“It wasn’t Tom’s body,” I said, my heart sinking. “Your brother killed Mr. Holdsworth.”
“When I thought Tom had been shot, I ran for the door. Mr. Holdsworth had no idea that I was in the house, and I thought I could escape. Tom’s voice stopped me, and he called me upstairs. Even before I entered Mr. Holdsworth’s chamber the smell of blood told me all I needed to know. I tried to prepare myself for the scene within, but it was far worse than I imagined. Mr. Holdsworth lay in the corner, his throat slashed so wide his head seemed barely attached. His eyes were still open—he looked surprised. Blood soaked his nightshirt from neck to waist. A pistol lay next to his body, and I saw a hole in the wall. Tom stood at the foot of the bed, surveying the horrible scene and cursing the most horrible oaths. Mr. Holdsworth’s blood soaked his tunic and pants.
“‘The lying rogue said that the money was in his cupboard, and then he turned on me with the pistol,’ he said, kicking Mr. Holdsworth’s corpse in the chest. A thin stream of blood burst from the neck, and landed on Tom’s shoe. He paid it no mind. ‘You shitting fool!’ he shouted at the body.
“I then realized that Tom’s time in Germany had turned him from a ruffian into a murderer, that killing was always part of the plan. I cannot say I was sorry for what happened to Mr. Holdsworth—he deserved his death. But at that moment I knew that Tom’s next victim would likely be an innocent, a child who had the misfortune to wake up when Tom was in his room, or perhaps his mother. I knew what I had to do.
“Tom and I searched the house but found no sign of the money. We returned to the hall, and I saw my opportunity to escape. While Tom peered out the window, I picked up the iron poker from the fireplace and called Tom’s name. As he turned, I swung the poker, striking him just above the ear. He fell without a sound, and for better or worse my fate was sealed.
“I used my dagger to cut away his purse. It wasn’t the fortune I’d dreamed of, but it would have to do. I stepped over his body, out the front door, and ran for the forest. Within moments I disappeared into the safety of the woods. I knew the area far better than Tom, and when he awoke covered in Mr. Holdsworth’s blood he would have more immediate concerns than hunting for me. By the time morning came, I had nearly reached Worcester, and had devised the plan that brought me to your door. I found the scrivener who wrote the letter I gave you. The rest is as I told you when I arrived. I came to York, sneaked into the city, and found you here.”
I took a deep breath, trying to absorb all that Martha had told me. But one question remained. “How did Tom find you?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps someone I knew saw me in Worcester and told Tom. But it doesn’t matter now. In the Shambles that day he threatened to kill me for my treachery, but said that I could buy my life if I helped him rob you. I don’t believe him, though. He sees me as a traitor, and will not rest until he kills me himself. I could see the wrath in his eyes.”
“You know that I should call the constable and have him arrest you,” I said.
“That would be the wisest course,” she admitted. “And while I am sorry for many of the things I did, I will not apologize for misleading you. Had I told you the truth on the day I arrived, you would have turned me out in an instant. Then where would I have been? A single woman without protection in the midst of a war? I might as well have walked straight to a brothel and raised my skirts. But the lies I told were without malice. I have never hurt you, and never will. You have been more loyal to me than anyone I’ve known. You protected me when I needed your help, and I am in your debt. If you give me the chance, I will repay you.”
“I must think more about this,” I said. “Go to your chamber and wait there.” She curtsied and left without another word.
I sat for a time, considering what Martha had said, and what I should do about her. Obviously the prudent course would be to summon the constable or at the very least to send her away immediately. By her own admission, she was a confessed felon, complicit in a murder. And what if she was lying? She could be scheming against me at that very moment. What proof did I have that she was not the killer and Tom her dupe? But I could not believe that. It seemed impossible that she invented the story of her son’s death and burial, and I could not imagine that she had turned so quickly from a serving-maid raped by her master into a cold-hearted murderess.
Martha’s story drew my mind to mistakes I had made when I was her age. I knew from the first time I met him that Phineas was a wastrel and an embarrassment to his family, and I knew that I would regret marrying him. But I did so anyway, simply because I was too young and frightened to refuse the match. I had received the gift of a second widowhood not through my own doing, but through the grace of God. Martha had none of my advantages of birth or wealth and had suffered grievously at the hands of the man who was supposed to protect her. What would I have done in her place? The Lord had used Tom to take His vengeance on Samuel Holdsworth. Perhaps He had chosen me to redeem Martha. I would bring her into my home.