“And Tom is the man Will saw in the market?”
Martha nodded. “He said he’s come here to kill me. And that he might kill you, too, while he’s at it.”
“He knows you are in my house?” I gasped.
“I don’t know how he found me,” Martha replied. “But if he somehow discovered that I am living with you, we are both in danger.” Instinctively I looked out the window onto the street.
“He wouldn’t come yet,” Martha said.
“How can you be so sure?” I asked, not reassured in the least. “Will said he seemed ready to kill you in the market.”
“And he was. But he prefers to commit his crimes under cover of dark,” she said.
“How can you know this?”
“Because before I came here, I was his accomplice.”
I looked at Martha in surprise. “I think you should tell me the rest.”
Chapter 10
“Soon after Tom left,” Martha began, “my father placed me in service with Mr. Holdsworth, a yeoman from a parish near ours. At first, I thought I was lucky. He was prosperous enough and lived in a fine stone house. He seemed kind. But all that was a lie. In truth he was a grasping, malicious man. While he was rich, he refused all charity for the parish poor. Even at times of great need, he never let a groat out of his hands except at interest. The blackguard treated his own wife no better, dressing her in worn and faded clothes, sewn in a dozen places. In all my time in his household, he never tired of telling Mrs. Holdsworth how much my help cost him, and that she was lucky to have me.”
“He sounds like an awful master.”
“He was a tyrant if ever one lived,” Martha said. “But he got his,” she added with a small smile that sent a chill down my spine.
“What do you mean?” I asked, not at all sure I wanted an answer.
Martha glanced at me but ignored the question. “He worked me very hard, of course, and on winter nights I wished for a second blanket. But I never complained—I thought it was my lot. But in my second year things turned much worse. Mrs. Holdsworth became pregnant, and when her time came, Mr. Holdsworth refused to call a midwife. He said that his animals did without one, and he’d be Goddamned if he would pay for a woman to deliver his wife.”
“What?” I cried.
Martha nodded. “He was an awful man. When she was in travail, I attended her at first, but knowing nothing of childbirth, I could only comfort her. After three days, Mr. Holdsworth relented and called a midwife. She could do nothing to help. Two days after that the midwife called a surgeon.”
“Oh, no,” I said softly, knowing what had to happen next.
“I held Mrs. Holdsworth’s hand as the surgeon removed a girl in pieces,” Martha continued, her eyes filling with tears. “It was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. I dreamed of it for weeks after. I still do sometimes.”
I put my hand on Martha’s arm, guided her to the sofa, and sat beside her. I’d seen the aftermath of a surgeon’s work in the delivery room and knew from experience the kinds of dreams she’d had.
“Mrs. Holdsworth lived, but the surgeon’s tools wrecked her body. She could hardly leave her bed, and could never have another child.
“After this, Mr. Holdsworth began to trouble me. It began with compliments. ‘You’re looking very pretty this morning, Martha.’ ‘That dress flatters you, Martha.’” Martha spat the words as if they were poison. “He was a beast … as if I owned more than one dress! I ignored him as best I could, but soon he began to steal up to me as I worked and try to stroke my privities. I protested, but he just laughed. I didn’t like it, but what could I do? And it was no worse than many servants suffer from their groping and grabbing masters.” I knew that to be true, for I’d delivered many servants of their master’s bastards. It pained me to think of Martha in such desperate straits, and my mind returned to her cold smile when she recalled his ultimate fate.
“Did you flee?” I asked, though I knew that she could not have done so.
“No. I was too young and too frightened to leave.” Her tears had dried and now she spoke with an anger I’d never seen in her. “One night as I slept, Mr. Holdsworth came into my room and threw himself on top of me. He used me horribly that night, and many nights after. I think that Mrs. Holdsworth knew what her husband was doing, and it hurt her in a way that the surgeon never did. She slowly shrank in her bed, dying of shame for her husband’s actions and her failure to protect me. When she died, I laid the blame at Mr. Holdsworth’s feet.