The Midwife and the Assassin (6 page)

I felt myself blush at the compliment and cursed myself for it. As far as I was concerned, Reynolds and Marlowe were comrades in the same dirty business. Once I'd regained myself, I bid Colonel Reynolds farewell.

“Good day, my lady,” he replied before turning to Will. “After you've said your farewells you should come back to the Tower. We will get you a proper room rather than a cell.”

Will nodded, and Colonel Reynolds started toward the Tower. Even before he'd passed from sight, Martha and Will burst out laughing.

“My Lord, Aunt Bridget, you are crimson,” Will cried. “A
beautiful gentlewoman newly arrived from Hereford…”

“
… will stand out even among so many thousands
!” Martha joined in, expertly aping the Colonel's Lancashire accent and manner of speech.

I felt myself coloring again, but this time I could not keep a smile from my lips. When
was
the last time a man's compliment had unsettled me so much? A half dozen or more country squires had certainly made their desires known—a widow with land was better hunting than a fat fowl with a broken wing—but none had affected me the way Colonel Reynolds had.

“I'll grant you that he cuts a fine figure,” Martha said. “So I cannot fault you in this. And a poor widow from Halifax like yourself could certainly do worse than marrying an army officer.”

Martha meant it as a good-natured jest, of course, but the mention of my new status brought us back to the business at hand.

“Yes,” I said. “About that…”

Before Martha could reply, a cry came across the water, and our waterman steered his boat toward us.

“We will talk at the inn,” I said.

“Do not worry,” Martha replied. “Becoming someone else is not such a hard thing. It will surprise you.”

 

Chapter 5

The following morning, Will came to our inn near the Strand, and we talked for hours. Martha and I told him of the wearisomeness of country living, while he recounted his many adventures in York and London.

“After a year in his service, the Lord Mayor offered me my freedom.” Will smiled slightly. “I don't think he thought I'd accept. But there was nothing left for me in York, so I decided to see what I might find in London. It is as grand and terrible as I'd imagined.”

“How did you come so close to the Levellers?” I asked. I still could not fathom how he'd been transformed from a wealthy merchant's son to one who consorted with such a turbulent faction.

“Luck or providence,” Will replied. “If you believe in either one. I was in an alehouse and met a man with a sprig of sage in his hatband.”

“Sage?” I asked. “Whatever for?”

“That's what I asked him,” Will said. “Sea green is the Levellers' favored color, and they wear sage to show their support for the cause. Cromwell had recently jailed John Lilburne and put other leaders in the Tower, so those who favored the Levellers were making their feelings known in any way they could.”

“By wearing sage,” I said.

Will nodded. “He told me about some of their ideas and invited me to meetings to hear more.”

“At the Nag's Head?” I remembered this was the tavern mentioned by Marlowe and Colonel Reynolds.

“No, the Whalebone,” Will said. “It's south of the river. Lodgings were cheaper there, so that's where I'd settled.”

“What did the Levellers say?” Martha asked.

I was surprised by Martha's question. I'd known her for years, but she'd shown scant interest in politics except for pointing out the hypocrisies of those in power.

“They say that no man should be compelled to worship against his will,” Will said. “Nor can he be driven to take up arms in another man's fight. That neither Parliament nor King can prevent a freeborn Englishman from speaking his mind. That the poorest man in England has as much a life to live as the greatest.”

“And that no man should be governed except by his own consent.” I did not hide my disdain for such a fevered dream. “Will, do you not see? The Levellers would make the poor as great as the rich. If paupers ruled the nation, they would vote themselves a share of every estate. My servants would declare themselves masters and mistresses, simply by virtue of their greater numbers. Thievery would become legal. They would loose anarchy upon England!”

Will smiled sadly. “Am I not a pauper, Aunt Bridget? I have nothing but the clothes on my back. If a new Parliament were selected today, I would have no more of a voice than the lowest beggar in England. Tell me: If
I
were to vote for a Member of Parliament, would it be a step toward the anarchy you fear?”

Will's words vexed me, not least because I had no ready response. I held fast to my belief that democracy could lead only to robbery and chaos, but my principles foundered on his example. While I did not say as much to Will, I resolved to think on the matter.

After Will returned to the Tower, Martha and I packed away my silk and lace, exchanging them for wool and linen. As Mr. Marlowe had pointed out, I would not need my carriage, so I simply loaded it with my clothes and luggage to send everything back to Hereford.

While the driver prepared to depart, I wrote letters to Hannah and Elizabeth. I told them that Will was safe and free from the Tower but that we would have to stay in London for a while longer. Elizabeth would have been thrilled to hear of my work as a spy, but I knew I could not tell her. I resolved instead to make my stay in London sound as dreary as a winter in Pontrilas. I described the rudeness of the people, the slowness of the city's streets, the stench, and the smoke. I expressed my sorrow that I'd left her behind, but assured her that she was not missing anything of interest.

And so it was that two days after we found Will, I stood before a mirror and stared at a common housewife.

I fought to control the tears of humiliation that filled my eyes, even as Martha and Will fought not to laugh aloud. In my heart I knew that trading silk for broadcloth should not have driven me to tears, but I'd never seen myself dressed so poorly.

“If I'm going to don such garb, the Levellers' work is done,” I said. “For now there isn't a bit of difference between rich and poor.”

“Well said,
Widow
Hodgson,” Will teased.

“Oh yes,
Mrs.
Hodgson,” Martha added. “I could not have put it better myself.”

It was all I could do not to stamp my foot in frustration, but such petulance would only encourage them all the more. Perhaps I would indulge myself when I was alone.

Around the time we bid the carriage farewell, Colonel Reynolds arrived. It was nearly time for Martha and me to begin our new lives. He'd traded his uniform for the clothes of a shopkeeper, but he looked quite handsome all the same.

When he saw me, Colonel Reynolds tried—and failed—to suppress a smile, and I felt my ears turning red. I fought down the urge to flee the room.

“You look beautiful even in plain wool,” he said.

I returned his smile against my will and found myself caught up in the genuine warmth of his eyes. Martha laughed aloud and went downstairs, leaving me alone with Colonel Reynolds.

“I have drawn you a map of the Cheap,” he said, handing me a sheet of paper. “Cheapside Street is the spine through the neighborhood, running from St. Paul's in the west to the Great Conduit in the east. If you become lost—and you
will
become lost—simply find Cheapside Street or the Conduit and start your journey again.

“The Nag's Head is north of Cheapside, here.” He pointed to a clearly marked square on his map. “That's where you'll find the Levellers' most lively discussions. Mr. Marlowe has secured you lodgings on Watling Street, just north south of Pissing Alley.”

“You must thank him for that,” I murmured. “It sounds lovely.”

Colonel Reynolds laughed and put his hand on my arm. My heart beat a little faster at his touch. I was appalled, not by his forwardness but by my reaction. I had reached my fortieth year, been married twice and widowed twice, yet here I was blushing like a maiden at a morris dance.

“Once you are settled,” Colonel Reynolds continued, “you should put out a sign announcing yourself.”

I looked at him in utter confusion. “Announcing myself?”

“As a midwife. It is a common practice in the city. Most midwives use the sign of a cradle, though I've seen some who favor a birthing stool. If you keep your eyes open on our way to the Cheap, you will see more than a few examples.”

“And then what?” I asked. I had no idea how to begin the work of a spy.

“And then you listen. You are across the street from the Chidleys, so you'll have no trouble striking up a friendship with them, not least because Katherine is a midwife. If you are called to a birth, ask her to join you. What could be more natural?”

“And then what?” I persisted.

“If she talks of politics, pay attention. If the Levellers are plotting against the government, the Chidleys will be a part of it, and there will be signs. Watch for visitors at strange hours. See if either of them sneaks about at night. The more they do such things, the more dangerous they could be.”

“If she is a midwife, she will keep strange hours as a matter of course. A woman's travail is no respecter of the city's curfew.”

“All the more reason for you to make her your comrade,” Colonel Reynolds said. “Mr. Marlowe chose you well. He is no fool.”

I turned from him and looked out into the street, watching the carts flowing out of the city, bound for every corner of the realm.

“What if we flee?” I asked. “We could rise one morning, climb aboard a carriage, and be out of the city before dinner.”

“I hope you do not,” Colonel Reynolds said. “Mr. Marlowe has a long reach and a longer memory. Even if you were able to escape the city, he would find you.” He paused for a moment. “Lady Hodgson, look at me.”

I did.

“I beg you: Do not betray Mr. Marlowe. He is a powerful man, and it is far better to have him as a friend than an enemy.”

I bowed my head, and in that instant I made Martha and me into Mr. Marlowe's servants.

“Thank you,” he said. “I know it pains you, but it is the right thing to do. Or at least the wise thing.”

A few minutes later Will arrived, driving the cart that would take Martha and me to our new home in the Cheap. Will and Colonel Reynolds sat on the bench behind the horses, while Martha and I rode in the back with our luggage.

“This is a fitting introduction to life as a poor widow,” I muttered to myself as the cart rumbled away from the inn.

We traveled east along the Strand—which became Fleet Street at the Temple Bar—and through Ludgate. With each step the buildings around us grew larger and the crowds more numerous. When I arrived in York, everything about the city—its size, the close-built houses, and the overpowering stench of its gutters—had left me in a daze for months. In every way, London made a hamlet of York. The houses were taller, and they seemed ready to tip into the street at any moment. The roads leading off Fleet Street were every bit as narrow and confusing as those in York, but there were more of them. And the smell, my God, the smell! I supposed that my time in the country had keened my nose and the stinkingness turned my stomach.

Soon we spilled into St. Paul's Churchyard, and I stared in amazement at the cathedral. It was larger than the Minster in York, an accomplishment I would never have thought possible. The churchyard itself was awash in buyers and sellers. Most prominent were the bookmen and stationers who had built dozens of stalls from which they sold books of every kind. Many were dedicated to the news of the day, and thanks to the power of the godly, I was not surprised to see scores of sermons. But Londoners would not be satisfied with such limited fare. Alongside the news and sermons were books about murders and monsters of every stripe, with ghastly pictures on the front and titles that promised even more blood inside.

After we escaped the churchyard, our progress slowed to a crawl, giving us the opportunity to bask in the noise of the city. And what noise! Fishwives cried their wares with voices harsh enough to shatter glass, and every doorway held a housewife, some gossiping, some scolding, but every one of them talking. I saw women carrying goods to the market, and others bringing their purchases home. London's women were known throughout England as an unruly mob, and now I saw what such liberty meant.

“We're now on Watling Street,” Colonel Reynolds called out above the din.

“But we haven't turned!” I objected. “We are on the same road.”

“Ah, this is just the start,” he replied with a laugh. “At that corner ahead, Watling Street becomes Canwicke Street, and a few streets later it turns into Eastcheap. I would imagine it makes getting around York seem like a child's game.”

I shook my head in wonder, and resolved to leave the Cheap only if I had to.

“This is Friday Street,” Colonel Reynolds announced as we made a slow turn to the north. It will take us all the way to Cheapside Street.”

I looked down at the map he had given to me at the inn. “But isn't our house on Watling Street?”

“Aye, it is,” he said. “But you should see Cheapside Street itself, and know how to get from there to your lodging.”

The cart rattled north until Friday Street emptied onto Cheapside; it felt as if we were carried from a tiny stream into the Thames itself. Cheapside was broader than any street I'd ever seen, and even as evening approached it teemed with life as thousands of Londoners moved in and out of its shops, or made their way to the Great Conduit for water. For the first time that day I saw a broad swath of sky above, and I realized how constricted the side streets had made me feel. It would be some time before I grew used to city living again.