A Carriage for the Midwife (14 page)

Following the expulsion of the after-burden, Sally had lost a quantity of blood and lay wax-pale and still, her breathing rapid and shallow.

‘Her muscles be too weak to stanch the flow,’ whispered the midwife to Susan, fearing that the new mother’s life might yet flow out with the haemorrhage. She thrust a pad of sheep’s wool into the passage and held it there, telling Susan to straighten Sally’s legs and raise them together on a pillow taken from under her head. Within another minute the bleeding had diminished to a thin trickle, and Susan silently echoed the midwife’s prayer of thanksgiving.

‘She must be left to sleep now. Take the child to another room and let him rest in his cradle,’ ordered Mrs Coulter, her voice shaking with fatigue. ‘He’ll need a wet nurse, Sarah, so ye’d better send for young Jenny Kyte over at Crabb’s cottages – she’ll be glad to share her milk. Let the father see his son, and I reckon it wise to have him baptised before the day’s out.’

Susan took the baby to Marianne’s room and gazed at him with reverent awe. This was the Twydell baby that she had helped to bring into the world! In her exhilaration she forgot her tiredness and had little patience with Marianne’s tears.

‘What a horrid, horrid business, Susan! No modesty! No dignity! A woman might as well be a farmyard animal. How can any decent woman want to be a midwife?’

‘Hush, Miss Marianne, and just be thankful that y’r sister be delivered at last. See here, y’r little nephew – ain’t he a fine big lad?’

‘Ugh! How can you say that when his head is such a fearsome shape? He’ll grow into an idiot, for sure,’ wailed the new aunt.

‘F’r shame, Marianne, arter all y’r sister ha’ been through!’ Susan’s grey eyes flashed as she spoke. ‘Mrs Coulter says she ha’ seen many such heads, and it’ll be as round as a ball by tomorrow – and so ’twill be, my sweet little lad, yes, so ’twill be!’

She gently kissed the baby, whose skin was now pink, though his feeble little sighs and grunts touched her heart, and turned her back on his hysterical aunt. An upbringing in poor, overcrowded conditions had made Susan immune to the sort of squeamishness that Marianne showed. In her pity and concern for Sally Twydell, she had felt no revulsion over a natural – if exceedingly painful – bodily process. What Marianne saw as crude and undignified was for Susan a matter to be dealt with sensibly and practically – and for such a reward! A new life beginning, a first breath drawn: surely there could be nothing more wonderful than to attend a woman in childbirth, to help and comfort her throughout the pain and to care for the helpless newborn child.

Susan discreetly watched as Mrs Bennett showed the baby to Mr Twydell when he came up to see his wife. Sick with worry over her, he tried to smile at the squashed-looking object whose snuffling grunts reminded him of a piglet, and confirmed that he was to be called Samuel. When Dr Gravett arrived for the christening, Susan was present at the short ceremony in the parlour, and took Samuel from his grandmother to show to his young aunt Bessie, who at nine years old was somewhat overwhelmed by all the strange happenings, not to mention the alarming sounds from Sally’s bedchamber over the past three days.

Though the birthing was accomplished, Susan’s duties were by no means ended. Sally took some weeks to recover and Samuel’s care was shared between Susan and the young wet nurse, whose own baby daughter was said to resemble Osmond Calthorpe.

Susan felt that she had passed an important milestone in her life; the village school had been a first step for her, and the Bennett farmhouse was the second. She was now conscious of her own enhanced status in the household, and the farmer’s wife had been unreserved in her thanks.

‘I’ll never forget what you did for my Sally all through this terrible time, dear Susan. You’ve been like another daughter to me,’ she sobbed, flinging her arms around the girl’s neck. ‘And Margaret Coulter says she doesn’t know how she’d have got through without you. In fact she told me that she thinks you’ll be her successor one day – the Beversley midwife!’

Susan’s heart lifted in exultation as she heard this, for Mrs Bennett had put into words an idea that had been taking shape in her own mind, something she hardly dared to think about, let alone to hope for.

Yes! More than anything else she wanted Mrs Coulter’s prophecy to come true.

POLLY LUCKET WATCHED
with mournful eyes as the Bever carriage rolled out of the stable-yard, taking Mr and Mrs Calthorpe and their daughters to Wychell Forest, followed by their sons on horseback. The big farm cart had already left with three menservants and two maids in charge of the tent and provisions. Polly had begged and pleaded with Mrs Martin to let her go with them, but the housekeeper knew Mr Osmond’s predilection for pretty maidservants, and the girls accompanying the party had been chosen for their strong arms and plain looks.

So Polly pouted as she hung out washing on the line in the stable-yard, while observing the retreating backs of the Calthorpe brothers, Osmond so tall in the saddle, his fair hair caught with a black ribbon at the neck. She could just picture Miss Rosa Hansford simpering at him today by the lake, and wondered if he would be tempted to return her smiles for want of any better diversion. It just wasn’t fair!

A few minutes later her ears caught the sound of rapidly approaching hoof-beats. She turned her head and gave a cry of joy when she saw the rider coming back through the archway.

Mr Osmond!
Polly guessed that he had turned back for no other reason than to see her and speak to her without his brother overhearing. She stood fearlessly in his path as the horse galloped straight towards her, as with one hand he reined in slightly, leaning over in the saddle at a dangerously low angle. He swerved to pass within inches of her, swooping down like a bird of prey: she felt his breath on her face and heard his words.

‘I shall return and have thee, pretty Polly – wait for me!’

In a flash he had straightened up in the saddle and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. A flying hoof threw up a stone quite close to Polly’s upturned face, but neither he nor she considered the risk he ran. Polly’s dark eyes sparkled with excitement as she watched him gallop away for a second time, disappearing from sight under the archway.

I shall return and have thee, pretty Polly – wait for me!

Polly understood exactly what the words meant, and was already woman enough to know that she had a hold over Osmond as long as she refused to be bedded. It gave her an intoxicating sense of power, and she danced up and down the yard at the thought of the saucy answers she would give him, the sport she would have in making half-promises and then evading his claims. Their different stations in life gave an extra dash of spice to the game, and Polly knew she could keep the upper hand as long as she played her cards right and did not yield. Standing there among the flapping sheets and shirts, she hugged herself for sheer delight.

In his pursuit of Polly, time was not on Osmond’s side, for he was soon to become an army officer. Thanks to his Oxford background, even without a degree, a place had been found for him at the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich for a short period of training in the conduct of an officer, and his only fear was that the American upstarts might be crushed before he’d had a chance to distinguish himself in their defeat. He already saw himself leading a company of men with cannon and musketry against the rebels, and a military tailor in Belhampton was engaged to make his uniform: a red coat with brass buttons and epaulettes, two pairs of white breeches, a cloak and a tall peaked and braided hat. White leather gloves and a pair of very stiff boots had been delivered at Bever House, and he could hardly wait to show himself off in Belhampton with fellow officers waiting to be summoned to the depot at Winchester.

His parents’ thoughts on the matter were less sanguine, and there had been a very unpleasant scene when Mr Calthorpe had first broached the idea to his wife. Gertrude was terrified at the thought of her first-born crossing the ocean to go to war, and it was only when Osmond himself became fired with enthusiasm that she had reluctantly accepted the inevitable, eased by her husband’s assurances that the war would be over within another year, and that there was little or no danger.

Calthorpe was well aware that in this he had spoken less than the truth, and he was troubled. In spite of what Lord North and his party said, the colonists were proving to be unexpectedly firm in their insistence on ‘No Taxation Without Representation’, and were proudly calling themselves the United States. Gertrude would never forgive him if . . . But what else could he do with a boy who was no longer a boy and showed little or no sense of responsibility? It was costing a fortune to equip him for a military career, while the estate was burdened by rapidly rising land taxes to pay for the war.

The frown lines deepened between Calthorpe’s eyes, for now Edward had got this crazy idea that he was in love with a maidservant from Lower Beversley, the daughter of a madwoman who had nearly put out the rector’s left eye. Gertrude demanded that he remonstrate with the boy, who in some ways was even more resistant to reason than his nonchalant elder brother.

‘A word with you, Edward.’

‘Sir.’

‘You have greatly offended your mother.’

‘I had no such intention, sir, as I tried to tell her—’

‘Your intentions may have been good, Edward, but it was one thing to defend the maid in her distress and quite another to go gallivanting across the fields after her like a lovesick ploughboy. And you do her no service, for she is far beneath you and has bad blood, as was only too clearly demonstrated in the church. It is most unfortunate, I know, but—’

‘I love her, Father.’

The quiet declaration broke in on Calthorpe’s homily, and pulled him up short. He shook his head and sighed.

‘You think so now, Edward, but ’tis a boy’s love, and you will see the folly of it in time. I am not unsympathetic – in fact I commend your concern for the girl – but I have to insist that you show proper respect to your mother, and remember our position in Beversley. Do you hear me?’

Edward gave the slightest of bows. ‘I hear you, sir, and I’m sorry I caused distress to my mother, but time will show whether this be a boy’s love or not. I know that there will be no other girl for me but Susan – and she too is deserving of respect for the way she has learned her letters and raised herself from low beginnings. She is a virtuous maid, and will not shame us, Father.’

Knowing as they both did that Osmond had fathered at least two bastards on village girls, Calthorpe could think of no answer to this.

‘I understand you, Edward, but have a care for the girl’s own sake if you truly feel as you do for her.’

Edward nodded.

‘And where is she now, this girl – Susan, isn’t it?’ asked his father in a more conciliatory tone.

‘In service at the Bennetts’ farmhouse, sir. It was to plead for her reinstatement that I walked over there with her after that commotion in Great St Giles. The farmer had dismissed her just because of her mother.’

‘And Mrs Bennett agreed to take her back?’

‘At once, sir. The – er – birth of a grandchild appeared to be imminent, and Susan was received with open arms.’

Calthorpe nodded. ‘I see. Good.’

‘Thank you, Father.’

‘Hm. Well, just bear in mind what I – what we have agreed, Edward.’

He had held out his hand and Edward grasped it warmly.

Susan tiptoed into the sickroom and suggested that she should take over at the bedside.

‘I ha’ some sheets to hem, an’ may as well do ’em here as anywhere, Mrs Bennett. How is she?’

‘Sleeping. Her skin is cooler, but she’s so weak, Susan, so
dull
,’ came the mournful reply. ‘She cares for nothing, not her husband, not me, nor even the baby she bore in pain. It’s been three weeks now.’

‘Ah, but she be much better than she was, Mrs Bennett. All the swelling ha’ gone, and she no longer raves. She just needs more time to get her strength back.’

‘You’re a good girl, Susan.’ Sarah Bennett heaved herself out of the chair. The air was hot and humid, and even with the window wide open the drawn curtains made the room seem stifling.

‘Is Marianne in?’ she asked.

‘No, she be out walkin’ somewhere. Poor Miss Marianne! She’s mopin’ ’cause she’s not wi’ the party by the lake in Wychell Forest.’

‘No, Susan, she is
not
.’ Mrs Bennett sounded impatient. ‘How could I possibly let the silly girl go on her own? The farmer and Tom have no liking for such jaunts, and I have to stay with my poor Sally. If Madam Calthorpe had invited the Smarts I might have let Marianne go, but I suppose the parson looks too much like a scarecrow, and his Betsy too patched and darned. It’ll be a dull enough party, I dare say, with the men all arguing about the war.’

Susan looked up with a half-smile. ‘I dare say Miss Glover can argue as well as any o’ them.’

Left alone with the sleeping invalid, Susan settled into the chair and resisted the temptation to close her eyes. She had not had an unbroken night’s sleep since the baby’s birth. Sally had fallen victim to the dreaded childbed infection, and had lain with a raging fever for days on end. Mrs Coulter had to postpone stitching the long tear of skin and muscle between the two passages, and it had become inflamed and suppurating, with a foul-smelling discharge. An uneasy silence, full of fear and anxiety, had hung over the farmhouse, tainted with the very smell of death, and broken only by the cries of the two babies.

The curtains stirred a little, and Susan heard young Tom Bennett’s voice down in the yard, prophesying rain.

A sudden gust blew the curtains inwards, and Susan glanced quickly at Sally. To her surprise the girl’s eyes were open, two hollow caverns looking straight at her.

‘How long have I lain here, girl?’ she asked in a feeble but clear voice. ‘Where have you taken my baby? I want to see him and hold him.’

‘Yes – why, yes, Sally – Mrs Twydell – I’ll get him f’r ye this minute,’ stammered Susan, hastily rising.