The Popish Midwife

by Annelisa Christensen

  ‘My Lord, I think she said she heard it. And several times, when I said to her the Popish plotters would be destroyed, she said she was afraid the nation would be destroyed first.’ Again, nicely done, Gadbury, but not quite so honest as I recollected. I had truthfully said the Popish Plot had scared many a good man and woman to leave the country in fear of their lives and it would destroy the nation.

  ‘By the oath you have taken, did she say she was afraid the nation would be destroyed first, or that it would be? It is important you answer carefully.’

  ‘I clearly remember she said she was afraid the nation would be destroyed for, she said, too many of our nation’s best went abroad to live and spend their money, and that weakened and destroyed our own nation.’

  ‘And what did you and Mrs Cellier talk about as you walked through Westminster-Abbey?’ The change in tack threw Gadbury for a moment, as it was supposed to do. Since Gadbury had not mentioned our walk in the court, it could only have been talked about ere this day. He frowned in deep thought.

  ‘My Lord, my memory has been exceedingly bruised by time, but I do remember it was a rainy afternoon and, as we admired the architecture, Madam Cellier commented on how the Abbey was formerly filled with Benedictine monks, or some similar thing. She asked, ‘What if it should be so again?’’

  ‘What is your faith, are you a Protestant or a Papist?’ It was a question Scroggs already knew the answer to.

  ‘A Protestant, My Lord,’ said Gadbury. He would not have been given grace to swear on the Bible had it not been so.

  Scroggs turned to the court, and said, ‘He talks like a Papist.’ Then, without turning back to Gadbury, asked, ‘Was it perhaps, ‘what if it should be filled?’’ I barely recognised the difference between what Gadbury had said and what Scroggs did. Wouldst that Gadbury could.

  Gadbury looked to the roof in thought and repeated, ‘She said, ‘what if it should be so again?’’

  ‘And what did you say to that?’

  Gadbury smiled for the first time, as if sharing a joke with his fellow men in the court. ‘I only smiled to hear a woman’s talk, My Lord.’ Many men of the court laughed with him. Surprisingly, Scroggs also smiled. The affect was to put me down as I believe he intended. It might not hurt my case if the Jury saw me as a simple woman, but my pride had me stand taller and glare at them all. Men on different sides of battle would find more in common than with a woman on the same side, so often did they stick together.

  Still smiling, Scroggs continued, ‘You make all the company laugh, but let us return to serious business. What did she say about the Temple?’ Again, the leap in subject to one not mentioned today was further indication Scroggs asked questions from previous knowledge of the matter.

  ‘She said the Temple had also been filled with friars.’

  ‘ Did she also talk of filling it again? ‘

  ‘She said only that the Abbey was once filled with Benedictine monks, and the Temple with friars. That is all.’

  ‘But what else did she say concerning the Temple?’ Scroggs chewed on it like a horse on a bit. He would not, or could not, let it go even though it was of no consequence that I could see.

  ‘Nothing My Lord.’

  ‘What else did she say? Remember where you are, and that you are testifying in the presence of God Almighty. Tell it plainly. Make no more of it than it was, nor stifle it.’

  ‘Really,’ said Gadbury, ‘it was only small talk, nothing more. Only as I’ve said.’

  Another of the King’s Bench, a judge that identified himself as Sir Thomas Jones of Shrewsbury, told Gadbury to read what he had written on the paper he held in his hand to remind himself what he had told them before, which Gadbury did. I feared the old Judge’s severe interpretation of the law belonged at the turn of this century, from a time of our present king’s father’s father, King James. And it was common knowledge that Edward Coleman, secretary to the Duchess of York and one of Mr Titus Oates’ first victims more than a year ago, was found guilty by this man’s strong conviction against him.

  ‘Did she say she hoped to see the Temple filled with Benedictines?’ asked Justice Jones, grimacing as he scratched at some crawling creature beneath his extravagant wig.

  ‘My Lord, I do not remember that word ‘hope’.’

  For one standing on trial for my life and like to lose it, that word ‘hope’ was the only one the Lord had given me that was of any use to me in these days. What else did I have?

  ‘How long have you known Mrs Cellier?’ This was Scroggs again.

  Gadbury looked at me as if my face had all our meetings written on it. ‘Ten, or perhaps a dozen, years.’

  ‘Did she ever question you about the king?’

  Gadbury’s eyes shifted to Scroggs and back to me again, perhaps giving him the appearance of guilt. ‘My Lord, she questioned me when the king was so ill at Windsor and everyone feared he would die.’

  ‘What did she ask?’ said Scroggs, immediately interested.

  ‘Like others, she wanted to know whether I thought His Majesty would live or die. She feared he would die.’

  ‘Did she expect you to know it from your art? Scroggs turned to the common people of the court and raised his eyebrows. They tittered obediently.

  ‘Yes, My Lord. She is one of many that come to me for such answers.’

  ‘And what did you tell her?’

  ‘I never answer questions about my sovereign, My Lord. I told her I would not meddle with this.’ How else could Gadbury answer this question, when it was against the law of the land to even imagine the king dying!

  ‘Did she desire you to give a reading after you said you would not meddle with it?’

  ‘No, My Lord, she only asked that question.’

  Obviously seeing that this line of questions was leading nowhere, Justice Raymond interrupted, ‘What else did she ask?’

  What did they desire him to say?

  ‘My Lord, when she realised I would not answer that question, she said to me, ‘I see you are afraid of me; I will go to some other astrologer.’’

  ‘Perhaps she asked if he would live or die for evil intentions. It is your duty to God and your king to declare if she said any more about the king dying than you have told us.’

  ‘She was fearful he would die.’

  ‘Why did she say she would go to another astrologer?’

  To his credit, with eyebrows raised, Gadbury’s voice held a certain amount of scorn, as if it were a ridiculous question. ‘To satisfy her curiosity, as a great many do. And because I refused to meddle with the death of the king.’

  ‘Surely she would have been better to go to one of the clerks than to a conjurer for answers!’ I tried not to smile when Gadbury’s mouth gaped open. ‘Did you answer any other of her curiosities?’

  It took Gadbury a little time to recover his composure. He smacked his lips together while he gathered his wits about him.

  ‘She sometimes asked me whether a person would be prosperous in the world, or similar, and I would answer such things, but I am shy of meddling with anything that might be to do with a plot. She did ask how she could get Mr Dangerfield out of prison and, My Lord, she did ask me about some deeds or papers which Dangerfield was to search for, or seize, which concerned Mr Bedlow.’

  Did Gadbury know it sounded as if the questions I asked might be to do with the plot?

  ‘You were not shy answering about these things?’

  ‘I did not know for whom I did the reading at the time. It is only since then I discovered it to be for Mr. Dangerfield, then calling himself Willoughby.’

  ‘What? How is it possible to do a reading for a body if you do not know who they are?’

  As a teacher talking to a child, Gadbury explained, ‘My Lord, Madam Cellier gave me the time of a person’s nativity, and I set the figure of the heavens to that sign, to k
now whether the person could be trusted to collect money for her husband, a French Merchant.’

  ‘So, you mean to say, this might have equally been a reading for a woman! What was the answer?’

  ‘I cannot remember, My Lord.’

  ‘Very convenient that you forget. When did you know the reading was for Dangerfield? ‘

  ‘I did not know his name until I stood before the court today, My Lord. And as I said, he called himself Willoughby at that time.’

  Abruptly, as if he were bored with him, Scroggs finished questioning Gadbury and, turned his back. ‘Call another witness.’

  Whether Gadbury was relieved or affronted by this perfunctory dismissal was hard to see, since he quickly turned away and walked towards the back of the court with his head held as an arrow-head on a back, straight as a shaft.

  My curiosity as to whom would be next called was quickly satisfied – my bosom-friend Dangerfield was sworn in.

  Immediately, Attorney General Sir Creswell Levinz spoke from beneath his long grey periwig-curls, ‘Don’t be a mouse now, Dangerfield. Tell us everything you know about this woman.’ Levinz’s shapely feminine mouth and pink cheeks contradicted his masculine Roman nose and square cleft chin and, unlike the court clerk and Judge Scroggs, revealed little of it, whether he was for or against me.

  I returned full attention back to the two-faced scoundrel that bore such a resemblance to the man I knew as Willoughby when he begun to speak. If Dangerfield had no compunction about sullying me with his lies, I had made a weapon to defend myself against them from all he had himself foolishly gifted me while he stayed with us. Then, I had feared his bragging tongue might be our undoing, but now I intended using that very same puffing of feathers to besmirch him and save my neck. I only hoped I had gathered enough skill to use such information he did so freely give of his past to discount him as a witness.

  It had not been the easiest task to discover proofs of his every wrong-doing but, in my hand, I clasped papers of all the felonies and misdemeanours he had been charged with in this country alone. I could only hope that not all of these were covered by the pardon so freely given him by His Majesty the king. Some considered that a felon with a pardon was not a felon at all, and that Dangerfield should be considered as innocent as if he had never committed the crime. I did not.

  The advice given me by a priest in gaol might not steer me true, and my hand may yet fail, but if I must die, I would not die without casting doubt upon Dangerfield’s testimony. If I must die, I would do all I could to take him with me.

  Before he could say more than a few words, I spoke with a strong voice.

  ‘ My Lord, I have an exception against that witness.’

  ‘Why so? You must show some reason, and then we will do you justice in God’s name,’ said Scroggs, bored.

  ‘If I can prove he was whipped and transported, pilloried, perjured, etcetera, then he cannot be a witness. When last he stood against me before, he threatened some of my witnesses that, if they would not swear as he would have them, he would kill them,’ I said. ‘Trust in his word must be based on lies of quicksand.’

  Scroggs ignored all but what interested him. He was well known for not listening to, nor remembering, most evidence given against any Catholic that came before him. It was also known he decided a prisoner’s guilt and had them executed in his mind even before the trial began, so his next uncharacteristic words gave me reason to pause, to consider what motive might be driving him. ‘If you can prove he is convicted of any thing that can by law take away his testimony, then do it.’ His eyes did not waiver from mine.

  I did take the chance before it could be withdrawn. I straightaway started with the simple crimes. ‘He has been convicted for burglary,’ I said.

  Scroggs turned to Dangerfield and asked him outright, ‘Were you convicted for burglary?’

  ‘She will have to prove I was,’ said Dangerfield. How silly to ask him - of course he would not admit to it!

  I asked for Dangerfield’s friend, Ralph Briscoe, who stood nearby, to be sworn in. I did not presume he would be much assistance, but hoped he would at least confirm he knew Dangerfield. Once sworn, Scroggs asked him, ‘Do you know this man?’

  Though Briscoe knew Dangerfield well, he talked as though this was a long time ago. I noticed he did not meet Dangerfield’s eyes.

  ‘I remember one Thomas Dangerfield: I saw him burnt in the hand at the Old Bailey.’

  ‘Is this the same man?’

  ‘I do believe ‘tis the same man, but I have not seen him for some years.’

  ‘He lies!’ I shouted.

  All he had to do was show Dangerfield was convicted of a crime he had not been pardoned for, but Scroggs was not convinced Briscoe knew him well enough and dismissed him. Neither did he hear me.

  ‘So, that is no proof then. Every body has a right to a fair trial. Do you have any more witnesses?’

  That he asked showed how he did not know my character. I had done my research.

  ‘My Lord, he was convicted for perjury.’

  ‘Do you have records to prove he was convicted?’

  ‘No.’ I had to admit I had failed to find any paper proof of this, though I knew it to be true. Others in earlier trials had tried and failed to discredit Dangerfield in this way.

  ‘Then you cannot prove it,’ finished Scroggs, circling his eyes to the roof then round to the crowd. He pursed his lips into a sneer.

  ‘My Lord, I can prove him guilty of forgery.’ Dangerfield had bragged over and again that he excelled in his art and, by writing to the many places Dangerfield had been, I had found evidence of this.

  ‘You can only prove it if you have a written record of it.’

  The Recorder, whom I recognised as young Judge Jeffries, spoke then to the other judges. ‘What she means is counterfeiting guineas, not what the law calls forgery,’ he said, showing his knowledge of Dangerfield’s reputation was not nothing.

  Scroggs nodded at the Judge and continued, ‘Can you show he forged any deeds? If you can prove he is a committed forger, but is not convicted, that is no use.’

  I nodded at this and handed over a leaf of paper I had held tight to me under my cloak.

  Scroggs looked at it briefly, then asked Dangerfield, ‘Do you have your pardon? She has proved the conviction of felony, so now prove you have a pardon for it.’

  I could not resist adding, ‘I have the copies of several records of his convictions here in court, which will be sworn to. He does not have a pardon for all of them!’

  ‘I have my pardon,’ he said. I admit to more than a little satisfaction upon seeing him squirm like the worm he was. My papers would prove beyond doubt, even with his pardon, he was still an outlaw.

  He was instructed to fetch his pardon so it could be examined and, being yet a free man, he disappeared out the door. I suspected that was the last any of us would see of him. Dangerfield was the only true witness against me but, unfortunately, Judge Jeffries did not want to twiddle his thumbs waiting for his return and ordered other witnesses should be called in the meantime.

  They called a man, Thomas Williamson, who aided me in my charitable release of prisoners from Newgate, and who had aided me to free Dangerfield, when I knew him as Willoughby. When he was sworn in, and said who he was, they asked him why I was so kind to Dangerfield. God only knew I regretted my kindness now.

  To Williamson’s, ‘My Lord, I know that not,’ Justice asked what I wished to do with him when I had him out of the prison. I knew his aim in this. He, as many others, would rather I was as a loose woman. Indeed, I had played on that when it was necessary to do so, so I hoped that particular snake would not come back and bite me. Williamson had nothing to say, but Judge Jeffries said, ‘He is here as a witness that she had a great kindness for Dangerfield.’

  That would set him up as an unhelpful witness for them then.<
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  They then swore in my old maid, Margaret, who I fired a year ago for that she had opened her mouth once time too often when she slandered me to my own daughter.

  ‘Margaret Jenkens, what conversations did you hear between Dangerfield and Cellier?’ said Scroggs.

  Margaret said, ‘I only saw them together twice. ‘Tis a year since I came from them.’

  Scroggs obviously knew the two occasions she talked about, because he forgot to ask her what they were and went straight into asking about them, without giving the court the same benefit.

  ‘When you saw them at dinner or supper together, who else was present?’

  ‘Her husband was with her one time.’

  ‘And what did they talk about? ‘

  ‘They talked about the condemned prisoners.’

  ‘Was this at her house?’

  ‘No, sir. At my Lady Powys’s house.’ This was all straight, but I wondered what she would say about the other time, other times, in fact, she saw us together. She had been with us when we did release Dangerfield from prison, and when she brought his suit from the pawn shop. She did as well see him in my room after his bath. She could stir up trouble for me.

  ‘Why were you there?’

  ‘I carried messages for her,’ said Margaret.

  ‘And did you ever hear any talk about the Plot?’

  ‘No.’ I expected her to add more about Dangerfield and me, but she did not. And that was that. I silently thanked Margaret that she had carried herself with conviction.

  Without asking about any other time she had seen Dangerfield and myself together, Scroggs next called on my maid, Susan Edwards. Margaret looked at me as she left the stand, and I had a soft moment for her then. She had been loyal until that day I dismissed her. She had not done wrong by me this day, when she could have made things worse for me. Perhaps I could forgive her now.

  After Susan was sworn, Judge Jeffries leapt in before Scroggs had a chance to. ‘What do you know of any intimacy between Dangerfield and Mrs Cellier?’