A Carriage for the Midwife (15 page)

Outside on the landing she called over the banister.

‘She’s askin’ f’r Samuel!’

While Mrs Bennett hurried up the stairs, Susan fetched the child from Jenny Kyte’s arms and carefully placed him in Sally’s. Her pallid features brightened at the sight of him, and her sunken eyes shone with tender maternal love.

‘’Tis like as he were newly born, and this her first sight o’ him,’ whispered Susan to the grandmother.

‘Praise be to God, she’s ready to be a mother to him at last!’ answered Mrs Bennett, wiping her eyes on her apron.

As if to mark the moment, a vivid flash of lightning illumined every window in the house. Mrs Bennett and Susan moved in close to the bedside, and Sally enfolded her baby protectively as a tremendous thunderclap reverberated down the valley. More flashes and rumbles followed, and within minutes a deluge of rain was unleashed; windows had to be pulled shut and doors closed against the pounding arrows. Marianne came running up the track holding her hat on, her gown soaked and clinging.

‘Oh, think o’ the picnic party caught in such a storm!’ she cried. ‘The danger o’ being struck by—’

‘Never mind about them. Your sister has returned to the land o’ the living,’ said Mrs Bennett reprovingly. Tom was sent over to Pulhurst with the good news, and a happy Mr Twydell arrived to sit at his wife’s side, oblivious to the downpour.

Later that evening Mrs Bennett took Susan aside.

‘You must take a holiday tomorrow, Susan, for you’ve worked without a break for weeks on end,’ she said. ‘You can go and visit your mother at Belhampton, or call on your sister. I tell you what,’ she added as an idea struck her, ‘Marianne can stay here with Sally, and I’ll take out the three-seater and do some business in the village. And you can come with me.’

A holiday! Susan’s spirits rose, and though she had no wish to visit the grim workhouse where Doll languished like a dark memory, she longed as always to see Polly. But how? She could hardly go up to Bever House and ask to see their maidservant Lucket.

Once again the answer was to call on the friend who had always been ready to help her.

Seated at her writing table in the house that had become known as Glover Cottage, Sophia wondered whether to send a note of thanks to Mrs Calthorpe on the day following the Wychell Forest picnic. Or would a tactful silence be more appropriate after such an unmitigated disaster?

While she thought it over, her maid, Tess, announced a visitor.

‘Susan! I cannot think of anyone I’d rather see. Come, sit down and let us talk. There is so much I want to hear!’

Susan responded gratefully, for she had been rehearsing what she would say: how she would tell Miss Glover that she had a holiday, and longed to see Polly.

But first it would be polite to enquire about the picnic party.

‘Miss Marianne was that sorry not to be there, Miss Glover – she wouldn’t even ha’ minded the storm! Did ye get very wet?’

Sophia shook her head ruefully. ‘Ah, Susan, the storm was not the only cause for regret yesterday – but never mind that now. It’s
you
we must talk about. Mrs Coulter has given me glowing reports of your skill and good sense at poor Mrs Twydell’s confinement. How dreadful to be in travail for three days with a ten-pound baby! And Mrs Coulter being sadly afflicted with the rheumaticks, she told me that she would never have got through without your aid. I am convinced that the Almighty sent you to be there for both mother and baby – and midwife.’

Susan felt her colour rising, but the praise was sweet. ‘’Twas a hard time, Miss Glover, an’ Mrs Twydell ha’ since been laid low wi’ the childbed fever, but she’s over the worst now.’

‘Praise God for that. And how is the child?’

‘Ah, Samuel be the sweetest babe, Miss Glover. He ha’ big blue eyes an’ a fat little belly—’

She broke off in confusion, but Sophia smiled and nodded for her to go on.

‘’Tis a joy to hear you! I know that you spent hours at the bedside so that poor Mrs Coulter could get some sleep. Oh, you were surely meant to be there!’

Susan looked down at her hands. ‘I was glad to be there, Miss Glover,’ she said simply.

‘And do you know what else Mrs Coulter said to me, Susan? She thinks that one day you will take on her mantle and become the Beversley midwife! What are your thoughts on that?’

Susan replied in a low voice. ‘I’d like that to be true, one day.’

‘And so it will be, I’m sure. How right I was to send you to learn your letters – and ‘twill also be my privilege to send you to Dr Parnham for his course of lectures to midwives, so that you may obtain a licence.’

‘Oh, Miss Glover,
will
ye?’ Susan’s eyes widened in happy expectation.

‘Ah, but not for several years, Susan. You are much too young as yet, and besides, there is a very important requirement before a woman can practise as a licensed midwife. She must be married and have first-hand experience of childbirth.’

All the eager hope in Susan’s eyes vanished immediately.

‘But I shan’t ever be married, Miss Glover – I ha’ no liking for’t!’

Sophia laughed gently. ‘How can you say that, Susan? Most women get married sooner or later, and you will think differently in a year or two. How old are you now? Eighteen? A careful, modest girl with pleasing manners – you are sure to catch the eye of a respectable tradesman or a farmer’s son—’

‘
No
, Miss Glover, don’t say so, f’r I
never
shall!’

Susan’s painful blush and the violent shaking of her head convinced Sophia that the subject had been broached too early for a girl who had seen little evidence of happy family life at the Ash-Pits, and she did not pursue it.

What a daft baggage she must think me, Susan chided herself, and tried to make some sort of apology.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Glover, but I’d sooner live like yeself, wi’ no husband, beggin’ y’r pardon.’

Sophia gave her an odd look, and Susan hoped she had not been impolite. It was time to speak of Polly.

‘Mrs Bennett ha’ given me a holiday, an’ I’d like above all to see me sister Polly, Miss Glover – but I don’t know when she may leave her work, so I’ve come to ask ye what to do. I do long to see her!’

She clasped her hands together, her grey eyes pleading, and Sophia was put into a dilemma. If anybody deserved a simple wish to be granted, it was surely this girl, but it was a bad time to be asking favours of Bever House.

‘I’m not sure that I can get permission for Polly to be allowed out today,’ she said, knowing that Gertrude would be in a furious mood, and to approach Mrs Martin directly would be too risky; she would be sure to be seen calling at the kitchen door. She was about to suggest that the sisters might be able to meet after Divine Service on Sunday, when Tess came in to announce that Mr Edward Calthorpe was at the door.

‘Edward? Oh, good, show him in, show him in!’ said Sophia, rising from her chair to greet her cousin. Susan also hastily got to her feet and curtsied. Edward’s pleasure on seeing her was unmistakable and unconcealed.

‘Cousin Sophy – and Susan too. What a very pleasant surprise! I am doubly fortunate,’ he said with a smile, taking a chair. ‘First of all I’ve come to enquire about you, Sophy. I trust you have not caught cold after the storm? You should have seen her standing up in her pony-trap in the rain, Susan, like a drenched Boadicea!’

Susan had no idea what a Boadicea was, but smiled and nodded, hoping she looked more composed than she felt.

‘Thank you, Edward, I am perfectly well,’ replied Sophia. ‘How are your parents and sisters?’

He looked again at Susan as if unable to take his eyes from her, and then replied, choosing his words carefully.

‘My mother is naturally disappointed about some aspects of yesterday, Sophy. It was a great pity Henry was not able to get home in time to join the party. Selina was melancholy at his absence.’

Sophia inclined her head. ‘Of course.’

‘And if Henry had been there he would have poured oil on the troubled waters of disagreement over the progress of the war. As it was, I blame myself—’

‘Oh,
no
, Edward, it was I who should not have contradicted the rector when he spoke against Mr Fox’s policy of making peace with the colonials!’ insisted Sophia. ‘I’m sure your mother holds me to blame for what happened.’

‘Old Gravett talks a great deal of nonsense, Sophy, and ’its high time he was contradicted. No, the fault lay with my brother Osmond. If only he were not so boastful, so arrogant, talking as if the 67th Hampshire Foot Battalion would go in and crush Washington at a single stroke – it was he who so annoyed the squire. The Hansfords must be worried every hour of the day about Henry, and to listen to that nonsense was the last straw! So don’t reproach yourself, Sophy, for
I
should have tackled Osmond and drawn his fire away from our guests.’

Edward gave a self-deprecating grimace, but then smiled and went on, ‘Ha! Did you see my brother’s face when the squire rebuked him? And then he looked to Father, but found no support in that quarter, so stormed off and rode away, leaving poor little Rosa Hansford as dejected as Selina!’

Sophia glanced at Susan, who was hanging on every word.

‘Perhaps we should leave the matter there, Edward,’ she began, but he turned to Susan and continued the catalogue of misfortunes for her entertainment.

‘And then Sophy took young William Hansford off to see the family of otters further down the bank of the lake, Susan, and what did he do but get his hand bitten by the bitch otter who distrusted his interest in her cubs!’

‘Did
anything
go well, sir?’ asked Susan politely.

‘I can’t think of anything – can you, Sophy? And as if we were not already surfeited with pleasure, there is another important social event in the offing – a great ball at Bever House, no less, to be held in September, when Henry will certainly be home. In fact my mother intends to use the occasion to announce Selina’s betrothal to him.’

‘A
ball
, Edward?’ asked Sophia, frowning. ‘At such a time, with Mr Hansford and Osmond both on active service?’

‘That’s the official reason for it, Sophy, to honour them both. The army and the navy!’ He lowered his voice as he leaned towards Susan. ‘That does not include me, sweet Susan, for I have another year at Oxford, by which time we are all assured that the war will be over.’

Sophia’s ears were sharp, and did not miss the endearment. ‘And if it is not, Edward?’

‘Then ’twill be the navy for me, cousin, but I hope not, for I have other plans.’

And again Sophia observed his sidelong glance at their companion, and her shy smile in response.

‘Who will be invited to this ball, Edward?’

‘Everybody who is anybody in the country, Sophy, or who
thinks
they are somebody,’ he replied, laughing. ‘I would escape from it if I could, but we shall have to put a good face on it, cousin, and dance with each other as a last resort.’

In spite of his tone of wry amusement, Susan sensed a certain tension in the air. Miss Glover looked as if she were about to say something but decided against it. Instead she asked Edward if he could suggest a way that the Lucket sisters might meet.

‘They see so little of each other these days.’

A rather embarrassed exchange followed, as Edward knew his mother would never encourage Susan to come near Bever House, and he also knew his brother to be besotted with Polly, which boded no good. Then he had what he thought was a bright idea.

‘Would you and your sister care to go over to the House of— to Belhampton one afternoon, Susan, to visit your mother? It would be my pleasure to drive you in the gig, and wait for you.’

Sophia heard Susan’s sharp intake of breath, and saw the inner conflict reflected in her face.

‘If ye please, Mr Edward, I’d rather not go.’ Her eyes were fixed beseechingly on Sophia as she spoke.

‘Very well, Susan, of course you need not go,’ replied Sophia with a quick look at Edward that warned him not to pursue his offer. If the girl did not want to see her poor, afflicted mother in such a place, it was hardly surprising, but Sophia had long sensed something deeper behind Susan’s attitude towards Doll, ever since that sudden flight from the Ash-Pits four years ago.

For Susan, Edward could hardly have made a more unwelcome suggestion. She was beginning to see her future life taking shape and leaving the hated past behind; to be reminded of Dolly languishing unvisited in the workhouse made her uneasy, yet she shrank from contact with her. There was an unforgotten pain, an unhealed hurt in remembering Doll’s devotion to her sons while sacrificing her daughter to shameful misuse, and Susan had no feeling left for her but an appalled pity. If only such memories could be blotted out for ever! Dear and noble Edward, she thought sadly, thank heaven he would never know of the dread, the revulsion, the sheer terror that still came back to her in dreams. She had heard with enormous relief that her former home was no more, for Bartlemy and Jack had disappeared, some said to Portsmouth to join the navy, which had need of men and boys on the lower decks. Joby, a cheery lad with an honest, open face, had moved in to the forge, where the blacksmith praised his way with frisky horses.

Edward acknowledged his cousin’s look, and cursed his own insensitivity. Longing to speak with Susan alone, he now offered his arm to attend her to her next destination.

‘Actually, Edward, Susan is being collected from here by Mrs Bennett,’ explained Sophia. ‘And besides, she and I have a few more matters to discuss this morning.’

Edward was clearly disappointed, but wished them both a pleasant day, and held Susan’s hand for an extra moment while he looked deep into her eyes.

‘I look forward to being of service to you when I can, Susan,’ he told her, and read her answer in those shining grey depths.

Sophia missed none of this silent exchange, and firmly bid her cousin good day, though she promised herself to have a very straight talk with him in private at an early date.

Meanwhile she felt she should give Susan a friendly warning, and set about it without preamble.