Chapter 15
“I hear you’ve ruffled the feathers of some very powerful birds,” Samuel Short said cheerfully as he escorted us to the Castle yard. “The Lord Mayor was very unhappy when he heard you’d found Esther to be with child.” He used Esther’s first name deliberately, to rob her of her status, and it rankled. Esther had been born into money and married a prosperous merchant, but now she depended on Samuel as much as she ever had her husband. I didn’t think he was cruel or that he treated her badly—but the inversion pleased him. Like so many of the meaner sort, he enjoyed it when the mighty fell.
“Remember our deal,” I said. “If you hear anything useful about her case, you’ll send word.” He nodded and closed the door behind us.
As we crossed the bridge to the city, Martha and I talked about what we had learned during our visit.
“Do you believe her?” she asked.
“About what? That Stephen did not talk to her of his business or politics? To be sure. That she knew nothing of the extortion? That she did not know about the missing money? That he didn’t beat her excessively? That the fight on the night he died means nothing? I don’t know. She seems to be telling the truth, but…”
“She’s lying about something or she’s stupid as a shit-eating goat,” Martha said dismissively. “No woman worth her salt could be so blind to what was happening in her own house.” She paused. “Is it possible she murdered him and then took the money, but was arrested before she could make good her escape?”
“You’re thinking like a thief, not a merchant’s wife,” I chided her. “She could no more steal the money and escape than I could. Where would she go? What would she do? She cannot simply appear at a stranger’s door and ask to be put into service.” She smiled slightly. “If we want to find out what happened to Stephen, we will have to discover the truth ourselves. When the subject is Stephen Cooper’s death, everyone lies.”
“What now, then?”
“We return to Charles Yeoman’s,” I said. “I want to see his reaction when I tell him what I read in Stephen’s journal. But before that, I need to see a client up in St. Savior’s.”
“How can you know a client needs you? Did a message come to you at the Castle?”
I laughed. “A midwife’s work doesn’t end when she cuts the cord. Some mothers need more assistance than others, especially if it is their first child and they don’t have a family or proper gossips.”
“The client is an unwed mother?” she asked.
“It’s a girl named Mercy Harris. I delivered her the day the soldiers burned the suburbs. Mercy’s sister is just a child herself, and she has no family here in York. I’ll do my best to care for Mercy in her mother’s stead.”
We wound our way through the alleys and side streets to Mercy’s home and found the front door open to let in some air and light. Mercy sat on the bed, holding the sleeping child. When we entered, she looked up and smiled.
“Look,” she whispered, pride evident in her voice. The baby was a pleasant pink and seemed to be taking milk tolerably well. A young man stood next to the bed, shifting nervously from foot to foot. I looked at him sternly, and his ears turned a lovely shade of crimson.
“I take it you are the baby’s father?” I asked.
“Yes, m-my lady,” he stammered.
“It is good that you’re here,” I said. “Make a habit of it.”
“Yes, my lady. I pleaded with my master, and he will allow me to marry after Mercy’s lying-in,” he said.
“Good lad,” I said with a smile. “I don’t know where you were the night she was delivered, but better late than never. Now run along, I need to examine Mercy.” He bade farewell to Mercy, bowed to me, and slipped out the door. I turned to Mercy. “If you hold him to the marriage, you may escape whipping,” I said.
The prospect of punishment sobered her. I had no desire to see Mercy whipped. It pained me to think of a new mother subjected to such brutal treatment, particularly when the father had agreed to marry her. She had not been wanton in her behavior, just unlucky. I would do my best to help her avoid such a humiliation, but some men believed that if the spectacle of one maid’s whipping caused another maid to remain chaste, then it was well done. But those concerns were for another day.
While Martha held the baby, I examined Mercy’s privities and found that with God’s help she was healing very well. I undressed the baby and saw that she too was in excellent health, though displeased at being unwrapped. My mind wandered to Elizabeth Wood’s sickly child, and I wondered at God’s providence—why would He give Elizabeth a sickly child and Mercy a healthy one? My mind then asked why He would take Michael and Birdy from me, and I pushed that question away as I had so many times before. Finding God’s plan in the life and death of infants was a difficult task, and one I preferred not to dwell upon.