“Mrs. Emerson, how are you?” I asked as I entered the parlor. She was a stout woman and powerfully built. A few years earlier, an unruly youth had attempted to steal from her husband’s shop. She chased him half-way to the Minster and thrashed him vigorously when she caught him.
“Very well, Lady Hodgson, it is good to see you.”
“Hannah says you have found the mother of the murdered child.”
“Perhaps. I have made some enquiries. There is a barmaid who was rumored to be with child some months ago, but her neighbors never heard of a birth. She lives near the river, not far from where they found the baby.” My pulse quickened at the prospect of confronting the woman who could tell us who had murdered the infant.
“Do you know where she is?”
“I just saw her at the alehouse where she works.”
“Good. We can go there now.”
I considered bringing Martha but knew that my interrogation of this maiden would not be pleasant, and she’d already had a difficult day. As Susan and I walked toward the river, I wondered what this discovery might mean for Anne Goodwin and her child. From the first I had assumed the child in the privy was hers, and I had to admit I relished the thought of laying a murder at Rebecca Hooke’s doorstep. But I was no longer so sure. If the murdered child belonged to this barmaid, what had become of Anne’s baby? Had he even been born yet? Where was Anne? I said a prayer that Anne and her child might escape from the Hookes and silently cursed Rebecca for abusing Anne so mercilessly. Between my praying and cursing, I became so lost in thought that I walked right into Susan when she stopped outside a small alehouse.
“This is it,” she said. “We can take her to the kitchen.” I nodded in agreement, and we ducked through the low door. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I found the woman we’d come for.
“Hello, what can I get for you?” she asked when we entered. Without answering, Susan and I crossed the room, grasped her arms, and dragged the squawking girl through the doorway into the back room that served as both a pantry and a kitchen.
“Shut your gob,” Susan commanded sharply, and the girl’s mouth snapped closed. “We found the child you threw in the privy, and we’ll see you hanged for what you’ve done.”
Disbelief and fear crossed her face when she heard Susan’s accusation. “What? I did no such thing!” the girl cried.
I recalled the lifeless body of the child we’d found in the privy and thought of Elizabeth Wood’s grief at losing Ben. My hand shot up, clamped on the girl’s throat, and squeezed. “You’re famous for your lewd carriage, and your neighbors say you were with child this winter. You had the child and you threw him away.”
Desperate, the girl clawed my hand away. “There is no baby, I swear!” she cried.
Susan stepped between me and the girl. “Then you’ll not mind if Lady Hodgson searches your body, will you?” At this, the girl froze. “If you don’t allow her,” Susan continued, “we’ll return with more women to help, and I’ll give Lady Hodgson a free hand. If you have any secrets, we will find them out.” The girl’s fear turned to resignation, and the fight left her body.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she said defensively.
“Show me your breasts,” I said. She loosened her bodice and I pulled it aside to reveal her nipples. I squeezed them, but no milk came. I squeezed them harder, and she cried out, but they still produced no milk. “Lift your skirts,” I said. She hesitated a moment and then hiked them up to her waist. She was no maiden—I could tell she had the French pox on her—but I also could see that she had not given birth recently. I bade her lower her skirts. “Let’s go,” I said to Susan.
“It’s not her child,” Susan said as we left the alehouse.
“No,” I said. “She may well have given birth, but not recently.”
“Have you heard of any other pregnant maids?” she asked. “Surely a woman couldn’t have carried and then borne a child without anyone noticing, not in the city. Might it have been a wench from the garrison? Or one of the whores?” She clearly was not going to give up her search for the murderer.
“I have my suspicions, but cannot say.”
Susan stopped and stared at me. “If you know something, you must tell me and the other women,” she insisted. Gossip of this sort was not meant to be kept, for it was the key to finding the mother.
“I cannot, at least not yet. My suspicions touch on a powerful family. If I make them public and am proven wrong, it would destroy me.”