The Witch Hunter's Tale (26 page)

I hugged her tightly and prayed for her safety before letting her and Stephen out the door. I watched the two of them walk toward Stonegate, and I nearly cried out in horror as the sentry dashed from the alley, his sword drawn.

Stephen stopped and held up his hands in a gesture of supplication. The sentry shouted over his shoulder, and two more men—these in the uniform of the Town Watch—approached. The three men gathered around Stephen and looked him over. I could see him trying to explain himself, and I said a prayer that they would listen. One of the watchmen peered at Elizabeth and then looked up at Stephen.

“If they don’t know Will, or have a poor description of him, they might take Stephen by accident,” Martha murmured. “They are looking for a man and a boy, and we’ve provided them with both. Never mind that it’s the wrong man and a girl.”

“Aye,” I said. “I never thought I’d pray that Will’s pursuers would know their quarry, but I do now.” I could tell from the look on Stephen’s face and the increasingly violent gestures of the watchmen that things were not going well. When one of the watchmen poked Stephen in the chest, and Stephen nearly fell to the ground from the pain, I darted out the door and into the street. By the time I reached Stephen’s side, my skin had turned numb from the cold.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. I saw that one of the watchmen wore a sergeant’s stripes, and I turned my attention to him. “Explain yourself!”

The sergeant could not have been more surprised if the Queen herself had charged down the street and challenged him. It took him a moment, but he eventually found his voice.

“We are in search of an escaped prisoner,” he said. His eyes narrowed, and I knew that he recognized me. “But you know this, for it is your nephew. This man came out of your house.”

“Were you told how tall my nephew is?” I asked.

The sergeant nodded. “A bit under six foot.”

“And how tall is this man?” I demanded.

The sergeant looked up at Stephen. He frowned, and I knew that I had won the day.

“Any fool could see he is not my nephew,” I concluded. “Let him pass.”

The sergeant looked down at Elizabeth, and his brow furrowed. Before he could speak, I whipped off her hat, showing her newly shorn hair.

“And this is not the boy you seek, either. No doubt you were told he had brown hair, and as you can see, this boy’s is red.”

Elizabeth looked up at me and opened her mouth to object to my calling her a boy. I popped her hat back on before she could.

“Well and fine,” the sergeant growled at last. “Let them go.”

I held my breath until Stephen and Elizabeth were safely out of sight. To my relief, none of the guards followed them. It seemed that our plan had worked. I nodded to the sergeant and returned to my house, desperate for the warmth within. As soon I entered, Hannah wrapped me in a blanket and hurried me to the kitchen. It took nearly half an hour before the cold began to seep from my bones. As evening fell, I sat in my parlor and looked into the darkening street, wondering how we could escape the city. Martha joined me with the same question.

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Town Watch is minding the gates so closely, I don’t want to try sneaking Will, Tree, and Elizabeth out just yet. If they are caught, all will be lost.”

“So we wait while Joseph and his men search the city room by room? They cannot stay hidden forever.”

“There is nothing we can do tonight, but tomorrow we will speak to Helen Wright,” I said. “If she can see them out of gaol, perhaps she can ease them through the city gates as well. I should be surprised if she hasn’t already begun to plan for their escape.”

I don’t know whether Martha or Hannah slept that night, but I lay awake for hours puzzling at the dangers we faced. After a time my mind returned to the murder of George Breary, so easily forgotten in the fire and smoke of my battle against Joseph. I remembered that if I could somehow prove Joseph’s role in the murder, our problems would fall away in a matter of days. However I tried, though, I could not imagine a way to do this.

I had just drifted to sleep when a knock roused me once again. My first fear was that the Town Watch had found Will, Tree, and Elizabeth, but the knock was far too gentle for that. Instead of a constable, Hannah admitted one of Matthew Thompson’s lads calling me to Grace Thompson’s travail.

“With all our running about I’d near forgotten I was a midwife,” I said to Martha as we wrapped ourselves against the cold. I was pleased to have the Thompsons’ man with us as we wound our way toward Micklegate. Joseph’s rage when he learned of Will’s escape would know no bounds, and I did not know how he would react. If he had seen fit to crush George Breary’s skull, I did not know why mine would be sacrosanct. The moon hung cold and bright in the night sky; sometimes it lit our path, but it also made the shadows seem that much more threatening. We kept to the light as best we could, but the darkness seemed to reach out, intent on catching us up. Relief flooded my body when we climbed the steps to the Thompsons’ home.

As befitted his place in the city, Matthew’s home was among York’s largest and most impressive. The Thompsons had filled every room with the finest furniture and wall coverings. Grace’s chamber was twice the size of my own, and I could not avoid a twinge of envy when I saw the exquisite quality of her quilts. Such uncharitable feelings dropped away when I felt the warmth of the women’s welcome. They waved Martha and me into the room, thrust glasses of wine into our hands, and peppered us with questions about Will and Tree’s escape from Ouse Bridge gaol. Martha and I pretended amazement, of course, and joined them in their wonder of how such a thing had come to pass. If the women worried about the men who had died that night, they hid it well, but I could not avoid thinking about them.

It took some doing, but after a time I convinced Grace to leave off gossiping and let me examine her. I found that she was still many hours from her final travail, so we returned to the other women and their merry conversation. It did not take long, though, before the days and nights I’d spent worrying about Will, Tree, and Elizabeth began to drag me down. I told Martha I required some sleep, slipped into a neighboring chamber, and fell into a large and exceedingly comfortable bed.

It was full daylight when I awoke to a burst of laughter from Grace’s room. I called for a basin of water, splashed some on my face, and returned to the gossips. Martha was clearly exhausted, so I sent her to the bed I’d just left. Gossips came and went in a steady stream as Grace’s labor pains became more frequent.

Grace tried to rest as well, and her gossips began to talk in hushed tones. To my surprise I heard Rebecca Hooke’s name. I joined the conversation, eager to hear whatever news they might have.

“He was standing below her window,” Susan Baird said. Her husband was one of York’s wealthier merchants and had built a home not far from the Thompsons. “I saw him myself. It was cold as could be, but he stood there, gazing up at the window. Then he hurried off.”

“What is this?” I asked. “Someone is wooing Rebecca Hooke?”

Laughter greeted my question. “Not Rebecca,” said Susan. “Though that would be a man to meet. No, I saw James Hooke. He was gazing at the Lord Mayor’s house. We live just across the street from the Lord Mayor, you know. My husband speaks to him all the time.” Susan’s nearness to the Lord Mayor was not something she’d let anyone forget.

“And James Hooke was staring at the Lord Mayor?” I asked. My head was still fuddled with sleep, and I could not puzzle out what she was saying.

Once again the women laughed long and loud.

“If he was looking for the Lord Mayor,” one woman replied, “it was only to cast an evil eye and hurry that old pantaloon into his grave.”

“Then what was he doing?” I asked.

The women laughed again, and I felt frustration rising within me. Susan saw this and took my arm. “It’s the Lord Mayor’s wife,” she whispered in my ear. “Like every other young man in the city, he’s besotted with Agnes Greenbury. The only difference is that he’s too doltish to hide it.”

I could not help feeling disappointed in the news. The fact that James had, yet again, fallen in love with the wrong woman would hardly help Will and Tree escape the city. I withdrew from the company and called for a glass of barley water. Grace’s final travail would begin soon, and I wanted to be ready. When Grace’s labor pangs became more frequent and regular, I summoned Martha, and soon after the child came bellowing into the world without any hindrance.

That was when the problems began.

Martha received the child—a baby girl—and the gossips started to help Grace from the stool to her bed, but Martha cried out in alarm.

“Put her back down,” she ordered. “Lady Bridget, come here!”

In an instant the room went silent save the cries of the child. The women lowered Grace back onto the birthing stool. Good cheer fled the room, and fear took its place.

“What is it?” I rushed to Martha’s side.

“The navel string is too short,” she replied. I took the child and found that Martha was right. She was so closely tethered to her mother that Grace could hardly move.

“We must cut it now,” I said. “If the cord pulls itself from the after-burthen—” I did not finish the sentence, nor did I need to.

“But what would happen if the string falls back inside?” Martha asked.

I shook my head. I had never seen a case such as this, and I had no ready answers.

Grace peered down at us, her eyes bright with fear, but she did not speak. After a moment, the answer came to me.

“Get a ribbon,” I said to the women behind me. “A fine one if you have it.” Within moments, one of Grace’s gossips had whipped one from her dress and handed it to me. I took my small knife from my apron.

“Grace,” I said. “The navel string is so short that it may fall back inside you when I cut it. I do not want to lose it, so I am tying this ribbon to it. Do you understand?”

Grace nodded, and as quickly as I could, I tied the ribbon and cut the string. One of the gossips took the child for washing and swaddling while Martha and I saw to Grace.

“Bring some hellebore,” I said to Martha. “I want to bring the after-burthen out as soon as we can.”

“I already have it,” she replied, handing me a small bag. Were the situation not so strange and dangerous, I might have commended her for her ready-handedness.

“Grace, I want you to cough. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have you breathe in this powder. It will hurt, but it also will help you bring forth the secundine.”

Grace coughed and coughed, but to no avail. When she took in the hellebore, her body twitched and flew, and I watched as the navel string drew back into her body. I gave thanks to God that I’d tied the ribbon, but I knew that Grace had not yet reached a safe harbor. I anointed my hands with oil of lilies, and as gently as I could I reached inside Grace. I knew that if I didn’t discover the problem, she could die before she’d even nursed her child.

To my dismay, I found the afterbirth still entirely attached to the side of Grace’s matrix. Not daring to remove it myself, I withdrew my hand and gestured for the gossips to lay Grace in her bed and give her the child. Grace looked up at me, the strain and fear of the day etched upon her face. She did not speak, but I knew her question.

“The after-burthen has not yet come,” I said. “It is best if we wait and allow it to be born on its own.” I did not tell her it held so fast to her matrix that we had little choice in the matter. If I tried to draw it forth myself, her matrix would flood, and she would bleed to death in mere minutes.

“For now, you should rest, and feed both the child and yourself,” I said. “If her cries are any sign, you will need all your strength to care for her.”

To my relief Grace laughed, and I smiled when she put the child to her breast. When the gossips had gathered around Grace, I took Martha by the arm and pulled her aside. She alone recognized the concern on my face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. It is possible that she will deliver the afterbirth and all will be well, but it is quite unnatural.”

“What can we do?”

I ran through our choices in my head. I could try to deliver the afterbirth by hand or with a crotchet hook, but I was loath to be too rough with it. We could summon a surgeon, but with the child safely born there was nothing he could do that I could not.

“Get some masterwort from my valise and boil it in wine,” I said. “I’ve heard it sometimes works in difficult cases.”

Martha nodded, but before she had even left for the kitchen, a scream like none I’d ever heard tore through the room.

Chapter 21

Martha and I dashed to Grace’s bed. She lay on her side, knees clutched to her chest. When we turned her to her back, I felt that her skin had become as hot as a blacksmith’s forge.

I turned to one of the gossips. “Get some wine and a clean cloth,” I told her. “And hurry.”

Martha and I comforted Grace as best we could. Fearful of what I might find, I glanced under her blanket. I thanked the Lord that she’d not flooded. When Grace’s gossip returned with the wine and cloth, Martha and I bathed her in it, hoping to cool her fever. Grace lay back, her eyes closed, and mumbled to herself. Then she slept. I watched as her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. The gossips seemed relieved, but I knew that Grace would remain in desperate danger until she delivered the afterbirth.

“I must talk to her husband,” I said.

“What will you say?” Martha asked.

“I’ll bring him the child and tell him the truth about Grace,” I replied. “If the mother’s life is in peril, you must tell her husband. If you promise that she will survive, and she does not, he will fault you for it.”

“I don’t envy you this task,” Martha said.

“It will be yours soon enough.”

I took the child in my arms and went in search of Matthew Thompson. I found him in the parlor, surrounded by his friends. His face was pale and drawn—he clearly realized that Grace’s labor was not going smoothly. He smiled when he saw the child in my arms, and took her from me.