The Midwife and the Assassin (27 page)

My eyes fell to Katherine, whose corpse lay just beyond Walker's, and sorrow welled up in my heart. She lay exactly as she had fallen, entirely bereft of life or breath. I started across the room and saw that Margaret was crawling toward Walker's body.

Acting as one, Martha and I tried to take the poor girl by her arms and return her to the birthing stool. As soon as she felt my touch, Margaret lashed out, her fingers raking my arms like claws. I pulled back, staring in surprise at the trails of blood that welled up on the back of my hand. Even Martha thought better of interfering, and allowed the girl to take her lover in her arms one last time. I wrapped my hand in a handkerchief, and with a leaden heart crossed the room to Katherine.

I knelt at her side and began to weep. “Oh, Katherine.”

“What about the men downstairs?” Martha asked. Her voice remained calm and strong despite the bloody circumstances.

“God help us,” I said. “I forgot them entirely.” I went to the window and looked outside. Walker's men stood in a half circle around the door, ensuring that their master would be able to finish his bloody business undisturbed. So long as they remained outside we were safe, but how long would it be before they came in search of their master? While we had bested one man armed only with a cudgel, a squad of pistols would cut us down in moments.

“How long will they wait?” Martha asked.

“Not long enough,” I replied.

“There must be pistols in Mr. Harrison's office,” Martha said. “We could arm ourselves and hold them at bay until help comes.”

“Do you know how to charge a pistol?” I asked.

Martha's silence answered my question.

I went to the door, and with a deep sense of dread I began to rebuild the barricado. I had no expectation that it would protect us for long. Without a word, Martha joined in the work and all too soon we were done.

I cast my eyes around the room again, wondering if this might be the place that I would die. Margaret lay next to Walker, crying softly. Soon enough her labor pangs would overcome her grief and I would have to deliver her, but for now the greater danger was the armed men in the street, bent on her murder.

I heard a shout in the distance and then an answering cry from the men below our window. Martha and I pulled back the curtain. A squadron of the trained bands was racing toward us, and the men outside the Harrisons' house had drawn their swords to meet the challenge. My heart leaped when I saw Tom leading the squad. He was racing toward us, pistol in one hand, and sword in the other.

One of the men below us stepped forward, and I swallowed a cry when he raised his pistol and aimed it at Tom. I slammed my eyes shut, waiting for the shot that would shatter my heart, but unwilling to witness the death of the man I loved. In an instant I knew that losing Tom would be as heavy a blow as losing Martha or Elizabeth. I whispered a prayer, begging the Lord to have mercy on Tom and on me.

After a moment passed with no blast, I dared to look. The two squadrons had met, each one shouting at the other. The air about them crackled with violence; if one man fired his pistol or even raised his sword, half a dozen men would die. I could not understand their words, but to my eternal relief, both Tom and his opponent lowered their pistols and exchanged words rather than blows. The man said something to Tom and gestured at the front door. Tom's head whipped toward the house, and he sprinted inside as if the devil himself were on his heels.

“We should move the furnishings,” Martha murmured.

“Too late,” I said.

Tom thundered up the stairs and hurled himself at the chamber door with all his might. The door ripped free from its hinges and split cleanly down the middle. Had it not been for the barricado, he would have flown across the room and into Margaret's bed.

“Bridget!” Tom shouted as he clambered through the wreckage of the door. In moments he found himself mired in the pile of furniture on the other side. “What is happening? Are you in here?”

“We are fine.” I called out. My eyes returned to the corpses on the floor. My heart ached with my love for Tom and my grief for Katherine. “Martha and I are fine,” I said more softly.

“Thank God. What the devil is going on?” He ceased his struggles and looked about the room, taking in the destroyed furnishings, the blood, and the bodies.

Before I could answer I heard a retching sound behind me.

“Oh, God, Margaret.” I turned to help the girl but found her as she had been: weeping softly at Abraham Walker's side.

It was Katherine Chidley. By some working of God, she was still alive. Martha and I dashed to her side. She was struggling to roll onto her stomach, hampered by a broken arm that lay by her side at a crazy angle. We helped her roll over, and she emptied her stomach onto the floor. When she'd finished, Martha and I carried her to the bed, taking especial care not to do any further damage to her arm. Katherine looked about the room dazedly, unaware of where she was or why she was covered in blood. She struggled to sit up, her eyes flitting between Martha and me, begging for an explanation.

“Just rest,” I said. “You've been hurt, but you will be fine.” I prayed that this was true. She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow.

Behind us, Tom made his way through the wreckage of our defenses and joined us. I could only imagine what he made of the mad scene before him. “I'll send for a physician and bonesetter.”

“Thank you for coming in such a hurry.”

“You seem to have held your own,” he replied. “I should go back downstairs. The neighbors are out, and all is bedlam.”

“Tom.” I took his hand. He turned to face me. “Yes,” I said.

When Tom realized that I'd agreed to marry him, a smile as wide as the sun spread across his face. “Good. But I should go.” He squeezed my hand and dashed downstairs.

*   *   *

The following hours passed in a fog, as men poured in and out of Margaret Harrison's chamber. One of the trained bands led Margaret to another room and sent for a new midwife. Then the bonesetter came and saw to Katherine's arm, while the physician peered at her head and suggested a poultice. Finally, four men arrived with a litter to carry Katherine home. Just after sunrise, Margaret gave birth to a baby boy. Mr. Marlowe arrived soon after, with Will at his side. They surveyed the scene as I explained what had happened.

Both men shook their heads in wonder.

“What brought Colonel Reynolds back so quickly?” Martha asked when we'd finished our story.

“After Colonel Reynolds and I gathered men to arrest Walker,” Will said, “we sought out the churchwarden to tell us which house was his. But when we came to Walker's street, we found it already in a tumult.”

“What happened?” Martha asked.

“Mr. Walker had already roused some of the trained bands himself. He told them that he'd discovered a nest of traitors and needed their help to root them out.”

“So the men downstairs weren't his comrades?” Martha asked. “We were in no danger of being murdered?”

Will looked around the ruined chamber. Walker's body still lay in a pool of blood. “Not
no
danger, but the trained bands were no threat. You were safe enough once Walker was dead.”

Tom crossed the room and continued the story. “When we heard that Walker had summoned the trained bands, we realized where he must have gone. Only Margaret Harrison knew his secret, so he could hardly let her live. We came back as quickly as we could, only to find that you'd taken care of the matter yourself.”

“And the servants downstairs?” Martha asked. “We heard pistol shots.”

“Both dead,” Will replied. “Walker shot them.”

“Poor souls,” I said. “That's four people he killed.”

“In a sense you were fortunate,” Tom said. “If Walker hadn't shot them, he would have had pistols at the ready when he came through the door.”

“He didn't think Margaret would put up much of a fight,” I said.

“Colonel Reynolds,” Marlowe said, “take Will to Abraham Walker's home and search it thoroughly. Pull up the floors if you must. Bring me whatever you find. We must unearth the gunpowder and put this matter to rest.”

Tom and Will nodded and looked apologetically in our direction. They bid us farewell and were gone.

A few minutes later two of the coroner's men came for Walker's body. They rolled him onto a sheet and prepared to wrap him.

“One moment,” I said. I knelt at Walker's side and looked through his pockets. I discovered a red silken cord tied into an intricate knot and held it up for Martha to see.

“That must be the knot he showed Margaret,” she said.

“Aye. It would be impossible to duplicate, and thus it is a perfect sign of allegiance to the King. It is how his spies know each other.” I nodded to the coroner's men, and they took Walker's body from the room.

“I'll take that to the Tower.” Mr. Marlowe extended his hand for the silk cord. “It will prove useful when we arrest his comrades.”

I could think of no reason to keep the knot for myself, so I handed it over. Marlowe pocketed it and followed Walker's body, leaving Martha and me alone with the wreckage and blood that were the last visible fruit of our night's work. We straightened the room as best we could, but balked at scrubbing the bloody floorboards. It had been too long a night.

We descended the stairs to find similar bloodstains by the front door. I said a prayer of thanks that it was the servants' blood rather than ours and then begged forgiveness for my selfishness. Martha and I stepped into the morning light and made our way north through the city. We had much to discuss, but neither of us knew where to begin.

“That's it then,” Martha said. “Abraham Walker killed Daniel Chidley and Mr. Harrison, and now he's dead.”

“So it appears,” I said. “Mr. Marlowe might want the gunpowder to thwart the rising, but that's his concern, not ours. Our business is done.”

“What will happen to Margaret?” Martha asked.

“It is no crime to be a fool,” I said. “She'll inherit her father's estate and the gunpowder works, I suppose. It will take time, but I think she will recover. There are worse fates than being a wealthy singlewoman, even one with a bastard.”

We fell silent, putting more time and space between us and the bloody chaos of Enoch Harrison's house.

“What of you and Tom Reynolds?” Martha asked. “He seemed more than usually pleased at your survival.”

I laughed. “I'm surprised it took you so long to notice. Most days I felt as if I were the town crier, shouting my affairs to all the Cheap.”

“And?”

I took a breath, hardly daring to reply.

Martha stopped and turned to face me. Somehow she knew. “Oh, Lord,” she said. “You're not…”

“We are betrothed.”

Martha threw her head back and burst out laughing. “You are, aren't you! I thought so; I just couldn't believe it.” Martha continued to laugh, making any response on my part entirely unnecessary. “How did this happen?” she asked when we started walking again. “I never thought it would.”

“Nor did I,” I admitted. “At first he reminded me of Luke, but it's not that at all. He knows me as a gentlewoman, a midwife, even a poor widow, and he loves all of these parts. He does not want me to be
his
; he wants me to be
mine
. He knows why I haven't remarried, and asked me to marry him all the same. He is kind, thoughtful, and loyal. And until I met him I did not know how much I missed the affection Luke and I had for each other.”

“And with this betrothal have the two of you…” Martha finished her sentence by raising an eyebrow.

I had no intention of answering, but the blood that rushed to my face replied on my behalf.

Martha laughed again. “Oh, that is excellent indeed.”

“If we are betrothed, there is no sin,” I said. Of course, Tom and I had not been betrothed when we lay together, but I had no intention of telling Martha that.

“I am not accusing you of anything,” Martha said. “As I said, I find it quite excellent.”

We turned onto Watling Street and with our neighbors all about us Martha fell mercifully silent. We climbed the stairs to our rooms and collapsed into bed.

When sleep came, I dreamed of Abraham Walker bursting into Margaret Harrison's chamber, cudgel in hand. I watched in horror as he struck down Katherine, just as he had the night before. But in my dream he turned on Margaret, killing her, and then Martha as well. He raised the club—now stained with three women's blood—and started toward me. I woke with a cry just before he delivered the blow that would have dashed out my brains.

I sat up and looked at Martha. She slept on, untroubled by my cry and apparently secure in her own dreams. I felt sure that if I tried to sleep my dream would return, so I climbed out of bed and dressed. With a full day before me, I resolved to visit Katherine Chidley and see how she fared.

 

Chapter 21

Katherine awoke as soon as I opened the chamber door. She seemed more bandages than flesh, as both her arm and head had been thoroughly wrapped in linen strips. From the lines on her face, it seemed as if she'd aged twenty years in a single night.

“There you are.” Her voice barely reached above a whisper. “I hoped you would visit.”

“How are you?”

“Sore,” she said with a thin smile.

“Your arm is well set?”

“The bonesetter did his best,” Katherine replied, shrugging her good shoulder. “He said it was a bad break and there was only so much he could do to straighten it. Time will tell.”

“How much of last night do you remember?” Blows to the head sometimes robbed people of their memories, and I wondered how much Katherine might have lost.

“That's why I hoped you'd visit.” Katherine's laugh, weak though it was, gave me hope that she might soon recover. “My maidservant only could tell me what the litter-bearers told her, so I am sure of nothing at all. I remember going to Mr. Harrison's, but nothing after that. They said that Abraham Walker murdered Daniel, and now he is dead. Is that true?”