“You summoned a midwife,” I called out.
“Thank God you’re here, my lady,” a voice answered from beneath a scarf. “I feared the cold might keep you at home, and I’d have to go in search of another midwife. I am Grace Fisher. Please come this way.” She turned and led us into the warren of streets behind the church. After a few twists and turns we arrived at our destination. The woman opened a low door and led us up a set of wooden stairs.
“The mother’s name is Sarah Bates,” Grace said as we climbed. “She is our maidservant.” I could hear the anger in her voice, and I knew without asking that her husband had fathered the child. Grace led us to a small room occupied by a bed and a chest of drawers. A young woman sat on the bed. She’d drawn her knees to her chest and was breathing hard. We’d arrived in the midst of a labor pain.
“Sarah, I am Lady Hodgson,” I announced. “I will be your midwife.”
The girl nodded but said nothing.
“I should examine you and see how you are faring,” I said. Again the girl nodded.
“Is she mute?” Martha asked Grace.
“I’m not,” Sarah said. “I just didn’t have anything to say.”
“Good,” I said, suppressing a smile. At least the girl had some spirit to her. “Now let me see where we are.”
Sarah moved to the edge of the bed, and I knelt between her legs. Martha handed me a vial of oil, and I anointed my hand. To my surprise I found that the child was ready to be born.
“The child will be born soon,” I announced. “But before I offer you any help, you must tell me the name of the father.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked over my shoulder to her mistress, and a look of uncertainty crossed her face. If I’d needed any more proof that her master had gotten her with child, I had it.
Martha stepped forward and took Sarah’s hand. “We know it was your master. We just need you to say it aloud.” I was pleased, though not surprised, that Martha had come to the same conclusion as I. She would need several more years as my deputy to learn the mysteries of childbirth, but she could already tell the truth from lies as readily as any woman I knew.
“Tell them the truth,” a man’s voice said from behind us. I whirled around, shocked both by the presence of a man in the delivery room and by the words he’d said. A man who could only be Mr. Fisher stood in the doorway behind Grace. He was handsome, appearing neither rich nor poor, and his face gave no sign of the sinful courses into which he’d fallen.
“I got her with child,” he said to me. I saw Martha’s brow furrow as she absorbed the words.
“This is my husband, Stephen,” Grace said, her voice flat and without emotion. I could not imagine how such a situation felt. Phineas had had his faults, but a wandering pintle was not among them.
“Why are you telling us?” I asked, for I was no less puzzled than Martha. I’d attended more than my share of illegitimate births, and I’d never met a man so eager to confess his adultery.
“The sin is mine, and I will not compound my fault by denying it. It is the right thing to do.”
Martha continued to stare at Mr. Fisher warily but did not give voice to whatever doubts she had.
I turned to Sarah. “Is it true that he is the father of your child?”
“Aye,” she replied. “He had use of my body during the spring. Only a few times. But it was enough.”
I nodded. “Mrs. Fisher, the child is so near to being born we are past the point of making caudle. We will need swaddling clothes for the child and food for Sarah.”
“I’ll get some linen,” she said, and disappeared down the stairs.
“You’ve done your part,” Martha declared to Mr. Fisher. “Leave us.”
He nodded and slipped away as meek as could be.
Martha and I turned our attention to Sarah and, as I expected, the child did not keep us waiting for long. When Sarah’s travail was at its worst I questioned her again, and she confirmed that her master had fathered the child on her. And that was that.
After we swaddled the child—a healthy and squalling baby boy—and sent for a meal, I left Martha and Sarah alone so I could speak with the Fishers. I found them in the parlor, patiently awaiting the news, though I could not tell what they hoped to hear. A stillborn child certainly would simplify their lives, and I’d known otherwise good men to give thanks to God when their bastard children died.
“Sarah has given birth to a lusty boy,” I said to Mr. Fisher without preamble. “And at the height of her travail she said that you are the father.”
The Fishers simply nodded. Somehow they had made their peace with the adultery that had invaded their marriage.