The Midwife's Tale(55)
Chapter 14
After a dream such as that, I was not surprised when I awoke feeling no less tired than when I went to sleep. After my morning prayers I wrote letters to friends on Ellen’s behalf, praising her diligence and loyalty, and then considered the day that lay before me. My first order of business would be to confront Edward about the half-truths he’d told me regarding Stephen Cooper’s political activities and business rivalries. I was furious and would let him know in no uncertain terms. But I also knew that by confronting him with his deception, I could obtain a letter allowing me to visit Esther again. Then Martha and I could question her about her relationship with Stephen and all that I’d found in his correspondence.
After breakfast, Martha and I crossed the Ouse Bridge toward Edward’s house. A wind blew from the east, bringing with it the sound of the rebel artillery firing into the city and the King’s guns firing back. As we walked, I told her what I had discovered in Stephen Cooper’s letters.
“Even if Mr. Cooper was working that closely with the rebels,” Martha said, “would the Lord Mayor murder him? Certainly he could have just had him arrested.”
“I don’t know. If he knew that Mr. Cooper planned a rebellion within the city, he might have feared that arresting him would inspire his friends to rise up. On the other hand, if he murdered Mr. Cooper, he could eliminate a rebel and prevent the rising with one blow. That could be why the murderer tried to hide his crime.”
“And it would explain Bacca’s visits to Mr. Cooper as well.”
“Aye,” I said. “He might have been questioning him or warning him against conspiring with the rebels.”
“Where does that leave the Hookes?” Martha asked. “Do you think that they would kill a man over a lawsuit when the outcome was still in doubt?”
“If you told me that Rebecca Hooke had eaten her own child for supper, I would believe it.” I considered this image for a moment. “Of course, she hates James so deeply that it’s not so outlandish an idea.” Martha looked at me quizzically. “You met James at Rebecca’s door. He was the one she dragged in by his ear.” Martha smiled at the memory. “James reminds me of no one so much as Phineas. He is among the weakest of men that you will meet, a fault particularly grievous in one of his rank. There are worse men, to be sure—James can’t even manage to choose a vice—but none so ineffective. His parents tried to groom him for a life in trade, but he has no head for figures, and no heart for business. They sent him to London to purchase some fine silk, and he came back with neither the silk nor the money. Even the servants who went with him could not give any account of how he had lost such a fortune. He may have been cozened, but if so he does not know it.”
Martha smiled broadly, enjoying the Hookes’ misfortune. “And Mrs. Hooke hoped for more in her son?”
I could not help laughing. “She sees weakness as a vice worse than lechery or sloth, and feels only contempt for men who suffer from it. A man with her strength, intellect, and ruthlessness would be formidable indeed, but James takes after his father, and outshines him in every one of his deficiencies. I wonder sometimes if Rebecca would be less cruel if any of the men in her household could match her. It is a hard thing for a woman to rule her family, but given the limitations of her men, she has little choice.” I paused. “If Phineas had lived a long life, we might not be so different, she and I.” There was a thought.
“So the Lord Mayor had his reasons for killing Mr. Cooper, and the Hookes had theirs. Your friends certainly lead interesting lives.”
“Then there is the extortion letter,” I said. “My hope is that Esther will be able to offer some idea of when he received it. Until we know that, we cannot know whether it is connected to his death. Of course, if he paid the money, she might have no knowledge of the matter.”
“It is also unlikely someone extorting money would murder him,” Martha pointed out. “If he paid once, he would pay again. Success at extortion is just a matter of knowing how much a man will pay to keep his secrets.” I looked at her sharply. “Tom trafficked in information as well as stolen goods,” she explained without apology. “But he wished those victims long and healthy lives. It never occurred to him to harm them—that would be killing the golden goose.”
Just as we reached the south side of the bridge, a terrifying shriek tore through the morning air, and a cart coming toward us exploded in a cloud of dust and blood. Martha and I ran to see if there was anything we could do. As we approached, we could hear the shrieks of the horse that had been drawing the cart. He was trying to regain his feet, but even from a distance I could see that his hindquarters had been wrecked by the cannonball—his rear legs were naught but a twisted, bloody mess. The horse continued to bellow, his eyes wide and rolling. Mercifully, one of the shopkeepers raced out of his store with a mattock and felled the horse with a single blow, bringing a sudden and eerie silence to the street. Martha stared wide-eyed at the carnage, pale and shaking.