The Maidservant and the Murderer Read Online Free Page B

I’ll see that he maintains both you and your child. If you don’t tell me, you’ll have to birth the child by yourself.” She produced a bottle of oil and put some on her hands. I realized that she must be a midwife.
    â€œLie back so I can examine you,” she said.
    I did as I was told, and used the time to gather my thoughts. Telling the truth about my child’s father would do me no good at all, for Mr. Hooke was in no position to support his son. The midwife looked at me and raised her eyebrow. I turned away and said nothing.
    â€œYour matrix is still closed,” she announced. “You’ll be in travail for some hours still. Is this your first child?”
    â€œYes, my lady,” I said.
    The woman’s laugh was loud and warm. “I’m no gentlewoman,” she said. “You can call me Mrs. Bairstow.”
    â€œYes, Mrs. Bairstow,” I said.
    â€œGood. Now finish your caudle, and I’ll have my maid look to those cuts and bruises. None seem too serious, but they could use cleaning.”
    For the first time in months–perhaps for the first time since I left home–I felt safe. I closed my eyes and slept, waking once for a labor pang, but quickly finding my way back to sleep.
    I awoke from dreams I could not remember to the sound of pounding in the distance. I climbed out of bed and opened the door just a crack. From my room I could see Mrs. Bairstow standing at the front door, her back to me.
    â€œWe’ll not support some other parish’s bastard,” a woman shouted. “You must give her to us so we can drive her out.” I heard a chorus of women in the background agreeing to these demands.
    â€œRemember your place, Sarah Cooper.” Mrs. Bairstow’s voice lacked all the warmth I’d heard when she spoke to me. It sounded like an unsheathed dagger. “You’ll not meddle between me and one of my mothers, single or not.”
    â€œI’ll be back with more women,” Sarah Cooper said.
    â€œYou have six with you now, but you think twelve will convince me? I’ll say the same thing to them as I’m saying to you, you wrinkled shrew. Whatever you say or do, I am a midwife and I’ll care for this woman. You should go on your way. Ruin someone else’s day.” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Bairstow slammed the door and dropped the bar into place.
    I eased my door closed and climbed back into bed. A few moments later, Mrs. Bairstow returned and checked my matrix again.
    â€œYou’re coming along slowly, but well enough,” she said. “Will you tell me who the father is? You will tell me eventually, or I’ll have to turn you out. The street is no place for a woman to give birth.”
    I remained silent and avoided her gaze.
    â€œFair enough, but you should remember: There are no secrets from me,” she said. “Not yours or anyone else’s. And you’ll change your mind. Single-women always do. I’ll return in a bit.”
    I lay back and gazed out the window at the small courtyard that lay behind Mrs. Bairstow’s house. Dreams and possibilities flooded my mind. A half-dozen matrons–the “honorable” women of the parish–had demanded my head, and Mrs. Bairstow had sent them away with a few harsh words. She did not fear her neighbors and she did as she pleased. What power that was! I tried to imagine what having such authority meant, and my mind reeled. For all my life I’d been someone’s something: my father’s daughter, Mr. Hooke’s secret prey, Mrs. Hooke’s victim, and very nearly Richard Hooke’s wife. But Mrs. Bairstow was no man’s anything. She told people what to do. She knew her neighbor’s secrets. Was it possible I could gain such power? If I did, none would ever dare challenge me. I did not know how I could attain such lofty heights, but knew that someday I would do so.
    As the afternoon wore on, I