The Midwife's Tale(52)

“Lady Bridget,” he warned, “if you know whose child this is, you must tell me. The Lord Mayor and I have had enough surprises from you for the week.”

“I do not know anything yet,” I said. “I will make enquiries as I always do.”

“All right,” he said. My years of work for the city had earned his trust. “So long as we are speaking of enquiries,” he continued, “I must say that the Lord Mayor was quite furious with your letter regarding Mrs. Cooper.” I could tell that he enjoyed tweaking the nose of an unelected Lord Mayor, but he still considered Stephen Cooper’s murder a serious matter. “Are you sure that she is pregnant?”

“I have examined her body, and told you what I found,” I said. Anger rose within me at this challenge to my authority. “Judging a woman’s body is no easy task, for it is a deceitful thing, but in this I will be the judge. You may rest easy, though. If she is not pregnant, you will still have the pleasure of burning her—perhaps for Christmas.” I considered telling him about Lorenzo Bacca’s threats, but I knew that if Bacca chose to strike, Edward could not protect me.

“Lady Bridget, you do me an injustice—,” he protested, but I cut him off.

“Let us go,” I said to Martha. “We can make some enquiries into the present matter before nightfall.” As we walked away I could hear Edward calling after us, but I ignored him.

“Do you think it is Anne Goodwin’s child?” Martha asked.

“The timing is right,” I said. “But they say there are ten thousand people in the city, and it is possible that the child belonged to another maid. Let us go to Rebecca Hooke’s and we will know the truth soon enough.”

“Why would she let us see Anne now when she refused us before?”

“Before there was no body,” I said. “Thanks to Edward’s order to search out pregnant servants, we can demand to see Anne.”

We walked quickly in anticipation of the conflict that would surely come. I considered summoning some of the neighborhood women to assist me in my enquiry—few people could withstand the pressure brought by a dozen angry matrons bent on finding a murderess. While that tactic would convince most women to yield their servant for interrogation, I feared that such an approach would only further antagonize Rebecca. She was so sensitive about her own birth, any public scandal touching on an illegitimate child would send her into a fury. It would be better to keep things quiet for now—I could always return with more women. We approached the Hookes’ front door, and this time the footman stood his ground.

“We are here to see Anne Goodwin,” I demanded. “We have orders from Alderman Hodgson to search for pregnant servants.”

The footman looked at me with undisguised insolence. “Anne has been discharged from Mrs. Hooke’s service. She left this morning. Or perhaps it was last night, I cannot recall.”

“What?” I sputtered. “Where has she gone?”

A broad smile crossed the footman’s face as he enjoyed my reaction. “Where she went was none of my affair, and it is none of yours. I cannot help you.” He turned and went into the house, slamming the door behind him. I imagined Rebecca Hooke’s glee when her footman recounted our conversation, and it enraged me further.

I looked up and saw Rebecca staring down at me from a second-story window, a thin smile on her face. She had bested me again, and she knew it.

“Come,” I said to Martha. “I can’t bear to have her staring at me.”

“What can we do now?” Martha asked as we started toward my house. “We can’t just go home and hope for the best.”

“We can go back to her parents’ house,” I said after a moment’s thought. “If she was discharged, she’d have few options other than going home.”

We turned toward St. John del Pyke. As we passed the Minster, the bells tolled the hour. This put me in mind of the child we’d left on Coneystreet—no bells would toll for that poor creature, and he would have justice only if Martha and I found it for him.

As soon as we reached Daniel Goodwin’s shop, I knew that Anne had not returned home. Margaret was sweeping out the shop as if nothing unusual had happened. I tried to escape unseen, but Margaret saw me and rushed out to meet us. When she was close enough to see our faces, she stopped.

“I take it you don’t have any news,” she said.

“Not yet,” I said.

“Then why have you come?” she asked desperately. “Something has happened, hasn’t it? What has happened to my daughter?” Margaret was a tough, perceptive woman, and I wouldn’t be able to fool her even if I tried.