by Sam Thomas
I don’t know if Martha ever regretted her decision to pursue a more respectable life, but she had proven herself a capable apprentice, and I knew that in time she would be a fine midwife. What struck me most when I considered the past year was that despite the difference in our ranks, which could hardly have been greater, we’d become fast friends. I would have thought such a transformation impossible, but the dangers we’d faced together as we hunted for a vicious murderer and the hours we’d spent together talking about childbirth had acted as a philosopher’s stone, turning a maidservant and her mistress into comrades.
My reverie was broken by someone rapping urgently at my door.
“Hannah!” a voice called out. “Martha, Aunt Bridget, open the door!”
I recognized the voice of my nephew Will, and rushed to see what was the matter. I opened the door and he tumbled in, slamming the door behind him. Without a word, and barely slowed by the cane he used to walk, Will rushed past me into the parlor and peered between the curtains onto the street.
“Will!” I cried. “What in heaven are you doing?” He didn’t answer but continued staring intently out the window. “Will!”
“It’s all right, Aunt Bridget,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder and I saw that he had been fighting again. His left eye would soon be swollen shut, and a trickle of blood oozed from a cut on his forehead.
“For God’s sake, Will, what is going on? Who is after you?”
Will laughed derisively and I could smell the liquor on his breath. “Who isn’t? The sons of bitches who hit me from behind, the churchwardens seeking Sabbath-breakers, the beadle trying to find whoever brawled in the alehouse … it could be any of them. It looks like they lost the trail, so there’s nothing for you to worry about.” He turned away from the window and walked past me. “Do you have any wine? I’m not drunk enough yet.”
Chapter 2
“Will, you drank me dry the last time you were here,” I said. “You’ll have to go without.” It wasn’t true: I had hidden several bottles of wine in the buttery—but I had no desire to see it disappear down his gullet, not when he was already so drunk. Not entirely convinced, he poked his head into my pantry, but when he didn’t find anything he returned to the parlor, fell onto the couch, and closed his eyes. I retreated to the kitchen and returned with a basin of water and a clean cloth. Will ignored me as I wiped the blood from his face and cleaned the dirt from the cut above his eye.
Will’s descent into drunkenness marked a sad turn for a year that had begun so well. In his youth, Will had been a bit of a brawler. At heart he was a kind and gentle lad, but other boys seized on his clubfoot and mocked him mercilessly as a cripple. Will silenced such derision with his fists, but, to his unending sadness, the one man he could not convince of his worth was his own father. Edward loved Will fiercely, but for years he could not see past his son’s deformed body. He treated Will more as a daughter to be protected than as a son to be groomed for power. All this seemed to change when war broke out and Will’s elder brother, Joseph, left the city to join Cromwell’s cavalry. In Joseph’s absence, Edward brought Will into the business of governing the city, and he’d been particularly impressed after Will helped Martha and me solve the previous years’ murders. At long last, Edward took notice of the man Will had become rather than the boy he’d been. It even had been said that when Will reached his twenty-fifth year, Edward would make him constable. After that, there seemed no limit to how far he could go in politics or business.
But if the wars have taught us anything, it is that Fortune is a fickle mistress. Will’s hopes for the future came crashing down when Joseph returned to York as a champion of the godly cause. Soon after the Battle of Marston Moor, Joseph and one of his sergeants were surprised by a squad of the King’s footmen. The sergeant escaped, but a pistol shot cut down Joseph’s mount, and he had to face his attackers by himself. By the time help arrived, Joseph stood alone, bathed in the blood of the half-dozen men that he had killed. One of the many wounds that Joseph had suffered became infected, and the surgeons said he would die. Edward nearly went mad with grief, but the Lord answered his prayers, and Joseph recovered and returned to York to a hero’s welcome.
While never so quick of mind as Will, Joseph had the twin advantages of a body unmarred by defect, and the many honors he’d earned while in Parliament’s service. Joseph also had changed with the times in a way that Will had not. Because of his intimacy with Cromwell’s chaplains, or perhaps thanks to his miraculous survival, Joseph returned to the city with a new zeal for religion: he sought out sermons wherever he could find them and often spoke of the need for England to become a more godly nation. To Edward’s immense satisfaction, Joseph joined in the effort to reform the city’s sinners. He volunteered for the office of constable, and then worked tirelessly to find the city’s whores, drunkards, and swearers and bring them into court for correction. Will, in turn, found himself increasingly frustrated as it became clear that any hope of following his father into city government had vanished when his brother returned. Now Joseph accompanied Edward to meetings of the city council, and when business drew Edward away from the city, he turned his affairs over to Joseph.
I knew Edward still loved Will, and I tried to warn him against turning his back on his own son, but made no headway. Edward insisted that while he loved Will, Joseph was better suited for the business of government. When Will realized that he had lost his place at his father’s right hand, he returned to the more unruly courses of his youth. He knew that drinking and fighting would both infuriate and embarrass his father, and he took to these pastimes with the same enthusiasm Joseph brought to his Puritanism. I wept to see both Will’s dissolution and the growing anger between father and son.
Even as I cleaned his wounds, Will succumbed to the drink and began snoring softly. I shook my head in despair and went to dinner.
We had just finished eating when the beadle came for Will. At first he pounded on the door with great authority, but the sound quickly fell to a timid tapping. Perhaps it had dawned on him just whose house lay behind the door. Martha answered his knock, and from the dining room I could easily hear what followed.
“I’m here to take Will Hodgson,” a voice announced. I knew that Martha had more love for Will than she had respect for a petty official, so I stayed out of sight for the moment.
“I don’t know who that is,” Martha replied.
“Will Hodgson,” the beadle said again, as if that would clarify matters.
“You can say the name as many times as you like, and I still won’t know who you mean. And for that matter, who are you? Do you have a writ for his arrest? If so, I should very much like to see it.” Martha’s impudence could sometimes get the better of her, and I decided to intervene before the beadle summoned his superiors or decided to arrest her in Will’s stead.
I squared my shoulders and swept into the foyer. Martha heard me coming and stepped out of my way. As soon as the beadle saw me striding toward him, the color that Martha’s insolence had brought to his cheeks drained away. He’d come looking for a brawling youth, and while he was willing to argue with a serving-maid, facing someone of my stature was another matter entirely.
“Sirrah, what do you mean, thundering at the door to my house?” I asked. “What business could you possibly have with me?”
The beadle opened his mouth, but he could not find his voice. He looked as if he’d just eaten a meal of rotted mutton.
“Well, what is it?” I cried. “Are you here to call me to a birth?”
“N-N-No, my lady,” he stuttered, grateful for a question he could answer. “I am looking for Will Hodgson … your nephew.”
“I know who my nephew is, rascal, but Mister Hodgson does not live here. Seek him elsewhere.”
“My lady, he was seen coming this way. The constable wishes to speak with him about an assault.”
“When I see him, I shall give him the message,” I said. “Until then, you should leave me in peace, o
r I shall call the constable to speak with you.” This was an empty threat, of course, but one that I thought likely to work. The beadle peered over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his quarry, before mumbling an apology and starting back to Stonegate.
I secured the door, spun on my heel, and strode into the parlor. The noise had woken Will, and I found him sitting on the couch looking at me groggily. “Thank you, Aunt.”
“Don’t you dare thank me,” I hissed. “I did not do that to protect you, and if you say one more word, I’ll drag you to the constable myself!” His mouth snapped shut. “I have a good reputation in this city,” I continued, “and I’ll not let you ruin it with your foolery. The beadles and constables rely on me, and I on them. I shall not lose credit for the sake of your debauchery. If you come to my home again in such a state, you’ll find the door barred to you. If you think you can cajole Hannah or Martha, I urge you to try, but they are as disgusted with your carriage as I am.”
At this, Will’s face fell. Hannah, Martha, and I were the only people in York who loved him without reservation, without thinking less of him for his deformity. If he lost us, he would have no one.
“Aunt Bridget,” he said.
“I’m not through yet. What do you think this sort of idiocy will achieve? Do you think getting drunk and fighting will convince your father that he’s made a mistake? Do you think he’ll welcome you back as if you were the Prodigal Son? Do you not know your father? He is many things, but nobody has accused him of tolerating weakness.”
Will opened his mouth to speak, but I ignored him.
“Yes, your father has turned away from you and toward your brother. Such is the nature of fatherhood. Have you forgotten that my father sent me north to marry your uncle Phineas and in that instant made me the most miserable woman in England? Fathers make decisions—bad ones sometimes—for their own reasons. Your lot is that of the second son and that will not change. The question is how you will answer the challenge.”
Will hung his head in shame. He seemed contrite, but I’d sung this song before, and he’d joined in the penitential chorus, swearing off drinking and fighting. Then he’d gone back to the alehouse. Whatever devils had ahold of Will would not be prised off by a few hard words from me. Will made his ritual apologies and swore—again—to reform his behavior, and after checking that the beadle was not lurking on my doorstep, he went on his way.
Hannah and Martha joined me in the parlor and together we watched as Will disappeared down the street.
“What will we do with him?” Hannah asked. She had known Will since he was a boy, and the two of us had helped to raise him after his mother died. Our love for Will and our sorrow at his decline were the same.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “If he doesn’t mend his ways, the city may do it for him. I’ve no desire to see him in the stocks, but if he continues on this path, I see no other fate.”
“A gentleman’s son in the stocks for drinking and a scuffle?” Hannah asked. “Surely not!” Even maidservants were scandalized at the disorder that the Puritans had sown in our city.
“It is a new world the godly have made,” I replied. “They that once were down, now are up; Edward will see his own son in gaol if need be.”
“He will mend his ways,” Martha said. “He must.” I thought I heard a note of despair in her voice. In the time since Martha had come to York, she and Will had grown close, and she joined Hannah and me in the effort to pull Will back to sobriety. If he were not from so wealthy a family and she but a maidservant, they might have made a fine match.
As evening fell, I went up to my chamber. I had intended to write letters to my family in far-off Hereford, but the insufferable heat made it impossible for me to think clearly. I opened my windows, hoping that a cool night wind might provide some relief, but I found it as calm as it had been all month. With no hope of writing, I set myself to scripture-reading and prayer. As I sought out my Bible, my eyes fell upon the picture of my daughter that sat next to my bed.
My mind turned from God to my lost husbands, Luke and Phineas, and my lost children, Birdy and Michael. I looked down at the ring I wore on my right hand. It was of the finest gold and had my coat of arms and Luke’s engraved on either side. He had given it to me as a token when we married, saying that our children would come from doubly strong stock. But he died before we had even one child. Then had come Phineas, a worse man than Luke in every way. But for all the scorn I heaped on Phineas, I could not deny that he had given me two beautiful children, a boy we named Michael and a girl we christened Bridget but called Birdy for all her flitting about.
Birdy had come first and given me hope for the future. I taught her to read and even to write a little, and dreamed that someday I would train her in the art and mysteries of midwifery. Then came Michael, the male heir that we all had wanted. But the Lord would not have it, and in the terrible year of 1642 He scythed down all my household kin. He took Michael soon after he was born, then Phineas, and finally Birdy.
Though I knew I could not fathom the Lord’s will, I wondered at the mercy He showed to some of the city’s most sinful citizens, and the swiftness with which He had destroyed my little family. I pushed such impious thoughts away and began to pray. I prayed for Will and asked God to have mercy on York and its suffering people. But in the end, He denied my entreaties for York, and in the weeks that followed, the Lord God, in His eternal wisdom, blasted the city with curses far worse than the mere heat of the sun, causing many to wonder if hell itself might have come into the world.
* * *
The following afternoon, I directed Martha to read in my medicines book and try her hand at making some of her own. To protect my herbs from terrible heat, we had stretched a cloth over my little garden; but even so, my plants had begun to wilt. It would be better for her to use my herbs in practice than to let them die from the sun. While she worked, Hannah and I crossed over the Ouse river into Micklegate Ward for my weekly supper with Edward, my brother-in-law. I first met Edward upon my arrival in York to marry his brother, Phineas. While I came from an ancient family of gentry stock, and still owned several estates in Hereford, the Hodgsons were more recently wealthy, making their fortune in the cloth and wool trade. Phineas and Edward’s father had served as Lord Mayor, and had hoped his sons would follow the same path; in this, as in so much else, Phineas disappointed him, as he proved no less incompetent as a merchant and officeholder than as a husband.
The meals with Edward were a ritual dating back to my marriage to Phineas. At first we were four, as Phineas and I dined with Edward and his wife. But soon Edward was widowed, and we remained three until Joseph came of age. This quaternion, however, fared no better than the first, as Phineas died soon after and Joseph went off to the wars. Will took his brother’s place, and Edward and I carefully ignored the mounting evidence that death was an invisible guest at his table. When God answered our prayers for Joseph’s safe return, he rejoined these meals and we were four again, at least until Will’s drinking and fighting became so common that Edward excluded him from these gatherings as unfit for civil company.
When Hannah and I arrived at Edward’s, she retired to the kitchen with the other servants and Edward’s footman ushered me into the elegant, book-lined study, where Edward sat working on the city’s business. He was not quite so tall as I but had lost little of the strength that had characterized his youth, when—like Will—he had been something of a fighter. Perhaps such behavior was in the Hodgson blood. The past year had added to the gray in his beard, for as an Alderman, he bore much of the responsibility for ensuring the safety and provisioning of the city. I sometimes worried that the work would overwhelm him.
When I entered, he embraced me warmly, then called for a bottle of French wine, and we fell to talking of the business of the city. Such talk was hardly idle chatter, for Edward and I worked together whenever city women encountered the law. In the case of witchcraft or rape, midwives searched women’s bodies for signs of a c
rime, and how could city officials hope to find and punish York’s bastard-bearers without the midwives’ help? I took no satisfaction in a young mother’s whipping, especially if it was her first child, but the city also ordered men who fathered bastards to support their children. I considered the whipping to be a mother’s second labor, one that ensured that the child escaped a lifetime of hunger. While Edward was less merciful than I might have liked, I pushed him when I could, and sometimes he yielded. As we drank, we also talked of the war, the weather, and more pleasant news of the city … every subject we could imagine except Will’s sad state. I dared not ask if Will had come home the previous night.
Just as Edward’s servant announced that supper was ready, I heard someone enter the house. I turned, hoping it would be Will, but instead Joseph entered the room. He was taller than his brother, and projected strength even beyond his stature. Whether he had acquired this authority from his time at Cromwell’s side or learned it from his father I did not know, but it seemed clear that Joseph was well prepared to join Edward in city government. I gazed at his face and recalled his bloody deeds in the war. His pale skin and the warmth of his eyes belied the fact that he had single-handedly hacked six men to death.
Edward, Joseph, and I had only just begun to eat when a visitor arrived for Edward; he excused himself, leaving Joseph and me alone. The two of us sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clink of our forks and knives as we ate. Finally I could stand it no longer.