The Midwife's Tale (4 page)

“Wait,” he said. Looking around nervously, he added another scoop of grain to her bag. “There’s no need for that. For any of it. I just started with my master and I don’t need trouble.” He handed over the grain and looked imploringly into her eyes. Her performance was remarkable.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling warmly and then lowering her eyes briefly before looking up again. “I’m sorry if I seemed harsh. These are difficult times, and I would hate to disappoint my mistress.”

“It’s quite all right,” he said. I saw the blood rushing to his face, and his ears turned bright crimson. “Come back any time.” I think that by the time we left the shop, the poor boy would remember the look she gave him rather than the grain she took.

“The original measure seemed right to me,” I commented as we made our way back to my house.

She stopped and looked at me, her face the very soul of innocence. “Oh, no, my lady,” she said. “He was trying to give me a short measure. I’m quite sure of it.” She sounded genuine, but I thought I caught a mischievous glint in her eyes. I wondered if she had fooled the boy for her own amusement or because she knew I was watching.

“Well, whatever the case, you shall take over some of the shopping duties from Hannah.” I couldn’t openly countenance such behavior but had to admit I enjoyed the performance, and if food became scarce, her “negotiating” skills could come in useful.

As we stepped through the front door, Hannah met us carrying my valise and the case containing the parts of my birthing stool. “Martha, you’ll have to prepare supper for yourself,” Hannah said. “Lady Hodgson and I will be with Patience Askew.” She turned to me. “One of her gossips was just here. She said the child is coming soon. You must hurry.”

Chapter 3

I took the valise from Hannah and the two of us set out for Patience’s home in St. Crux parish. Patience and her husband lived in two rooms above a small blacksmith’s shop not far from the parish church. When we arrived, we found Patience sitting on the edge of the bed with her arms over the shoulders of two of her gossips. I was pleased to see that Esther Cooper had taken the lead in caring for Patience. Esther had assisted me in many deliveries and acquitted herself well on every occasion. She knelt between Patience’s legs, examining the child to learn how he lay in the womb. I waited until she had finished with her work before I approached. Esther smiled when she saw me.

“How is she?” I asked as we embraced.

“She is well enough, and the child is coming soon. My only fear is that her waters have not yet broken and she is already tired.”

I examined Patience and saw that Esther was right. Her shift was soaked with sweat, and her face had the haggard look of a woman twice her age. For her sake and the child’s, we needed to hasten her labor. “Hannah,” I said, “fetch some featherfew from my bag and boil it in white wine. Esther, I need you to help me with the birth.”

I talked briefly with Patience as I anointed my hands, but she was already too fatigued to tell me much. Hannah returned with the wine and held it to Patience’s lips as she drank. I was loath to break her water before nature saw fit, but I knew that we hadn’t time to wait. I told Patience what I needed to do and then reached inside her to rend the afterbirth with my thumbnail. I said a prayer that Patience’s waters would ease the child’s way into the world. For the next hour, Esther and I worked together to help Patience in her travail, and around noon we delivered her of a baby girl, thanks be to God.

After we swaddled the child and settled Patience in her bed, Esther and I sat together and talked of our friends and neighbors. I had met Esther soon after I had arrived in York, and we became fast friends. I attended her wedding to Stephen Cooper and offered her advice and medicines when she had trouble becoming pregnant. With my help and God’s, she finally could conceive, but she’d not yet had a child who lived. In three years she had four miscarriages, each one more painful to bear than the last. Despite these repeated blows, Esther never stopped attending her gossips in their travail; she rejoiced with them when their children lived and mourned with them when they died. If a more generous soul lived in York, I had not met her.

I knew less about Stephen’s reaction to Esther’s miscarriages, except that he saw divine providence in it and sought remedy more in prayer than in my decoctions and poultices. In the few conversations we did have, it became clear that he disliked me and did not approve of my friendship with Esther. In my more charitable moments, I told myself that he worried that I would gossip about his failure to beget a child or that I blamed him for the miscarriages. But I also knew that he held a low opinion of all women and did not approve of young widows who refused to remarry; women, he thought, needed a man’s guiding hand. Whatever Stephen’s judgment on women, I knew that Esther loved him and I made my peace with her choice. I continued to help them as best I could—the previous month I recommended Esther eat satryion or ragwort flowers soon after the end of her terms.

“Has my prescription had good effect?” I asked.

“It is too soon to tell, but at least there is pleasure in the trying.” She laughed. “If God sees fit, He will answer our prayers.” I thought about Michael and Birdy and wondered at some of the things that God saw as fit. I pushed away such blasphemous thoughts as best I could.

“If you do become pregnant, remember my advice,” I said.

“I know, I know, ‘pomegranate seeds boiled in oil of lilies,’” she said with a laugh. She mimicked my Herefordshire accent with alarming accuracy. “Sometimes I think you want me to have a child as much as I do, if only so you have one to indulge.” She must have seen the sadness that welled up inside me. “My lady, I did not mean that as it sounded.”

“Do not worry,” I said, patting her knee. “You may well be right.” I changed the subject as quickly as I could. “You did well with Patience today. Are you quite sure you won’t let me take you on as my deputy? You have a gift for working with women in travail.”

“Thank you, my lady, but I cannot. Someday I will, but Stephen does not think it meet for me to do so before I have children.”

“I think he fears that you’ll spend even more time with your gossips, and leave him unattended,” I said. “Or that you’ll have money of your own.”

“Stephen is a good man,” Esther said with a laugh. She knew I did not approve of how he treated her. “When I give him children, I’m quite sure he will relent. Then I will be happy to learn from you.”

Esther and I gossiped a bit more, but soon enough it was time to leave. We embraced again and went our separate ways.

*   *   *

That evening, clouds swept in from the west and rain began to fall. As I warmed myself by the fire, I found myself hoping that the rain would soak the rebels to the bone. I should not have had such uncharitable thoughts, and in His wisdom, God punished me for my vindictive spirit. As Hannah helped prepare me for bed, Martha came in and announced that Elizabeth Asquith’s manservant was at the door.

“He says that his mistress had been in labor for some time, and will soon need a midwife.” Without my saying a word, Hannah began retying my bodice.

“Tell him I’ll be there shortly,” I said. “Do you feel up to assisting me tonight?” I asked Hannah.

She looked uncomfortable. “Honestly, I am not well, my lady,” she said. “I’ve been in and out of the jakes since the afternoon. I fear I’ll be there for much of the night. My guts are pinching me…” She trailed off. I considered my options. Any of Elizabeth’s gossips could assist me in the delivery, but I felt uneasy at the prospect of walking the city alone at night.

“Very well,” I said. “Show Martha where my bag is, and tell her we’ll be leaving shortly.” Hannah nodded and left. “Make sure she gets the birthing stool as well,” I called after her. The stool had been a bequest from my mother-in-law, who had trained me in that art. Except for my house, the stool was the oldest thing I owned. I finished dressing and went down to the parlor, where Martha waited. Martha picked up the stool and lantern while I carried my valise, and the two of us stepped into the night.

As we left my house, Martha slipped on pig dung left by one of the scores of animals that roamed the city. She landed hard on her rear and uttered a string of oaths more fit for a sailor than a maidservant. “I’m sorry, my lady,” she said. “I’ll mind my tongue.” It was not an auspicious start to our night’s work.

We walked down Stonegate and turned onto a narrower side street that would take us directly to Elizabeth’s. I knew the way but still felt a bit nervous—thanks to the rain, the light from our lantern seemed to extend only a few feet in front of us, and the street’s broken paving stones made for treacherous footing. The city had ordered householders to set out lamps to provide light to passersby, but even at times of peace the order had always been more honored in the breach. Now, with Parliament’s forces overlooking the city, even fewer people put out lanterns for fear of catching the eye of a bored artilleryman. A few blocks farther on, the street narrowed, and the sky was reduced to a narrow sliver as the buildings’ eaves nearly met overhead.

“I feel as if we’re walking into a cave,” said Martha.

“It’s the shortest way,” I explained, but at the same time I regretted that we hadn’t brought an extra lamp and, for that matter, that I hadn’t asked Elizabeth’s manservant to accompany us. Few respectable city residents would be out on such a night, and the discipline among the Royalist soldiers was breaking down. The week before, a maid had been raped and left for dead by a foreign mercenary from the King’s garrison. The soldier had been hanged, but I had no illusions that the city was much safer. I silently prayed that the rain would keep people in-doors and allow us to pass unmolested. Unfortunately, as with so many prayers, God answered this plea in the negative.

As we approached a darkened alley, a soldier stepped from the shadows and barred our way. He towered over the two of us, and from the smell of him he’d spent the evening soaking himself in liquor. Even in the dim light offered by Martha’s lantern he recognized my rank, and he offered a false smile that revealed broken and rotting teeth.

“Good evening, m’lady,” he slurred with an exaggerated bow. “And what brings you into such a dangerous part of the city at this hour? Surely you will allow me to escort you to your final destination.” The glint in his eye made clear that this was a threat, not a request. He was a predator, and the scent of weakness would only embolden him further, so I saw no use in playing his game. I stepped between Martha and this rogue.

“I am a midwife and a gentlewoman of the city. Unless you wish to spend tonight in the city gaol, step aside.” This was an empty threat, of course, and the question was whether he recognized it as such. Upon hearing my words, he straightened up, and his lupine features hardened. A moment later the smile returned, but with a crueler edge than before.

“Ah, I see I was mistaken. Yours are not the clothes of a gentlewoman, but of a bawd, and this must be your whore. No wonder you are abroad at this hour. Now, bawd, is that how you should speak to a gentleman such as myself? I think I should show you and your whore your proper place. Perhaps I shall make the two of you
my
whores.”

Without warning, he lashed out with his foot and knocked my legs out from under me. I landed hard on the stone street, my breath knocked out of me. Try as I might, I could not call for help. As I struggled to regain my breath, I looked up and saw that the soldier now held a knife. My heart racing, I scrambled to my feet, desperate to find a way to protect Martha from whatever horrors this monster had in mind. He seized Martha’s collar and held the knife against her neck. When she felt the blade, Martha froze, though I could see her eyes darting left and right in search of some escape.

“Unless you wish to bathe in her blood, hold your tongue,” he hissed at me. He pressed the knife to her throat to underline his threat. A drop of blood, black in the moonlight, slid down her neck before pooling in the notch of her collarbone. “I’ll take my pleasure with your whore now. If she pleases me, I’ll send you on your way. If not, perhaps I’ll see if you are more to my liking. If you move before I have finished with her, I will cut her throat.”

Panic welled up inside me as he dragged Martha toward the mouth of the alley. I could not cry out or run for help, for he would undoubtedly kill Martha and flee. But neither could I stand by as he raped my maidservant. Martha’s fate lay in my hands, and I resolved to save her life, even if it meant losing my own. If I could surprise this rogue and knock the knife from his hand, we might be able to escape. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the coming battle.

I charged into the alley, but before I had taken more than a few steps, the lamp slipped from Martha’s hands and shattered on the cobblestones. As the candle sputtered out, I saw the soldier struggling to keep his grip on Martha’s cloak as she twisted away. As to what happened next, I had only my ears to guide me. From the shadows, I heard a man’s voice shout in surprise. This cry was followed by the sounds of desperate combat and a moan that ended in blood. I knew I had just heard someone’s last breath. I peered desperately into the darkness, knowing I should flee but unable to leave Martha behind.

“Martha!” I cried. “Are you there?” When she didn’t respond, I shouted for help: “Murder! Murder!” At that moment the full moon broke through the clouds, illuminating the street. To my surprise Martha strode from the alley, her bodice and apron shining black.

“Hush!” she whispered. “You’ll wake the whole town.”

“My God, you’re covered in blood!” I cried, and pulled desperately at her cloak, sure I would find a fatal wound. She grabbed my arms firmly and looked into my eyes.

“It’s his blood, my lady. We’d best be going. Mrs. Asquith needs you, and neither of us wants to spend the evening answering the constable’s questions.” She reached down, picked up my valise, and handed it to me. I still could not comprehend her words or what she must have done.