A Carriage for the Midwife (20 page)

When Mrs Bennett returned after exactly five minutes, he took his leave, not unhappily, for he had Susan’s promise echoing and re-echoing in his ears. And in his heart.

As for Susan, she clung to the memory of their farewell – his words, his touch, his look, his kiss – but she dared not look too far into the future. Edward loved her today, and that had to be enough.

When Lieutenant Hansford called at Glover Cottage that morning, there were no reservations placed on the promises exchanged between himself and Miss Glover; the meeting was in every way a happy affirmation of what had passed between them the previous evening at the ball. His love was declared, and her response was all that he could desire. Their only sadness was the prospect of his early departure to America to face the dangers of a sailor’s life in wartime.

For the remainder of his leave the pair were frequently seen together in Beversley. Sophia was briefly received by the squire and his lady, though Mrs Hansford did not make a return visit to Glover Cottage. Relations between the squire’s family and Bever House were strained for a time, as the very name of Sophia Glover threw Mrs Calthorpe into a hysterical rage; she was seen as having deliberately set out to steal Henry from Selina.

Nevertheless the newly betrothed pair visited other homes in Beversley, and entertained Parson and Mrs Smart to dinner at Glover Cottage. They also called at the Bennett farmhouse, where Sophia passed on some very welcome news to Susan, which was that one of the Bever maidservants had told Miss Glover’s kitchen-maid that poor little Polly Lucket was crippled with belly-cramps at the time of her monthly flow. Susan’s thankfulness was so great that she forgave Miss Glover for changing her mind and becoming betrothed to the man she had admitted to foolishly dreaming of – now revealed to be young Mr Henry Hansford, friend of the Calthorpe brothers and linked with their elder sister. Until now.

Polly Lucket’s encounter with Osmond in the beech grove had been such a shaming experience for her that she could not bring herself to face him following the ball. No amount of smiles and teasing on his part could bring her again to his side, and right up to the day of his departure for Woolwich she took evasive action every time she saw him loitering near to her. This only inflamed his desire, and he consoled himself with the prospect of future pursuit of his pretty little Polly.

Only it was taking a deuced long time, by God!

When all the leave-takings were over, autumn seemed to come in overnight with whining south-westerly winds that stripped the trees and sent the leaves flying across sodden fields; the last swallows and swifts hastily departed.

It was noticed that Miss Glover threw herself into parish work with even greater energy after the lieutenant’s departure; there was a new youthfulness in her step, a fresh sparkle in her ready smile. The only change in her circumstances was that Mrs Coulter moved into Glover Cottage, where the pony-trap was always available to take her to women in travail. The midwife’s rheumaticks had become worse, and she had been late arriving in the birth-chamber on at least two occasions.

It was clear that the time had come to train a decent, able-bodied woman to be an assistant to Mrs Coulter and take some of the work from her shoulders.

But who? Nobody among the mostly unlettered mothers of large families had the time to spare, nor did they have the necessary skill and judgement. Widow Gibson was good enough for Lower Beversley, but not for attending tradesmen’s wives, who could pay for the services of a properly licensed midwife. In the whole of the village Sophia could think of nobody remotely suitable.

When Mrs Coulter herself suggested Susan Lucket, Sophia was quite shocked.

‘But she is a
maiden
, Margaret, a girl not yet twenty!’

‘She has a wise head on her shoulders, Sophy, and keeps it there when other, older women have been known to give way to panic. And she has a natural leaning to the work.’

‘I agree she is a very capable girl, but she has no experience of childbirth,’ Sophia pointed out.

‘’Tis generally held that a midwife must have borne a child in wedlock, Sophy, but I have long observed that a woman in the pain of travail will accept anybody who can relieve her, whether it be a man like Turnbull or a drunken creature such as delivers the bastards in the House of Industry. I tell you, Sophy, I thanked God for Susan when Sally Twydell suffered such grief, for without her I’d have fallen with exhaustion and lost my good name. She saved that mother and child as much as I did.’

The midwife heaved herself out of her chair and reached for her stick. ‘I need to go to the close-stool, and my joints move but slowly.’

She hobbled to the door, wincing as the inflamed hip joint took the weight of her body.

Sophia sighed. The poor woman did not always get to the privy in time to save her skirts from a wetting, and there were dark patches on some of the chairs where she had sat. Tess wrinkled her nose when Sophia told her to sponge the seats with a cloth wrung out in vinegar.

The shortening days and weeks went by, and then quite suddenly the matter was decided by the dictates of circumstances or, as Sophia saw it, the will of the Almighty.

When the landlord of the Swan sent word that his wife had begun her travail one wet Sunday afternoon, Mrs Coulter’s face fell. She had been in pain all day, and Mr Turnbull’s tincture of opium had made her sleepy and stupid without much easing the red-hot needles of pain in her hip. Sophia wrapped a warm sheep’s fleece over the affected part and helped her up into the pony-trap. They jolted down the track towards the turning into Mill Lane, but before they reached it a ragged-breeched boy of about ten came running from Crabb’s cottages.

‘Missus! It be me ma, her sent me ter fetch ’ee!’ he shouted to the midwife.

‘Mercy on us, ’tis the Dummet boy,’ she groaned. ‘His mother’s due with her seventh. Whatever shall I do, Sophy? The one at the Swan’ll probably take longer, but how can I leave her?’

Sophia thought quickly.

‘Tell your mother I’ll send help to her within the hour,’ she told the boy, turning the pony towards Mill Lane. ‘I’ll put you down at the Swan, Margaret, and then go on to the Bennetts’ farm and ask for Susan Lucket to come to the Dummet woman. ’Tis the best we can do, and I pray it may go well. Gey-up!’

The pony trotted briskly along the muddy lane, sending up a shower of clods on either side. The landlord came out to assist Mrs Coulter’s slow and painful descent, and Miss Glover continued on to the farm.

‘Susan! You’re to come quickly. Miss Glover needs you,’ ordered Mrs Bennett excitedly. ‘Leave what you’re at, and fetch your cloak.’

Miss Glover stood in the parlour, her cape and bonnet dripping.

‘Good day, Susan. I need your services as midwife.’

She proceeded to explain about the two women brought to bed at the same time, and Mrs Coulter’s infirmity.

‘I shall be with you at the bedside, Susan, and none will dare speak amiss. Come, there is no time to be lost.’

‘Go and comfort Mary Dummet as you comforted my Sally,’ urged the farmer’s wife. ‘You’ll come back with a fine tale, I don’t doubt!’

Seated beside Miss Glover in the trap, Susan looked out upon the already darkening fields with a sinking heart. What should she say on entering the birth-chamber? Suppose the woman’s husband turned her out?

Miss Glover’s face was set and unsmiling as she silently prayed for courage. Familiar as she was with the lives of the Beversley poor, she had hitherto been excluded from the mysterious rites of childbirth by her spinster status, and now here she was, unprepared with any knowledge of this great matter, accompanying a young girl from a notorious family to attend a woman in travail.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy upon us and all women in need of Thine help, she silently implored.

They reached Crabb’s Lane and turned towards the huddle of low-roofed dwellings, their candle-lit windows glowing faintly. A burly farm hand approached, calling through the drizzling November dusk.

‘Mrs Coulter?’

‘Good evening, Dummet. Mrs Coulter has had to attend another birthing, so I have brought young Miss Lucket to help your wife,’ answered Miss Glover with all the authority of a visiting gentlewoman.

‘Good evenin’,’ he said doubtfully as they climbed down. ‘Ye’d better get inside. Her be huffin’ an’ haa-in’, the way she allus does when ’tis gettin’ near.’

‘Good. Take care of the pony and tether him,’ ordered Sophia.

They entered a small, stuffy room that smelled of bodies, candle-grease and baked potatoes. Children’s faces, pale and large-eyed, seemed to stare from every dark corner.

The two visitors climbed a narrow, boxed-in stairway to a single room where the children’s pallets lay piled at one end and the matrimonial box-bed stood at the other, with Mrs Dummet writhing and moaning upon it. A short cotton shift scarcely covered the huge dome of her belly. Two neighbours sat beside her, and the room reeked of porter, the strong ale that was supposed to enrich the blood and ease the birth-pangs, while ensuring a good milk supply for the child.

Miss Glover removed her cape and bonnet, nodding to Susan to do the same.

‘How long has she been in pain?’ she asked.

‘Nigh on two hours, missus,’ replied the older of the two women with a disapproving look at Susan.

‘Very good,’ said Sophia, feeling nothing but dismay. ‘Take our wet clothes and lay them together.’

Susan sensed their hostility towards herself, and it had the effect of making her resolve to prove them wrong. Holding her head high she approached the bed. Mrs Dummet lay gasping, her matted hair clinging to her forehead in damp strands.

‘Take a rest afore the next pain comes, Mrs Dummet,’ said Susan softly. ‘Let y’rself go all loose an’ limp. Lay quiet an’ still, and just breathe in and out, in and out, that’s the way.’

The two women muttered to each other.

‘Not much good tellin’ her ter lay still when any fool can see that she got the pains on her and needs ter start pushin’. What do a wench from the—’

‘Hold your tongue, goodwife!’ snapped Miss Glover with unusual asperity. ‘Take away that chamber pot, and bring it back empty.’

The women looked mutinous, but the older one told the younger to do as they were bidden.

Mrs Dummet began to heave and moan again as another pain seized her muscles, and Susan gently turned her over on to her left side. Sitting down beside her on the bed, she began to rub the woman’s back with long, sweeping strokes, then in a circular movement just above the cleft of the buttocks. She spoke quietly, repeating the words over again and again.

‘Don’t hold y’r breath, Mrs Dummet, let the air go in and out, in and out. That’s the way – breathe in and out, in and out – good, that’s very good. Has the pain gone now? Then let y’rself go limp on the bed, and rest till the next one.’

Her repeated phrases and the stroking movements of her hands began to produce a relaxation of the woman’s body, with a consequent easing of fear and tension. A calmer atmosphere prevailed in the room. Sophia Glover watched in wonder.

‘What be y’r name, Mrs Dummet?’ asked Susan. ‘Mary, is it? Take heart an’ trust me, Mary, and all will go well wi’ ye.’

She smiled into the woman’s face, and their eyes met: in that moment she and Mary Dummet became partners. Having scarcely met before this day, there was now a lasting bond between them.

A stout wooden box-cot was at hand with a length of linen and woollen covers. Susan asked for the string and scissors such as Mrs Coulter used to sever the belly-cord, and the women were sent to fetch a bowl of warm water. The news quickly spread that poor Mary Dummet was giving birth without a midwife, attended only by a spinster who knew nothing of women’s mysteries and the Lucket girl – yes, a
Lucket
, believe it or not! Things had come to a sad pass in Beversley these days.

Within half an hour Mary Dummet’s groans turned to the characteristic expulsive grunts, and Susan could see the top of the baby’s head at the height of pain. A clean towel was spread between the mother’s parted thighs, and within another ten minutes she was safely delivered of her seventh child, a little daughter whose robust first cry was a signal for great relief and rejoicing. Susan placed her in her mother’s arms, and Sophia Glover almost fell on her knees, such was her awe at what she had witnessed. She thanked God that she had been privileged to assist at this miracle.

Flushed and perspiring, Susan did not dare to relax until the baby’s arrival had been followed by the after-burden, that strange object like a lump of ox’s liver. She remembered how at Joby’s birth it had been cooked and eaten by the hungry Luckets.

And then she looked around and saw that she was no longer an unwelcome intruder, but the heroine of the hour. Mary was laughing and embracing her, as was Sophia, and the two neighbours had stopped muttering and joined in the general chorus of praise. Miss Glover called Dummet and the children upstairs to see the new baby, and above the child’s lusty cries Susan heard herself referred to as Mistress Lucket.

It was a moment of triumph, and she rejoiced that the birthing had been easy, with no unforeseen dilemmas. At eighteen years of age she had attended a woman in childbirth as the only midwife, and a healthy baby now lay in the mother’s arms. Come what may, Susan now knew that her destiny was assured. She was indeed the future Beversley midwife.

Mistress Lucket.

THERE WAS NO
market in Belhampton on the blowy April day that Mr Turnbull drove across the common with his two passengers; apart from meeting a one-eyed beggar woman and two army officers on horseback, they had the road to themselves.

Little was said on the journey; each of them was deep in thought about the coming interview with Dr Parnham, the renowned man-midwife. Susan Lucket had formally applied to be enrolled as a pupil at his next course of lectures to midwives, and he had agreed at least to see her, accompanied by Miss Glover and the apothecary.