A Carriage for the Midwife (24 page)

‘Can’t ’ee get rid o’ the ol’ besom by sendin’ her to swig gin wi’ Mistress Croker?’ suggested Rose with a grin.

‘I can try,’ replied Susan grimly, carefully applying fresh pads to the area. ‘Those two like nothing better than to get together and say how I be no good as a midwife because I ha’ never had children – not like Mother Jarvis, who’s had nine.’

‘An’ buried five on ’em,’ added Rose. ‘An’ how be the poor orphans here, Susan? That idiot boy and little Dorcas an’ the rest?’

‘God help them, Rose, it breaks my heart to see the way they ha’ to work, poor mites. Even them as can only toddle, picking up cotton waste off the floor o’ the workroom. Mind you, I ha’ plans to do something f’r those children.’

‘Be that so, Susan?’ asked Rose, seeing the determined gleam in her eyes. ‘What be ’ee goin’ to do?’

‘I want to start teachin’ them their letters, Rose, just as I was taught, so that the brighter ones may learn to read and write.’

‘Lord save ’ee, Susan, what’ll they read? And what’ll they write on? There be no books in this place, nor slates.’

‘Ah, but I shall go to a good friend o’ mine, Rose, the lady who had me taught my alphabet. She’ll get me some reading-books an’ slates when I tell her o’ the need f’r them.’

‘Would yer friend be that lady in Beversley – her as takes the midwife out to the women in a little pony-trap?’

‘That’s the one, Rose, Miss Glover. If ’twere not f’r her I wouldn’t be here today.’

‘Oi wouldn’t thank her fur that if Oi was ’ee! But Oi thanks her fur
me
,’ she added as Susan picked up the pail of discoloured dressings to be burned outside in the yard.

‘There ye be, Rose dear. ’Tis done once again.’

‘Once more, once less, gal. Oi doubt as ’ee’ll ha’ to do it fur much longer.’ Her faded eyes rested on the girl with affection. ‘’Ee be a good’un, Susan, an angel in this place – the only one as can bear to come nigh me.’

Susan gave her a sip of water, spread pine needles and rosemary leaves around the bed, and looked with tenderness upon the dying woman.

‘Ye’re me best comfort here, Rose,’ she said simply.

Rose smiled. ‘Ah, ’ee must ha’ got a sweetheart to comfort ’ee better’n Oi can,’ she answered with a knowing look. ‘One o’ they cocky apprentice lads in Belhampton, eh?’

‘No, Rose, nothin’ like that,’ answered Susan, but her eyes betrayed her. Rose was right in one sense, for it was the knowledge of Edward’s constancy that consoled her. She was conscious of his loving thoughts winging their way across the miles, surrounding and upholding her, just as hers went out to him in his danger and hardship. Because of him, she found the courage and determination not only to survive but to succeed.

Rose saw the faraway expression in the grey eyes. ‘Ah, Oi reckons as ’ee got a fine gen’leman who’s bidin’ un’s time to speak,’ she said softly. ‘’Ee deserves summat better’n what there be in here.’

She lay back on the bolster and closed her eyes. ‘Mind ’ee comes an’ tells Oi how poor little Hannah goes on.’

‘That I will, Rose. Have a rest now.’ She leaned over to kiss the hollow cheek.

Out in the passage leading from the women’s dormitory Susan suddenly stood still and listened. She caught the sound of a low murmuring at the other end of the passage, on the landing by the stairs. Her heart sank and she instinctively drew back as she saw a shadow fall across the wall, followed by a grey figure fluttering towards her, mumbling and wringing its hands. She pressed herself against the wall, hoping that it would not accost her, and held her breath while two vacant, empty eyes looked briefly into her face as if searching, yet showing not a glimmer of recognition. Then the woman went on her way and Susan watched her disappear round a corner.

Mad Doll was always worse just before the full moon.

The stifling birth-chamber reeked of spirits, and the girl lying on the mattress was nauseated and glassy-eyed.

‘Stay wi’ me, Missus Lucket, don’t ’ee go away agin,’ she begged at the sight of Susan.

Mother Jarvis glared. ‘Don’t ’ee come here fussin’ an’ foolin’,’ she barked. ‘Her bin makin’ a great pother, but the lazy cow won’t push. What her needs is—’

‘Aaah! Help me, missus, help!’ cried Hannah, her broad features contorted in a grimace that bared her teeth and screwed up her eyes against another onslaught of pain.

‘Come now, Hannah, breathe hard, puff and pant like
this
,’ said Susan, going to the girl’s side and showing her what she meant by taking a series of quick, panting breaths.

Mother Jarvis shouted her derision. ‘Call ’eeself a midwife, an’ all ’ee can do is huff an’ puff! What her needs is to heave down wi’ her great belly an’ push it out – as ’ee’d know if ’ee’d bin through it ’eeself!’

The handywoman constantly taunted Susan for her youth and unmarried state. Her own ideas of midwifery were based on old customs slavishly followed, in contrast to Susan’s practice of dealing with each stage of travail as it occurred, adjusting her management accordingly. Now she tried to ignore her tormentor.

‘Take a sip o’ water, Hannah,’ she urged, but the girl made a sudden clumsy movement and the cup was knocked over, spilling its contents. Mrs Jarvis jeered.

‘No good givin’ her watter when what her needs is a swig o’ gin – summat to deaden the pain, as ’ee’d know if ’ee’d bin through it!’

Susan rolled her eyes up in exasperation. How on earth was she to get rid of the old hag? Rose’s suggestion came to mind, and she forced a smile.

‘Surely ’tis time f’r ye to take a rest, Mother Jarvis,’ she hinted. ‘Ye bin here all the morning, and Hannah’s not ready to give birth f’r an hour or more yet.’

This approach met with a suspicious ‘Huh!’

‘Why don’t ye take a cup o’ tea with Mistress Croker?’ went on Susan. ‘’Tis a fine day, ye could sit outside, the pair o’ ye, on the bench in the yard.’

The woman’s eyes glinted. The Master’s wife kept a kettle on the hob and a bottle in the cupboard.

‘Hm. Maybe a little walk’d clear me head, arter bein’ cooped up here all mornin’ – but mind ’ee gets that girl movin’, or her’ll still be layin’ here an’ mooin’ this time termorrer.’

Susan sighed with relief as the woman waddled away, and threw open the sash window to let in a breath of air. Hannah stirred and moaned.

‘How much longer’ll it be, missus?’

The eternal question. Susan smiled and shook her head.

‘There never was a travail that didn’t come to an end, Hannah. Don’t worry, I’ll stay with ye now, and we’ll get through it together.’

By four in the afternoon the pains were coming hard and close on each other, and Susan could see the small circle of the child’s head. She got ready to assist Hannah through the final stages, but to her utter vexation Mother Jarvis returned, slurred of speech and unsteady on her feet. And noisily abusive.

‘Get her pullin’ on the rope, yer fool! Call ’eeself a midwife, and don’t even know how to get a woman bearin’ down!’

A thick knotted rope was attached to a post embedded in the floor of the birthchamber, for women to pull on as an aid to pushing. Susan hated it, and refused to use it. She could have screamed at the handywoman, but knew she must control herself for Hannah’s sake.

‘Look, Mother Jarvis, please go away and leave me to deliver this baby in my own way—’

‘Damn yer eyes, Oi’ll ha’ ye thrown out o’ the House!’ snarled the woman, staggering to the bedside and thrusting a fat elbow into Susan’s side just as Hannah began to yell with another pain. It was impossible to stay aloof and dignified in such a situation, and Susan calculated that in her gin-soaked state Mother Jarvis should be reasonably easy to topple. And it had to be done at once, because she was raising her arm and shaking her fist in Susan’s face.

Susan acted. She shot out her left leg between Mrs Jarvis’s feet, and at the same time hit out at the raised fist with her own bunched knuckles.

It worked. The woman shrieked and lost her balance, landing in a heap of petticoats on the floor. Susan stood above her, her grey eyes flashing.

‘Now will ye take yeself off and leave us alone, d’ye hear?’

Mother Jarvis’s caterwauling echoed through the building.

‘Oi’ll send fur the Master, Oi will! Oi’ll have ’ee up in front o’ the Justices!’ she hiccuped, struggling to get up, but her foot was caught in her skirts and she howled the louder.

‘Help, help! Oi be ravished! Oi be murdered!’

The noise brought the House Master from his workshop, accompanied by a cowed maid-of-all-work, Mag. Croker was a stout, broad-shouldered man who could turn his hand to carpentry and plastering; unable to read or write, he had been appointed by the guardians as being unlikely to defraud them, and because he had a shrewd wife, the true voice of authority in the House.

Croker now stood awkwardly on the threshhold of the room. This was women’s business, and he wished they would conduct it in a more seemly way.

‘What be ye doin’ down there, Mother Jarvis?’

‘Help, Master, help me! That Lucket crittur be attackin’ me. Her be crazed like her mother!’ screeched the handywoman, flailing her arms and still trying to extricate her foot from the folds of her petticoat.

Croker turned away in embarrassment. ‘Go an’ fetch Mistress Croker, quick!’ he ordered Mag. ‘And come away, Lucket. Leave Mother Jarvis to see to Hannah.’

Hannah’s eyes widened in panic. ‘Don’t send Missus Lucket away! Oooh! Aaah! The pain be comin’ agin – help me, help!’

Her screams added to the din, and Susan could not make herself heard, though she remained at Hannah’s side, holding her hand.

When Mistress Croker came panting along the passage, she gestured to her husband to stand back while she took in the situation with her little piggy eyes. Bending over, she gave the handywoman her arm and hauled her to her feet.

‘What’s the bother, Jarvis? ’Tis only one more slut givin’ birth to one more bastard to feed,’ she muttered crossly, though she seized the chance to score over the tiresome new nurse.

‘Out o’ this room, Lucket, or ’ee’ll be up before the guardians fur this.’

‘Take care, her was sent by the doctor,’ cautioned Croker.

‘Oi care not if her was sent by the devil, her’s done nothin’ but make trouble. D’ye hear me, miss?’ She advanced towards Susan. ‘Get out.’

Susan’s blood surged in her veins: she literally felt her sinews hardening in her determination to stay at Hannah’s side. Let them just lay a finger on me, and they’ll find out what I can turn into, she resolved grimly, remembering her attack on Bartlemy, likewise the red-haired stable-lad on the night of the Bever House ball.

And yet her voice was calm when she spoke to the terrified girl on the mattress.

‘Don’t worry, Hannah. I’m here and I’ll stay wi’ ye, no matter what they say.’

‘Well said, miss. My arrival is timely, I see.’

A new voice broke in on the scene. Nobody had seen Dr Parnham coming up the passage behind the Crokers. He now advanced into the room, a formidable figure in riding jacket and boots. Susan could have wept with relief.

‘Dr Parnham, thank God!’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Was I summoned by a supernatural agency, then? I had no intention to come this way when I set out on the mare. What’s happening here?’

He glanced at the girl on the birthing mattress. ‘Ah, yes, poor Hannah, ’tis about time. Is she pushing? Well, attend to her, miss, attend to her. The rest of you may leave us. Thank you!’

And in less than half a minute he had guided both Mistress Croker and Mother Jarvis through the door, none too gently. Mag was sent to fetch hot water in a pitcher, and the door was firmly closed. He turned to Susan.

‘Right, miss, now is my chance to see you at work. Carry on.’

For the next twenty minutes Susan encouraged and instructed Hannah without interference or interruption, but the girl was tired and progress was slow.

‘Oi can’t push no more, missus!’ she gasped.

‘Yes, ye can, let yeself go loose and limp between the pains, Hannah. Save y’r strength f’r when the pain be upon ye.’

Laying her ear low down on the belly, Susan listened to the baby’s heartbeat, and found it slowing as a pain began; she heard it gradually picking up speed when she listened immediately after a pain. She looked at Parnham, who had not said a word all the time he had observed her.

‘Dr Parnham, there’s something I’ve often thought about when the child’s head be slow coming down, as now.’

‘Really, miss? And what’s that?’

She drew a deep breath. ‘With the head so low and the pains so hard, it be but the tightness o’ the opening that keeps it back. In the end the skin’ll tear behind, and then there’ll be room enough for it to come through.’

He nodded. ‘A fairly obvious statement, miss, but true, as you say. So . . .’

‘So, if I were to take my scissors, sir, and cut the opening where ’tis most like to tear – at the back – wouldn’t that make room sooner, and shorten the time f’r mother and child? And wouldn’t it be easier to heal than a jagged tear?’

He smiled into her eager face. ‘Quite right. By my faith, you’re a regular little Trotula! Did you ever see this done?’

‘No, sir, but Mrs Coulter told me she’s done it when the delay was great, and Mr Turnbull ha’ seen yeself do it.’

‘That’s right. I make such a slit as you describe before applying the Chamberlen forceps to the head, to make more room for manoeuvre. I am loath to cut this girl’s perineal muscle, though.’ He looked thoughtful.

‘I ha’ often thought it’d shorten an overly long time o’ pushing, sir – even when not using the forceps, I mean.’

‘Hm, yes, but it should not be done without good reason, and only when the child’s head is hard against the outlet, otherwise you do but create a bleeding point,’ he answered.

‘This child’s heartbeat is slowing,’ she added, lowering her voice, while Hannah’s moans continued.

‘Oi
can’t
push any furder, Oi tells ’ee, missus!’

Parnham came to a decision. He would give this extraordinary young woman an opportunity to test her theory.

‘’Tis not something I teach midwives to do, but would you like to attempt it while I’m here to guide you, Miss Lucket?’