The Midwife's Tale(76)

I stopped at the corner of Stonegate and pulled Hannah aside. “I need you to go to Micklegate and find Will. He will probably be at his father’s. Tell him I need his assistance this afternoon and evening.”

“If he asks why, what shall I say?”

“Tell him I need his protection.” I knew this would please him and perhaps repair some of the damage done by our argument. “Martha and I will attend christenings this afternoon. One of the guards will accompany Martha, and I’d like Will to escort me.” She nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

When we arrived at my home, Martha went to her work, and I retired to the parlor. My eyes fell on a box of checkstones sitting on the shelf. I picked up the box and slid my fingers along its edges as tears slid down my cheeks. When Birdy was alive, we had played every Sunday after the morning service. Our last game was less than a week before she died. I bested her, but not by much, and I knew that soon she would beat me handily. Or at least that had been my hope. I was saying a prayer of thanks when Will’s appearance at the door pulled me from my melancholy.

“You have two guards now!” he said as he strode into the parlor. “Has something happened, or are you recruiting an army of your own?” I knew he was using the joke to avoid talking about our quarrel, but I would not let him.

“Will, I’m sorry for what I said after we left Mr. Yeoman’s.”

Will abandoned his pretense, and tears welled in his eyes. “I am sorry, too, Aunt Bridget. You know I love you.”

“And I love you as my own son. But you cannot judge yourself through the eyes of men like Charles Yeoman, and I would account you much less a man if you did so.”

“I know, Aunt Bridget.”

“And just because someone is a woman, that does not mean she cannot be your match in many ways. You’d be better off marrying a spirited woman like … like Martha, than a sheep like Esther.”

“Like Martha?” he asked. “You want me to marry your servant?”

“You know what I mean,” I said. “Someone like her. She’ll tell you when you are wrong, but you’ll be better for it.”

“What about Uncle Phineas?” he asked, knowing full well that Phineas and I had fought like cats, and in all our years he’d never been better for it.

“Never you mind Phineas,” I said. “But remember that no matter what I said, I do not think you are like Charles Yeoman, Will. He is a hard, bad man, and you’ve none of his cruelty. That is why I love you.” Will crossed the room to embrace me, and I knew we’d made our peace.

“You still haven’t explained the guards out front,” he said. Now his worry came to the surface. I tried to describe our adventures in the Black Swan in terms that would not disturb him and failed miserably.

“My God, Aunt Bridget, what have you gotten yourself into? You go out in search of one killer and stumble upon another?”

“Will, it’s not as bad as it sounds,” I protested. “Tom wouldn’t dare come here.”

“Then why did you hire a second guard?”

“Just for safety’s sake,” I said. “It is unlikely he’ll show his face, but I don’t want to take chances.”

“You have to tell my father about this,” he insisted. “He can have the constables start a search for him.”

“If I did that, I might as well send Martha to the gallows myself. Tom would happily perjure himself just to see Martha hanged alongside him.”

“We can worry about that after he’s caught. You can’t risk your life for a maidservant!”

“Be careful, Will,” I said coolly. “She is a member of my household, and has more than earned my loyalty and protection. Whether she is a maidservant or the Queen herself is of no import. This is my household, and I will govern it as I see fit. When the time is right, I will inform your father of the situation, but not yet. You must trust me.”

Will’s face made clear that he did not approve of my decision, but I knew I could trust him not to betray me to his father. “All right,” he said. “But if you’ve already got two men guarding your door, why do you need me?”

“Abigail Stoppard’s son will be christened this afternoon, and I must attend. The gathering afterwards will last late into the night, and I would rather not walk alone. There is an alehouse not far from their home, and you will be able to amuse yourself there, I should think. Come on. We should go now.”

Will and I chatted amiably during the walk to St. Mary, Castlegate. The Stoppards’ home sat just north of Clifford’s Tower, only a few houses away from St. Mary’s church. Abigail’s husband, Abraham, invited me in, and Will disappeared to the alehouse. Inside, three servants worked feverishly to prepare the house for the gathering that would follow the ceremony. I saw them putting up meat pies, roasted fowl, and many bottles of wine. Abraham was an attorney in service to the Crown and had done well for himself in recent years. Today he would christen his firstborn son, and he planned to use the occasion to announce his wealth to all in attendance. I followed him to the lying-in room, where Abigail lay in bed, holding the squalling baby boy, surrounded by five or six of her friends. I had delivered her three weeks earlier and was pleased that both she and the child were in good health.