The Popish Midwife

by Annelisa Christensen

  I gave one last piece to the Bowden boy going out the gate. It was gratefully received. I had much work to do.

  9

  26th day of April 1679 (late morning)

  ‘Heed me well, ma chérie. Take good care.’ Pierre took my hands and held them to his lips, then continued to hold them, reminding me of another time they were held in that way, not so long ago, in a different place. We sat at the unlit fireside talking. Moments before, I had told him of my plans to release Willoughby this day with the assistance of Lady Powys.

  ‘Lady Powys is of good blood,’ he said, ‘but ‘tis dangerous to stand in her company. There are spies everywhere. And though we know it be false, her husband is held to account for the plot against our king.’

  ‘I am acquainted with all this, Pierre,’ I said, ‘but she is a good woman. It is with her aid I have helped more innocents in gaol than I could have alone. She is generosity incarnate. If you saw how grateful are those in need for her charity you would not doubt her.’ I turned my hand to hold his hand as he held mine. Pierre was so patient with me, and my quest to better the lot of prisoners where I could, but he feared too deeply for my safety.

  ‘I do not doubt her, only her company, Lizzie. Any associated with the good Lady will be tarred by the same brush as her, for she is painted with that of a conspirator along with her husband. It is said, the true reason she was not herself taken is not because she is believed innocent, but only that proof could not be found against her. They will continue to search for any proof, even false proof.’ Pierre paused, then asked, ‘She is very interested in this Willoughby. Why is that?’

  I did not know how much to tell Pierre, not because I did not trust him, but because I did not wish to gather his disapproval. He would not like my meddling in politics. ‘The man has laid bare himself to be employed by Lady Powys, and she has seen fit to set him a task.’

  ‘What sort of task?’ His suspicious attitude was warranted. I stayed quiet for a moment whilst I tried to order my thoughts. I did not want to keep secrets from Pierre. Not telling him before was an omission not a falsehood, but now he asked outright, I must reveal what we, or rather I, had done.

  ‘Willoughby is compiling an article.’

  ‘What article is this you speak of?’

  ‘He gathers evidence of the ill treatment of Catholic prisoners, with the names of witnesses.’

  ‘What will he do with it, once compiled?’

  ‘My dear, I have to break my mind, and admit it is I who will do something with it.’ I could not prevent grimacing as a puzzled frown crumpled his forehead along well-worn lines, shadows made deeper by the flickering firelight.

  ‘You? What is this article to you?’ When I did not answer, he said with strong voice, ‘Again, I ask you, for what purpose will you have this article?’

  I was obliged to tell him all.

  ‘I will send it to Parliament, Pierre. What do you think of that!’ I raised my chin in defiance of the anger I knew would come.

  ‘I think you are mad.’ The look in his eye told me he spoke truly. ‘Our religion is the most reviled since that snake, Oates, hissed out his lying accusations. He has much to answer for, and he will answer in the eyes of God, but we must answer to the king and his government, and if we give them reason, they will be glad to offer us extended stay in the very prison you visit and decry!’

  He was right, but I was compelled to defend my actions.

  ‘In faith! Yes, I am mad, if being mad means being driven to distraction that they close their eyes and look away. They say we are better than other countries and do not condone instruments of pain and extortion, yet they will not stop the use of them. Worse! Evidence is that our government employs the keepers to use this foul practice to extract false confessions and accusations against others to their own end. Oates has only given them reason to use these methods, but they enjoy their task too much and absolve their actions by saying it is in defence of the king.’

  ‘’Tis not for you to reveal this abuse. You are not in a position to do so. You are a Catholic, a midwife and a woman combined.’ Pierre softly pleaded. ‘To me you are perfection, but the eyes of others are marred by prejudice against you. They will find reason to turn this onto you.’

  ‘Do you think I should leave those innocents in prison to suffer, when I can help them?’

  ‘I think you should pass your article to one who is not so disadvantaged.’

  ‘If you think so, tell me who should do it! Gadbury? He talks loud, but does not have backbone. Who then? Lord Castlemaine? Lord Peterborough? They are even now at risk for their acquaintance with those in the Tower!’ Though I knew he would not like the idea, I was disappointed in his dissuasion. Some secret part of me had hoped he would approve and applaud my desire to help.

  ‘What of your Lady Powys – does she wish to present the article?’

  ‘And how, pray, is that different from my doing it! Is she not in a worse position? As you have said, her husband is even now held as a plotter. Less provocation than I can give will turn others onto her. Surely she is more of a target than myself!’

  ‘Perhaps you are right,’ Pierre said quietly, a little defeated. ‘You must know I support your charitable ways, ma chérie, but I cannot support you in this. You will bring danger to us all: to you, to the children, to me, and to any that know us. Remember how badly you were injured before, and they had no reason against you then. Think what they might do if they have.’

  I well remembered the Atterbury family and how they had called me ‘The Popish Midwife’ with such venom as they maliciously pummelled me to the ground for no other reason than my faith, and that was before Titus Oates shook up the hornets’ nest and brought such stronger revilement against us. Though they were found guilty of assault, it did not detract from how I had nearly died. Without Pierre, I would have. He had given me the will to live.

  ‘Will you not then support me in this, Pierre?’ I said. ‘I will do it with or without your support, but I would rather have your blessing.’

  I had gone too far along this path to turn back now, so close to my destination. I had proofs and witnesses, and must do something with them. Pierre did not dismiss my plea out of hand, but thought deeply on it. He looked down at my hand held in his. I expected more discouragement.

  ‘’Tis wrong what they do. If a man, or woman,’ he smiled at me in a way that wrinkles appeared all over his face, ‘does not stand tall for his fellows, if he or she does not defend the rights of those more vulnerable than they, then they cannot be seen as honourable nor worthy. Action might be the only thing that separates one with decent heart from one that stands by and allows foul play. If a person does not do what he can to prevent wrong against others, who then will defend that person when the same wrong is done to him?’ Again he examined his thoughts in quiet, then suddenly declared, ‘I will not prevent you from your path but declare I will be your strength in this venture.’

  ‘Thank you, oh thank you, my turtle!’ I kissed him strong on the lips. ‘Your wisdom is most honourable!’

  ‘You inspire me, ma chérie. But I must ask a thing of you. You must take care of those you would conspire with and against. The latter are not weak, nor are they slow to act. If you rile them, they will as lief have your life as invite you to dine.’

  ‘There now!’ I said. ‘I near forgot! Lady Powys extends an invitation to myself and Willoughby to dine at Powys House tonight. It would give me the greatest of pleasures if you would accompany me?’

  ‘By the bones of St. Becket! Did you not comprehend my warning? ‘Tis not safe! You would place your life in danger for the sake of civil niceties?’

  ‘It was but a moment since you said you would stand by me and be my strength,’ I said reproachfully.

  ‘But to be cosy with Lady Powys, ma chérie! Do you not think that goes too far?’

  ‘I am to introduce Will
oughby to Lady Powys and it would benefit the task if your presence was felt; you are a wise and calm influence. Perhaps you could also offer Willoughby a contract, or some employment to occupy him, to keep him from returning to the debtors’ prison?’

  Pierre paused before he said, ‘I am a man of honour, Lizzie, and I will do it for you, for you are my wife and a good woman, but I would not be a good husband if I did not warn you of the perilous path you take.’

  ‘I know, my dear, but if I do not take it I will not find my destination. Those poor folk in that Palace of Horrors have none other to speak for them. The prisoners cannot speak for themselves for fear of retaliation on themselves or their families; and their families cannot speak for fear of punishment on the prisoners. I am not of them, and I can exploit this position. I have knowledge of many genteel women that I can ask to use their influence in my quest.’

  ‘Again I say take care, Lizzie. Position is not a guarantee of safety. In fact, some might use this as the very excuse they need to trap those in such positions when they could get them no other way.’

  He was right, of course. His wisdom was a thing that made him dear to me. I must be careful.

  ‘I have more to unburden on you, Pierre,’ I added, knowing I must reveal everything if Pierre was to be involved. ‘The man, Willoughby, has discovered a plot.’

  ‘What? Another plot? Are there not, even now, more plots than there are kings?’ Pierre laughed, until he realised I did not. ‘You are serious. What is this plot?’ I told him how Lord Shaftsbury planned to kill the king and blame the plot on the Catholics.

  ‘I trust you have inspected the facts. ‘Who are those involved?’ he asked, worry and tiredness etched deep in his wrinkled face.

  ‘We know a few, and are discovering more. This task we have given Willoughby, by reason that he has a talent in this direction.’

  ‘This man has too many such talents,’ Pierre commented gruffly.

  ‘Perhaps. But we must be glad for this blessing. He has of late set himself to discover more of the plot at the King’s Bench. Athough,’ I mulled aloud, ‘he is now returned to Newgate; another of his talents, I am told, being to escape most every prison he was ever held in.’

  ‘I shall come to dinner to meet this man, and the good Lady Powys, if only to ensure your safety. I intend, also, to discover this man’s agenda, and what he will gain from this. I fear someone must also take care you do not extend your actions beyond what is safe!’

  ‘Merci, dear flittermouse8. My adoration for you is founded on firm ground. Together we will build a good case.’

  8archaic for bat, the mammal, used as term of endearment.

  Pierre lifted my hands to his lips once more and kissed them. ‘Believe this deep in your heart, Lizzie, I would die for you, if need be, though I’d lief as not.’

  I prayed I would never test my husband’s declaration.

  10

  26th April 1679 (afternoon)

  ‘Captain Willoughby! I have it, Willoughby. I have it!’ I said, barely keeping from shouting and already drawing attention to myself from other persons nearby. ‘Willoughby, Come hither, and look what I have done for you!’

  The first time I saw him, Captain Thomas Willoughby informed me he was disowned by Baron Willoughby of Willoughby in Essex, for disgracing him with bad debt. I did not know of this family, but my thoughts were not charitable toward any relative who would throw off one for simple debt that was not of that person’s making.

  None is given life without resistance, for that is what makes us strong, yet some have it more tolerable than others. It appeared the Captain was tested early in childhood, and that my mothering disposition responded to his call for aid.

  Now, however, Willoughby did not respond to my call. He did not move at all. He merely sat on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, and his head resting on them, as he was before, except this time his stillness gave cause for my words to carry both urgency and authority.

  ‘Thomas Willoughby, take your rump off that stinking floor and get over here!’ I said sternly as a mother talking to a child that did not get up on a cold morning to do their chores. After much calling and chivvying he looked up. Straight away I saw streaks of clean skin from beneath his eyes and running over his cheekbones. I feared that, though he was no stranger to the wrong side of iron bars, the monstrous place had reached its barbaric claws inside of him, in the way it reached into most every inmate in time, and was ripping the soul out of him.

  I had expectation that my good news would return some of his spirits to him. I would have him wipe those streaks from his face and bring him back to his natural humour.

  ‘Madam Cellier,’ he said with a weak tremor, but also with a faint hint of hope.

  ‘I have news that will cheer you Willoughby. Come, do not be shy of it!’

  He did not stand, but continued to sit unmoving. It seemed Willoughby’s life force had left him and gone elsewhere for it was not in him. When everything a man had to live for was another day of wallowing in his own filth, he would not be the first person nor the last that this place would destroy the will of. Even his appetite had faded by the day. Some prisoners went down faster than others, but this one needed to be the wit and charm of society, any society, to prosper. He would not survive a long duration in this place. I had heard a prison had never held him so long, such was his dislike of being held and his wont to escape.

  His dejection took his charms from him…how could a woman be anything but maternal towards a young man with his backbone removed. Instinct would bid me hold him in my arms until the shaking stopped and I could wipe his face clean. Any flutter that might have surprised me in earlier meetings had been long bedded down beneath a blanket of compassion.

  ‘I have bread for you, Willoughby,’ I said. Having found the smell in that place too much of late, I had revived using a lavender-scented handkerchief in order to breath freely, but now removed it from my face so he might see my smile. ‘I have something that will satisfy you a whole lot more. Come closer that I might give it to you.’

  I deliberately slipped a little sauciness into my tone for the benefit of Harris, who was standing out of sight, behind the corner. He would hear us, but would not see our actions, unless his suspicion brought him forth. Did he not have wits enough to observe how the rushlight9 behind him cast his dancing shadow into the corridor?

  9 A burning torch made from rushes.

  None doubted Harris doubled as a spy for the Government, to discover any plot or any indiscretion that could be held against a man already doomed for his religion. I did not wish him to think Willoughby and I had but a charitable or flirtatiousness acquaintance. Nor did I wish him to pursue his examination of that morning of why we stayed ‘yoked together as two cart horses’. It was easier to have him suspect the only use I had for Willoughby was as a sinful woman of the street, and play to the common belief that all midwives were whores, but it was not a part I enjoyed playing, especially since it did not help to dispel that false belief.

  Again I gestured for Willoughby to come over, but still his puzzled frown showed his confusion, and still he did not move. He was too far from the bars or I would have reached out and grabbed him from his slump.

  At last: some comprehension in his countenance. He put one hand against the wall and used it to balance and support him as he pushed with the other on the floor and rolled first to his knees, then up onto unsteady feet. Once-healthy, smooth skin had paled and sunk to the bones of his face and hands. He now resembled every other prisoner here, to whom the meagre bread I and my friends brought was little but a way of forestalling death.

  ‘Aye, my dear, come on over here where I can see you. You are a skinny one, ducks,’ I said, falling into local slang. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’

  With my hand, I continued to gesture madly for him to hurry. I did not want the busy-body Harris comi
ng round the corner and seeing what I would give him; he would take and examine it. Willoughby almost fell against the bars, and took hold of them to balance himself. His weakness was no weakness of character, but of body.

  Lowering my voice to a whisper, I said, ‘Give me your hand.’ When he proffered it, I placed some coins into his palm and, because he simply looked at them, closed his fingers round them and pushed his hand down by his side.

  Perhaps that we were too silent and his curiosity was piqued, Harris came round the corner at that point, his nose for gossip right perky, for he immediately sized us up and saw me holding Willoughby’s hand. I did not dare let on I had given the captain money; there were no witnesses if he took it away. Not only might he take what was Willoughby’s, but he might also take what was mine too, a thing that had happened before.

  The turnkeys had no more compunction about blackmailing a visitor out of what they had than taking it from a prisoner. They saw a prisoner’s family and friends as responsible for the charges they extorted as the prisoner himself.

  Stories were rife and detailed about the divers ways the keepers thought to extract many pecuniary benefits for themselves. As I had told Lady Powys, they would take everything owned by a prisoner’s family. At the right price, every human thing could be brought, from the luxury of a less crowded cell, where one might lie down, or even a private cell, to having straw or a blanket to lie on at night.

  I had not told Lady Powys how those heavy irons they made a prisoner pay to put on not only prevented movement, but ripped the flesh to the bone. And when they took payment to have them unlocked again, like a knife the irons would take the flesh with them. I could not help but remember the white of the bone of Prance’s leg and the ragged, putrid edges of flesh surrounding it.

  Another thing I had not told Her Ladyship, for it was not a thing for her gentlewoman’s ears, was of such luxuries as the bucket. For a fee a prisoner might have the privilege of a bucket for his waste, without which he must lie in it. Of course, when it was full, he must pay for it to be taken too.