The Midwife and the Assassin (15 page)

“Look at his neck,” Martha said.

The constable knelt next to Daniel's body and lifted his chin as Martha had done. He stared at Daniel's neck for a few moments before standing. “His neck is marked.”

“Aye, but how?”

“There are marks in the shape of fingers and a thumb,” the constable muttered. “Someone held him by the throat.”

“And that is why he died so quietly,” Martha said. “The murderer seized Mr. Chidley's neck, stabbed him, and then held him against the wall while he died. He didn't even pull out the blade until Mr. Chidley was dead. That's why he bled so little.”

“At the moment he died, Daniel was looking into his killer's eyes,” I said to myself.

“Now tell me, constable,” Martha continued, “do you think Mrs. Chidley is strong enough to have held Mr. Chidley by the throat, stabbed him in the chest, and kept her grip for all the time it took him die? And is she cold enough to stare into her own husband's face, even as he breathed his last?”

For a time nobody spoke.

“Perhaps you should summon the coroner and a Justice of the Peace,” I murmured. “Let men above your rank concern themselves with this matter.”

Relief filled the constable's eyes. He nodded to one of the beadles, who dashed off in search of help.

Within minutes more men had come to see Daniel's body, and women had come to console Katherine. Martha and I went upstairs, but Katherine was so numbed with grief that she could not hear the words of comfort that we offered. We stayed with her until nightfall and beyond, directing her other gossips and ensuring the house stayed in order. Eventually Katherine slept, and only then did Martha and I return home.

“Light a candle,” I said to Martha as soon as the door closed behind us. “We must notify Mr. Marlowe of what has happened.”

Martha and I spent nearly an hour crafting our letter, including every detail we could recall, from the bruises on Daniel's neck to the single wound in his chest, to the curious state of his shop. As soon as the sun rose, Martha and I delivered the letter to the Horned Bull only to find that neither Will nor Tom—how quickly I had started thinking of him as Tom—was there.

“You never know with those two,” the innkeeper's wife chirped. “Sometimes they're gone for days at a time. Never say where they went. But don't think I don't ask. What is your business with them?”

Martha and I exchanged a glance. Leaving our letter with this woman would be no different than having it shouted from every pulpit in London. In the end we settled for leaving a more cryptic note, telling Will and Tom that we had important news, and that they should come to the Cheap as soon as they could.

In the days that followed, the Cheap buzzed incessantly with news of two kinds. There was Daniel's murder, of course, and the futile search for his killer. When people tired of that matter, they turned to Parliament's plan to try King Charles for treason. Curiously enough, neither Will nor Tom responded to our note, or any of the others we sent in its wake. I even went so far as to send a letter to Mr. Marlowe at the Tower, but it, too, was ignored. With nothing else to do, Martha and I concerned ourselves with life rather than death. We had our own clients, and we also took upon ourselves the care of Katherine's mothers while she grieved for Daniel.

On January twentieth, the very day the King's trial was to begin, Martha was called to a travail, and I took advantage of my leisure to shop for a new dress. It would be wool rather than silk, of course, but I had determined to buy a more luxurious weave. As I returned home, Tom Reynolds fell into step beside me, but he gave no outward sign that he knew who I was.

“Follow me,” he murmured. He passed the Evelyns' door and led me south on Bread Street toward Pissing Alley. We entered the Horned Bull, where he and Will were staying, and found a candlelit table at the back of the dining room.

“Where is Will?” I asked. “Why didn't you send him?”

“He is still away on business for Mr. Marlowe.” A smile flitted across Tom's lips. “And speaking with you is not the most onerous of my duties.”

I suddenly became aware of my heartbeat and hoped that the flickering light would not show the blood that had rushed to my face. “I have news,” I said. “Daniel Chidley has been murdered.”

“We know,” Tom said. “That is why I sought you out.”

“But there is much you do not know.” I told him everything that Martha and I had seen on that dreadful day.

“Yes,” Tom said. “Well done.”

I looked at him for a moment. There was something strange in his manner. “You knew all that,” I said. “You knew about the bruises, the single wound to his chest … all of it.”

Tom smiled and shrugged. “We have many eyes in the Cheap. And that, in fact, is why I am here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Mr. Marlowe was unhappy to learn of Daniel Chidley's murder.”

“Unhappy?” I asked. “Daniel was as turbulent a Leveller as you'd find in London. I should have thought that Mr. Marlowe would welcome his death.”

“If it had been any other Leveller, he might have,” Tom replied. “But Daniel Chidley was one of Mr. Marlowe's spies.”

I stared at Tom, trying to make sense of this news.

“Why would Daniel do such a thing? He lived and breathed for the Leveller cause. And why would Mr. Marlowe ask me to spy on Daniel Chidley, if Daniel was already in his employ?”

Tom laughed. “When it comes to his spies, Mr. Marlowe is nothing if not thorough. He wanted to be sure he could trust Daniel.”

I remembered then that someone had spied on Martha and me on the night Daniel spoke at the Nag's Head. It must have been Daniel himself. I shook my head in wonder at the webs Mr. Marlowe wove. “Why would Daniel have agreed to be Mr. Marlowe's spy?”

“He didn't have a choice,” Tom replied.

I thought for a moment and realized what must have happened. “Their son,” I said. “Mr. Marlowe threatened their son in the same way he threatened Will.”

“Aye,” Tom said. “Their boy is in the New Model Army, and he is no less vulnerable than Will was when he was in the Tower. A parent's love is a powerful weapon.”

“What threat did Mr. Marlowe make?” I asked.

Tom shrugged. “I never asked. It doesn't matter.”

“No, I suppose not. Mr. Marlowe is a hateful man.”

“He is effective, and in these times that is all that matters,” Tom said. “It is also true that when recruiting spies Mr. Marlowe favors bribes more than threats. You and Daniel were exceptions.”

“Did Katherine know that Daniel was a spy?”

“Not unless he told her. Nobody knew except Mr. Marlowe and me. At least that is what we thought.”

“You think someone discovered Daniel was Mr. Marlowe's spy and killed him for it,” I said.

“It would be dangerous to assume otherwise. On the day he was killed, Daniel sent me a message saying he had urgent news. We were to meet that evening. He never showed.”

“That cannot be mere chance,” I said.

Tom shook his head. “Someone knew about Daniel's work, and killed him for it.”

“The Levellers would not be pleased to learn of Daniel's duplicity. Do you think he was killed for betraying their cause?”

“It is possible. It might also have been a Royalist who hated the democracy he preached. Daniel had no shortage of enemies.”

“If someone discovered Daniel was in Mr. Marlowe's service, they might know I am as well,” I said. “Did Mr. Marlowe send you to warn me of the danger?”

“I wish that were so,” Tom said with a rueful smile. “But Mr. Marlowe is not so tenderhearted as that. He wants you to find Daniel Chidley's killer.”

 

Chapter 12

I stared at Tom for a moment, struck dumb by Mr. Marlowe's audacity. “Oliver Cromwell's chief intelligencer wants
me
to find the man who killed
his
spy?” I asked. “Surely he can do such a thing himself.”

Tom laughed kindly at my outrage and took my hand. A shiver dashed up my spine and back down again.

“He can't do it himself,” Tom said. “An intelligencer is only as good as his spies, and Mr. Marlowe counts you as one of his. This
is
why he brought you to London.”

I tried to follow Tom's words, but I found myself unable to think of anything except the fact that he still held my hand. I pulled it away so I could recover myself.

“And he has nobody else?” I asked.

“Nobody better suited to the work. Not only do you live across the street from the Chidleys, but you have more experience in such matters than anyone else in his employ. He would be a fool
not
to put this task in your hands, and, hard as he is, Mr. Marlowe is no fool.”

I sat in silence considering the challenge before me. As much as I hated Marlowe and his methods, I could not forget Katherine Chidley's grief. How could I call myself her gossip if I did not do this for her? I thought then of the ease with which the murderer had killed Daniel, and of how lucky I'd been to survive my last encounter with so dangerous a man.

“Whoever killed Daniel will not hesitate to kill again,” I said.

“Aye,” Tom said, his face serious. “And it appears that he is very good at killing. Daniel Chidley never had a chance.”

“But I cannot say no,” I said.

“No, you cannot,” he replied. “When it comes to Mr. Marlowe, there is only
yes
.”

“Very well,” I said. “Is there anything else he would have me do?”

“No, just the one murderer to catch,” he said.

I laughed despite myself.

“But I can offer you some help in this matter.” Tom reached into his bag and produced an envelope not unlike the one he'd given me in the Tower. “There are some people who seem more likely than others to have had a hand in Daniel Chidley's death. I have a list here, and details of what we know about them. Where you start is your business, but you should be aware of these men.”

“I'll not give you my thanks, but I do appreciate the courtesy.” I smiled slightly as I took the packet.

“There is one more thing,” Tom said. “It is possible that you can put Daniel's work for Mr. Marlowe to your advantage.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you think revealing his betrayal would help, you may do so.”

“Mr. Marlowe approved this?”

Tom laughed. “It was his idea. When word gets out that Daniel was Cromwell's spy, the Levellers will wonder who else might have betrayed their cause. If they do not trust each other, they will have a devil of a time planning a rebellion.”

“Very well,” I said.

We stood, and Tom stepped forward to take my hand. I looked around and saw that we had the room to ourselves. “I am sorry for my part in this bloody business,” he said. “You are a good woman and deserve better.”

Although I knew what Tom intended to do even before he leaned toward me, his kiss somehow caught me unawares. By the time our lips parted, I could hardly breathe and felt as if I was coming down with a fever.

*   *   *

Martha was still out when I returned to our tenement. I took advantage of these few moments of quiet to write a letter to Elizabeth, and then I began to read the papers Tom had given me. As I finished, I heard Martha climbing the stairs. When she opened the door, all I could think about was the kiss I'd shared with Tom, for I felt quite sure that Martha would take one look at my face and know exactly what had happened. Indeed, the merest thought of that kiss caused my cheeks to turn pink and my heart to pound as if I'd just run home from the Horned Bull.

To my relief, Martha was full of gossip and good cheer, completely unaware that I'd just kissed a man for the first time since … my God, how long had it been? Nearly a decade?

By the time Martha had talked herself out, I thought I would be able to keep the news to myself. With forced lightness I told her that I had met with Colonel Reynolds.

“What, is he still not convinced that we are faith-worthy?” she asked. “Or did he come here to court you?”

I knew from her voice that Martha spoke in jest, but my face flushed all the same. Of course she noticed.

“What?” she cried. “He came to court you?” Her face was the very picture of devilish glee.

“Will you hush!” I cried. “Remember how thin the walls are. If any of our neighbors or—heaven forbid—Mrs. Evelyn finds out, it will be all over the Cheap by nightfall.”

“Very well.” Martha lowered her voice but could not stop smiling. “Where were you? Tell me what happened.”

“We went to the Horned Bull—” I started.

“I imagine you did,” Martha said before she burst out laughing.

“Martha!”

“Yes, yes, I'm sorry. You were at the Horned Bull. Go on.”

“We talked of Daniel Chidley's murder, and then … he kissed me, or rather we kissed each other.”

Martha stared at me. “The two of you talked of Daniel Chidley's murder, and then you fell to bussing each other. He certainly knows how to court a woman.”

“Do not forget that you and Will first came together over a corpse,” I said. “Indeed, much of his wooing took place as the three of us searched for murderers.”

Martha laughed again. “A fair point. And what did Colonel Reynolds have to say about Daniel Chidley?”

“Mr. Marlowe wants us to find Daniel Chidley's murderer,” I said.

Martha furrowed her brow. “Why does he want us to do that?” she asked. “Does he intend to thank the killer in person?”

“Not that,” I said. “Daniel was in Mr. Marlowe's service. He was spying on the Levellers.”

Martha sat abruptly, no less surprised at the news than I had been. It only took a few moments for her to recognize the implications of this information. “If Daniel was a spy against the Levellers, and the Levellers discovered his treachery…”