The Midwife and the Assassin (33 page)

Have women not an equal interest in those liberties and securities contained in the good laws of the land? Are women's lives, liberties, or goods to be taken from us more than from men, except by due process of law and conviction?

“You are going to take this to Parliament?” I asked. I could not quite believe it.

“Of course,” Katherine said. “For my sake, and yours, and Elizabeth's as well. The liberties of England are due to
all
the English, not just the wealthy, and not just the men. If we women want the freedoms that are ours by birthright, we will have to take them for ourselves, for this Parliament will never give them to us willingly. Women and men must be equal in the eyes of the law.”

“When will you go to Westminster?” I asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Katherine said with a laugh. “We are sending notices throughout the city: to Westminster, to Southwark, everywhere. We women will march on Parliament together. There will be thousands of us.”

Not for the first time, I marveled at Katherine's audacity. I could not imagine what manner of world we would have if Katherine's vision came to be, but I could see that she would not be stayed. One of the other women called for Katherine, and after bidding us farewell she returned to the business of petitioning Parliament.

Elizabeth crossed to my side, and I knew her question even before she asked it.

“No,” I said. “You may not.”

“Please!” Elizabeth cried out. “I will be with Katherine and among friends. And I've never been to Westminster.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Who can know how Cromwell will react to such a provocation? I will not have you arrested.”

“Provocation?” Elizabeth asked. “When did petitioning Parliament become a provocation? It is a liberty, not sedition.”

“It is too dangerous.”

“Very well,” Elizabeth said, but what she meant was,
We will continue this discussion later.

With no hope of finding our supper among such a crowd, Martha and I returned home and dined on what food we had there.

When Elizabeth came home I readied myself for a second skirmish over the march on Parliament. When she went to bed without even asking, I did not know whether to be thankful or suspicious. She had traveled from Pontrilas to London without my leave; why would she not walk a few miles to Westminster? I resolved to watch her closely the next morning lest she slip away.

That night as I drifted to sleep, I wondered what fate awaited Katherine and her fanciful dreams for England. I could not imagine Parliament would grant all—or any—of her demands. I only hoped that she would not frighten them so badly that they would clap her in irons and send her to the Tower.

*   *   *

It was not yet daylight when Martha and I awoke to a pounding on our door. I arrived downstairs before our maidservant, Susan, and as I reached for the lock a vision of Mr. Marlowe's corpse leaped into my mind.

“Who is it?” I called through the door.

Lorenzo Bacca's deep laugh answered my question. “You are grown more careful, Mrs. Hodgson. I commend you for that, but it is only me.”

“Why have you come?” Martha had joined me at the door. I said a prayer of thanks that Elizabeth was still abed.

“Why are you so suspicious?” the Italian asked.

“Tell us what you want,” I demanded.

“I am here for Jane Owen. She has begun her travail and sent me to find you,” Bacca said. “Why will you not open the door? Is something wrong?”

Martha retrieved a fire iron from the hearth and stepped to the side of the door. She nodded at me, and with one motion I pulled open the door and stepped back. Bacca stood in the hall, his silks resplendent even in the guttering light afforded by his lantern.

“Open your cloak,” I said. “Show me your belt.”

Bacca raised an eyebrow and allowed a smile to creep across his lips. “And a good morning to you, as well,” he said.

I stared at him, and after a moment his smile faded. “Very well,” he said, and pulled back his cloak. As I expected, he wore a knife on his belt. It had a long, thin blade, ideal for slipping in between a man's ribs and killing him in an instant.

“Put the knife on the ground,” I said.

“What is it?” Bacca asked. He now sounded worried. “What has happened?” When I did not answer, he put the knife on the ground and tapped it toward me with his toe.

I scooped up the knife and stepped back. I stared at the polished bone handle and ornate gold band that graced the pommel. It was entirely unlike the knife that had killed Mr. Marlowe.

“What has happened?” Bacca asked again.

“A … friend was murdered,” I said. “And we do not know what the murderer intends to do next. I fear we are in danger.”

“If you are in danger, it is not from me,” Bacca said. “I promise you that.”

I looked down at Bacca's knife and made a decision.

“Will you take us to Jane Owen's?” I asked, handing him his knife.

“Why so trusting?” he asked. “I could be lying.”

“I saw the knife that killed our friend,” I said. “You'd have choked him to death before you condescended to use such a blade.”

Bacca laughed as he sheathed his weapon. “That is the only reason? Well, I suppose it will have to do.”

“How long has she been in travail?” Martha asked as she stepped into sight. She still held the fire iron at the ready.

“Ah, there you are!” Bacca said. “I imagine if I'd tried to come inside without an invitation I would have caught the iron in my ear. Well done.”

“The travail?” Martha asked again.

Bacca shrugged. “Long enough to need a midwife, I suppose. I do not pretend to comprehend women's business. I just did what Mrs. Owen asked of me, and that was to summon you.”

“I'll gather what we need,” I said. “Martha, tell Susan where we are going. And tell her to keep a close watch on Elizabeth. I fear she will try to join Katherine's march despite my warning.”

A few minutes later, the three of us were winding our way through the darkened streets toward the Crown.

 

Chapter 26

When Martha, Lorenzo Bacca, and I neared the Crown, Bacca led us around a corner to a comfortable and well-appointed house. We entered without knocking and found Charles Owen and a few of his friends sitting in the parlor talking softly. He glanced up when we entered. When he recognized us his eyes bulged and he leaped to his feet; I took an involuntary step backward, suddenly thankful for Bacca's presence.

Owen glanced at his friends and regained himself. “You must be Jane's midwives,” he said. “Welcome.”

“Thank you,” I replied. None of the men seemed to have noticed Owen's initial reaction. “She is upstairs?”

“Aye, but before you go up, could I have a word in private?”

I glanced at Bacca, who nodded slightly. “I will stay near.”

Martha and I followed Owen into the kitchen. As soon as the door closed, his anger at our presence had returned in full force. “How is it,” Owen asked through his teeth, “that of all the midwives in London, my wife settled on you? Do you know the trouble you caused the last time you came? You accused me of murdering Daniel Chidley, and nearly convinced my friends that I work for Cromwell. And now you are back?”

“We'll offer no apologies for hunting Daniel's murderer,” Martha replied. “And if you suffered a mild inconvenience for it, you'll get no sympathy from us.”

“Three men died, and you are still living,” I said. “Some men would be grateful.”

Owen took a breath and made a visible effort to calm himself. “None of this tells me how you came to be here,” he said at last. “Are you truly here as midwives?”

“Your wife sent for us, and we came,” I said. “You can ask her yourself.”

“And why would you help her if you think I consort with rebels?”

“If favoring the King were a crime, half of England would be hanged,” I said. “You've broken no laws, so we'll cause you no trouble.”

“We are here for your wife, not for you,” Martha added. “Every mother deserves a good midwife, whether she favors the King, Parliament, or no government at all.”

Owen stared at her for a moment, weighing her words. “I will speak to Jane. If you are telling the truth, I will not keep you from her. Wait here.”

A few minutes later, a maidservant appeared. “Mr. Owen asked me to take you to my mistress.”

Martha and I followed the girl out of the kitchen. As we passed through the parlor, Owen glanced at us but made no sign that we were anything other than strangers he'd just met.

We found Jane Owen in good spirits, talking amiably with half a dozen gossips who had come to attend her. Jane smiled when we entered and motioned us to her side.

“How is your travail?” I asked after we embraced.

“It is my first one, so I cannot say for sure.” She laughed with delight at the thought. “But it is not too severe, so I will not complain.”

I felt her belly through her shift, and found that the child was still high in her matrix. She was early in her travail. With nothing to be done at that moment, Martha and I settled in to better acquaint ourselves with Jane and her gossips. I found her to be as delightful as any mother I'd delivered since coming to London. She was kind to her friends and exceptionally quick of mind. I could not help wondering if she might someday take up the art of midwifery. Since Martha had come into her own, I soon would need a new deputy. I resolved to raise the question once I had delivered her.

Around sunrise I anointed my hands with oil and lay Jane on the bed. The neck of her matrix remained closed, which meant that her final travail was still some time away. I sent Martha to another chamber to get some rest, and then rejoined the gossips in their conversation.

A few hours after Martha had gone to sleep, we heard the sound of voices outside, as if a crowd had gathered beneath Jane's window. Within minutes the noise had grown so great that it roused Martha, and she joined us in looking out the window.

My mouth fell open at the sight that greeted us. Hundreds—nay, thousands—of women had filled the street and were marching together. They had sprigs of sage in their hats and sea-green ribbons pinned to their aprons. It could only be Katherine's crowd, bound for Parliament. I marveled at their numbers and—for the barest of moments—wondered if they might somehow sway Parliament in their favor. If the rule of kings could be overthrown, why not the rule of men?

Just before I turned away, I saw a blaze of red hair among the throng of women. I caught my breath and looked more closely. It was Elizabeth, of course.

Martha saw her as well. “I cannot say I'm surprised,” she said with a laugh. “If she can escape Pontrilas and come to London on her own, slipping out of the house and going to Katherine's would be no challenge at all.”

In a few moments, Elizabeth passed us by. I said a prayer for her safety. “Do not worry,” Martha said. “She has done far more dangerous things than this.”

“I know,” I said. “But a mother cannot help worrying.”

By now a handful of Jane's friends had joined us at the window to marvel at the crowd below.

“It is a strange thing to see women petitioning,” one of the gossips commented.

“No less strange than cutting off the King's head,” another replied. “These are the times we live in.”

Once the crowd had passed I let the curtain fall back into place. At that moment the chamber door burst open and Charles Owen entered. The gossips immediately began squawking at the intrusion, but Owen paid them no mind. He crossed to Jane and took her hands.

“It is time,” he said. “Today is the day.”

I stared in wonder when Jane burst into tears. She wrapped her arms around Charles's neck and buried her face in his chest. The women stopped their protests and watched in silence. What could this mean?

“Jane, I must go.” Charles spoke with such sorrow I could feel his pain in my own heart. With all the gentleness of a mother wrapping her child in swaddling clothes, Charles pulled away Jane's arms and stepped back. “I love you.”

Jane tried to reply but could only choke back a sob.

Charles took a deep breath, turned away from his wife, and walked out of the room. From the look on his face it appeared that each step caused him more pain than I'd felt since my children died.

When the door shut, Jane fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. Her sobs filled the room, shaking us all to our bones. The gossips gathered around and lifted her to her feet, offering what comfort they could. They had no more idea what had happened than I did, but they knew Jane needed them.

Perhaps it was Jane's grief that drove matters forward, but within the hour Jane's travail began in earnest. Martha and I together delivered Jane of a beautiful boy. While Martha swaddled the child, I saw to Jane and sent one of the gossips for her breakfast. She returned with a plate of bread, cheese, and roast fowl. When I handed the plate to Jane my eyes fell upon the knife that the gossip had brought.

The only marking on the wood handle was a delicately carved rose.

*   *   *

I counted it a miracle that I did not cry aloud or drop the plate in Jane's lap. I glanced at Jane, wondering if she had seen my reaction. To my relief she was more intent on her meal than her midwife.

Once Jane was fully occupied by her breakfast I pulled Martha to the side. “Come with me,” I murmured.

Martha nodded and we slipped out of the chamber and descended the stairs.

“Come to the kitchen,” I said. “You must see this.” We followed the smell of roast meats and found a maidservant cleaning dishes. I plunged my hand into the tub of water and retrieved the forks and knives from the bottom.

I stared in dismay at what I found. None of the knives resembled the one I'd seen on Jane's plate.