Free The Midwife and the Assassin by Sam Thomas

she could be a determined enemy indeed.
    â€œAye,” I replied, gritting my teeth at my new title. “And this is my deputy, Martha Hawkins. What is happening here?”
    Mrs. Chidley drew Martha and me into the hall before she spoke. “It is the strangest thing. Mrs. Ramsden has been in travail for hours but will have no help from me or any of her gossips. You saw what happens if we try. She said she’s delivered many a woman, and she can deliver herself as well.”
    â€œIs she mad?” I asked the question in all seriousness, for such a decision seemed more appropriate for a lunatic than an experienced midwife.
    â€œIf so, she’s hid it well before tonight,” Katherine replied. She started to say more, but a gut-wrenching scream from within the chamber cut her off. We hurried back inside to find Mrs. Ramsden sitting on the floor weeping as if the world had come to an end.
    â€œMy baby, my baby,” she whispered. She held a tiny gray creature in her arms; it could only be her stillborn child. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of the weeks and months of mourning that lay before her. Katherine Chidley and I stepped forward at the same time to take Mrs. Ramsden in our arms. It would be poor comfort, but at moments such as this, there was nothing more we could do.
    To my shock, Mrs. Ramsden snatched up the fire iron, and once again swung it at my head, coming within inches of splitting my skull at one blow. “You will not have him away from me,” she shouted. “I will hold him a bit longer, and if you try to take him I’ll see you dead and buried.”
    Mrs. Chidley and I stumbled backward and out of the fire iron’s reach and looked to each other. We simultaneously shook our heads in wonder. Neither of us had seen anything like this.
    We stood for a time staring at the scene before us. Mrs. Ramsden had put down the fire iron, turned her back on us, and now cradled the child. The gossips were utterly terrified, of course, and lined the walls wanting to stay as far from Mrs. Ramsden as possible. It was a sad and strange scene, but the more I considered it, the more curious it became. I beckoned for Martha.
    â€œI must speak with Mrs. Chidley,” I murmured in her ear. “But I dare not leave Mrs. Ramsden alone with the gossips. Mind her well. You must not allow her to leave, especially with the child. If she tries, stop her at any cost and call for us. We will not go far.”
    Martha nodded, her eyes hard as stones. If Mrs. Ramsden tried to flee, she’d have a battle on her hands.
    â€œGood,” I said. I cast my eyes around the room and spied a bottle of sack that the gossips had brought. Understandably, they’d not yet opened it. I took it and two glasses and gestured to Mrs. Chidley. “Mrs. Chidley, might we talk?”
    She nodded and followed me out of the chamber and into the Ramsdens’ kitchen. A fire burned on the hearth, heating water to wash a child that now lay dead. We sat at the table and I poured two glasses of wine.
    â€œThat was passing strange,” I said.
    â€œAye,” she replied. “I’ve been a midwife near twenty years, and I’ve never seen stranger.”
    â€œAnd not just Mrs. Ramsden’s madness, though that was strange enough.”
    â€œNo,” Mrs. Chidley replied. “It was a very short travail. How long were we gone from the room?”
    â€œNot more than a few minutes,” I said. “And this was her first child?”
    â€œSo she says.”
    â€œIt was curious that she kept her skirts on the entire time,” I said. “And that they remained dry throughout the birth.”
    â€œNor were there any signs of the birth on the floor or on the birthing stool.” Mrs. Chidley spoke with a heaviness that perfectly mirrored my own sorrow at what we had discovered.
    â€œIt was also odd that that the child had no birth string,” I said. “And there was no