again.

  “And he raped you?”

  Another nod.

  “Don’t you see—that’s the reason you were unable to carry the babies to birth.”

  Magdalena looked up. “I would have been able to have children if he hadn’t beaten me?”

  “Yes. Your husband was the one who killed the babies in your womb.”

  Magdalena was obviously shaken. “I didn’t know that.” She placed the flat of her hand on her chest and choked back her tears. “It was especially bad every time I lost a baby. He told me that I was being punished, that the fetus couldn’t grow in my loathsome body.” She sobbed. “But it was his fault all along?”

  “Yes, it was,” Madlen said emphatically.

  Magdalena cried softly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Madlen and the sheriff remained silent, giving her time to grieve. Then she sat up straight, as though a jolt had gone through her body. “And yet, I can’t report him.”

  “I can understand that,” Madlen said. “Tell me, what do you do with your days?”

  The noblewoman looked at Madlen with a puzzled expression.

  “I mean, is there anything that you like to do?”

  “No, I, I don’t do anything.”

  “And before? Before you were married?”

  A smile lit up Magdalena’s face. “I sewed. I used to sew—all of my clothes and my mother’s and sister’s, too.”

  “Really? Me, too!”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. I used to sew primarily for myself and also for my brother and father. Later, when I left Heidelberg, I lived with my aunt in Worms, and together we sewed clothes for rich ladies.”

  “You’re from Heidelberg?”

  “I am. I lived
here until about eight years ago.” Madlen took a deep breath. “I was forced to flee because I was unjustly accused of killing a baby and its mother. Does the name Matthias Trauenstein mean anything to you?”

  After a moment, recognition dawned in Magdalena’s eyes. “I know you,” she said. “At least, I’ve heard of you.”

  “Probably everyone here has,” Madlen responded lightheartedly, though she felt anything but. “It was a difficult time, and I was hesitant to take up the fight against Matthias Trauenstein. The only difference between you and me is that you have the option of making a decision while I had no other choice.” Madlen pointed at the sheriff. “He was the one who arrested me at that time, because he is the arm of the law and the law had spoken. And I’m sitting in front of you today because Matthias Trauenstein was convicted. He lost his life, while I’m happily married, with two healthy, wonderful children. I’m here in Heidelberg as a guest at the university, invited to listen to medical lectures because a doctor recognized my passion for healing and wanted to help me develop it further.” She smiled at the noblewoman. “Imagine a life in which you would never have to fear being beaten or having to give yourself to your husband, unless you yourself so desired it. And you can sew. You can sew clothes and perhaps even sell them. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  “I can’t guarantee that last part,” the sheriff said, “but I can the former.”

  “Let us help you, Lady Grossherr. I’m begging you. No woman should have to suffer as you have.”

  “If I agreed to this, what would I have to do?”

  “When does your husband come back from his business trip?” the sheriff asked.

  “In a few days, I think.”

  “Good. Then come to my office first thing tomorrow morning. It’s important that you come to me of your own free will so that I can present your case to the councilmen. And it would be best if you could name a servant or a maid who could testify to having heard your screams or seen acts of violence committed against you. Then I’ll have a scribe come to take your report. After that, I’ll discuss it with six elected men of the council.”

  “Which ones? My husband has friends on the council.”

  “We’ll go through the names together ahead of time. Does that suit you?”

  “You would consult with me on such an important matter?” Magdalena asked incredulously.

  “Of course. You deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. And you’re an intelligent woman whose viewpoint I trust.” The sheriff smiled at her. “From this point on, you shouldn’t be content with anything less.”

  “Trust this man, Lady Grossherr,” Madlen urged her. “All those years ago, it was his job to convict me, and he would have done so had I been guilty. But he uncovered the facts and did everything he could to make sure the truth would see the light of day. I trusted him and you should, too.”

  Magdalena lifted her head. “Tomorrow before noon, I will come to the sheriff’s office.”

  “It will be my pleasure to welcome you.” The sheriff started to stand.

  “You’ve made the right decision,” Madlen said and stood up as well, whereupon Magdalena rose, too.

  “Even though I’m frightened, I’m also relieved.” Magdalena walked them to the door, and the sheriff hurried ahead to open it. The servant who had received them earlier was nowhere to be found.

  “Thank you for your visit,” Magdalena said.

  The sheriff stepped outside. “May God protect you.”

  Madlen stopped in front of Magdalena and opened her arms wide. “May I?”

  Magdalena seemed unsure but nevertheless let Madlen gently embrace her.

  “You are a beautiful, brave woman. Don’t let anyone ever tell you anything different.”

  “God protect you!” Magdalena said as they released their embrace. “God protect both of you!”

  Their meeting with Magdalena Grossherr had lasted longer than they’d planned. Madlen and the sheriff were both exhausted, but their tension had waned when Magdalena agreed to file a report. They decided not to pay a visit to Trude von Fahrenholz, because her husband had likely already returned home from his office, making a private meeting with her today impossible.

  Instead, the sheriff accompanied Madlen to the Golden Rooster. He had said good-bye and was starting to leave when a man approached him at the door.

  “What luck to find you here, Sheriff! Now I can save myself a trip to the station. My lord just sent me to fetch the police. There’s a quarrel inside—a guest is refusing to pay.”

  The sheriff was annoyed to be bothered with such a tiresome matter. He was particularly concerned about getting back as soon as possible to the doctor, who was awaiting him at his office. “I’ll follow you inside, Madlen,” he said, holding the door open for her.

  “Ah, Sheriff. You’re here! Thank goodness. That fellow over there in the back was serviced by one of my girls but now refuses to pay.”

  Madlen was hoping to squeeze past the crude fellow and go upstairs to her bedchamber, to avoid having anything to do with this situation. But then she heard a familiar voice.

  “I did pay. But how much this whore demanded is an effrontery.”

  Madlen winced. Then she looked toward the back, where she saw her father-in-law being held by a man and yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “Peter?”

  Peter knew he had been caught red-handed and paused, looking down at the ground. Then his attitude changed. Though still embarrassed, he glared at her. “There! She can pay for me,” he snapped at his accuser.

  “Madlen, do you know this man?” the sheriff asked.

  Madlen felt sick. “He . . . ,” she stammered, “he’s my husband’s father.”

  “Good. Then give me the money he owes.” The stranger stretched out his palm toward Madlen.

  “I don’t have any money here.” She glared at Peter, who’d assumed a bored expression. Madlen could hardly believe that this drunken old man was the same person who’d so recently become her confidant.

  “You’ll get your money, Dietz,” the sheriff intervened. “I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “All right, then.” The whorehouse proprietor looked at the sheriff. “But no later than tomorrow. After all, my ladies need to eat.”

  “You’re right,” the sheriff answered and watched the man as he headed for the door. “And you should go to your room and sleep it off,” he advised Peter.

  “I want another schnapps first,” Peter said, slurring so loudly that everyone who had been watching the brothel owner leave turned their heads in the older man’s direction.

  “Peter!” Madlen hissed. “What is happening to you?”

  “Oh, shut your trap, you dirty slut. Everyone shut the hell up!”

  “That’s enough!” The sheriff stepped forward, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him up. “You’re going upstairs to sleep it off right now. And don’t let me catch you going to a whorehouse ever again! I’m letting you go now only because I don’t want to tarnish your daughter-in-law’s reputation.”

  “Let me go, you miserable cur!”

  The sheriff tightened his grip and hissed into Peter’s ear, “Shut your mouth before I put my fist in it.” Then he dragged Peter up to the second floor.

  Madlen followed, deeply ashamed. She couldn’t imagine how Elsbeth was going react.

  “Which room is it?” the sheriff called to her over his shoulder.

  “The second one over there.” Madlen pointed to the door.

  The sheriff kept one hand on Peter’s arm and knocked on the door with the other. “Open up!”

  A moment later, the latch was pushed aside and Elsbeth opened the door. “What happened?” she cried.

  “I believe this man belongs to you,” the sheriff said, then he shoved Peter forward. The drunk old man stumbled into the room. Elsbeth’s chin trembled, and she gave her daughter-in-law a pleading look.

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I’ll bring the money tomorrow,” Madlen said.

/>   “All right,” the sheriff replied. With a gesture, he bade farewell to the women and then went downstairs.

  Startled by the noise, Agathe came over from her room next door, where she had been watching the children. Cecilia trotted past her excitedly.

  “Mother! Agatha sewed a bonnet for me from a lovely colorful fabric I found at the market. And Veit got a wooden soldier. Do you want to see?”

  “Of course.” Madlen glanced at Elsbeth, who was still standing at the door, her face ashen.

  Agathe guessed that something had happened by the expression on Madlen’s face. “Go be with your children. I’ll stay here with Elsbeth for a while.”

  Elsbeth shook her head. “No, thank you, Agathe. I need to take care of Peter.”

  “As you wish.” Agathe looked at Elsbeth sympathetically. “Tomorrow is a new day. Everything will be completely different by then.”

  Elsbeth pressed her lips together, trying her best to suppress her tears. She nodded, walked back inside the room she shared with Peter, and closed the door without saying another word.

  “Come on, Mother,” Cecilia ordered as she grabbed her mother’s hand. Madlen let her daughter pull her away. Agathe locked the door to their room after they were all inside.

  Madlen felt confused and desperate. She couldn’t believe what had happened downstairs. Why had Peter done that? But she didn’t want to say anything in front of the children. Instead, she went over to her son, who was sitting on the bed and playing with a little toy. “What do you have there?”

  “A wooden soldier. Agathe bought it for me.”

  “That must have been expensive. I will pay you back immediately, Agathe.”

  “Oh, no.” Agathe waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not even worth talking about. Veit liked it so much.”

  “You are very generous, Agathe. Thank you.”

  Agathe wanted to ask Madlen for an explanation of what had just occurred, but she decided against it for the same reason Madlen had—because of the children. Instead, she changed the subject, asking about the rest of Madlen’s day. “Were you successful?”

  Madlen nodded. “Yes. And I’m quite relieved.”

  “Good. You’re doing the right thing.”