Read The Midwife and the Assassin Online
Authors: Sam Thomas
The Midwife and the Assassin (37 page)
The godly came by the dozens, and with them their minister, Mr. Snodgrass. They prayed for a time, and we all joined them. After, Mr. Snodgrass delivered a sermon, reminding us all that death was near and that we must repent of our sins and turn to God. And then the godly joined with us in the drinking and mourning. It was a fine and fitting farewell for one of the most remarkable women I'd ever met.
That night, after Elizabeth had gone to bed, Martha and I sat in the dining room with a bottle of wine between us. We drank in silence for a glass or two.
“She was not like most women,” I said after a time.
Martha laughed. “To say the least. Midwife to the Cheap, spy for Cromwell, provocator for the Levellers.”
“Scourge of the bishops,” I continued, “vindicator of Grace Ramsden, and avenger of her husband. Her tombstone would read like a book.”
“What do you think killed her?” Martha asked. “Was it Abraham Walker's blow to her head?”
“It could be,” I said. “Probably. But we'll never know for sure.”
“How is it that such a good woman should die at the hands of such a cruel man? He intended to murder his lover, and with her his own child.”
“You know as well as I that this is the way of the world. All we can do is fight the tide. After all, that is what Katherine did.” I paused for a moment and recalled the sight of thousands of women marching past Jane Owen's window on their way to Parliament. “If it
was
that blow, you could say that Katherine survived her own murder by nearly half a year, and led ten thousand women to Westminster in the interim.
That
is a deed worth remembering.”
Martha offered a sad smile. “Aye, it is. We could add that to her stone.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
For several weeks after Will and Tom left for Ireland, we received no news, nor did we expect to. Indeed, fighting first broke out much closer to home when a handful of Levellers in the army mutinied. They demanded back pay as well as the right to choose their own officers. My heart leaped when I learned of a third grievance: They refused to go to Ireland. If the army would not go, would Tom and Will return? To my sorrow, Cromwell and his generals made short work of the rising. They paid the common soldiers their wages and arrested their leaders. While most of the rebels were pardoned, one was shot by a squad of men in St. Paul's Churchyard. A few weeks later, the army departed.
To our relief, letters from Ireland began to arrive soon after this, usually in pairs, one for Martha and one for me. Tom said little of the army's bloody work subjugating the rebels, for which I was grateful. Rather, he professed his enduring love, and said he was counting the days until we married. Such letters warmed my heart, but also left me in a melancholy state, for I missed him terribly. Will's letters were of a similar nature and had similar effects on Martha's humors. We found ourselves bound even more closely in this curious concoction of happiness and sorrow.
As autumn approached and the weather began to cool, our lives turned yet again. Martha and I had spent the day visiting new mothers, offering both advice and care, when we happened to pass by the Crown. I had no intention of stopping, but a voice called out to us through the open door.
“Mrs. Hodgson, come in, come in!” It was Lorenzo Bacca, of course.
I glanced at Martha, and a smile danced across her lips. She nodded, and we stepped inside to find the tables full and the ale flowing freely. Bacca chased two customers from a small table and sat down with us.
“You will have ale?” he asked. “I prefer wine, of course, but I have a brewer who is a magician.” Without awaiting a response, he signaled to the tapster, who brought cups of ale for Martha and me.
“The business of running a tavern seems to agree with you,” I said.
Bacca laughed. “It does indeed. It is not quite so exciting as the work of a spy, but it is far less dangerous. Just ask your friend Charles Owen.” Owen, of course, had been hanged as a traitor as soon as it became clear that he could notâor would notâdisclose his wife's whereabouts.
“So you have abandoned the spying entirely?”
Bacca raised an eyebrow and smiled darkly. “Such work is hard to abandon entirely,” he replied. “It will follow you wherever you go. But I am not in any one man's service. I trade in whatever information men seek. It is remarkable what you can learn if you simply keep your ears open.”
Perhaps it was because of the qualityâand strengthâof the ale, but after a time, I felt bold enough to ask Bacca a question that had been troubling me ever since Jane's travail.
“It was not mere chance that you suggested Martha and me as midwives to Jane Owen,” I said. “Nor was it our skill in the craft.”
Bacca smiled. “I wondered when you might realize that.”
“Tell me what happened,” I said.
“I suppose I can trust you not to betray me to the Royalists.” Bacca leaned forward in a conspiratorial fashion. “I knew Owen had stolen the gunpowder, but I thought it was for an ordinary rebellion. I did not think it would amount to much, and it was none of my business, so I did not trouble myself.”
“What changed your mind?” Martha asked.
“I nearly made the same mistake as Cromwell's spies. There was talk of the gunpowder, but nobody spoke of raising troops to use it. That was when I realized that what mattered most were the things that the Royalists
weren't
saying.”
“If they had no soldiers, there could be no rising,” I said.
“And if they weren't going to use the gunpowder for a rebellionâ¦,” Martha said.
“It could only be for a spectacular attack on the city itself,” said Bacca. “I had no stomach for such a thing, but I could hardly intervene on my own.”
“So you pressed the two of us into service,” Martha said.
“And you performed admirably,” Bacca said with a laugh. “You saved the Parliament, the city, and perhaps the nation. Nobody knows your names, but you are heroes all the same.”
“Pour us another ale,” I said. “We are heroes, after all.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
From that day, Martha and I came to the Crown more and more, often with Elizabeth in tow. The ale was every bit as fine as Bacca had promised, and he was always glad to see us. Elizabeth became entranced with his strange manner of speech and fantastic tales of life in Italy and beyond, some of which might have been true. It was a strange thing, I admit, but very soon Bacca, Martha, Elizabeth, and I became friends.
And so it was that Martha and I were in the Crown when a maid sought us out.
“Are you Mrs. Hodgson?” she asked. The fear in her eyes set me on edge in an instant.
“I am,” I said, rising to my feet. “What is the matter?”
“It is my sister,” she replied before bursting into tears.
I took her hand and eased her into a chair at our table. “All will be well,” I said. “Tell me where she is, and I will see that she is delivered safe.”
“That is the problem.” The girl looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I don't know where she is. She is missing, and none will help me find her.”
I glanced at Martha and saw the familiar set of her jaw.
“We will help,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”
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While literacy rates rose dramatically during the early modern period, England of the seventeenth century was as much an oral culture as a written one. News was spread and history remembered as much through song as prose. In chapters ten and fourteen I have adapted two songs for a modern audience. The first, about Guy Fawkes and the Gunpowder Plot, is from a 1626 book,
A Song or Story for the Lasting Remembrance of Divers Famous Works Which God Hath Done in Our Time
. The second, a satire on the Rump Parliament, appears to come from
The Anarchic; or, the Blest Reformation Since 1640.
This poem has been reprinted several times, including in
Rump: Or an Exact Collection of the Choycest Poems and Songs Relating to the Late Times
(1662). Katherine Chidley's petition is based on a longer petition that Leveller women brought to Parliament in 1649.
As strange as it seems, the curious pregnancy of Grace Ramsden is also based on fact. I know some readers will read this note before the book, so I won't give anything away, but the records of the case (and thousands of others!) are available online. Visit the Old Bailey Proceedings Online (
www.oldbaileyonline.org
), and search for reference number
t16770601-6
.
Â
SAM THOMAS
teaches history at University School near Cleveland, Ohio. He has received research grants from the National Endowment for the Humanities, the Newberry Library, and the British Academy. He has published academic articles on topics ranging from early modern Britain to colonial Africa. Thomas lives in Shaker Heights, Ohio, with his wife and two children. You can sign up for email updates
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Contents
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.