The Midwife's Tale(100)

I risked a glance at Will as he pulled himself to his feet. Blood ran down his forehead, but his eyes were clear. I said a prayer of thanks that the blow had not done serious damage. “My God, where did you come from?” I cried.

“I came to your house and Hannah told me where you had gone. I thought you might need some help, but I didn’t expect this.”

At that moment, Henry Thompson strode in and surveyed the scene. I can only imagine what he thought. By now, the once orderly workshop had been thoroughly destroyed. Richard lay dead in a pool of blood, and I stood next to him, holding a sword to Ellen’s throat. Blood continued to run down Will’s face, and Martha stood in the doorway, her arm hanging uselessly by her side.

“Hello, Lady Bridget,” Henry said dryly. “Might I ask why you sent for me? Everything seems to be under control.”

* * *

That night I dreamed of Richard Baker. In the dream we were back in the apothecary’s workshop. He entered the room, just as he had that afternoon, and attacked me. When he reached me, I stabbed him in the heart with a knife that had appeared in my hand. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain and rage. After I stabbed him, he lay on the floor for a moment before standing up. When he did, the knife reappeared in my hand, and he attacked again. And again. Sometimes he carried his club, sometimes a bottle of ratsbane, sometimes an iron bar. Sometimes he screamed with Ellen’s voice.

I must have killed him a thousand times that night before I finally pulled myself awake at dawn. I climbed from bed and sought refuge in the Gospels. When I heard Martha rise, I followed her downstairs and found her in the kitchen doing what work she could with her arm wrapped in bandages. It had taken the bonesetter three tries to get her arm in place, and she had nearly bitten through a leather belt while he worked, but she’d survived and he predicted a swift recovery.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, gesturing at her arm.

“It ached something fierce,” she said. “But from the circles under your eyes, I would guess that I slept better than you.”

“The dreams were as you said. I kept stabbing Richard, but he refused to stay dead.”

“In mine the soldier is chasing me through a maze of alleys and streets. No matter how fast I run, I can never escape him. Sometimes it’s Tom, but usually the soldier.” She paused for a moment. “What is going to happen to Ellen?”

“Nothing good,” I replied. “I imagine she’ll be tried shortly. If she’s with child, she won’t be executed yet, but there’s no escaping what she did.” We lapsed into a melancholy silence.

“You were right about Mrs. Cooper,” she said. “You saved her life.”

I smiled at her efforts to lift my mood. “Yes,” I said. “I suppose we did.” I knew what she said was true, but I felt neither triumph nor vindication. I was relieved that Esther had escaped execution, but I got no satisfaction from Richard’s death or the prospect of Ellen’s burning. I knew that blood cried out for blood, that treason could not go unpunished, but I also knew that Stephen Cooper’s and Thomas Penrose’s tyrannies had driven their servants into rebellion. The Lord Mayor would try to rebuild the natural order on top of the ashes of those who challenged it, but I could no longer see that as an end in itself. It seemed to me that God demanded justice, not merely order. And if Richard and Ellen were to be burned for their crimes, why could Rebecca Hooke escape unpunished for hers? The order of things had never seemed so unnatural.

A few hours later, my brother-in-law, Edward, appeared at the door. I met him in the parlor and asked Martha to join us.

“How is your arm?” Edward asked, glancing at Martha.

“Very well, sir, thank you.”

“Martha,” I said, “I don’t think my brother has ever acknowledged one of my servants before. He knows perfectly well that you saved my life. Take his question as the compliment it is.” Edward ignored me, of course, but Martha blushed and curtsied.

Edward got right to business. “The Lord Mayor has convened another special court to deal with the murders of Stephen Cooper and Thomas Penrose. He reversed the conviction of Esther Cooper and oversaw the trial of the maidservant.”

“I imagine that went as smoothly as Esther’s trial,” I remarked dryly.

“She confessed to both murders. The constable found the money she extorted from Stephen in her clothes chest. The Lord Mayor sentenced her to be burned to death for the murder of her master.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say next. “The Lord Mayor also ordered that Richard Baker be hanged and his body burned as a warning to all who would rise up against their masters. A gibbet has been built in front of the Black Swan.” He looked up at my clock. “The ceremony will begin shortly.”