The Midwife's Tale(92)

Martha looked at me, desperate for guidance. Fearing that our last chance to obtain justice for Anne’s son was slipping away, I scrambled to my feet and charged after Rebecca. When I reached the door, it opened before me, and Will appeared. He leaned unsteadily against the frame, bleeding profusely from the nose.

“Stay with him,” I said to Martha, and started up the street. Rebecca had caught up to James and her footman, but her son’s stumbling gait slowed them, and I was able to draw within earshot. Just before they reached Davygate, I cried out, “You’re a murdering bitch, Rebecca Hooke.” The words had their intended effect. She stopped and turned slowly to face me.

Without taking her eyes off me, she called to her footman, “Take him home. I will be there shortly.” She walked toward me, staring at me with a mixture of hatred and disdain. I could feel my heart racing as she approached. “A murdering bitch? I’m a murdering bitch?”

“Your son thinks so. He told me what you did.”

“My son,” she spat. “I will tell him what to think. He’s no better than his father. But I don’t need to tell you about weak and useless husbands.” By now she stood with her face just a few inches from mine. From a distance you might have thought we were good friends having a talk.

“You murdered your own grandchild,” I said softly. “You threw him into a privy and left him there to die.”

“I protected my family. Do you really think I would allow my son to marry our washing-maid? I raised my family up from nothing, and I will not see it brought low by that silly boy and his whore. I will choose his wife, and by God she will be a woman of means and honor. You, of all women, should understand that. She will guide him the way I have guided Richard and you guided your useless husband.” I started to speak, but she gave me no chance. “Would you have let your son marry a washing-maid? Do you think that stupid girl could protect my fortune from the vain fancies of a profligate boy like James? She knows nothing save housewifery, nothing of business or government. In her hands my estate would waste away to nothing. I could no more allow James to marry a girl like that than you could allow your daughter to marry the pennyman who comes to kill your hog.”

“And for this you murdered your own grandson?”

“That bastard, born of a whore? He was no more my grandson than he was King Jesus Himself. Who knows where else that whore raised her skirts? That child could be my husband’s, my footman’s, or any other man’s. I did what I did in order to look after my family. If you say you wouldn’t have done the same, you’re a liar or a fool. In truth I did her a favor. Now she’s free to find a husband closer to her own station—perhaps a rag-picker.”

I stood in silence, amazed by her malice. “I’ll go to my brother,” I whispered. “And tell him.”

“And tell him what?” she said with a cruel laugh. “That I confessed to murdering an infant? Tell me, Bridget, who has heard me confess? You’ve hated me for years, and none will believe you. I’d sue you for defamation, and I’d win.” A thin smile spread across her face. “Perhaps I’ll sue you anyway. If women think you spread malicious gossip, they’ll find another midwife soon enough. We shall see.” She started to walk away but stopped after a few steps. “I have heard that you think I murdered that penny-pinching Jew Stephen Cooper. Remember two things, Bridget Hodgson. You’ll never prove that I killed Stephen Cooper, and if you continue to meddle in my business, I swear that I’ll have my revenge.” She smiled at me before turning away.

Once she disappeared into her house, my body began to shake and I worried I might collapse on the spot. I stumbled out of the street and leaned heavily on the wall surrounding St. Helen’s churchyard. Without warning my stomach clenched, and I vomited over the wall into the graveyard. Keeping one hand on the wall, I walked slowly back to the alehouse to see how Will and Martha fared.





Chapter 22


I found Will and Martha inside the alehouse, at the table James and I had just left. Will held a cloth to his nose to stem the bleeding, but he removed it periodically so he could drink his ale. He would bear the marks of his fight for days to come. They looked relieved when I entered, and I quickly crossed the room to their table.

“How are you, Will?” I asked.

“The blackguard hit me without a word of warning. He just walked up and started swinging,” he said morosely. He hated losing a fight under any circumstances, and I knew that this loss felt worse than most.

“I saw the footman’s face. It looked like you gave as good as you got,” I said, trying to comfort him.