A Carriage for the Midwife (27 page)

Nobody has ever wanted these children, she thought. They have never known love. How different from the pupils at the village school, and what would Mrs Bryers make of these, who have only me to teach them?

And yet . . . maybe I’m right for them, after all. Perhaps they need somebody like me, who was set apart from the other pupils at the school. Yet I was determined to learn, and now I’m passing on what I learned to others!

Listening to these children of the workhouse, underfed and uncared for, reciting the magic sequence of letters, their little faces alive with achievement, she found herself reliving her own discovery of the alphabet. Her duty had become her joy.

‘That’s very good, Dorcas. Now we shall all repeat what Dorcas has just said for us. Ready? O, P, Q, R, S, T, U—’

‘Missis Lucket, Missis Lucket! ’Ee’s gotta leave the childer an’ come to Mrs Croker, quick!’

Susan frowned as Mag burst into the room looking wild and scared.

‘What is it, Mag? What’s happened?’

‘Her says ’ee’s to come quick, missis. A gen’leman be come, an’ mus’n’t be kep’ waitin’!’

Susan’s eyes widened. Dr Parnham? He would not bring her from her class without good reason. Her heart began to beat faster, for she dared not name her hope.

‘Come quick, missis. Un be a fine brave gen’leman in a blue coat wi’ gold buttons all down in front!’

Susan drew a sharp breath: yes, it might be!

‘I must leave ye f’r a while, children. Write down the letters on y’r slates till I return.’

The class was held at the very back of the House, and she followed Mag through the workroom and two stone-flagged passages to get to Mrs Croker’s sitting room at the front. The door was open, and she heard voices.

‘Will ’ee take a cup o’ tea, sir? Or a glass o’ porter?’

‘No, thank you, I wish only to see Miss Lucket.’

Yes, it was his voice! Edward Calthorpe
here
. Her legs shook. Mrs Croker poked her head out of the door.

‘Where be that fool Mag? Ah, there ’ee be, Miss Lucket. Come in. ’Ee’s got a visitor.’

Susan entered the room, and there he was, snatching off his tricorn hat and holding out his hand to the trembling girl dressed in the unbleached calico of the workhouse, a cap of the same material framing her face.

His own sweet Susan’s face.

‘Su— Miss Lucket, I thank God for the sight of you. It has been so long a time,’ he breathed.

She had lowered her eyes, but now raised her face to his, alight with a joy that she too was unable to hide.

‘Ye be home from the sea, Mr Calthorpe.’

Such commonplace words, so softly uttered as she held out her hand to take his. In one swift movement he raised it to his lips, and she felt the warm pressure of his kiss upon her fingers, saw the hunger in the dark blue eyes that held hers. All their love and longing was revealed in that meeting of hands and eyes, and Mrs Croker literally gasped in astonishment.

Edward quickly turned to her. ‘I need to see and speak with Miss Lucket alone. Is there somewhere we may talk unheard?’

‘To be sure, yer honour . . .’ began the woman, but Susan lightly touched him on the sleeve.

‘I ha’ left a class o’ children, Mr Calthorpe,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Come with me to see them, and then I’ll walk outside with ye.’

The housekeeper bristled, her huge mobcap bobbing up and down. ‘It be time they childer was set to summat useful, ’stead o’ wastin’ time slate-scrapin’!’

‘I must go to them,’ Susan repeated to Edward, and he at once took her arm to accompany her. She smiled, for she wanted to share her children with him before she dismissed the class.

Leaving Mrs Croker to fume, she led him under a brick archway into a large, high-ceilinged room where men and women sat at looms. They ranged from the young and crippled to the old and feeble: destitution was their common lot. Edward noticed an apparently able-bodied youth with a bruise on his forehead who looked up and raised his hand to Susan in greeting.

‘Good day to ye, Gus,’ she said, returning his smile. An old woman called out to her in a cracked voice.

‘Blessin’s on ’ee, pretty child! Don’t let un lead ’ee astray, same as un did to me!’

‘Shut yer mouth, yer ol’ fool,’ growled a weary-looking man whose face was furrowed by pain, and Edward saw with a pang that he had a wooden stump in place of his left leg. It reminded him of his brother’s grievous loss, though at least Osmond was not incarcerated here. What surprised Edward most was Susan’s easy acceptance of these poor unfortunates; she seemed to know them all by name.

They passed into a kind of junction where there were several doors, and one of these led into a small, bare room with one high window. Here the children eagerly awaited her.

‘Missis Lucket, Oi said ’ee’d be back!’ smiled Dorcas happily.

‘Oi can draw great A an’ B, Missis Lucket,’ chirped a thin boy with red wrists protruding from frayed sleeves.

‘Well done, Toby, and now you must remember them,’ smiled Susan, while Edward stared in dismay at their pale faces and undersized bodies. He was used to seeing wretchedness among the lower ranks in the navy, but these were
children
– or rather grotesque parodies of childhood: a girl with a hideous hare lip, an idiot boy scraping his slate with a squeaky slate-pencil that set Edward’s teeth on edge. And yet Susan seemed to see nothing amiss.

‘You must put away y’r slates now, children,’ she began.

‘Aw, missis, don’t ’ee send us away!’ begged one or two, and Susan glanced at Edward.

‘If I may finish their lesson, Mr Calthorpe, I shan’t be long.’

Impatient as he was to be alone with her, he nodded his consent, unable to refuse; and also he sensed that she wanted him to share something of her life in this place.

‘Jemmy, fetch a chair f’r Mr Calthorpe.’

The oldest boy lurched to his feet and opened a door that led into a steamy room from which came a babble of voices and a smell of root vegetables boiling with bones.

‘Leave that chair where it be!’ screeched a woman, but Jemmy emerged grinning and holding up a wooden chair that Edward took from him.

‘Pray continue with the lesson, Miss Lucket,’ he said. She flashed him a grateful look and, turning to the children, she asked who could write a great A like Toby and which letter came after it. Who could write that? And the next one?

Edward was soon riveted by what he saw and heard: how they all enjoyed the lesson in their various ways, and benefited from Susan’s interest in them, just as he rejoiced in the lovely sidelong looks she sent in his direction. He forgot that these were workhouse bastards and orphans, and saw them as she did, children starved of love and attention.

But then something happened to remind him of where he was.

Suddenly the door to the passage gave a click. The latch was slowly lifted, and Susan looked towards it, her smile fading. It slowly swung open, and when Edward saw the apparition standing there, a shiver ran down his spine. He had forgotten about Susan’s mother still imprisoned in this place, and here she was, pointing straight at him with a bony forefinger. Hollow, empty eyes stared out of a skull-like head, and grey hair escaped in wisps from under her cap. Glancing at Susan, he saw the momentary recoil in her grey eyes; it immediately vanished, and she clapped her hands twice to get the children’s attention.

‘Sssh, everybody, ye know that poor Dolly won’t hurt ye. Don’t cry, Nan – and Jemmy, sit down at once!’

For Jemmy had leaped to his feet, and was jumping up and down, flapping his arms and making faces at Mad Doll. Reluctantly he sat down, thrusting out his lower lip in defiance.

With her mouth firmly set, Susan went over to the open door.

‘No, Dolly, ye can’t come in here while I’m teachin’,’ she said firmly but not unkindly. ‘Go along, Dolly, go along now.’

She shut the door and went straight on with the lesson, though Edward saw that she was shaken. There had been no love in her eyes, nor even the friendly acknowledgement she had given to the paupers in the workroom.

While he was trying to define her attitude towards Mad Doll, another interruption occurred: Mag rushed in again from the direction of the workroom.

‘Missis! Missis! Gus be fallen in a fit again, missis!’

Susan rolled her eyes heavenward, glancing at Edward before hurrying off with the maid-of-all-work. He could hear shouting and banging, and Susan’s calm voice raised above the uproar. He rose and followed the noise, and when he reached the workroom he stood appalled at the scene before him.

The young man called Gus was writhing on the floor beside his loom, his face livid, his eyelids fluttering and his mouth stretched in a ghastly grimace as his head banged up and down on the wooden floor. His arms and legs jerked as if on strings, his teeth were clenched and his tongue protruded through them, bloody and frothing.

‘My God, he’s biting it in half!’ thought Edward, horrified when he saw Susan kneeling beside the thrashing body.

‘Why didn’t ye put the spoon between his teeth?’ she asked the cowering onlookers. ‘Can somebody help me roll him over on his side?’

Edward rushed to her assistance, kneeling and hauling the unconscious Gus over on to his left side, revealing that the man had wet himself.

‘For heaven’s sake take
care
, Susan!’ cried Edward when she reached into Gus’s pocket and drew out a wooden spoon wrapped in a piece of towelling. She proceeded to insert it at the side of his mouth, between his back teeth. His flailing arm landed a blow on her shoulder, and Edward at once grabbed both his arms.

‘Careful, Edward, don’t use any force!’ she warned. ‘He’ll settle down in a minute or two, and fall asleep. Mag, fetch me his cushion. I’ve told ye all so many times, there’s nothin’ to be afeard of; poor Gus never hurts anybody but himself.’

Sure enough, Gus’s movements subsided within a couple of minutes; his badly bitten tongue was released, and the bluish tinge of his skin turned to pink. Mag brought the pillow, which Susan arranged under his head, and covered him with a blanket taken from under his chair. She carefully tucked it round him as he lay on the floor, breathing deeply and regularly.

‘Ye really
must
all try to remember what to do when he has a fit,’ she told the onlookers briskly. ‘There’s no need f’r all this panic.’

Edward could hardly believe his eyes and ears as he followed her back to the makeshift schoolroom; this time she dismissed the children, telling them to leave their slates on the table.

‘At last we are alone, dearest Susan, and you must hear me,’ Edward said, taking her hands in both of his. ‘I ask only to talk with you, without interruption from Gus or the children or – or any of the poor souls under this roof,’ he insisted, not wanting to mention her mother.

She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Ye can see how it is here, Mr Calthorpe. These poor children—’

‘Call me Edward, Susan, and listen, for ’tis my turn now, and I will be heard. I warn you, I will not leave this place until I have spoken and received an answer. Is this the best place to talk?’

She shook her head. ‘Come with me, an’ we’ll walk outside.’

She opened the door leading to the passage, and nearly knocked over Mrs Croker, who had her ear against it. Edward would have laughed at the woman’s discomfiture if he had not been so impatient to hear the words he longed for. He followed Susan through a scullery full of brooms, mops and buckets, and out into the cobbled yard.

‘How do you endure this awful place, my Susan?’ he asked, but she merely shook her head, thinking how much sweeter it smelled since poor Rose’s death.

He seized her hand. ‘I have no time to waste, Susan. Yesterday I returned from the war at sea, and have but three short weeks before I go back and join the
Bucephalus
, to sail for America with troops and provisions. And I want you to be my wife before I leave. Oh, Susan, hear me!’ he implored as she closed her eyes as if in disbelief. ‘I offer you a husband’s love, my name, my life – everything I have.’

She had lowered her head, but he put his hand under her chin and raised her face until her eyes were forced to meet his.

‘Do not refuse me, Susan. If I should not return from the war—’

‘Oh, don’t say it, Edward, don’t even think on’t,’ she begged with a shudder, and the words were music in his ears.

‘But it must be faced, Susan. If I were to perish at sea, I’d die happier as your wedded husband, and you would still have my name. Cousin Sophy has told me of the difficulties you have with your work because you are not married.’

‘That’s true, Edward,’ she agreed, lifting her head. ‘The women themselves don’t mind me, ’tis others who speak agin me an’ would stop my work – only I ha’ got a good friend in Dr Parnham.’

‘Then marry me, Susan. Ever since I first saw you in the stable-yard when we were but children, I have loved none other but you. Cousin Sophy has told me of your work here, but what I have seen today exceeds everything. Think of it, you could stay here and carry on your good work until I return when the war’s over. Only say you will have me, my own love!’

She trembled against him but remained silent.

‘What have you to say, Susan? Answer me, I pray you!’

When she spoke her voice was so low that he had to bend down to hear.

‘Y’r family wouldn’t like it, Edward, an’ the rector wouldn’t go agin them.’

‘What? By heaven, I’ll marry without their liking, and find a man of the cloth to marry us, I care not in what church!’ he replied vehemently. ‘Whether by Romish rites or in one of Mr Wesley’s new chapels, we shall make our vows to each other before God. Oh, Susan, my own darling, make no more objections. Take pity on a faithful lover and let us be man and wife!’

And throwing his arms around her there in the yard, he held her close to him, so that she felt the strength of his body against her, the warmth of his breath on her face. There was no doubting his love, nor was there doubt in her heart that she returned it. Mrs Bennett had warned her two years ago that a boy’s love would not last, but now he had returned to her as a man, offering a husband’s love and protection. And the title of Mistress Calthorpe would have to be acknowledged by the scoffers of Miss Lucket. Even if he did not return from the war – and her mind reeled away from such a dreadful possibility – she would carry on her work as a respectable widow, able to support herself and any child of their union.