“No,” I mumbled.
“Good. I’m glad I could be of help. Please see yourself out.” With that, he returned to his correspondence, and I left the room.
Yeoman’s servant escorted me back to the parlor, and a few moments later Martha appeared. As we walked back to my house, I told her what I had learned.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think Rebecca Hooke would kill the King himself if she thought it would benefit her family.”
“What about Mr. Cooper’s involvement with the rebels?”
“I don’t know what to make of that. Stephen may have been involved with some dangerous men, but Yeoman seemed quite sure he was not a rebel agent.”
“What do we do now?”
“Follow the lead Esther gave us. This afternoon we can go to the Coopers’ house and see what Stephen’s diary and letters tell us.”
* * *
I was in the parlor preparing for our trip to Esther’s house when I heard someone rapping on my front door, and a few moments later Hannah ushered Will into my parlor. From the look on his face, I knew he’d come about a serious matter. I assumed Edward had sent him to demand an explanation for my failure to provide the desired verdict on Esther Cooper.
“Aunt Bridget, there’s something I need to speak to you about concerning your new servant, Martha.” Puzzled and more than a little worried, I nodded for him to continue. “Remember when I escorted her to the Shambles on Tuesday? After I left her, I continued on business to the Castle. As I returned, I caught sight of her in an alley talking with a strange man.”
“You came to me because you saw my maidservant talking to a man?” I interrupted. “She may talk to whomever she pleases. She is my servant, not my slave.”
“No, it’s not that,” he said. “This was a hard and dangerous man. He seemed to threaten her. I’ve never seen him before, but I know the type. He was dressed like a soldier, and carried weapons, but he had the air of a criminal about him. I’d certainly hesitate before trifling with him.”
Will’s story confounded me. Surely this had to be the man that Martha said she had seen, the one who reminded her of the soldier she had killed. But she never said that she had been accosted by him or that they had spoken, just that he had looked at her and she had fled in fear.
“What worries me,” Will continued, “is that they seemed to know each other. He grabbed and twisted her arm very hard, but she didn’t call for help. She stood there and continued to talk to him. After a few minutes he let her go, but I don’t think she’s seen the last of him.”
Now I was worried, too, on a number of accounts. Martha had never mentioned having a companion in the city, yet it seemed she had one. If she had lied about the encounter in the Shambles, it called into question everything that she had told me since she’d come to my home. If Will was right and this man was dangerous, Hannah and I could be at risk.
I tried to recall every detail of Martha’s story, this time with a more suspicious eye. I remembered that the letter had been written by a scribe because, according to Martha, my cousin had a palsy. But except for Martha’s word, what evidence did I have that the palsy was real? And once doubt had been cast on the letter, what evidence did I have that any of Martha’s story was true? She knew my sister could write, but all godly gentlewomen could do so. She knew of Samuel Quarels’s death and his wife’s decision to remarry, but so did most people in that part of Hereford. I realized that Martha’s story hinged on a letter that she could have forged easily. I now had to reconsider much of what I had seen since she’d come to my house. Her ability to disarm and then kill the soldier who attacked us, the ease with which she had sneaked through my kitchen window, and the way she instinctively moved to the shadows—all of these pointed to a woman with a criminal past. In retrospect, even her most innocent actions took on a sinister meaning. While she hadn’t robbed me, perhaps she was simply biding her time, trying to gain my trust. Perhaps she intended to admit her accomplice to my home, murder me and Hannah, and then take everything they could carry.
I very nearly asked Will to escort Martha from the house immediately, but the image of Esther sitting alone in her prison cell came to my mind. I had suspicions about Martha, but what evidence had I seen that anything untoward was going on? Will’s unheard conversation? Martha’s small lie about meeting someone in the Shambles? Perhaps she feared I would reprimand her for talking to a stranger. The only thing I really knew about Martha was that she had not been entirely truthful about the man in the Shambles. Such evidence was far less damning than the vial of ratsbane in Esther Cooper’s cupboard, yet I had taken on Esther’s cause. Surely I owed Martha the benefit of the doubt—after all, she was my servant and relied on me.