The Harlot's Tale (The Midwife's Tale)
Page 20
“Remember that whoever killed Isabel was not alone,” I said. “Mrs. Cowper heard the murderer calling after his companion. Praise-God might not be so murderous, but what if his comrade is? Whom was he following?” I asked. “John Stubb? Mark Preston? Joseph?”
“It could be any of them,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “They are all men of blood.”
A knock came from the front door, followed immediately by the sound of the gossips roaring at Will when he tried to enter the parlor. He protested valiantly, but within moments they had driven him back outside. Martha and I returned to the parlor, and found the women in high spirits.
“I need to speak to Lady Hodgson,” Alice mocked. “Please!”
I could not help smiling at their antics. It was rare that such women could mock a man so openly, and I would not begrudge them this opportunity. Martha and I found Will standing outside, still shocked by his rough treatment at the gossips’ hands.
“’Tis merry when gossips meet,” Martha teased. “Is it not?”
“If there is a more terrifying sound than that, I have no desire to hear it,” Will replied before turning to more serious business. “I brought Joseph to the body,” he said. “I watched him closely, but could see no sign that he knew of the murder, or where the body was. I pretended to lose my way in the hope that he’d correct me, but he never did.”
Martha did not even try to hide her disappointment. “That does not mean anything,” she said. “If he is the killer, he’ll not be trapped so easily.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Will. “But I still don’t believe that he is involved. He is my brother. There would be some sign, and I would recognize it.”
“We may find our answer sooner than we thought,” I said. “Sarah’s gossips say that Praise-God has been coming to the whores of late.”
“What, hectoring them as he did Betty?” Will asked.
“Not that,” Martha replied. “The only talking he did was to negotiate a price.”
“Really?” Will said, his brow arched in surprise. “The Puritan’s son is also a whoremonger.” He considered the news for a moment. “Do you think he is also the killer?”
“He came to Isabel on Saturday, and she died on Sunday,” I replied.
“He could be the one Mrs. Cowper saw fleeing from Isabel’s room,” Martha added.
Will frowned as he thought. “Could be is hardly enough to see him hanged. We cannot even prove it was him. And even if it was, we have to find out who he was with.”
“But how?” I asked.
“We ask,” Martha replied.
“What do you mean?” I said. “Surely he’ll deny everything.”
“We start with what we learned from the whores,” Martha said. “He’s a fornicator, a liar, and a hypocrite. We threaten to tell his father about the entire business. That will throw him on his heels, and then we’ll press him about the murders.”
“That might well work,” Will said. “My father may not approve of me, but his scorn at my drinking would be nothing compared to Hezekiah Ward’s wrath when he finds out his son’s a whoremonger. Even if Praise-God doesn’t fear the gallows, he’ll fear his father.”
“And once he’s scared enough, he’ll confess?” I asked. “It seems a bit far-fetched.”
“It seems that way because you’re not frightened of your father,” Will replied. “Look at Praise-God’s life. He trails his father around England, meek and mild. He wants to be a minister, but he knows he’ll never compare to Hezekiah. He’ll do anything to keep his whoring a secret. Perhaps that’s why he wanted to kill them.”
“What if he denies it?” I asked. “We have no proof.”
“If we delay until we have proof, it will put another whore’s life in danger,” Martha said. “We cannot wait another day. We must act now.”
In the distance, the Minster bells began to toll, and I looked up at the sun as it hung in the midmorning sky. We were still several hours from noon, and already it seemed as hot as we could bear. I also recognized that the setting sun would bring with it the threat of another murder. If we waited to confront Praise-God, and he proved to be the killer, we would be complicit in that death.
“I should think Sarah will be delivered by dinner. We’ll find Praise-God right after.”
“I’ll fetch Tree and search out Praise-God at the inn,” Will said. I started to object, but he interrupted. “I’ll keep him safe, Aunt Bridget. But I’ll need someone to bring you a message if Praise-God leaves the inn. Don’t worry. Praise-God will never even see the boy.” I nodded. Tree would be safe enough.
Martha and I bade Will farewell, and returned to Sarah and the gossips.
A few hours later, Sarah gave birth to a girl who came into the world squalling with admirable strength, surrounded by her mother’s friends. I said a prayer that she would not follow her mother into whoredom, but I knew it happened far too often to hold out much hope. Once Sarah was comfortably settled, I gave Mrs. Cowper three shillings for her trouble and a few more to help pay for Sarah’s lying-in. Martha and I dined on bread and cheese that the gossips had brought, then we set out to find Will.
As we neared the Three Crowns, I heard Tree’s voice calling out to us from an alley. I turned and saw that he’d tucked himself onto a windowsill, almost invisible unless you knew to look for him. His position offered a perfect view of the door to the Three Crowns. Will was nowhere in sight.
“If Will has left you here by yourself, I’ll have his head,” I swore. “Climb down from there, Tree. You’d best be going home.”
“It’s all right, my lady,” Tree chirped from his perch. “Will paid a lad to ask if the Wards were in their rooms. When he found out they weren’t, he decided to search the rooms himself.”
“Will’s inside?” I asked, dumbfounded. “What happened to our plan?”
“He didn’t say anything about a plan.” Tree shrugged. “He said I’m to throw a stone at the window if I see any of them, especially that big one.”
I looked over at Martha, unsure what we should do next.
“Let’s go in,” she said. “We’re doing no good waiting out here, and we might find something he’d miss.”
I nodded in agreement.
“Tree,” I said. “We’re going in as well. If you see any of the Wards coming, do as Will told you so we can escape. If anyone sees you, turn and run, do you understand?” The boy nodded, and Martha and I crossed the street toward the inn. I said a prayer that the Lord would help me bring an end to the slaughter that had lately come to York.
As we climbed the stairs, I felt the sweat born of the day’s heat change into one born of fear. If we were right, Praise-God had a hand in a half-dozen murders: If he were he to find us in his room, would Will’s sword be enough to protect us? What if his comrade were with him? Martha stopped outside Praise-God’s room and knocked.
“Will, are you in there?” she whispered. The door opened and Will gestured for us to enter. He looked up and down the hall before closing the door behind us and securing the latch.
“I grew tired of waiting,” he said before I could reprimand him for abandoning our plan. “I thought I might find something to use when we question him.”
I could tell from his voice that he had indeed uncovered something of interest.
“What did you find?” I asked.
Will held up a large black book. “His Bible. Praise-God is mad as can be and he hates whores worse than the devil himself.”
Chapter 18
Martha took the book from Will and began to leaf through it. “God, he’s written on nearly every page.”
“Aye,” Will said. “But look for the verses you discovered on the bodies.” Martha retrieved the papers we’d found in Isabel’s room from her apron, and turned to the first passage.
“Jesus,” Martha said. She handed the book to me and pointed at the passage, but it would have been impossible to miss.
While Praise-God had lightly underlined many vers
es, the passage from Revelations had received special attention. Using heavy black ink, Praise-God had drawn a star in the margin, and the word whore had been blackened out completely, as if he’d hoped to scrape the word from the page. I turned to the passage from Isaiah and found that it had received the same rough treatment.
“Are they all like this?” I asked Will.
“I couldn’t remember all of the verses, but once you start looking, they are not hard to find. Anything to do with whoredom, fornication, or adultery is marked that way.”
As I flipped through the book, a passage near the beginning caught my eye. I turned back and found it in Exodus. Praise-God had drawn black brackets around Honor thy father and thy mother. Next to the brackets he’d written, What does this mean? How might I do this? I showed the passage to Martha and Will.
“Surely he’s not questioning the commandment,” Will said. “He seems dutiful enough.” Martha just shook her head.
I continued to turn the pages, now with Will and Martha peering over my shoulder. In Genesis, I found that he’d drawn similar brackets at the beginning and end of the passage in which God ordered Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. In the margins he’d written, What if God had not stayed Abraham’s hand?
“Not a bad question,” Will said grimly.
“I wonder what Praise-God thinks of murder?” I asked, and turned to the account of Cain and Abel. I found it odd that he’d given that event no more attention than any other.
“Did you find anything else?” I asked, looking about the room.
“He’s got a little chest,” Will said, pointing. “But it’s locked.” He looked over at Martha, who smiled slightly. She knelt before the chest and examined the lock.
“I won’t even need my tools for this,” she said dismissively. She removed a pin from her apron and cast her eyes around the room. She spied a nail that had fallen into the groove between two floorboards, and with just those tools went to work on the lock. In a few moments we heard a click.
“Always spend more on a lock than you think is necessary,” she said as she opened the chest. She poked through the contents, doing her best not to disturb the order. She carefully lifted the sleeve of a linen shirt and held it for us to see. On the end of the sleeve—at the very point at which it would extend past the jacket cuff—was a stain that looked for all the world like blood. Martha looked more closely.
“He tried to wash it out but couldn’t. He just spread it out,” she said. “Too bad he never spent time in service. I’d have it out in an hour.”
“So it seems he’s our murderer,” I said. “With help or without, he killed six people.” Martha and Will nodded. For some reason this moment felt less like the triumphant completion of a Herculean task than the final steps of a long and difficult march. The dead were still dead, and the fact that we’d found the murderer would not change that. We were startled from our thoughts by the plink of a stone against the window.
“Someone’s coming,” Will said. “We must go.”
Martha laid down the bloody sleeve, closed the chest, and snapped the lock shut. Martha and I followed Will out of the room. Will opened the door across the hall and led us in before closing it behind us. The room we’d entered was a mirror image of the one we’d just searched. It had the same low bed and dull white walls. The only difference was that its windows overlooked a courtyard rather than the street.
“Before I came up, I asked for this room in particular,” Will explained, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “I thought I might need a place to go if Tree saw someone coming.” He stayed close to the door, listening for footsteps. When he heard the door across the hall open, he cracked our door and peered out.
“It’s Praise-God,” he whispered after closing the door. “And he’s alone. We should talk to him now.” Will and Martha looked at me, clearly waiting for my approval.
I hesitated.
“You want to summon the constable,” Will said.
“We ought to,” I replied.
“But we have Praise-God now!” he cried.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
“You’re afraid to confront him?” Martha asked.
“I’d be a fool if I weren’t,” I replied. “And you would be, too. He’s killed six people—there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t kill us just because we’re not whores or adulterers.”
I turned to Will. “Go get a constable, anyone but your brother. And hurry. We’ll wait here.”
Will looked like he wanted to argue, but he nevertheless dashed off. We heard him thundering down the stairs, and could feel the crash of the front door as he threw it open.
Martha and I had not waited more than a few minutes when she looked up at me, a light dancing in her eyes. I recognized the look on her face, and my heart sank.
“No,” I said. “You’re staying here.”
“You are the one who said he’s more mouse than murderer,” she said. “He fled Isabel’s murder bleating like a sheep that had lost his shepherd. By himself he’s no danger, but if we wait until his comrade arrives, then we will be in danger. We must confront him when he is alone.”
“Martha, no,” I said, though I knew she would not listen. “Wait for the constable. He won’t be long.”
Without a word, or even a look in my direction, Martha stepped past me, opened the door, and crossed the hall. She turned the handle and pushed on Praise-God’s door. When it didn’t yield, she took a step back and drove her shoulder into it. The door burst open, and over Martha’s shoulder I could see Praise-God whirl around to face her, a look of shock on his face. I had no choice but to follow her into Praise-God’s room, and I shut the door behind me.
“Wh-wh-what are you doing?” he managed at last.
“We know your secrets,” Martha said. She crossed the small room and stood with the tip of her nose just inches from his. “We know what you’ve done.” Although he was taller than Martha, there could be no question which of them was the mouse.
“What do you mean?” Praise-God asked, his voice shaking. “There are no secrets before the Lord. He will reveal all that is hid.”
“Before He reveals anything, we will do it for Him,” Martha replied. “And we’ll do it in public, too.”
“I have no secrets. I stand blameless before the Lord.” If I’d not seen the evidence myself, I would have believed the lad. Either he genuinely thought he’d done no wrong, or he was the most accomplished liar I’d seen in some time. I stood back and let Martha play the hand.
“We know you went with whores,” she said. “We know and we’ll tell everyone. Then they’ll see that you’re naught but a rank hypocrite.”
“I never did!” he cried. “We preached to them; we tried to save their souls.” He paused for a moment and regained himself. “But the mouths of the reprobate are filled with lies, and the mouths of whores even more so. None will believe you.”
“It’s not the preaching I mean,” Martha said. “We know about what you did after. I’ve spoken to them myself. They said that on Saturday you came and hired a woman named Isabel, and took her away with you.”
“I—I—I don’t know anyone named Isabel,” he stuttered. I could not help feeling we were near a confession. “They are liars. That is all.”
“The first person we’ll tell is your father,” Martha said. “I cannot imagine what he would say if he learned that his son resorted to whores most nights of the week.”
A shadow flitted across Praise-God’s face at this threat; we were closer still to the truth.
“My father, like my God, knows that I am innocent.”
“The whores laughed at you,” Martha said viciously. “They said you have the smallest prick they’d ever seen. Oh, how they laughed.”
Curiously, this insult drew a smile from Praise-God, and the tension left his body.
“Now you are the liars,” he said. “I don’t know what you are hoping to achieve by this assault, but you should leave me in peace.”
“Give me your Bible,” I said.
“What?” he said. From the look on his face, I knew I’d cut near to the bone. “Why? No, I won’t.”
I reached past him, picked the book up off the bed, and opened it to Revelations. I found one of the passages where he’d attempted to scratch the word whore from the page.
“What is this?” I demanded. “Is this what you do to the women after you’ve finished with them? Destroy them?”
“Whores are not beloved by God,” Praise-God explained. “He will destroy them and all those who traffic with them. He has sent this heat as a warning, but the city will not heed it. He will have His revenge.”
“And you think that by slaughtering them you are doing God’s work?” demanded Martha, following my lead.
“I did not kill them,” Praise-God replied. If the accusation of murder surprised him, he hid it well. “Those who hate sin are beloved by the Lord,” he said, gesturing at the Bible. “God demands that we hate whoredom.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw the lock from Praise-God’s chest lying on his bed. He must have opened it as soon as he returned to his room. I stepped around him, opened the chest, and with a flourish pulled out the shirt that Martha had found. I intended to confront him with the bloody sleeve, for what could he say to that?
But when the shirt came out, a crowbar that had been wrapped inside slipped out and fell to the floor; Isabel’s blood still covered one end of the weapon. The three of us stared at the bloody bar, only slowly realizing what it was. For a moment I feared that Praise-God might seize the weapon and use it on us, but he showed no interest in escape.
“You used this to kill Isabel,” Martha said, picking up the bar. Praise-God sat on the bed and put his hands on his knees. He seemed unsurprised by this turn of events, and was far more composed than he had been when we accused him of procuring whores.