The Midwife's Tale(93)

“Not good enough,” he said, signaling the barmaid for another ale.

“Did you catch them?” asked Martha.

“Yes. She all but admitted throwing the child in the privy herself. She came close to bragging that she had done it. She wanted to protect her family from the shame of a bastard and prevent James and Anne from marrying. She sacrificed the child for that.”

“James wanted to marry her?” Will asked. “What did he think his parents would say to that?”

“He still cannot see his mother for what she is. He thought he could change his mother’s mind if she saw the child.”

“What do we do now?” Martha asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She won’t give James the opportunity to make that mistake again. From the look on her face, she may cut out his tongue just to be sure.” Martha looked despondent, and I put my hand on her shoulder. “Justice can be slow in coming,” I said. I almost added that the Lord would see that justice was done, but I knew she would find cold comfort in such a suggestion.

“I know. I just hoped that this time the rich might be subject to the same laws as the poor.” I could say nothing to this. She knew that was not the world in which we lived.

“She also brought up Stephen Cooper’s murder,” I said.

“I don’t imagine she took the opportunity to confess,” Martha said.

“It was a weak denial at best, and she coupled it with a threat. She said that if I continue to pursue her for Stephen’s murder, she will take her revenge.”

Will suppressed a laugh and winced in pain. “I seem to remember similar threats when you saw her banned from practicing midwifery.”

“Perhaps, but if she really did kill Stephen Cooper, her threats won’t be so empty. All I did then was take her license, and the stakes are much higher now. If she killed Stephen to protect her fortune, she would not hesitate to kill me to protect her life. As you said, she cannot be hanged twice.”

“Where does this leave our search for Mr. Cooper’s murderer?” Martha asked. “The bottle led us to Penrose, but the killer snipped that loose end and tried to do you in as well.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “We have to do something, but I cannot imagine what.”

Will smiled ruefully. “We could wait for him to try to kill you again. That would be a pretty sure sign of guilt.”

“That might work, but why don’t we come up with another plan as well,” I suggested.

“We should return to Penrose’s shop,” said Martha. “It’s where the killer bought the ratsbane, so it’s our best hope. Perhaps there is another account book we missed, or something hidden in Mr. Penrose’s room.”

“It’s possible,” I said, but without much hope. “We can talk more about it in the morning. Right now it’s time to sleep.”

Will finished his ale, and we left together. He saw us home and disappeared into the darkening night. I dismissed Martha and had Hannah help me dress for bed. As was my custom, I tried to pray, but this time I found myself unable to do so. I knew I should put my faith in God, but He seemed less interested than ever in earthly justice. With a sigh I climbed into bed, knowing that sleep would be a long time coming.

* * *

I don’t know how long I had been asleep when Hannah shook me awake.

“Lady Hodgson, there is a messenger at the door. Dorothy Mann sent him. She needs your help.” Dorothy was another of the city’s midwives, and a good one. If she called for my help, the situation must be dire indeed. I dressed quickly and collected my valise. “Shall I wake Martha?” Hannah asked.

“No, let her sleep,” I said. I did not want to involve her in a difficult birth so soon after the death of Elizabeth Wood’s child. The chances of a second tragedy were too great.

I descended the stairs and found a lad waiting just inside the front door. One of the guards stood there as well, eyeing him suspiciously. “Where is the birth?” I asked the boy.

“It is near St. Martin’s church,” he said. “My mistress is Elizabeth Woodall.”

I looked over the boy. He seemed stout enough but was unarmed. I turned to the guard. “I need you to accompany me to this labor.” He nodded and the three of us set out.

We arrived at Elizabeth’s home in short order, and I asked the guard to wait at the door until I completed my work. A servant ushered me in and took my cloak. “Her room is at the top of the stairs, on the right,” she said.

I hurried up but paused when I reached the door, for I heard laughter coming from within. I opened the door and saw why. Elizabeth lay in bed, nursing her newborn child. She saw me and waved me over. The child’s face bore the bruises of a difficult delivery but seemed no worse for all that, thank the Lord.