We crossed back over the Ouse, and when we didn’t turn toward my house, Martha looked at me curiously. “It won’t get dark for several hours,” I said. “I thought we might go to Esther Cooper’s house and see if we can get that box of letters she is so keen for us to read.” My plan seemed to give Martha some cheer. While she would likely remain melancholy until Elizabeth’s son gained strength, this would at least keep her mind on other things.
When we reached the Coopers’ house, I knocked on the door. We heard someone moving about inside, but nobody opened the door. After a few moments, I knocked again, this time more forcefully. Whoever was inside must have decided we were not going away, for we heard the lock click, and the door opened slightly. A young woman peered out at us. “Yes?” she said.
“We are here at the behest of your mistress,” I announced. “She sent you a letter about us. Open the door.” The maid hesitated. Disobeying a gentlewoman would not come naturally, but she clearly did not relish the prospect of admitting strangers to her mistress’s home.
“How do I know you are the ones in her letter?” she asked.
“I am the Lady Bridget Hodgson. I assume she mentioned my name in the letter.”
The maid hesitated again. “How do I know you’re really her?” she asked. I took a breath and tried to control my temper. The girl was scared, an idiot, or both. If I pushed too hard, she would slam the door in our faces. Martha stepped in.
“Have any other women claiming to be Lady Hodgson tried to enter?” she asked with more kindness than I could have mustered. The maid shook her head, as if this were a reasonable question. “This is Lady Hodgson. I give you my word.” To my surprise the door swung open, and the maidservant motioned for us to enter. Martha was proving more valuable an assistant than I’d dared hope, first clearing out the drunken gossips, now persuading a frightened maid to let us into her house.
Once we were inside, I allowed Martha to continue doing the talking for us. She asked the servant her name, which would not have occurred to me, but the question seemed to put the girl at ease.
“Ellen Hutton,” she said. She was a handsome young woman around Martha’s age, pleasingly plump, and ready for marriage. She still seemed nervous, but I could not fault her for that. With her master dead and her mistress condemned for his murder, her future was uncertain. Good servants rarely went without employment, but her background would work against her, to say the least.
“Mrs. Cooper asked us to come to her house and retrieve some items from Mr. Cooper’s study,” Martha said gently.
“You’ve seen her?” the girl asked. “What did she say?”
“We visited her Tuesday,” Martha said. “She said that you’ve been much on her mind. She’s worried about you.”
“She is too kind,” she said, the blood rising in her cheeks. Too kind by half, I thought impatiently, Esther barely mentioned her at all.
“Where is Mr. Cooper’s study?” I asked, wearying of the small talk.
“It is on the third floor,” Ellen said, suddenly nervous again.
Martha took Ellen by the arm and turned her away from me. “Before we go up could I ask you some questions about Mr. and Mrs. Cooper?”
“What do you mean?”
“What kind of master was Mr. Cooper? Was he unkind? I’ve had unkind masters before.”
“Oh, no,” Ellen said quickly. “He was a godly man and this was a godly home. We rose every morning at half-past four for family prayer.”
“What were your duties?”
“Prayer ended at five and I made oatmeal for breakfast. Every breakfast was oatmeal and every supper was a boiled chicken with carrots.”
“You had the same food every day?” Martha asked in disbelief.
“Once, Mrs. Cooper suggested roasting the chicken. For her insolence, Mr. Cooper whipped her bare back ten times with a rod.” I tried to hide my surprise at this. I had no great love for Stephen, but I’d no idea he could be so zealous in his search for order.
“Did he beat her often?” Martha asked. I thought I detected a note of hope in her voice.
“Not often. She learned quickly. But sometimes she was willful.”
Martha looked over at me and raised an eyebrow. She clearly thought she’d just won an extra week’s wages.
“Did he beat you?” Martha asked. “Sometimes masters can be cruel.”
“No, never,” she exclaimed. “I was very careful. He only became angry once when he found out I was courting a boy. I told Mr. Cooper that he was respectable—an apprentice and would be free soon. I said he would make a good husband. But Mr. Cooper wouldn’t listen. Said he wouldn’t let my ‘lewd carriage’ bring shame on his home. But he never struck me.”