The Midwife and the Assassin

by Sam Thomas

  “And it seems we were right,” Martha added.

  “The Italian said you are midwives. Why are you sticking your beaks into such a business?”

  “We are here for his wife,” I said. “She doubts the Justices will do their part, and asked us to help her find Daniel’s killer. Did you know that Daniel Chidley was working for Cromwell?”

  “No, and I don’t believe it, either,” Owen said. “Whoever told you that he was, was leading you astray. Daniel and I disagreed on many things, but he was a true Leveller. As I said, you should look to Cromwell’s men. But I’ll warn you now. Be careful—if you come too close to the truth, they’ll not hesitate to kill someone like you.”

  “What did you and Daniel do together?” I asked. “What was your work against Cromwell?”

  Owen laughed bitterly. “Do I seem such a fool as to tell you that? I’d sooner find a rope and hang myself.” He paused for a moment and peered at me through narrowed eyes. “For all I know, you work for Cromwell, and wish to trick me into a confession.” He stood. “I’ve done nothing wrong, so finish your drinks and go. I’ve no desire to see you here again. You’ll bring nothing but trouble on yourselves and those around you, and I’ve got enough trouble of my own.”

  I peered at Owen’s belt as he walked away, wondering if he might carry a knife, but I could not catch a glimpse beneath the tails of his shirt.

  “Mr. Owen,” I called after him. “Where were you on January eighth? It was the day after the King’s trial was announced.”

  Owen returned to the table and leaned over us, his jaw tight. “Are you mad, yelling that aloud? There are as many dangerous men in the King’s employ as in Cromwell’s, and I’d sooner not get their attention.” He looked about the room before continuing in a whisper. “I had no call to kill Daniel. I told you—he and I were not enemies.”

  “Where were you on the eighth?” I asked again.

  “Here with my wife. This place doesn’t run itself. Or maybe I was at the docks looking for wine newly arrived from France. But wherever I was, it wasn’t at Daniel’s. I had no wish to see him dead.”

  “Is that your wife?” Martha nodded toward the woman we’d seen him with earlier.

  “My wife?” Owen was taken entirely aback by the question. “Yes, why?”

  “You said you were here with your wife, or out on some other business. If that’s true, she can tell us. Let us ask her, and then we can be on our way.”

  Owen slammed his fist on the table. We’d asked one question too many. “You’ll not speak to her. Not today, not ever. And if I see you here again, you’ll be much the worse for it.” He started away before turning back to us. “You would do well to learn the lesson of Daniel’s death. When you take a knife by the blade, you risk being cut.”

  “I don’t need to finish my ale,” Martha whispered as Owen stalked off. The suspicion that had greeted us when we entered the Crown had become open hostility, and I said a prayer of thanks that Lorenzo Bacca had stayed nearby. A smile graced his lips and he nodded farewell as we made our way to the door.

  “My God,” Martha gasped as we escaped into the street. “That was an unlikely haphazard.”

  “Meeting Lorenzo Bacca after so many years?” I said. “It was remarkable indeed. Suddenly London seems very small. Do you think he believed our lie about the murdered doxies?”

  “He seemed to. It was a story well told.”

  “Well told or not, he is still an assassin in the service of Prince Charles,” I said. “And Daniel was both a Leveller and a spy for Cromwell. Bacca had at least two reasons to kill him.”

  Martha nodded. “If he is the murderer and he saw through the lie about the doxies—”

  “Then we would find ourselves in great danger,” I finished. We walked a bit faster, hoping to put more distance between us and Bacca.

  “And what of Charles Owen?” Martha asked.

  “He’s strong enough,” I said. “And he is certainly a man of violent passions. Either he or Bacca could have killed Daniel.”

  “Or it might have been Jeremiah Goodkey or Mr. Marlowe,” Martha said.

  “Aye,” I said. “Or one of them. We should go to the Horned Bull. I should like to tell Colonel Reynolds of all that has happened.”

  “I imagine you would,” Martha said with a laugh.

  We found our way to the Bull with no trouble—a deed of which I was unreasonably proud—and to my pleasure we arrived at the same time as Will. I embraced him, and he gave Martha a kiss before leading us to the dining room. He seemed tired, and he was well covered with dust and mud.

  “So you’ve been out of the city?” I asked, gesturing at his clothes. “You’ll not get that dirty from cobbled streets.”

  Will laughed. “You don’t miss much, I’ll grant you that. What have you two been up to today?” He had no intention of telling us where he’d been.

  “Is Colonel Reynolds here?” I asked.

  Will shook his head. “He should be back shortly. We can eat while we wait.”

  As the three of us ate, we talked of everything except our mutual work for Mr. Marlowe, and it made for a lovely afternoon. For a time we almost forgot the troubles and dangers that lay before us.

  “This is a lovely surprise.” Tom Reynolds slid onto the bench next to Will. “What brings you here? Have you found Daniel Chidley’s murderer already?”

  I was appalled at the girlish laugh that escaped my lips. It was inappropriate for a woman to laugh in such a fashion, especially about a murder. I gathered myself as best I could before I dared reply. “Not yet. But we do have news.”

  “What is it?” Tom asked.

  “We spoke to Charles Owen,” I said.

  “You did what?” Tom exclaimed. “You spoke to him? He could be the murderer!”

  “It’s a longer story than that,” I replied. “And I’ll get there in time if you will listen.”

  Tom nodded for me to continue.

  “Owen had no love for Daniel,” I said. “But he says had no reason to kill him, either. They both hated Cromwell.”

  “Did you believe him?” Tom asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There is an air of violence about him, and he has every reason to lie.”

  “So we have still have no idea who killed Daniel,” Will said. “Owen, Goodkey, or someone else entirely.”

  “It is more complicated than that,” Martha said. “We also met Lorenzo Bacca.”

  Will gasped in surprise. “What? Here in London? How?”

  “Who is Lorenzo Bacca?” Tom asked. “What have the two of you been doing?”

  I took a moment and thought about how best to explain our strange past and even stranger encounter with the Italian. “When I was in York, a friend was accused of murdering her husband,” I said. “I tried to prove her innocence, and in doing so I made enemies of some very powerful men.”

  “Yes,” Tom said. “We heard as much from Will. But where does this Italian come in? Who is he?”

  “He is an assassin,” I said. “In 1644, York was held by the Royalists, and Bacca was with the King and the Lord Mayor. When Martha and I became too dangerous, the Lord Mayor sent Bacca to threaten us.” I remembered the day Bacca forced me into an alley and eased the tip of a knife between my ribs until it barely broke the skin. “He carried a knife that was long and narrow. He could have killed me in one thrust.”

  “Just as Daniel Chidley was killed,” Martha said.

  “Aye,” I breathed. I’d not made the connection until that moment.

  “Now he is working on behalf of Prince Charles?” Tom asked. “Why would an Italian assassin busy himself with an English war?”

  “He’s not a true Royalist, if that’s what you mean. I think he simply found a master who was willing to pay his price. But he’s no less dangerous for that.”

  “And you are sure he was innocent of the murder in York?” Tom asked.

  “He was,” I said. “But he’s an assassin all the same. If the Prince paid
him to kill Daniel Chidley, he would not have hesitated to do so.”

  “And Daniel would not have a chance against him,” Martha concluded.

  Tom reached into his satchel and produced paper, quill, and ink. “I’ll see what I can find out about Bacca,” he said, making notes to himself. “Mr. Marlowe is concerned about foreign spies, so we may have some record of him. Did you discover anything else?”

  “Nothing of significance,” I said. “We will talk to a cloth merchant called Abraham Walker. He was one of Daniel’s friends, and Mrs. Chidley thinks he may be able to help us.”

  “I don’t know him, but I will see what I can discover.” Tom made a few more notes.

  “Mrs. Chidley says he’s a neutralist and avoids controversy whenever he can. He’s not someone who would capture Mr. Marlowe’s attention.”

  “The same could have been said of you,” Tom pointed out with a smile. “Yet here you are.”

  “Aye,” I said. “Here I am.”

  “Aunt Bridget,” Will said, clearing his throat. “It has been some weeks since Martha and I have had time to speak with each other. Alone. Could we have a few minutes?”

  “Of course,” I said. Tom and I stood and moved toward the bar. We stood in awkward silence for a few moments watching Will and Martha. The crowd in the Horned Bull had swelled considerably since we’d arrived, so Tom and I were forced to stand very nearly nose to nose. The scent of tobacco wafted from his clothes with a pleasant warmth, and when another customer stumbled into us, Tom put his hands on my hips to steady me.

  “Shall I find us a table?” he murmured. “We would be more comfortable.”

  I agreed, though I was unsure where we would sit, for there were no vacant chairs. Tom crossed to a table and whispered a few words to the men sitting there. They immediately stood and left. I could not help laughing as I joined him. “What did you say to them?”

  “Nothing but the truth. I told them that I’d noticed their eyes lingering too long on that gentleman’s purse.” He nodded to a tall and very drunk man leaning heavily on the bar; his purse did seem to beg cutting. “I suggested they do their drinking elsewhere, and they agreed.”

  Despite the fact that robbery was no more amusing than murder, I laughed once again. At least this time it was my laugh, rather than a girl’s.

  “I’ll get some wine,” Tom said, and returned to the bar.

  My mind and heart raced as Tom crossed the room. I glanced at Martha, who was looking in my direction, a mischievous glint in her eyes. I suddenly felt overtaken by drink even though I’d only had a single cup of wine with our dinner. Tom returned with a bottle of wine and two cups, and sat across from me.

  “Will says he and Martha were betrothed in York,” Tom said as he poured. “When do you think they’ll marry?”

  “They’ve been apart for many years,” I said. “They need to get reacquainted. But it’s also up to you and Mr. Marlowe, isn’t it?”

  Tom nodded, acknowledging the point. “What about you? You were widowed in York?”

  “Once in Hereford, once in York,” I said.

  “Have you any children?”

  My mind leaped about, from Michael and Birdy—now dead—to Tree, still in York, and Elizabeth, safe in Pontrilas. “Two died many years ago,” I said. “But I now have two others, one in Hereford, one in York.”

  To my relief he did not ask me to explain how I could have lost two children and found two others. Perhaps Will had told him. I recalled the wistful expression on his face when he’d seen Martha and Will embrace at the Tower. “You are widowed as well?”

  “Aye.” He nodded. “I had a wife and a grown son. Both died when the King’s men took Bolton.” My heart sank at this. All England knew of Bolton’s suffering when the Earl of Derby had taken the town. His men had killed hundreds without distinguishing women and children from soldiers. I recognized the regret in his eyes when he spoke of his family. It was the same regret I felt when I thought of my own lost children; he somehow blamed himself for their deaths.

  “You were there?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I was wounded in the fighting. I lived. They didn’t.” I tried to read his face, but it remained a blank stone.

  “And how did you come into Mr. Marlowe’s service?” I asked.

  “He told me that he’d help me find Derby and see him hanged,” he said.

  “Is the Earl in London?” The question escaped my lips before I could stop it. Of course he wasn’t. Even in Hereford, I’d heard that Derby had fled to France. “I am sorry,” I said. “I did not mean it in that way.”

  “No, no, it is a fair question.” Tom smiled ruefully. “If I am looking for Derby, why am I on this side of the English Channel?”

  I nodded.

  “Mr. Marlowe has a way of bringing you aboard with a promise and then diverting you to his own ends. And if you complete one task, he’ll give you another, but not the one that you wanted. But you will find this out for yourself, I imagine.”

  “You mean on one day he might ask me to spy on the Levellers, and on the next he might ask me to solve a murder?”

  Tom laughed long and loud. “Ah, yes, I had forgotten you already experienced his capriciousness.” Tom’s smile vanished and he looked into my eyes. “You should know that he’ll not loose his grasp of you if he can help it. He’ll dangle your freedom in front of you in the same way he dangles the Earl of Derby in front of me.”

  “Then why do you stay?” I asked.

  “Because I love England, and would not have her slip into tyranny and popery. Because I cannot find Derby by myself, and someday Mr. Marlowe might.” Tom paused for a moment and looked away from me. “And without a family, what else am I to do?”

  I reached across the table and took his hand. Now he reminded me not of Luke, but of myself, for the sorrow in his eyes was the very twin of my own.

  Tom smiled bitterly and squeezed my hand. “I am sorry. I do not know when I became so womanish.”

  “If love for your family is womanish, all men should be thus,” I replied. “But tell me this: Would finding the Earl of Derby ease your grief?”

  Tom looked at me as if I’d suggested that the sun might rise in the west. He thought for a moment, perhaps envisioning the Earl’s death at his hands, and looked away. “I suppose not.” We sat in silence, letting the noise of the tavern wash over us. Finally Tom spoke. “How did you survive your grief? After all you have lost—what did you do?”

  “What did I do?” I repeated. I considered the years since the death of my daughter had completed the destruction of my family and left me alone in England’s dark north. “I started again. I did not know I was doing it, but that’s what happened. First Martha came to me, and then Will. Then there was another boy named Tree; he is still in York. And then by God’s grace Elizabeth found her way to my household. When death took my family, I cobbled together another one. It was the only way I could have survived.”

  “And that is why you contrived to hang Will’s brother,” Tom said. “He threatened everyone you had.”

  “What else could I have done?”

  Tom did not respond. I had no doubt he was thinking of the things that he might have done to save his family. If only he had sent them away from Bolton. If only he hadn’t been wounded. If only—

  “You know Mr. Marlowe better than anyone,” I said. “How can I gain my freedom?” I hoped turning our conversation from the past to the future might lift our spirits.

  “Now that is a delicate dance.” Tom’s relief at the change was palpable. “If you prove yourself too capable, he will never set you free. A general does not dismiss his best soldiers; he promotes them.”

  “And if I bungle the job, he will turn against me,” I said.

  “Aye. And since you freed Mrs. Ramsden, he knows you are no bungler.”

  “So what can I do?”

  Tom thought for a moment. “He will not release you, but he knows that he cannot rule entirely by fear. If you were to earn s
ome great victory, I believe he would ease the terms of your servitude.”

  I thought for a moment. “I could bring Elizabeth to London. In our meeting he left that door open.”

  “Aye, he might allow that,” Tom said. “But you must give him something first.”

  “Like Daniel Chidley’s murderer.”

  “I should think that would be enough.”

  Tom and I were so deep in conversation that we did not notice the bartender approach the table. “Finish up. Time for you to be on your way.”

  Martha and Will joined us, and the four of us said our farewells. When Martha and Will embraced, Tom and I took a step toward each other before remembering ourselves. Tom bowed awkwardly, and we laughed. “Let us know if you find anything more,” Tom said. “I will see you soon.”

  Martha and I stepped out into a fierce wind that in an instant snatched away the warmth of the Bull. We walked in silence back to our home in the Cheap.

  * * *

  Martha and I passed the following Sabbath in peace, but awoke Monday morning to the news that work had begun on a scaffold outside the Banqueting House. The King would be beheaded in just two days’ time. To my surprise, the Cheap greeted this news not with anger or celebration, but quiet resignation. With each step toward the King’s death—his trial, his sentencing, and now his execution—more people bowed their heads to the inevitable. Barring some miracle—or rising by his friends—on Thursday Charles would be killed, and for the first time in its long history, England would be without a King.

  Martha and I had just returned from the shops where we heard all this when there came a knock at our door. I answered to find Abraham Walker on our doorstep.

  “Widow Hodgson,” he said. “Katherine Chidley asked me to speak with you. May I come inside?”

  Chapter 16

  “Of course,” I said. “We hoped to speak to you sooner, but with all the trouble…”

  Walker shook his head in wonder as he crossed the threshold and joined Martha and me at our table. “We live in troubled times. Of that there can be no doubt.”