“Aunt Bridget, I know what you are thinking, and you must dismiss her immediately,” he urged.
“I’m considering my options, Will. I won’t make a hasty decision.”
He crossed the room and took my arms so he could look me in the face. “Aunt Bridget, since last year you’ve played the mother to every needy soul in the city. If you insist on extending your hand to strays, you will be bit sooner or later.”
What he meant, of course was not “since last year” but “since Birdy died.” He was just too kind to speak so bluntly.
Nevertheless, I resolved to give Martha a hearing. Will left and I sent Hannah for Martha.
“She’s up to her elbows in washing, my lady,” she said. “I’ll send her down when she’s finished.”
“She can leave her elbows there or bring them with her,” I snapped. “I don’t care which, but I will see her. When did my servants start questioning my instructions?” Hannah stammered out an apology as she curtsied and scurried off. I had no doubt that she would communicate my mood to Martha, and so much the better. I wanted her to be uncertain and unsettled when we met. Martha appeared a few minutes later, hands dry but still wrinkled from the washing. She curtsied deeply and adopted a servile demeanor. Hannah had prepared her.
“You wished to see me, my lady?”
“Martha, the one thing I expect from my servants is honesty. It is even more necessary if you are to assist me at women’s travail, for women’s lives and my reputation depend on you. If I cannot trust you, I will turn you out of my house. And if I even suspect that you have stolen from me, I will see you whipped from the Castle gates to the Thursday Market. Do you understand?” I stared into her eyes and waited for her to start to cry, protesting that she’d told no lies and that she would never even consider stealing from me. Instead she nodded, apparently in agreement.
“You want to know about the man who accosted me in the Shambles,” she said. A look of surprise crossed my face. “Will isn’t very good at spying,” she said. “He should concern himself with business. It suits him better.” If you think that, you would be surprised at the sword in his cane, I thought, but let her continue. “As you’ve guessed, my lady, there is much that I haven’t told you, and some of what I have said is untrue. I will start there, so you know the worst about me. Then, if you want to hear the rest of my story, I will tell it. If you wish to dismiss me, I will go right away.” I motioned for her to continue.
“My first lie concerned my service to your cousin. In truth I was never in her household. I served instead in Samuel Holdsworth’s house, not far from your cousin. Lady Elizabeth talked constantly of your success in York. She told all who would listen about your fine marriage and said that you were the best midwife in the city. I wanted to start anew, so I decided to try my luck here. The Lord knows I had no luck in Hereford. I found a scrivener who would write whatever I pleased if I paid him enough. After that I came here and entered your service. So I have lied to you and forged a letter from a dead woman. But I pray you believe me, my lady, since that first lie I have never betrayed your trust.”
I gazed at her, considering her confession. It fit with what Will had told me, though by now I knew that she was an adept liar. As I’m sure she intended, her story piqued my curiosity rather than satisfying it. Why had she left her former master? Why had she wanted to leave Hereford so badly? A maiden traveling alone across England in the midst of a civil war took on a dangerous mission. And where had she gotten the money to pay the scrivener and for her journey to York?
“Tell me your story,” I said. “But tell me the truth.”
Martha nodded and took a deep breath. She smoothed the front of her apron before she began to speak. “The best place to start is with my brother, Tom. My first memories are of him giving an older boy a thrashing he’d never forget. Even now, most of my memories of childhood involve Tom fighting. The violence frightened me, but I worshipped him. By the time he was a young man, he was known and feared in our village and beyond. I lost count of how many times he was taken by the constables. But he never changed. We all thought he would finish his days at the end of a rope, probably sooner rather than later.
“Around the time I turned sixteen, he nearly killed a gentleman’s son and fled to the German wars. Before he left, he said he was going to defend Protestantism against Antichrist, but we knew better. He wanted to save his own neck and fight without fearing the law. I shudder to think what freedom he found there.”