The Harlot's Tale (The Midwife's Tale)
Page 28
A few days after the reading of Edward’s will, Hannah came to me in my chamber.
“Lady Hodgson, a woman is here to see you,” she informed me. “I don’t know who she is.” I met the woman in the parlor. I did not know her either, but from her clothes I took her to be one of the city’s poorer inhabitants.
“It’s Widow Cowper,” she said. “She’s fallen and hurt herself. She wants you to come.”
Martha and I accompanied the woman to Mrs. Cowper’s home. Except for the occasional sign that Elizabeth now lived with her—a doll here, a primer there—it seemed much as it had when we’d delivered Sarah Briggs. Mrs. Cowper lay in her bed, attended by a few of her neighbors. Elizabeth sat by herself in the corner; by the sullen look on her face, I judged she’d been sent there.
“Lady Hodgson,” Mrs. Cowper said when she saw me. “Thank you for coming.”
I was relieved to find that her voice seemed no weaker than before, and her eyes still shone. Unlike some who passed through their green old age and neared decrepitude, she’d not resigned herself to death.
“How are you?” I asked. “What happened?”
She shook her head. “My crazy body,” she explained. “I just fell. I can walk a little, but that is all.”
“Do you need a bonesetter or a physician?” I asked. “I can send one to you.”
“No, I just need to rest,” she said. “But that is not why I asked you to come.”
“Do you want me to send Martha or Hannah?” I asked. “I’m sure they would be happy to help you while you heal.”
“No, my neighbors will help me.” She paused. “It is Elizabeth,” she said at last. “I do not know how I will care for her. The neighbors will help until I can walk again, but after that…” Her voice trailed off.
“Mrs. Cowper—”
“No,” she interrupted. “We must say this aloud. I know not when the Lord will come for me. Nor do I know if He will take me quickly or steal my mind before my body.” She looked over at Elizabeth, who had begun to read in a hornbook. “She is a child and does not need to watch an old woman die.”
I started to object, but Mrs. Cowper would not allow it.
“I’m not saying I’m going to die today. I’m no fool. But if I don’t die from this tumble, it will be the next one, or a winter fever. Elizabeth has seen enough death. She doesn’t need to be orphaned again.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked.
“Take Elizabeth and raise her as your own,” she said. “I know you lost a daughter about her age, so it won’t be too strange for you. She’s got no other family. If it isn’t you, it will be another ancient widow after me, and then another one after her. And Lord knows you have room for a child in that house of yours.”
I looked from Mrs. Cowper to Elizabeth and back. I glanced at Martha to see if she had any thoughts on the matter, but she was looking toward the child. While I had no doubt that Mrs. Cowper would do her best, I could not deny the pith and marrow of her speech. She was old and poor, and would only become older and poorer. Elizabeth would be better off with me. What would that mean for my household? Will seemed to be settling in, and with the cooler weather, Tree had resumed his occasional visits. But even with these additions, I did have room for another child.
“We’ll bring her back to see you,” I said. “You deserve that.”
“Thank you, Lady Bridget,” she said. “Fetch her over here so I can tell her myself.”
Martha crossed to Elizabeth and led her to Mrs. Cowper’s bedside. Elizabeth reached out for her, and Martha and I stepped back while the pair talked quietly. From time to time, Elizabeth looked from Mrs. Cowper’s face to mine. Tears filled her eyes for a moment, but she fought them back. She embraced Mrs. Cowper, gathered her books and doll, and approached me and Martha.
“Widow Cowper says I’m to live with you,” she said. “Is that true?”
Martha and I knelt down beside her.
“If that’s what you want,” I said. “I have books and toys, and you’ll have a bed of your own.”
A look of caution crossed her face. “I’ve never had my own bed,” she said. “What if I want to sleep with you?”
“Then you may,” I replied.
“Can we play at checkstones?”
“Whenever you want.”
“Is she kind?” she asked me, nodding at Martha.
“Very kind,” I said. “And you have already met Hannah, but did you know she bakes delicious cakes? And there is my nephew Will, who can tell you all manner of stories, and a boy named Tree who stays with me sometimes. He is a little older than you.”
Elizabeth crossed to Mrs. Cowper, embraced her once again, and kissed her aged cheek. They both wiped tears from their eyes before Elizabeth returned and took my hand. We bade Mrs. Cowper farewell, and then Martha, Elizabeth, and I stepped into the rain and started for home.
Also by Sam Thomas
The Midwife’s Tale
About the Author
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.
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.
THE HARLOT’S TALE. Copyright © 2013 by Samuel Thomas. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Thomas, Samuel S.
The harlot’s tale: a Bridget Hodgson mystery / Samuel Thomas.—First edition.
pages cm.
ISBN 978-1-250-01078-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-01079-7 (e-book)
1. Women detectives—England—Fiction. 2. Serial murderers—England—Fiction. 3. Great Britain—History—Civil War, 1642–1649—Fiction. 4. York (England)—History—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3620.H64225H37 2014
813'.6—dc23
2013032884
e-ISBN 9781250010797
First Edition: January 2014
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