An Unholy Alliance by Susanna Gregory Read Free Book Online Page B

help me! I know there are medicines that can rid a woman of an unwanted child.
    Of all the physicians in the town, you are the one most likely to know them, since you learned your medicine in dark and distant lands from foreign teachers.’
    Bartholomew wondered if that was how all his patients saw him, endowed with knowledge of mysterious cures alien to physicians who had studied in England. “I do not know how to make potions for such purposes,’ he said, looking away from Frances and out of the window, hoping that she would not see he was lying. He did know of such a potion, and it was indeed Ibn Ibrahim who had shown him writings by a woman physician called Trotula where such remedies could be found: equal portions of wormwood, betony, and pennyroyal, if taken early, might sometimes cause the foetus to abort. He had seen it used once, but that was because the mother was too exhausted from her last birthing to manage another. Even then, Bartholomew had been confused by the ethics of the case.
    ‘You do know!’ said Frances, desperation making her voice crack. ‘You must.’
    ‘Go to a midwife,’ said Bartholomew gently. ‘They understand, and will help with your baby.’
    ‘Mistress Woodman killed Hilde’s younger sister,’ said Frances bitterly, meeting his eyes. ‘Did you know that?’
    ‘Hilde the prostitute?’ asked Bartholomew. ‘The one who was killed?’
    Frances nodded. ‘Her sister was three months with child, and she went to Mistress Woodman, the midwife, to rid herself of it. Mistress Woodman tried to pluck the child out with a piece of wire. Hilde’s sister bled to death.’
    Bartholomew knew such practices occurred - many
    dangerous poisons were used, and if these failed, operations were attempted that invariably left the mother
    either dead or suffering from infection. He turned away and looked out of the window. There was no disputing that it was wrong to kill, but what if Frances went to Mistress Woodman and died of her ministrations?
    ‘What of the baby’s father?’ he asked. ‘Will he marry you?’
    Frances gave a short bark of laughter. ‘He cannot,’
    she said, and would elaborate no further. Bartholomew assumed the father must already be married.
    ‘Do you have money?’ he asked. Frances nodded, hope flaring in her eyes, and she showed him a heavy purse.
    ‘You have relatives in Lincoln. Tell your father you are going to stay with them. If you can trust them, have the baby there. If not, there are convents that will help you.’
    The hope in Frances’s eyes faded. ‘You will not help?’
    she said.
     
    Bartholomew swallowed. ‘Think about going away to have the child. Come to talk to me again tomorrow, but do not go to Mistress Woodman for a solution.’
    Frances sighed heavily, and turned to leave. “I will give it thought,’ she said, ‘and I will come tomorrow. But my mind is already made up.’
    As she left, Agatha sank down in her chair. ‘Poor child,’
    she said. ‘One rash act will cost her everything, while her paramour lives on to sully another.’
    ‘That is not fair, Agatha,’ said Bartholomew. ‘Frances is twenty-four years old, and has been married. She is no green maiden taken unawares.’
    ‘But the outcome is the same,’ growled Agatha. ‘The woman suffers, and may even die, while the man merely selects another for his attentions. Perhaps I will tell her how to rid herself of the baby.’
    ‘How?’ demanded Bartholomew disbelievingly. Agatha never ceased to amaze him with her assertions.
    ‘You take two parts of wormwood to one part of crushed snails, add a generous pinch of red arsenic, and grind it into a poultice. You then insert the paste into the private regions, and the babe will sicken and die.’
    ‘And so might the mother,’ said Bartholomew, cringing.
    ‘Where did you learn such a dangerous recipe?’
    Agatha grinned suddenly and tapped the side of her nose. Bartholomew wondered whether she might have made it up, but the use of