“But if the Lord Mayor couldn’t try him, he might have simply had him killed.”
“Precisely,” I said. “We’ve already seen he has no respect for the law if it cannot be bent to his will. I also can’t help wondering if Stephen might have had a role in the attack on the city. If he were in league with the rebels, it is quite the coincidence that his killer struck just days before the assault.”
“And with that Italian in his pay, he has someone who knows poisons. Tom was always going on about Papists and poisons, and whenever he met an Italian he’d ask for lessons. He swore they learned it in the nursery.”
With Bacca in his pay, the Lord Mayor has someone to do the killing for him. He said he prefers the knife, but I expect that he knows his poisons as well.”
“What are you going to do about the Lord Mayor’s demand?” Martha asked. “And where does that leave us with the Hookes?”
“I’ve no idea—I had no idea Stephen had made so many enemies. If Rebecca Hooke saw Stephen as a threat to her family’s fortune, she might have resorted to murder. As for the Lord Mayor, we’ll see what we can do with the two days he gave us. Tomorrow we’ll search Stephen’s study, and see what we can learn from his letters and diary. If we can find the truth before the Sabbath, perhaps we can save Esther and ourselves.” I paused. “Does this mean that you have changed your mind about Esther’s guilt?”
Martha thought for a moment and shook her head. “I’ll grant you that Mr. Cooper had more than his share of enemies, but she’s still the one who would have had the easiest time giving him the poison. I’ll wager you a week’s wages that there is more to their marriage than Mrs. Cooper said.”
I could not help smiling. “A week’s wages it is.”
Chapter 12
I woke early the next morning and went to prayer, but my mind wandered to Stephen’s death and the growing number of people with a motive for killing him. I could only hope that his letters would help me figure out who had actually accomplished their goal. Once I heard Hannah rise, I went downstairs and read in the Gospels while she prepared breakfast. Before she had finished, a girl appeared at the door, summoning me to the labor of Elizabeth Wood. Elizabeth lived south of the Ouse and was one of my regular clients. I knew her time was near, so the call came as no surprise.
“Her labor started late last night,” the servant said. “It began in earnest this morning.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“Mrs. Wood is well, but—” The girl broke off, uncomfortable with the rest of her message. “It’s the gossips. They have been there drinking wine all night. Mr. Wood is at a loss.”
I thanked the girl and gave her a penny for her trouble. I called for Martha, and together we wolfed down a cold breakfast of bread and cheese. “Never arrive at a labor hungry,” I told her as we ate. “Elizabeth’s husband is wealthy, but she may be far enough along that I’ll need to get right to work. It also sounds like the gossips may have already emptied the larder.” Without being told, Martha gathered the case that contained my birthing stool as well as my valise, and the two of us set out for Micklegate.
We crossed the bridge and followed Skeldergate along the river until we came to the Woods’ home. It was not as large as my own, but comfortable enough. When we arrived, Elizabeth’s harried and helpless husband met us at the door. “Please help,” he said in a nervous whisper, though Martha and I were the only people within earshot. “The women have drunk all my wine, and are calling for more. I told them I had none, and they beat me with their hats and sent me out to buy some. And they want a suckling pig. What should I do?” I knew he was a good husband, but at that moment his demeanor reminded me too much of Phineas’s.
“I’d get the wine and pig,” I said. “You should always do what the women tell you, particularly if they are drunk.” I was quite sure that my voice dripped with sarcasm, but he proved incapable of hearing it. He gave me a despairing look and scurried off. I shook my head in wonder. “Lord knows I have no love for overbearing husbands, but a man should at least control his own house.”
With Elizabeth’s husband gone, Martha and I went in search of the delivery room. It wasn’t hard to find—even from the front door, we could hear the drunken laughter of Elizabeth’s gossips. I opened the chamber door and thought that we had found a drinking rather than a birthing. The gossips gave Martha and me a warm welcome and pushed glasses of wine into our hands. (“We told that dolt we were out of wine, and sent him out for more,” cackled one woman.) My first concern, of course, was for Elizabeth, but the room was so full of company that it took me a few moments to find her. She lay on her bed, clearly miserable. The gossips had lost interest in her travail, and she was attended only by a nervous servant, too young to know anything of childbirth. To my dismay, one of the gossips lay next to Elizabeth, very drunk and snoring loudly.