The Midwife and the Assassin (26 page)

After the three men had left, I started up the stairs. It was only then that I realized that we four women were alone and unguarded. I went downstairs and barred the door. It seemed sturdy enough.

When I returned to Margaret's chamber I found her more relaxed. The cinnamon concoction had done its work, and confessing her crimes—however unintentional they might have been—had eased her guilt.

“Margaret,” I said. “What servants are here in the house?”

“John and Patience,” she said. “The others go home before dark. Why?”

“No reason,” I said. “I simply wondered who else might be here.” To my relief, she did not pursue the matter. Martha caught my eye. She was concerned as well, but at this point there was nothing we could do except trust that Tom and Will would catch Walker that night.

It was still well dark—perhaps three of the clock—when Margaret's travail began in earnest. She had just taken to the birthing stool when we heard a knocking at the front door. We ignored it, of course, having more urgent business before us. When the knocking turned to pounding, I realized our mistake.

I looked up at Martha. “What if it's Walker?”

“Oh, Christ,” she said, and ran for the chamber door.

“Tell the servants not to open the door for anyone,” I shouted.

The pounding at the front door stopped and I could feel my heart beating in my breast. Martha opened the chamber door and stepped into the hall. To my dismay we heard the bar being lifted from its braces, and the heavy creak of the front door opening. Martha stopped and looked back at us, unsure what to do.

We heard a cry of surprise, cut short by twin pistol shots.

“Close the door,” Katherine said to Martha. “We must do whatever we can to block it.”

Working together, Martha and Katherine quickly piled every piece of furniture they could lift in front of the door. One glance told me that it would be entirely inadequate for the job.

“What is it? What is happening?” Margaret's panicked voice reminded me that we faced two problems, not just one. “Who is at the door? Were those gunshots?”

“It must be Abraham Walker,” I said. “You are the only one who knows that he killed your father. He's come to ensure your silence.”

At that moment, a labor pang—the worst one yet—struck and Margaret's face coiled in upon itself as she cried out in pain.

“Be calm,” I said. “All will be well.” If Margaret had opened her eyes to see my face, she would have known that I believed no such thing.

The sound of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs brought me to the edge of panic. I closed my eyes and sought refuge in prayer. Then, without warning, I found myself overtaken by a sense of peace. When I opened my eyes, the world around me had begun to move more slowly. Suddenly I knew everything that could be known, and nothing was beyond my power. I had no name for this extraordinary calm, but I had felt it a few times before, always in the midst of a difficult travail. One moment I would be up to my elbows in blood and sweat, terrified that I would lose both mother and child. The next it was as if I could see the child in the mother's belly. I knew which medicines and ointments to use, and what secrets I must employ both to save the mother and to bring the child safely in to the world.

By now the footsteps had reached the top of the stairs and approached our door. Katherine and Martha leaned against it, hoping to keep us safe. They braced themselves for a crash that would signal the start of Walker's final assault.

Instead, he knocked. “Margaret,” a voice called. “Are you in there? It is Bram. Open the door.”

In an instant, I realized what this meant. I gestured wildly for Katherine and Martha to leave the door and join me in the far corner of the room. I turned to Margaret. “You are still some time from delivering your child. If you wish to live that long, you will have to do what I tell you.”

The girl nodded.

“Good. If you remain silent, we will keep you safe.” I crossed the room to Katherine and Martha. They stared at me in confusion and desperation. Why had I sent them away from the door when Walker was just on the other side?

“We must be quiet,” I whispered. “Walker has no idea that Margaret is in travail, so he does not know we are here. He thinks that she is alone and will be easy prey.”

The door handle rattled. “Open the door, my duck. I have come for you just as I promised.” I recognized Abraham Walker's voice, but I could hear no trace of the murderous creature that lay behind it.

“Where are the neighbors?” Katherine hissed. “He fired a bloody pistol, and nobody has come to help?”

“I think I know what he did,” I whispered. I crossed to the window and pulled the curtain back so the three of us could see out. The street was alight with torches and a group of armed men stood in front of the Harrisons' house. One man was talking to some of the neighbors who had braved the cold to find out what the trouble was.

“Walker knew he risked rousing the neighbors,” I said. “So be brought his own men to keep the peace. They are disguised as members of the trained bands.”

“Oh, God,” Martha said.

“No doubt he told the neighbors that they've discovered a Royalist plot,” Katherine said. “That would excuse the pistol shots. Quite clever.”

“They'll kill us all and disappear into the city,” I said. “Nobody will even know where to look for them.”

“Margaret!” Walker demanded from the hallway. “I know you are scared, but you must let me in.”

“Well,” Martha said. “I'm glad we've got that sorted. But what do we do now?”

Margaret spoke before I could answer. “Bram?” she called out. “Is it really you?”

The horror in Martha's eyes matched my own. How could the girl be so foolish?

“It is, my love. I have come for you just as I promised that I would.” Walker's voice was so loving that I knew he would win over poor Margaret.

I raced to Margaret's side and took her hand. “You must not do this,” I whispered. “He murdered your father and now has come to do the same to you.”

Margaret's eyes darted between mine and the door as she wondered who she should believe: her lover or a stranger. “What happened?” she called out. A sob caught in her throat. “What did you do to my father?”

“Oh, God,” Walker cried out as if in pain. “It was the most terrible thing. It was an accident.”

“Tell me what happened,” Margaret insisted. She then whispered, “My love.” She spoke so softly that none but I could have heard it. Tears filled her eyes.

At that instant I knew that Margaret's misguided affection for Walker had overcome her fear, and at any moment she would betray our presence in the room. If that happened, we would lose whatever slight advantage we still had.

“I came to him,” Walker called out. “I asked for his permission to marry you, just as I said I would.” He sounded as if he were fighting back tears of his own. “But he flew into a rage as soon as I told him of our plans. He said he would not have his daughter dishonored so horribly.”

“But it would be no dishonor,” Margaret exclaimed.

“I know, my sweet!” Walker cried. “But he was mad with fury. He attacked me before I could convince him. I did not mean to kill him. I only wanted for us to marry.”

I leaned to Margaret. “We will open the door,” I whispered. “But only if you ensure that he is by himself. Tell him he must be alone.” I thought he would be, for he would not want a witness when he murdered Margaret.

In her confusion, pain, and lovesickness Margaret did not argue. “Is anyone with you?”

“I have some men downstairs,” Walker replied. “And they will take us from here to the river. I have a fast ship there that will carry us to France as soon as the sun rises.”

The joy that filled Margaret's eyes when she heard this lie broke my heart. The truth was that by the time the sun rose, either she or her lover would be dead. I squeezed the girl's hand. “Tell him you will open the door, but you must dress first.”

Margaret looked confused, but she did as I asked. I could tell that she would not obey many more of my commands.

I crossed to the door and started dismantling the barricado that Martha and Katherine had built. Martha seized my arm but I shook her off.

“Are you mad?” she whispered. “He will kill us all.”

“These sticks of furniture will not stop him,” I said. “He is coming in whether we want him to or not. If we can surprise him we have a chance.” I handed Martha the fire poker and took a set of iron tongs for myself. Katherine picked up a brass candlestick. We finished clearing the door and stood around it in a half circle.

Martha and Katherine gripped their makeshift weapons like swords, their faces hard as granite, ready for the battle to come.

I said a prayer and reached for the door handle.

 

Chapter 20

Before I turned the handle, Margaret cried out in pain. A labor pang had struck.

“Darling, what is it?” Walker called out. “Are you ill?”

“I am fine,” she replied through clenched teeth. “I am in travail with our child.”

Walker said nothing for a moment. While he could make his peace with killing both his lover and her father, perhaps even he scrupled at killing a woman when she was in travail with his child.

“Then I will take you to a midwife,” he called out with forced lightness. “Open the door. We will go together. I know of one in the neighborhood.”

I knew what Margaret's reply would be and that the time had come for us to fight or die. I looked at Katherine and Martha. They understood the situation as well as I did.

“There is no need for that…” Margaret called out.

I wrenched the door open and stepped back so Walker would not see me. I didn't know if he wondered who had opened the door, but he walked in without a moment's hesitation. He stared at Margaret, so intent on his prey that he did not notice any of the rest of us until he had crossed the threshold.

Martha swung the fire iron at Walker's head with such force that I felt sure that the battle would be over with one blow. To my dismay, Walker sensed Martha's presence and simultaneously ducked beneath the blow and threw up his cloak as a sort of shield. The iron missed Walker entirely, and instead became tangled in the folds of his cloak. Martha cursed as she tried to free her weapon, but Walker was much stronger, and with a furious cry he wrested the iron out of Martha's hands.

I leaped into the affray, swinging the tongs at Walker's back. But my blow had even less of an effect than Martha's, for the handle snapped off as soon as I struck him.

Walker ignored my feeble assault and stepped toward Katherine with a heavy cudgel in his right hand.

Katherine raised the candlestick over her head and brought it down with all her strength. Walker skipped back, the blow missing him by mere inches. He darted forward, swinging his club at Katherine's head in a short, vicious arc. Katherine ducked and raised her arm, but she had no chance at all. She cried out when the club struck her arm—we all heard the bone break—and she fell silent when a second blow hit her head. Katherine fell to the ground, lifeless, blood flowing in a river from her head onto the floor. By then Margaret had begun to scream, adding even more confusion to the chaotic scene before us.

I stepped to Martha's side and we stood shoulder to shoulder between Walker and Margaret. He turned from Katherine and looked into my eyes. He gave no sign that we knew each other. He was no longer Katherine's friend, but an assassin bent on his work.

In an instant the calm that had served me so well mere moments before vanished. My heart raced, and I fought to contain the scream that clawed its way up my gullet. Walker took a deep breath as if to collect himself for these last few killings and stepped toward us. With no weapon to fight him and no hope of escape, I did the only thing I could. I lowered my head and charged him. To this day I don't know what I hoped to achieve by this. But I knew I'd rather die fighting than cowering on my knees.

Walker struck my back, but the pain seemed both distant and unimportant, something with which I could concern myself in the future. Perhaps I caught Walker by surprise, or my fear had given me some extranatural strength, but I drove him back several steps before he regained his balance. He recovered himself, and I found that my head was tucked neatly beneath his arm. As he continued to strike my back, I realized that I had found the one position where his cudgel could not kill me. Walker tried to push me away, but I wrapped my arms around his waist and held on with all my strength. I knew that if he escaped my grasp I'd be dead within seconds.

My grip began to weaken and I choked back a cry of despair. The moment before Walker would have escaped, we both were knocked to the ground. Martha had hurled herself at Walker, and she now lay atop both of us, with Walker on the bottom of our pile. By now my head was wrapped in Walker's cloak, leaving me a blind and ineffectual soldier in our deadly skirmish.

Walker fought to escape from beneath us, rolling from one side to the other, pushing and cursing all the while. I grasped and bit whatever limbs I could find, desperate to hold him fast.

I had nearly freed my head from Walker's cloak—or so I thought—when his struggles became more frantic than ever. With one desperate heave, he threw Martha and me to the side and rolled away from us. I scrabbled to my feet and turned toward him. He was on his hands and knees facing away from us, but making no effort to rise. For a moment I wondered why he stayed in so vulnerable a position. Then I saw the blood running from his neck.

He remained on his knees for a few seconds before his strength gave out and he collapsed. I circled his body until I could see his face. His eyes stared lifelessly into a distance that he would never see.

It was only then that I became aware of the room around me. Margaret's screams had turned to sobs, but I pushed them out of my mind. If she could weep, she was not yet in her final travail. I turned to Martha and found her still as a statue, staring at Walker's body. Her hand held a short and bloody knife that I recognized instantly, for I had its twin in my own apron. It was the knife Martha used to cut a child's navel string. The blade, which had been made to begin a child's life, had just ended Abraham Walker's.