The Midwife's Tale (20 page)

I opened Stephen’s diary and began to read. The first entries were from early in the year and chronicled the daily life of a merchant and his growing anxiety about the war. He made no secret of his leaning toward Parliament and his disgust with the Royalist occupation of the city. Unlike most residents, Stephen exulted when the rebels laid siege to the city, and he unashamedly described his efforts both to foment a rebellion within the city and to contact the rebel generals outside. He summarily dismissed efforts by Edward and by Charles Yeoman to convince him to be more discreet in his activity, saying there was no half-way position between God and Satan. Stephen also wrote at length about his suit with the Hookes and the enormous sums he spent in order to secure victory. He claimed that the Hookes had matched him pound for pound, suborning witnesses and lining the pockets of any government official they thought could help their cause. Naturally, he saw God’s hand in every victory, however small, and believed that it proved his own righteousness rather than his lawyer’s skill.

As I neared the end of the diary, I began to see what Edward had meant about Stephen courting death in the final weeks before his murder. In the last few days before he died, Stephen’s conspiracy with the rebels had become widely known among the city’s leaders. Stephen wrote of Charles Yeoman’s desperate efforts to forestall the uprising out of fear it would lead to the destruction of the city. He described a series of increasingly acrimonious arguments as Yeoman argued for moderation and Stephen insisted he was doing the Lord’s work. I felt a shiver run through my body when I read the entry from June 8, the day after the suburbs were burned:

Uncle Yeoman visited again today with harsh and uncharitable words about the siege and my recent actions, urged me to hold my tongue. I told him I could not hide my lantern under a bushel, said he had sided with Antichrist against the Lord. He said, “I came to York to save the city from destruction, and I have come as a friend and kinsman to warn you. If you will not stop your conspiracy, then for the sake of the city I will. If you will not promise to forbear, you must take what falls. God have mercy on your soul.” I told him I was sure of my salvation and God would protect me from his schemes.

I reread the passage several times, trying to make sense of what Stephen had written. Charles Yeoman had been clear that his first priority was to save the city from pillaging. It never occurred to me that he might have been willing to murder his own nephew in the process. And if Yeoman was behind Stephen’s murder, it would explain his deception; he wanted nothing more than to shift my attention from him to the Hookes.

I continued to read, wondering who else might have had reason to kill Stephen. I did not have far to go, for in the next day’s entry, Stephen noted the visit by Lorenzo Bacca that Ellen had described:

An Italian came to me today, saying he was the Lord Mayor’s creature. He said he knew of my plans for York, and would not allow me to succeed. I told the Papist that God would decide the outcome of the coming battle. He went away unpleased, with many harsh threats. I know that the Lord has placed these men before me to test my faithfulness to Him.

The last few entries focused on Stephen’s unsuccessful efforts to convince others within the city to rise up against the King’s men. If Yeoman or Bacca returned to renew their threats, Stephen made no mention of it.

I returned the book to the desk and found Martha waiting in the front parlor. “How did your meeting go?” she asked with a slight smile. Apparently my voice had carried into the parlor.

“I have the letter that will open the Castle’s gates to us,” I said. “But that was not all.” Martha looked at me quizzically. “Edward had Stephen Cooper’s diary. He took it from his office the day after he was killed.”

“And he let you see it?” Martha asked, her face radiating excitement. “What did it say?”

“It appears that Charles Yeoman’s lies go beyond exaggerating Stephen’s impending victory over the Hookes.” I told Martha about the fight between Yeoman and Stephen.

“Mr. Cooper had more enemies than the King himself.”

“He did at that. We’ll talk to Esther now. Perhaps she can help us unravel all this.”

“Perhaps,” Martha said skeptically. I knew that despite my discoveries, she still believed Esther had killed Stephen. I said a prayer that she was wrong.

*   *   *

When we reached the Castle gate, we found a different sergeant on duty, so we went through the same inspection as at our last visit. Samuel, the dwarf-jailor, was more welcoming, chatting gregariously about the news of the city. He took us down the stairs to Esther’s cell and opened the door. In the days since we’d last visited, he had treated Esther well indeed. The wood bed was still present, but she now had a second mattress along with a linen sheet and thick wool blanket. There also was now a chair next to the bed—roughly made, of course, but a chair all the same. Surprised by these improvements, I looked at Samuel.

“Her servant sent the bedding,” he said. “The chair belonged to another prisoner, but he doesn’t need it anymore, if you catch my meaning.” He expertly mimed the snap of a hanged man’s neck.

“And I assume she paid handsomely for all of this?”

“Of course she did! You said to make sure she is treated well, and I have. If I’d thought a woman such as yourself was asking me for charity, I’d have told you to piss off.”

I conceded his point, and he locked us in the cell with Esther. Given her circumstances, she looked well. I can’t say pregnancy became her—she did not yet show any signs of her condition—but her confinement had not yet begun to take its toll. That would change come winter, if she lived that long.

Without preamble Esther crossed the room and grasped my arms. “Did you find the letters and diary, my lady?”

“We did,” I said. “But all was not as you said.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“The key you gave to us did not fit the lock on the chest.”

This seemed to deepen her confusion. “Perhaps it was stuck,” she suggested.

“What did the lock look like?” I asked.

She closed her eyes to picture it. “It was iron, of course, and square … I don’t know, it looked like a padlock,” she said with obvious frustration.

“Did it have any engravings on it?”

“No, none. Stephen was always one for simplicity.”

I looked over at Martha—she had recognized the significance of this. The lock that she had picked had an ornate cross engraved on its face. Someone had indeed changed the lock. The question then became what this meant.

“Esther, someone took the lock off of Stephen’s chest and replaced it with another. Can you think why someone would try to keep us from reading his letters or diary?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t know how they could have done so. There was only one key, and he always kept it on his body.”

“Most padlocks can be picked without much trouble,” Martha volunteered.

“Also,” I continued, “there was no money in the chest, only the letters.” I decided not to tell her that Edward had pilfered the diary even as her husband’s body lay downstairs.

“I saw the money a few weeks ago—perhaps he spent it, or loaned it out.”

“You said it was a lot of money,” I said patiently, “more than you’d ever seen.” She nodded. “And you said that he had gathered it because of the siege.”

“That’s what he told me.”

“Then he wouldn’t have spent it or loaned it, would he?”

This gave her pause. “Whoever changed the lock must have taken the money,” she said, mostly to herself, I think. “But only Stephen had the key. Where could the money have gone?”

“Might he have given it to a business partner for safekeeping?” I asked.

“I told you before that Stephen told me nothing of his business,” she said. “I only knew if things were going well or badly from family prayers in the morning. He saw God’s hand in all things. If a venture proved profitable, he took it as a sign of divine favor and gave thanks. If he failed, it was because he had displeased God, so he begged forgiveness, and attempted to mend his ways.”

It became clear to me that Esther knew nothing of the missing money, so I pushed on.

“Did Stephen ever talk to you of politics?” I asked without much hope.

“Not directly. He prayed about it quite a lot. He constantly begged God to show the King his errors so he would make peace with Parliament, and Popery would be defeated.”

“What were his prayers for the city?”

“He prayed for its safety. He’d heard rumors that the Lord Mayor swore he would burn the city before he surrendered it to the rebels. He said we would be better off if Parliament took it.”

“Is that all?” I asked.

“I wish I knew more,” she said. “Stephen preferred to talk of God rather than trade or politics.”

“What were his prayers like before he died? Did they change at all?”

“They
always
changed,” she said. “He was always worried about some sin or another: pride, vanity, ingratitude for God’s blessings. He went on and on about secret sins, but that was not new.” Nor is it very helpful, I thought.

“Did he tell you what those sins were?” Martha asked.

“No. Why do you ask?” Her eyes widened as she considered Martha’s question. “You don’t think he might have been murdered for his sins, do you?” I felt a pang of regret at the damage I was doing to her memory of her husband.

“We found a note sent by someone trying to extort money from your husband. Whoever wrote it said they knew of his sins, and promised to keep it a secret if he paid ten pounds.”

Her eyes bulged. “Ten pounds! For what? What did they say he had done?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that,” I said. “Whoever wrote the note seemed to think he’d know.”

“No, I know of no sin!” She was aghast at the thought. “He was the godliest of men.”

“Someone didn’t think so,” Martha interjected. I glared at her. This was not what Esther wanted to hear.

“It must have been a mistake. He could be a hard man, but he loved the Lord.”

“There is another matter I must enquire about.” Esther looked at me warily. “We have heard that Stephen would sometimes whip you.”

“Oh, thank goodness!” she cried out. “You frightened me for a moment, my lady. I was worried you had discovered some terrible secret.”

Now I was confused. “So, Stephen didn’t beat you?” I asked uncertainly.

“After we married he corrected me when I required it, but once I learned his ways he did not have to do so very often,” Esther said. “And he never whipped me excessively or marked my face.” I gazed at her in disbelief. Of course I knew men who beat their wives often, and I knew wives who did not object. I simply had never imagined that Esther was such a sheep. She had further convinced me of her innocence, but I thought less of her as a friend.

“We also heard that Stephen beat you on the night he died.”

Esther’s face turned more serious. “Ellen told you that. Yes, we fought that night, and it was one of our worst. I hit him and he replied in kind.”

“Esther,” I cried in exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“Because I needed you to believe me! I had already been convicted and sentenced to death. If I told you that I had attacked my husband on the night he died, you would have abandoned me just as everyone else has. I cannot even remember what we quarreled about. It was some small matter that got out of control. I loved Stephen and will have to live the rest of my days knowing that my last words with him were peevish and hateful. Lady Hodgson, I did not kill my husband.”

I gazed at Esther, trying to find some indication of whether she was lying. To my eyes, she seemed to be telling the truth, and if I’d learned nothing else that day, it was that plenty of people wished to see Stephen dead. But I could not ignore her earlier deception or the ease with which Martha had misled me about her own past. I wanted to believe Esther, but I could not stomach the thought of being a murderess’s dupe.

I looked at Martha, unsure where our questions had gotten us. Esther knew Stephen better than anyone, but even if she was telling the truth, she had given us little useful information. Martha and I said our good-byes and asked Esther if she needed anything. She said she wanted for nothing except her husband. I had a hard time believing her, but she seemed sincere. There are some women who want that sort of husband, I suppose. God help them. I knocked on the door and Samuel let us out.

Chapter 15

“I hear you’ve ruffled the feathers of some very powerful birds,” Samuel Short said cheerfully as he escorted us to the Castle yard. “The Lord Mayor was very unhappy when he heard you’d found Esther to be with child.” He used Esther’s first name deliberately, to rob her of her status, and it rankled. Esther had been born into money and married a prosperous merchant, but now she depended on Samuel as much as she ever had her husband. I didn’t think he was cruel or that he treated her badly—but the inversion pleased him. Like so many of the meaner sort, he enjoyed it when the mighty fell.

“Remember our deal,” I said. “If you hear anything useful about her case, you’ll send word.” He nodded and closed the door behind us.

As we crossed the bridge to the city, Martha and I talked about what we had learned during our visit.

“Do you believe her?” she asked.

“About what? That Stephen did not talk to her of his business or politics? To be sure. That she knew nothing of the extortion? That she did not know about the missing money? That he didn’t beat her excessively? That the fight on the night he died means nothing? I don’t know. She seems to be telling the truth, but…”

“She’s lying about something or she’s stupid as a shit-eating goat,” Martha said dismissively. “No woman worth her salt could be so blind to what was happening in her own house.” She paused. “Is it possible she murdered him and then took the money, but was arrested before she could make good her escape?”

“You’re thinking like a thief, not a merchant’s wife,” I chided her. “She could no more steal the money and escape than I could. Where would she go? What would she do? She cannot simply appear at a stranger’s door and ask to be put into service.” She smiled slightly. “If we want to find out what happened to Stephen, we will have to discover the truth ourselves. When the subject is Stephen Cooper’s death, everyone lies.”