A Carriage for the Midwife (18 page)

He smiled. ‘Isn’t that your sister on the arm of my brother over there? She does not appear to be searching for you, Susan!’

It was true. Polly and Osmond galloped happily past them with eyes only for each other.

Edward stepped back and bowed gravely to her, his blue eyes twinkling as he held out his hand.

‘Miss Lucket, will you grant me the honour of this dance?’

As in a dream she took his hand and, facing the direction of the other couples, she stepped lightly with Edward Calthorpe along the stable-yard, in through the kitchen door, across to the dark, wainscoted passage and along it, emerging into the music-filled servants’ hall. He led her back into the set she had joined with the red-haired boy, and partnered her as the dance began again. The maid who only minutes before had screeched and fought like a madwoman was now smiling and blushing with pleasure; he twirled her round, first one way and then the other, crossed and recrossed with the other couples in the set, and when he led her hand-in-hand down the line to the clap-clap-clap-clap of the rhythm, she seemed to float on air. She reached up to touch his hands and form an archway for the rest to troop under, and so long did they gaze into each other’s eyes that they had to be prompted to drop hands and go down to their position at the bottom of the set. On and on went the dance, and by and by Edward led his lady through the door into the yard where the air was fresh and cool upon their faces.

His hand was on her shoulder, and his fair head leaned towards hers. She inhaled the wholesome smell of clean, warm flesh above the gauze cravat, now loosened by his exertions. She sighed and swayed towards him: their noses briefly touched before his lips found hers. A stray lock of his wavy light brown hair fell forward and caressed her forehead as Edward Calthorpe kissed Susan Lucket full on the mouth.

She offered no resistance, but gave herself up to this moment out of time. He was a prince, and she his honoured subject. The sensation was as far removed from her previous experience of man’s mastery as east is from west, as heaven is from hell; it was the
cleanness
of Edward that put him immeasurably above the common run of mankind – or rather Susan’s perception of the male sex, distorted as it was. His gentle good manners made him more like a god than a man in her eyes, a being to be worshipped but not feared, adored but not desired in any fleshly sense. The innocent fantasies she wove around this man involved no more than such a chaste embrace as this, the tenderness of a kiss that made her sigh with happiness. Anything of a grosser nature was not to be imagined; the very thought of it brought a blush to her face.

As for Edward, he was ready to declare himself then and there, to tell her that he wanted no other girl for his wife and that they would be married as soon as he got his degree, with or without his father’s consent. They would live in Belhampton, in a couple of cosy little rooms near to the attorney’s office where he would work as a junior partner. He
must
speak and tell her of his love before some rustic got to her first. Now was surely the moment . . .

In spite of all her good intentions Osmond’s kisses and fondlings were having an effect on Polly, aided by a considerable intake of barley wine. She had awakened in him a fierce desire that would stand for no further delay, and he had taken her hand and pulled her across the yard to the path that led down to the beech grove.

Alone with her lover among the dark trees Polly was excited but confused. She had been hoping for an opportunity to relieve herself, but Osmond had never once let go of her hand. She hiccuped as he propped himself against the broad trunk of a tree and held her close to him; her kerchief had come untucked from her bodice, and he pulled it out of the way.

‘Kiss me again, dearest Poll!’

Her legs trembled uncontrollably as his hands encircled her little breasts, and she felt him trembling too as he bent his head over the firm white flesh. Then he raised his lips to her mouth, and clinging, swooning, drowning in his arms, she gave herself up to his demanding kiss.

‘You’ll let me come to you, Polly – God knows I want to be within.’

He reached down and tugged at her gown, pulling it up above her knees, and she made an effort to restrain him.

‘Oooh, no, Mas’r Osmon’, Oi mus’n’t let ’ee . . .’

But the barley wine was taking effect, and the stars above them whirled round to the strains of ‘The Red and the Blue’. Her feeble protest was silenced by kisses, and she giggled as she collapsed against him; he let himself slide down the tree trunk until he was sitting on the ground, and Polly ended up astride his thighs, her legs splayed out on each side. Through the trees the lighted windows of Bever House swayed as if under water, and she too swayed on her perch while Osmond fumbled with the buttons of his breeches. He drew her close against him, and she sighed and smiled sleepily.

‘Press hard against me, Poll – I’m rising for you, by God! Open your legs wider and let me—
Damn!
’

Osmond groaned and swore as his body rushed ahead of his plans for a slowly mounting climax of pleasure with his pretty little Polly.

‘In God’s name, I cannot hold back. Quickly, Poll, quickly!
Now!
Damnation, I’m spending too soon, by hell!’

Burying his head against her shoulder, he gripped her little form as his body heaved and shuddered. Polly felt a huge hardness against her woman’s parts, quickly followed by a warm oozing; then the hardness was gone, and she was left spread-eagled, her skirt above her hips: and then, merciful relief . . .

He laughed ruefully. ‘That’s finished that, little Polly. I was too quick, or not quick enough. I’ve spent, and you’ve missed me! Never mind, we have it still to come. I’ll make it up to you, by God!’

Polly swayed and smiled happily, bathed in a warm river of comfort; it flowed and flowed around her as if it would never stop.

Osmond’s voice broke in sharply on her dreamy state.

‘Why, you dirty little vixen! I lose my seed too soon, and what do you do but sit there and
piss
all over me, by God!’

It was true. Poor Polly’s gown was soaked, as were his unbuttoned breeches and the edges of his shirt and military jacket. Polly was bewildered by his change of attitude. What had become of the overwhelming desire he had shown not five minutes ago?

His indignation turned to loud, guffawing laughter.

‘Damn me, Poll, I’ll have to say I pissed before I could unbutton, and my father will rail at me again for a drunkard. Get up, Poll, and pull down your petticoats – come on!’

A damp, shivering, giddy Polly was half-led, half-dragged back to the house, staggering on the uneven paving of the stable-yard as her father had done more than a decade earlier. She clutched at Osmond, who continued to laugh and curse by turns, finally pushing her in through the kitchen door and disappearing before he was seen with a drunken maidservant.

But in fact they were both seen.

‘Polly!’ cried Susan, disengaging herself from Edward’s arms as he was about to declare his love. ‘Oh, my poor Poll, what ha’ that damned man done to ’ee?’

Polly turned unfocused eyes on her sister and gaped stupidly. A wave of shame and dismay swept over Susan, not only for Polly’s condition but that Edward should be a witness to it; her first thought was to get Polly up to the maids’ sleeping quarters above the laundry, out of sight. She accepted Edward’s assistance to help carry the girl up the narrow stairway, but after muttering her thanks she begged him to leave them at once.

‘Ye mustn’t be seen here, Ed— Mr Calthorpe. ’Twould mean more trouble f’r us all. Be quick an’ go!’

He had no choice but to obey, sick at heart and full of anger against his brother.

Alone with Polly in the maids’ room, Susan removed the wet gown from the unresisting girl and put a cotton nightshift on her as she lay on her straw pallet under the slanting ceiling.

‘Poor, silly Polly, I fear the worst for ye,’ she said grimly.

Polly hiccuped, yawned and turned over on her side. ‘Mas’r Osmon’,’ she murmured thickly.

‘Devil take Master Osmond and all such who ruin poor girls like yeself, Polly.’ Susan’s voice was low but cold as ice. She was quite certain that Polly’s maidenhead had been breached, a calamity that could have dire consequences; it was a reminder of the unbridgeable gap between the Calthorpes and themselves.

With the drawing room practically emptied of dancers and the musicians not returned from supper, Sophia was still at her post, supplying music for the few couples on the floor: Mr Andrew Smart and his sister, Lizzie, were dancing a minuet with his brother, Simon, and Miss Marianne, while Mrs Bennett looked on with fond approval. Parson Smart might be poor, but the family was respectable enough, and Simon was a good worker who would support a wife and dependents by the sweat of his brow, owing nothing to other men’s favours. The farmer might not be too pleased, but if this evening’s business came to anything, Sarah Bennett was confident that she would be able to talk him round.

The hired musicians returned and lounged in their seats, nodding appreciatively at the tireless lady pianist whose nimble fingers continued to run up and down the keyboard.

When the tall, blue-coated officer entered the drawing room, Sophia was immediately aware of him. He was alone, and made his way straight towards the musicians’ dais.

He must be looking for Selina, she thought, and was about to suggest that he try downstairs, but he stopped and spoke to the musicians, who nodded respectfully and picked up their instruments to accompany the minuet.

Sophia would have gone on playing, but Henry Hansford had stepped to the side of the pianoforte and was looking at her with a strange intensity.

‘Miss Glover, you have not stopped playing all the evening,’ he said. ‘I insist that you break now, and leave the seat you have occupied so long.’

‘I beg your pardon, Lieutenant Hansford,’ she answered pleasantly, her hands still on the keys. ‘I am sure I have enjoyed the evening as well as anybody else here tonight.’

‘I am glad to hear it, but my own enjoyment will not be complete until I have danced with you, Miss Glover. Will you do me that honour?’

Sophia caught her breath momentarily: she was conscious of a tremor in the region of her heart, and a need to hide her own feelings. Mr Hansford was some years younger than herself, and, more importantly, was as good as betrothed to another – her own young cousin Selina. She smiled and shook her head.

‘Thank you, Lieutenant, but I am not dancing tonight.’ She spoke in the composed manner for which she was known, but he appeared not to hear her, for he quietly closed the lid of the pianoforte and leaned upon it, looking down at her.

‘But I am asking you to make an exception in my case, Miss Glover. I shall soon be in the thick of war once more, and do not know when I shall return. I ask you again, will you dance with me? I beg you not to refuse.’

Sophia took a breath, looked down at her hands and then raised her eyes to meet his. Without a word she rose from the piano and took his hand. He bowed and led her to join the other two couples on the floor, where there were more smiles, more bows and curtsies, and the stately dance continued.

This was entertainment indeed for Mrs Bennett, sitting on the other side of the room.

‘D’you see what I see, Margaret?’ she asked the midwife, who had come to sit beside her.

‘I do, Sarah – and the way he turns his head to look at her.’

It was true. As soon as the couple took their first steps, he looked straight into her eyes and said, ‘Sophia.’

So then she knew. There was no need to pretend or try to persuade herself otherwise. He had chosen her, and there was no other. Her blue eyes shone softly in the candlelight, which caught the glossy ringlets at the nape of her neck, and the hired musicians stared in surprise at their pianist, wondering why they had failed to notice earlier how beautiful she was.

‘How old would she be, Margaret?’ asked Mrs Bennett.

The midwife closed her eyes as she worked out dates. ’Must be twenty-eight – no, twenty-nine years since that poor little sempstress died in childbirth. And what about him?’

‘The Hansfords’ first was born dead, and then she had Henry two years later, that was before I had Tom,’ calculated Mrs Bennett. ‘Yes, he must be around twenty-four, and old for his years, being in the navy. It’s not such a wide gap, Margaret.’

‘And a much better choice,’ answered the midwife sagely.

For the couple under discussion everything was changed – or rather, everything was revealed.

‘I have been blind for so long, my Sophia – ’tis
you
I have been dreaming of all these months at sea. ’Twas you all the time, and I did not know it!’

She turned her head to look up at him, and everything he longed to see was there in her eyes. And all for him.

With Susan and Polly gone from the scene, Edward was filled with a bitter resentment towards his brother; he almost hated Osmond for the selfish lust that took no thought for consequences, and which had interrupted his own precious time with Susan. Coming upon Osmond with a group of army officers on the stairs, he faced him squarely.

‘I want a word with you, Brother.’

‘Why, what a face you have on you, Ned! Has your virtuous little maidservant given you the slip?’ grinned Osmond.

‘I promise you, Brother, if you have harmed that young Lucket girl, I’ll knock you down – nor will I ever forgive—’

‘What do you mean, Neddy? God knows I haven’t touched the girl – or any other tonight,’ replied Osmond with a short laugh, while the others looked on uncertainly.

Edward turned his back on them with a gesture of contempt, and having no further interest in the ball, he went out to the stables and saddled his horse for a solitary nocturnal ride across the common. He tried to think of Susan, but she evaded him. Her face was pale and dim and far away.

The fiddler was still playing in the servants’ hall, though Martin’s voice had long given out. Selina Calthorpe stood irresolutely in the doorway, trying not to show her irritation. Henry had come downstairs and danced a couple of measures of ‘The Red and the Blue’, but now there was no sign of him. The young lady’s determination to be bright and gracious was coming under increasing strain. Where on earth had he gone? Her cold blue eyes assured her definitely that he was not among the dancers, where her sister, Caroline, was cavorting with a sweating redcoat. Selina impatiently turned her back on the scene.