A Carriage for the Midwife (21 page)

As Mrs Coulter’s assistant over the past sixteen months, Susan had attended ten women in childbirth. She still lived and worked as a maidservant at the Bennetts’ farmhouse, but when a summons came to attend at a birthing, either by messenger or the arrival of Miss Glover’s pony-trap, she was at once released to go to the more urgent duty, and Mrs Bennett eagerly awaited her return with news of the outcome: was it a boy or a girl? How long was the travail? How had Mistress Lucket been received? The farmer’s wife took a certain pride in the fact that the young midwife lodged with her, and messages from Glover Cottage had to pass through her; on occasion she herself had taken Susan to where her services were required, and stood by offering advice and comfort to the prospective grandmother and other relatives.

Mr Turnbull had quickly come to rely on Susan’s judgement, and consulted with her as an equal, forgetting her youth and maiden status because of her seemingly intuitive knowledge of women’s business, a minefield that gave him more grey hairs than any other of his professional duties. And because she was unmarried, untrained and unlicensed to practise, and therefore in a vulnerable position, he had agreed to Miss Glover’s request that he plead her cause to Dr Parnham, seeing that Mrs Coulter was in too much pain to make the journey of five miles each way along an uneven track. As they neared Belhampton, however, Turnbull’s resolution began to waver, and he wondered how he would stand up to possible rigorous questioning from the surgeon.

Miss Glover, on the other hand, appeared calm and confident, smiling encouragingly at Susan from time to time; betrothed to the squire’s son for a year and a half, she remained a model of useful, contented spinsterhood. All her former reservations about the propriety of Susan acting as a midwife had been overcome, and she was more than willing to pay Dr Parnham’s fees for the course of tuition, and the licence that would be granted to Susan on its completion. She had provided the girl with a handsomely bound book in which to record her deliveries, and had sent to London for a copy of Dr George Counsell’s textbook,
The Midwife’s Sure Guide
, which, although published some thirty years ago, was full of sound advice to such midwives who could read it. Susan had painstakingly copied every detail of her first notebook into the larger one: the names and addresses of the women she had attended, with their dates and times of birthing, together with a few notes on the deliveries, and she had brought it with her to show Dr Parnham. She also had a letter in Margaret Coulter’s painful scrawl, testifying to her natural competence at midwifery and unblemished character.

She now returned Miss Glover’s smile and raised her eyebrows in a little gesture that said what will be, will be. Whether or not the good doctor agreed to take her on as a pupil, she would continue to practise as an unlicensed midwife in Beversley through sheer necessity, there being no other to assist the ailing Mrs Coulter.

Just before they reached the outskirts of the town they passed the House of Industry looming behind a row of poplars to their right. Susan turned her head to the left, not wanting even to look at the stark three-storey building in sullen grey stone. For almost two years Doll Lucket had languished there, and was becoming something of a legendary figure of whom weird stories were whispered.

Sophia noticed the closed expression on Susan’s face, but refrained from making any remark about her relationship to Doll, perhaps for fear of the response.

The track now straightened, widened and became the road into Belhampton. A little further on it divided two ways, one to the market square and the other curving uphill to a cluster of handsome dwellings standing in their own gardens. Turnbull reined in before one of these, a tall red-brick house with classical Queen Anne gables.

A trim maid showed them into a book-lined study with a large desk, several high-backed chairs and a half-circle of smaller ones. Sophia sat down and Turnbull motioned Susan to a chair, where she sat clutching the woven straw bag that held her register of births.

She stood up again when the door opened and a well-built man of between forty-five and fifty entered. He was of middle height, comfortably rather than fashionably dressed, and wore a light grey wig with curls at the temple and a short queue at the back. His sharp eyes seemed to take in the three of them at a glance.

‘Good morning.’ He bowed briefly to Miss Glover, who inclined her head.

Turnbull began nervously, ‘Good morning, Dr Parnham. I trust that you—’

‘Is this the girl you told me of, Turnbull? By my faith, she’s scarcely more than a child. Has she really attended women in childbirth?’

‘She has indeed, Dr Par—’

‘Then ’tis no wonder I hear stories about Beversley,’ cut in the doctor with a short laugh, sitting down at the desk and indicating the circle of chairs.

‘This is where I give instruction, and discuss methods of securing a good outcome when the child is in the breech and other less common positions,’ he told them. ‘I teach the use of the birthing forceps to the doctors, and impress upon the midwives not to delay sending for a doctor when the situation is beyond their skill.’

Susan gave a slight nod, recognising this piece of advice from
The Midwife’s Sure Guide
. Parnham glanced at her.

‘So, what do you want me to do with this solemn-faced girl, Turnbull? I am at pains to understand why you have brought her here, for she is ten or fifteen years too early for the business I speak of.’

When Turnbull hesitated, Miss Glover answered for him.

‘Indeed, Dr Parnham, we should scarcely have gone to this trouble had we not been convinced of Miss Lucket’s outstanding ability,’ she said a little impatiently. ‘I can vouch both to her skill and also to the desperate need of it in our village. Mr Turnbull and I are here to recommend her on behalf of the women of Beversley for your course of instruction.’

The apothecary felt uneasy about how the doctor might react to this straight-talking spinster; he was very conscious of the man’s condescension in agreeing to see them at all.

‘Miss Glover, I don’t think—’ he began, but Parnham cut him short.

‘Miss Glover? Ah, yes, I have heard you highly spoken of for your good services to Beversley. Am I to assume that it was your idea to bring this child to me?’

Sophia answered him coldly. ‘This child, as you call her, is neither deaf nor dumb, Dr Parnham, and may be addressed directly.’

Turnbull gasped, but Parnham duly nodded towards Susan.

‘Very well. What have you to say, miss?’

Susan looked him straight in the eye, her fingers gripping the straw bag. ‘If ’twere not f’r Miss Glover, sir, I’d still be nothin’ but a poor maidservant. She had me taught my letters, and ha’ defended me agin them as object to me attendin’ on women, sir.’

The doctor’s eyebrows went up, and his lips formed a circle, as if he were about to whistle.

‘Indeed? I admire your gratitude to the lady. And are you as zealous at your craft as she says? Do you consider yourself a midwife?’

‘I wish to become so, sir,’ Susan replied in a low tone but clearly.

‘Even though you are so young, and not yet a wife yourself?’

‘I’ve attended ten women, sir, an’ put all their babies into their arms.’

Susan realised that she felt at ease with this man, not in the least intimidated by his manner, as was poor Mr Turnbull. She took the register out of her bag and handed it to him.

‘One o’ these had a child in the breech, sir.’

‘And was that child born alive, miss?’

‘She was that, sir, crying straightway.’

‘And how old is it now?’

‘Coming on eleven months, sir.’

‘And is it weaned and growing?’

‘She is, sir.’

‘And does it show any wits?’

‘She smiles an’ calls out to her mother, an’ crawls on all fours, sir.’ Susan smiled at the thought of the pretty little girl at the village bakehouse. ‘’Twas an easy birthing, sir, even though in the breech, ’cause the mother’d had children afore her.’

‘And why should that make a difference, miss?’

‘Why, sir, the older ones opened up the way an’ stretched the birth-passage f’r her. ’Tis when a first child be in the breech that there be most danger to its life an’ wits.’

Parnham was more impressed by the girl’s honest admission that the birth had been easy than if she had seized the opportunity to boast of her skill at managing a breech delivery successfully.

‘And have any of your ten women been so long in travail and so wearied that their pains have faded away?’

‘Yes, sir, one or two,’ replied Susan, thinking of Mrs Twydell and another whose travail had seemed never-ending.

‘And how did you deal with this inertia of the womb?’

‘By doing nothing, sir, which is very difficult,’ she replied promptly. ‘Mrs Coulter do say ’tis Nature’s way o’ giving the mother respite, an’ so I let her sleep if she can, an’ give her water or fruit juice sweetened wi’ honey. I talk to her cheerfully, and get her to sit on the chamber pot – and I wait, sir. And by an’ by the pains ha’ come back.’

‘Ha! Did you hear that, Turnbull?
Masterly inactivity
, eh? This girl’s been well taught. Remember, though, miss, the longer the travail, the greater the danger to the child.’

‘Yes, sir, and I’d send f’r a doctor if there was one to call, or talk it over with Mr Turnbull, sir. Meanwhile I’d listen to the heartbeat – the baby’s, I mean – and try to be calm and hide my thoughts from the woman.’

‘Humph! ’Tis a pity you are not a wedded wife of thirty, else I would certainly take you on as a pupil. Tell me, have any of your women swelled up with the dropsy?’

‘One, sir,’ she replied, again thinking of Sally Twydell. ‘An’ a few others’ve have swollen ankles an’ fingers, but not as bad.’

‘And what might happen to such a woman as she nears her time?’

‘I’ve heard o’ the mother’s malady, sir, an’ the risk o’ fits, a danger to both mother an’ baby, though I ha’ never seen one.’

‘Have you heard of the epilepsy?’

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Or the falling sickness?’

‘Oh, yes, sir, there was a poor boy when I was a child, he used to fall down where he stood, an’ kick an’ grind his teeth an’ bite his tongue. He got taken to the workhouse – the House o’ Industry – when he got bigger.’

‘Indeed he did, and he’s there to this day, poor Gus,’ replied the doctor with a sigh. ‘And that’s the kind of fit that these dropsical women can get. Pray that you never see one, for they’re terrible to behold.’

Susan was silent. Parnham smiled and folded his arms.

‘Well, miss, you are a promising candidate, but ten years too young, and you want a husband. You have no experience of childbirth yourself, and that is considered a great lack, is it not?’

‘No more a lack in me than in yeself, sir.’

Turnbull nearly groaned out loud, while Miss Glover lowered her face, either to spare a blush or hide a smile. The doctor’s eyebrows shot up.

‘You have a ready tongue, maid, and I judge you a quick learner. Beversley will have an excellent midwife in another decade. But you must understand that I cannot train a girl so young, and a maiden.’

Sophia Glover could not restrain her disappointment. ‘Miss Lucket already practises as a midwife in Beversley without benefit of formal training, Dr Parnham, simply because there is no other to do this work save for an elderly invalid and a handywoman of doubtful repute. And she will have to continue to practise, whether licensed or not, for the women do not ask to see a piece of paper signed by you when they need her skill. I have assisted her, and know how highly regarded she is by women who care nothing for her youth.’

Susan flashed a grateful smile to her as Parnham acknowledged this rebuke.

‘True, Miss Glover, a woman with her pains upon her would not object to a circus bear in the birth-chamber if she thought the creature could ease her woe. But I’m not prepared to put my own reputation at stake by licensing a mere maid in a profession that needs maturity and discretion.’

Turning to Susan, he went on, ‘However, you have satisfied me with your answers and general demeanour, Miss Lucket, and I hope to see you again as a married woman when a few more years have passed. Thank you for bringing her to see me, Turnbull. I shall remember her and recognise her again. I wish you good day.’

As he rose from his chair, Susan made a last attempt to plead for herself.

‘If ye’d but give me a fair course o’ instruction, Dr Parnham, even without the licence, ye’d be doin’ good service to the mothers an’ children o’ Beversley. As Miss Glover says, I ha’ to do the work ’cause there be no other to do it – but I need to increase my knowledge, sir.’

Parnham frowned and seemed about to speak, then changed his mind and turned away from them, pacing the length of the room and back again, his hands clasped behind him, appearing to be deep in thought. The three of them waited in silence while he considered the matter, and Susan pictured him pacing in the same manner when weighing up the situation at a difficult birthing.

When at last he sat down at the desk and spoke again, his tone made it quite clear that this was as far as he was prepared to go.

‘Listen to me, Miss Lucket. The House of Industry, the place you call the workhouse in Belhampton, has a number of birthings within its walls each year, mostly bastards to servant girls and women of the lower sort who have gone there because of their condition. No respectable gentlewoman can be persuaded to attend these poor wretches, and I have long felt concern for the younger ones among them, with only an old tippling gossip at hand in their hour of greatest need. Some indeed are whores who may be infected with the clap, but –’ He glanced at his hearers, whose shocked faces reflected their awful realisation of what he was about to propose. ‘But if you, Miss Lucket, would be willing to take up residence as a nurse in the infirmary of that place for a period of – let’s say a twelvemonth – attending the women as midwife, you would gain more experience of the harder side of life than in five years outside of it. And if you can stay there without losing heart or giving up your intention to be the Beversley midwife, you would convince me of your true commitment, and I would admit you to my course of lectures here without payment. What have you to say to that?’