The Midwife's Tale(32)

“Martha and I discussed it, yes. That’s part of the reason I came.”

“If the cat hadn’t drunk the milk, we would have buried him and nobody would have been the wiser.”

“And you would not be here,” I said.

She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t think that hasn’t crossed my mind—damned cat. With many hours and no books, the mind has time to wander.”

“If you did not kill your husband, who did?”

“I wish I could tell you. My husband had many dealings he kept from me. And with these came enemies.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know much. He spoke of his enemies, but never by name. Ever since the siege began strangers called on him without warning. They always met in his study, so I do not know what they discussed, but they had a hard look about them, and were not from the city. I fear they were with the rebels.”

I knew that Stephen had favored Parliament in the wars but had not realized he’d been actively helping their armies. “Do you think he was conspiring to help the rebels to take the city?”

Esther shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. But there is more. I know he was involved in a suit at law with a great deal of money at stake. That took up much of his time.”

“Was the suit with someone in the city?”

“I don’t know that either. Stephen loved me, but did not think it appropriate to include me in his business.”

I shook my head in wonder. My first husband was a gentleman rather than a merchant, but we talked of his affairs regularly. When he went from Hereford to London, the management of his lands fell to me. If he’d not taught me well, he would have been much the poorer for it. Even Phineas told me of his plans—his fault was not that he didn’t talk to me, it was that he didn’t take my counsel.

“What happened the night Stephen died? When did you last see him?”

“I spoke to him before I went to bed at eight. He told me he would come to bed late because he expected a visitor.”

“He met with someone the night he was murdered?” I exclaimed. “Surely you told the constable this.”

“Of course,” she said. “But by then the Lord Mayor had made his wishes known, and nobody was going to listen to me.”

“Whom did he meet with?”

“I don’t know.” Esther sighed. “I asked him. He said it was business that didn’t concern me, and would say no more. So I retired to my chamber and he went to his study to work. I was asleep when I heard Ellen scream. She found Stephen’s body.”

“Who is Ellen?”

“One of our maidservants. I went downstairs and found him on the floor. I summoned the vicar and our neighbors. We were going to lay him out when the cat started to howl. I think you know the rest.”

“Is there anyone he talked to about his business? Someone who might know about these late night visits, or might even have been the visitor the night he died?”

“My uncle Charles Yeoman might know,” she said. “Stephen and Charles dined together constantly. Stephen confided in him on many matters. Tell him I sent you, and he might be willing to help.”

“Your uncle is Charles Yeoman, the Member of Parliament?” I asked.

Esther nodded. “When the war started he retired to York to avoid the conflict. He said he just didn’t have the stomach for it.”

“He was a powerful man in his time.”

“In truth, he frightens me a little. He has ever since I was a girl. We are not close, but he is family.”

“I will speak to him as soon as I can. Is there anything else?” I asked. “You say you are innocent, but how can I prove it to the Lord Mayor?”

She nodded. “Look in Stephen’s study, on the top story of our house. He kept a diary, and made notes of all his important dealings. The diary and his letters are in a large chest chained to a pillar in the center of the room. It is secured with iron bands and a heavy lock. It’s where Stephen keeps … kept … his most important papers, as well as ready money. When a siege seemed likely, he gathered as much money as he could. I saw it a few weeks ago. It was more than I’ve ever seen in my life. That chest is where Stephen kept the things that mattered to him.”

I paused for a moment, considering the path that lay before me. I knew that whoever had murdered Stephen Cooper was vicious enough to kill in cold blood and expert enough to do it well. If he could slip ratsbane into Stephen’s milk, what would keep him from poisoning my wine? If I took up Esther’s cause, I would put myself between a killer and his freedom.