Captain Willoughby was not in the crowded debtor’s cell where I met him last. A man with no front teeth and eyes so sunken they disappeared into his skull told me Willoughby had spoken out of turn to a keeper. If there was one thing I had fast learned, a person inside here should not talk back to a turnkey. Punishment was often swift. The keys hanging from their belts gave them licence to retaliate with far worse punishment than the perceived crime, and most would as readily strike a man with an iron or nine-tails as deprive him of the sun or food, or fasten them to the wall or roof with chains.
I retraced my steps to the gate and the Bowden boy. I asked him where the captain had been taken.
‘Give us a bit o’ that loaf, and I’ll tell ya.’
‘Tell me and you will have some,’ I said, easily recovering power over him. I had the measure of him. He paused but a moment before answering.
‘They put ‘im in the Strong Room on ‘is own, for a bit of quiet, outta the goodness of their ‘earts,’ he said.
Gaolers never did anything for prisoners’ benefit, only for their own, but I did not argue with the boy and give him reason to deny me.
That Willoughby was now in a cell away from the crowded debtor’s cell might at first seem like a good thing, but it was not. My stomach lurched as I remembered two months back finding a man alone in a the strong room with his face eaten by rats. Prisoners told me he was only lately gone from the commoner’s cell, and must have died mere hours before. The Strong Room was a foul place to put a man on his own and one of the worst punishments.
‘Show me,’ I said, with all the authority I could muster. My fifty years easily overwhelmed his fifteen, and mere tone of voice had him lead me to where Willoughby crouched in a dark room with his arms wrapped around his raised knees and his forehead leaning on the top of them. His back was pressed to the wall, a wise position I knew afforded him one less direction to protect himself from the rats.
If the stench of the commoners’ cell made me retch, here was the worst smell I could ever imagine, and would never have wish to imagine. The Strong Room lay close to the pile of rotting bodies, in sight of the door, awaiting burial. I averted my watering eyes from those persons that once filled the gaol, but were now tiresome waste to be disposed of before disease and maggots found their way inside from the yard.
How a person might bear being that close to death and disease without losing their mind I did not know, but I saw the man before me could easily fall into that despair, if he had not already done so.
His demeanour was much darkened since last I saw him. At that time, his jaunty, ‘Release me, madam, and you will gain yourself a servant of superior quality for a year, and an ardent admirer for all eternity!’ implied that, though his body was caged, his spirit was free, but now his hunched back and dropped head was more than a physical position; it was a statement of his place in this prison and in life. It was most unpleasant to see any man so consumed by despair and so lacking in vitality.
He raised his head as our footsteps approached, and greeted me, ‘You came back. I knew you would.’ His voice told me he had known no such thing, nor had he even believed it. He searched my face to see if I had brought news from his hoped-for benefactor. I could not pass Willoughby the message from Lady Powys with the young turnkey standing beside me so, searching in my basket, I found some victuals to send him away with.
‘Here, young Bowden, I have some bread for you and a carrot from my garden. Maybe you would prefer to eat them away from here?’ I looked pointedly at the young gaoler – it was a stroke of luck recognising him – and at the rotting cadavers.
He took the food and the hint and nodded then left us. I did not think I could have eaten so close to such fetor, but a person could become used to it with time and hunger, and Bowden proved this by eating some of the loaf as he left us. The way he hunched over it confirmed my earlier image of him fighting for his food, and probably keeping his back to others so they could not snatch it.
Though he was only a young’un, he had the power to make life very difficult for those inside, and could also make things difficult for me. But, with care and time, he might as easily be taught the simple necessity of treating a person with dignity to the satisfaction of us all.
‘Quick, does she send me a message?’ Willoughby’s eyes were crazed with a mixture of hope and despair. He begged my answer before I was ready to give it. He pushed himself to standing and wobbled to the bars that stood between us, kicking a dead rat into the corner. I saw two live ones scurry to where he had been sitting and search the area with their noses. The fire had burned most from the City, but numbers had increased again since then. These odious vermin had no shame, showing themselves whilst we stood right there! However, I did not cringe; I was used to seeing the creatures in the cells.
‘Eat first,’ I said, fearing Bowden might still be close by. Neither did I wish for him to see where I hid the letter.
Trying not to retch at the smears of filth on the hand that took it, I gave him a chunk of bread, which he ate voraciously. Under the dirt on his hand, I saw what looked like the letters ‘N’ and ‘G’ that I did not have time to wonder at. ‘Turn your back,’ I said. His puzzled look gave way to understanding; he remembered I had asked him to turn his back when I hid his note to Lady Powys.
Willoughby took the opportunity to stuff the remaining bread in his mouth more in the manner of a beast than refined rearing would dignify.
I quickly retrieved the heavy, coin filled note and said, ‘This is for you,’ then watched as an eager Willoughby took it, felt the weight of it, then opened it as if it might contain a summons to the court, without knowing whether it would be as a paid witness or the condemned.
He looked up with such hope that would make a cloud smile. Tears pooled in the bottom of his shapely eyes and, when he blinked, stuck to his eyelashes and made them pretty like a woman’s, strangely more masculine on a man; and despite loving Pierre with all my being, an unexpected rush of adult affection shot through me and brought me closer to the young, handsome fellow.
‘Thank you, madam, thank you! You are kindness itself!’
‘Am I kind that I am merely the bearer of good news?’ My smile was a match for his.
‘Aye, you are indeed!’ he said. ‘The good Lady Powys has given me enough to get out of this damnable place and to a better hole at the King’s Bench. She has also declared herself to have sympathy for me.’
‘That is indeed good news. Shall I call the turnkey back? ‘
‘He has no authority. He can do nothing. A man will return at sundown and I will charge him to release me from here then.’ Willoughby paused only a heartbeat then said, ‘I owe you a great debt, madam; a debt I shall repay you before the end of my days, as surely as I stand here now.’
‘That you can leave this dreadful place will be thanks enough,’ I told him. ‘You also do me a good turn when you collect stories of bad treatment here. How goes that?’
Clasping the read letter in one hand, and coins in the other, he still managed to hold the iron bars and press his face into the gap. Checking the door, he lowered his voice. ‘I have started the article, as you asked.’
Satisfied, I privately extended gratitude for the written evidence to my friend, Mrs White, that had told me of her good fortune in acquainting herself with Willoughby whilst in prison. She had told me that he had sworn vengeance on Captain Richardson for his excessive severity, and she had been right.
‘I will put the accounts of torture and ill use in this prison before the Government and the king so they can know the Devil does not choose instruments of his work from only men far away, but also from amongst our own.’ I paused to reflect on how God and the Devil were equal in not favouring countries, nor even favouring religions, only the instruments they would use each to their own end.
‘Perhaps I can repay your kindness sooner. Are you able to keep a secret
? ‘
‘It might depend on what importance it has.’ I will not promise to conceal something if I do not know the content of it.
‘’Tis of the greatest importance, and to do with the king.’
My ears pricked up like a dog’s on the scent of such mystery.
‘What do you know of the king, is he in danger?’
‘’Tis a plot, Madam, of the direst sort.’
‘Have you proof of it?’ I asked. Many bragged they had information since the king had declared he would pay for it, and if all versions were true, as many plots prevailed as there were persons in the country!
‘Aye, I have. There’s a man I know at the King’s Bench that has evidence,’ he said.
‘And do you know who is involved against the king?’
‘I do, Madam. Do you swear to hold my secret close?’
‘My lips will not release it unless it is to save the king,’
‘These words I tell you hold great weight,’ he reiterated so quiet that I needed to hold my head closer to the bars and take down my hood, that its rustle against my hair did not prevent my hearing his whisper. ‘If the words found their way into ears of plotters, they may act prematurely and none would be able to stop them.’
‘‘Tis understood,’ I nodded.
‘Good. You are the one they call The Popish Midwife, whom they speak well of in here, which satisfies me you will keep good your oath, for this plot is made by some who have positions close to the king, and who are trusted by him.
‘Tell me who they are!’ I could stand it no longer. If the king was in danger I must discover all I could and prevent it.
‘Patience, Madam. I must tell you, when I give you these names, you must not run to the king or his men with this story. There is no proof but what I overheard in the prison there, and that from a man named Strode, who is now too clammed up to let loose such information again. He only revealed what he had when he was woozy with liquor.’
‘He spoke in his cups? Perhaps his word cannot be trusted.’
‘Aye. But true or not I must reveal to you what I know. The men I tell you of huddled together to hatch a most horrendous plot. Their plan was to kill the king by several means, but to make it appear to come from the Romish3 side, the Catholic side. The Popish Plot is nothing but hatched from their imaginations. ‘Tis the Presbyterians who should rightly own it! I am further told, Sir Godfrey’s death has been turned on the priests and My Lord Bellasis, that is in the Tower, by Oates, for the magistrate knew Oates lied in the affidavit he made to him of the plot.’
3 Catholic. Like Popish, often used in a derogatory way.
‘What? Treachery! And it was their plan to lay it on us? With what method did they plan to carry out this dastardly act?’
‘Poison, perhaps, or maybe the sword. The man did not say.’
‘But you are certain it was not a creation born of too much ale?’
‘The details are not certain. The plan is too early, I think, for details to be known. All I am sure of is they use the accusations of that false man, Oates, to direct the finger of the law at the Catholics and away from them.
‘So, you know no details of the carrying out of the plot?’
Was I disappointed? But, yes, I would as lief be the discoverer of it, and to bear this news to King Charles and his brother, James, the Duke of York. I would have proof that I, as a Catholic, not only would not kill the king, as many would believe, but would defend him with my life and save him if I could. Furthermore, I yearned to be accepted back into the Royal Court.
When last I was summoned to the court a fourteen-night ago by the Duchess of York, it was merely to satisfy which of two recipes she should best use to strengthen the womb against the unbearable burden of miscarriage: a potion of cinnamon, nutmeg, sugar and eggs as she had heard from her mother, or a powder of dragon’s blood4, red coral, amber grease5 and bezoar 6 in burnt claret wine, a recipe told to her by Mrs Wilks, her midwife.
4 bright red resin
5 waxy substance from intestines of a sperm whale
6 stony mass from a ruminant’s stomach
Wishing no disagreement with either woman, I told her both were perfectly acceptable, and that, if it so pleased her, she could occasionally lay on her naval a bread poultice of Camomile flowers, Mastick7 and Cloves, bruised and mingled well with some Maligo Wine and rose Vinegar. My own recipe and advice was received with gratitude, but as yet no further invitations were issued from the palace.
7 resin of Mastic tree
Willoughby’s information would place me in a position of goodwill and trust, and I might be welcomed as once I was, when I had waited on the first Duchess of York. To be so vindicated would be the greatest boon.
‘Not the details, but the men involved for certain.’
‘You had better be sure of your facts.’
‘I am as sure as I stand here, I tell you.’
‘Well, then tell me.’
‘One, you will be surprised to hear. That is Lord Shaftsbury.’
‘Shaftsbury? No, this I will not hear – he is tight with the king!’ His face fell, for he thought I did not believe him. I did not doubt him, the man, only the truth of what he said.
‘He is the head of them. He is the one that gathered them together.’
‘If you say so then, but he is a knight. It is hard to think of a more honest or decent profession.’
‘Does that not make it of more concern, not less?’
I thought about this, and realised he was right. One that appeared honest might be given more power than one not trusted; allowed into a position where he could hurt a person, because they did not believe he would. Shaftsbury was such a man. His closeness to the king disguised the harm he wished him. A coldness ran through me.
‘Have you other names?’
‘He mumbled a few,’ said Willoughby, ‘but I did not know them. If I ask him now, he would suspect me of angling for them.’
‘Can you insinuate yourself into closer acquaintance with him and discover the truth of the matter, Captain?’
Willoughby thought for a while, then said, ‘Drink loosed his tongue once, so it might do so again. When I go to the Bench, will you find me a bottle of something strong that I might tempt him and unfasten his tongue?’
‘We must do all we can to discover this plot and expose it. I will bring what I can, perhaps my son in law can make me something. He is an apothecary by trade. Will you become familiar to this man and be his companion? He might be willing to talk without inducement.’
‘I have tried that. His lips were locked tight as a Girdle of Venus without a key.’
I laughed at his crude wit, surprised I could find humour in this terrible place. Willoughby’s eyes creased at the corners, and for a moment I saw a glimpse of his teeth – yellowing, but even and whole, though needing a good clean. What came forth was more of a cough than a laugh. This man was an open speaker and did not hide behind the pretended morals of the gentry even coming from the same. I liked one who spoke freely of the world as they saw it and with good humour.
Another rat ran close to Willoughby’s feet and the stench of death reminded me where I was, so I stopped laughing.
Willoughby also stopped and his face became desperate once more. These surroundings could not but weigh heavily on him. After all, he was a debtor not a criminal, and even one that deserved greater punishment did not deserve such foulness.
The Strong Room was designed to keep a man solitary. Though I had come here ere now, I was not certain I would be let back. I was only allowed this visit because the Bowden boy was a greenhorn and knew no better. Veteran gaolers might not let me come.
‘Willoughby. It is of vital importance we discover this plot as fast as we can. We must let the king know of it. I will talk to the turnkeys, and see what
we might do to get you moved from here. You have payment enough, but it will take time to move you to the King’s Bench, if they will let you go.’
‘You are too good, Madam. Your kindness is a tonic to restore me.’ Then, before I could step back out of reach, the rascal took hold of my hand in his mucky fingers and raised it to his lips. Repulsed by the touch of one so dirty I nearly snatched it back, yet a bolder part of me, the one that fluttered with adult affection when he shed a tear before, would have liked him to hold the cherished hand longer.
The jaundiced whites of his eyes, bright against his dirty skin, could not diminish the sapphires that peered directly at me through long lashes as he raised his lips from my hand. Even then I did not withdraw my hand, but waited for him to give it.
‘I am ever your servant, Madam. If ever it is in my power to be of assistance to you for all you have done for me then I will use it.’
‘Thank you, Willoughby. In my turn, I will do all I can for you.’
‘Your kindness will not be forgotten, Madam.’ For a moment before I remembered myself, I was beguiled into thinking myself a lady romanced in court, but it lasted only a moment. The Bowden boy came and told me I had to go. I became a common almoner in a stinking prison once more.
The Bowden boy said Richardson, the head gaoler, was on his way, and I must not still be in the Strong Room when he got there. The lad did not wish to heap trouble on his shoulders if I was found here, it being forbidden for me to have such a run of the place. I surmised that, if he was found to do wrong, he would likely receive some of the same treatment as the prisoners. Any not as rough and cocky as the other turnkeys was fair game to be slashed by their spurs. He might as well be beaten as lose his job.
I did not wish the boy harm for his sympathy to my cause, so I bid Willoughby farewell and promised to find him again soon. I left him with another chunk of bread, which he ate ravenously as if he had none before. I had not thought to bring ale to wash it down, but would bring some next time.
The Popish Midwife Page 9