“Lord, no,” I said. “It takes longer than that to learn the business. I had helped deliver a few women before I came to York, and Phineas’s mother took me on as her deputy when I arrived. When she died, many of her patients came to me.” I paused for a moment, considering her question. “But it is true that I have taken on more clients since Birdy died. The house is so quiet. I’d rather be among my gossips.”
We turned onto the narrow street where Daniel Goodwin had his shop. He greeted us when we entered, surprised that I would come to see him in person. I saw that his apron was torn in places and his trousers were fraying. He was perhaps fifty years old, so the lines on his face were not out of place, but his eyes had a haunted expression more common in beggars than shopkeepers. Clearly the siege had not been good for business. He was located near the Monk Bar and for years had profited from the traffic passing through that gate, but with the siege, that traffic had stopped. At the moment, he was working to repair a laborer’s boot, but the bare shelves behind him announced that he would soon be done for the day. It would be a lean month unless the siege ended soon.
“My lady,” he said. “It is an honor. Do you require my services?”
“Mr. Goodwin,” I replied. “It is good to see you. No business at the moment. I need to speak to your wife.” He could not hide his disappointment. I knew he would not accept charity, so I resolved to send Hannah back that afternoon with some of our older shoes and an order for a new pair.
“Of course,” he said. “Margaret,” he called out. “Lady Hodgson is here, and would like to speak to you.” I heard an exclamation and then the clatter of footsteps as she hurried down the stairs and into the shop.
“Lady Hodgson, how are you?” she asked. She was a bit younger than her husband, but her life had been no easier. Her clothes were fading from repeated washing and her plain coif had been mended in many places, but her eyes showed none of the desperation I saw in Daniel’s. While I had come to York after Margaret’s childbearing years had ended, I knew her as a gossip from the delivery and churching of other city women.
“I am well, thank you,” I said, and got right to the reason for my visit. “I wish this were a social call, but I am here about your daughter.” She cast her eyes downward briefly.
“Aye,” she said. “When I saw you, I thought that might be the case. Well, come up, then. We should not discuss such matters in the shop.”
Martha and I followed her through the kitchen that lay behind the workshop and up the stairs to the small rooms where she and Daniel lived. Their furnishings showed the Goodwins to be poor but dedicated to a respectable lifestyle. Three stools and a single chair sat around the trestle table in the front parlor. They were simple but solidly made, and I did not see a speck of dust in the room.
“I’d send out for something to drink,” she said, “but we’ve no help in the shop anymore. We had to let go our journeyman because of the siege. There is just no work.”
“That’s quite all right,” I said. “We won’t be long. Tell me about your daughter.” At this, her face fell. I think she had hoped we would spend a few minutes talking about the news of the town. Anything, even the murder of Stephen Cooper, would be better than to dwell on her daughter’s misfortune. “They say that she is with child,” I continued. “If that’s true, I can help her, but only if she cooperates with me. We can obtain an order from the court—the father will have to support the child.”
She looked up at me and nodded. “She is with child. Or she was. When I last saw her, she said her time was near, but that was several weeks ago. I pray for her nightly, but…” She wiped a tear from her cheek as her voice trailed off.
“Did she tell you who the father is?” I asked.
“She said she couldn’t. She said that making a public declaration would bring too much trouble from Mrs. Hooke.”
“Do you mean that Mrs. Hooke knows of your daughter’s condition?” I asked. Margaret nodded and started to weep. I was surprised Rebecca Hooke knew of the pregnancy, and I did not know what to make of it. Usually, when a maidservant became pregnant, her master or mistress dismissed her, for no respectable householder wanted to be accused of harboring a wanton woman. I put my hand on Margaret’s shoulder to comfort her. “All is not lost,” I said. “I will see what I can do for her. Perhaps after she has the child, she can return here and help in the shop. Surely the siege will be lifted by then.” I looked around their rooms again. There was barely enough for Margaret and her husband; two more mouths to feed could push them onto the poor rolls. I slipped a few coins into Margaret’s hand and then made my way down the stairs, with Martha close behind. We bade Daniel farewell and started back to my house.