A Carriage for the Midwife (29 page)

He stood behind her as she sat at the table, his arms encircling her shoulders. She remembered the Prayer Book’s admonition to new wives, that they be amiable and obedient to their husbands, who stand in relation to them as Christ does to his church.

Merciful Father in Heaven, give me the grace to be a wife to him. Let me return his love as I should.

She let her head fall back against his chest while he gently stroked her hair.

‘You are weary, my love, and no wonder after so long a day.’ He laughed softly. ‘That is a good enough reason for us to retire early.’

She turned her head to receive his kiss, and heard his wordless sigh of contentment. She felt his questing lips at the back of her neck, pushing aside the light brown tendrils that had escaped from the hairpins – and she realised with dismay that she needed to relieve herself. There would be a chamber pot under the bed, but how could she sit on it in front of Edward?

As if he read her thoughts, he straightened up and went to draw the bed-curtain on the further side, so that he was hidden by it.

‘I shall sleep on this side, Susan, and you lie nearest to the window,’ he said, and stooping down he drew out a pot from under the bed.

‘There is another one of these on your side, Susan,’ he added with a hint of a chuckle in his voice. ‘The curtains will save us both from being overlooked by the other.’

Suitably screened, Susan pulled out the pot on her side, but at first her muscles refused to relax. She undressed, her fingers fumbling with buttons and the strings of her petticoat, and put on her plain white nightgown. She at last managed to use the pot, washed her face and hands, loosened her hair and combed it through. Then she got into the bed, pulling up the covers and turning the sheet down under her chin. How strange was this intimacy, so unimagined in her chaste dreams of Edward!

When he emerged from behind the curtain in his long nightshirt, he gazed upon her with something approaching awe.

‘How beautiful you are, my Susan,’ he marvelled. ‘I cannot think of anything more desirable to my senses – and I have waited so long – so long . . .’

He recollected that he should first kneel beside the bed and give thanks to his Maker, and while he did so, Susan also prayed desperately.

Let me do my duty as a wife. Let me love him as he desires, O God!

Rising from his knees he got in beside her and without hesitation reached out to enfold her in his arms.

She at once felt the thrust of his hardened member through two layers of cotton, and stifled a cry.

The bed-curtain on her side was not drawn, and enough daylight lingered at the window for them to see each other’s face.

And he saw fear in eyes that were wide open and alert, as if to danger.

‘Why, Susan! You are surely not afraid of me, my love?’ he asked tenderly, lightly stroking the side of her face.

She tried to speak, but her throat was constricted, and no sound came from it. Every muscle in her body was in a state of tension as she fought to stay still, stay calm, to be submissive to the husband she adored. In spite of a super human effort to conquer the clawing panic rising up inside her, she could not even shake her head in answer, let alone speak. She tried to smile, but her face was paralysed. Only the two round pools of her eyes still regarded him, wary and unblinking, reminding him of a wild woodland creature – a rabbit caught in the gleam of a poacher’s lantern, a fieldmouse shrinking before the bloodthirsty stoat, helpless to escape.

Edward released his hold on her and reached out to feel for the hand nearest to him. It was cold and damp.

‘Susan.’

Her icy fingers gripped convulsively at his hand.

‘Speak to me, Susan. I am your husband and closest friend from this day. Something is troubling you, and you must tell me what it is, so that I may help you.’

She heard his words but could not reply. Inside her head a furious conflict was raging. She longed with all her heart to respond to him as a good wife should, and her desperate prayers were like silent screams for help.

O God, why can’t I love him? Hear my prayer and let me, let me, let me love him, O Lord God!

But an irrational, ungovernable terror had her by the throat and would not set her free to love her husband. She was suffocating in a green and brown tangle of bracken fronds, and a sickening smell filled her nostrils.

Edward began to reproach himself for assuming that a midwife with extensive knowledge of women’s mysteries would know what to expect. Yet why should his sweet Susan be different from any other girl about to surrender her virginity? He cursed his lack of forethought, and searched for the right words to tell her of his love. The Book of Common Prayer supplied him with the vows he had made to her that day.

‘
With this ring, I thee wed
,’ he quoted, kissing the third finger of her left hand. ‘
With my body I thee worship
. Dear Susan, how much do I long to worship thee!’

She shivered uncontrollably, and instinctively curled up into herself like a hedgehog before a predator, drawing up her knees and flexing her head.

This was no maidenly bashfulness; she was literally quaking with fright, and in consequence Edward’s desire began to ebb as he faced the reality of her fear. He withdrew from her, chilled and bewildered.

Turning on his back, he stared up at the canopy above them. He had thought he knew Susan Lucket, her courage and resourcefulness, her quickness at learning and her remarkable skill at midwifery. He had seen for himself her authority in the workhouse, her kindness to the wretched souls imprisoned there; she was not afraid of them, so why should she fear the attentions of her lawful husband, so soon to return to sea? He resolved to be patient but persistent.

‘Susan, my own dear wife, you must tell me what is troubling you, and I will do what I can to help. Any sorrow of yours is mine also.’

When she felt him move away from her, her tautened muscles began to soften a little, and tears filled her eyes. Such goodness, such patience on his part, deserved some sort of an answer. She sought for a convincing explanation of her unwifely reluctance, but there was nothing for it: she would have to tell him a lie.

‘Edward – dear Edward, I . . .’

‘Yes, Susan? I am listening.’

‘I – I fear to be with child – I mean o’ bein’ left with child after you ha’ gone back to sea.’

The words were uttered so softly that he had to ask her to say them again.

‘I be feared o’ bein’ with child, Edward. I couldn’t work, and ha’ no home but the House. Your family wouldn’t – oh, Edward, I dare not!’

A frank burst of tears followed the words, and Edward’s spirits sank. He had defied his family, alienated his mother and sisters, perhaps for ever, and neglected to comfort his brother – only to be refused his conjugal rights by her for whom he had made the sacrifice. He had seen himself as a father, passing on his seed to another generation through the body of the woman now lying beside him, legally wedded in the sight of God and man; this woman who now wept and shook with fear at the very thought of bearing his child.

‘Do you mean that you never want to be a happy mother of children, Susan?’

‘No, Edward, I – yes, I do, but not yet, not until the times are better. Miss Glover—’

‘Ah, yes, my cousin Sophy,’ he cut in. ‘She has refused to marry Henry until the war is over.’

He frowned as he considered the implication. Henry Hansford had confessed his envy of Edward’s ‘more persuadable lady’, but what difference was there? One insisted on postponing marriage, the other refused her necessary duty within it. Surely Susan could have told him of her fears before the ceremony?

Looking back on his proposal he wondered if he should have allowed her more time and opportunity to talk about her own feelings. He suddenly thought of Meg, the child-whore who had so nearly seduced him. He remembered her busy little fingers undoing his breeches and covering his mouth with her soft, warm kisses. And the effort he’d had to make to refuse her.

He closed his eyes and lay silent for some time. All right, then. If self-restraint was demanded of him, so be it. His love was greater than mere desire. And Susan might be right after all, for to leave her with a child and then to fall in battle or drown would surely not be right or fair. Had he been merely selfish?

At length he turned and spoke quietly to her.

‘It will be as you wish, Susan. I love you more than anything else in the world, as God knows. Nothing has changed with me.’

His quiet words were like a sword-thrust through her heart.

‘Forgive me, Edward. As God sees us, I love none other—’

‘Hush, Susan, enough has been said tonight. Let us sleep now.’

He put his arm under her shoulders and drew her head close enough to kiss her forehead. She nestled within the circle of his arm, and he saw the tears drying on her cheeks as she closed her eyes and seemed to fall asleep.

This was not the wedding night he had dreamed of, but he still had his sweet Susan for wife, the girl he had loved for years and whose trust he could never betray. He recalled stories he had heard of other unsuccessful first attempts, either because the bridegroom had been too drunk or the bride’s maidenhead too resistant to be broken through. Not under any circumstances could he ever force Susan.

No, he must be patient and philosophical. One day the war would be over, bringing better times. When they were together in their own little home in the future, there would be time enough to talk, and he would help her to come to him in love and without fear.

‘Sleep well, my darling,’ he whispered as night settled over Belhampton and the sounds of the inn became fainter. The warm July night stole upon his senses, and a drowsy curtain of sleep descended upon him, bringing oblivion.

But Susan lay awake beside him for hours, full of helpless rage against the fate that had set a barrier between herself and her beloved husband.

For she had never loved Edward more than at this hour, when his natural desire for her had awakened dark memories of fear and hatred.

And unforgiveness towards her mother.

OSMOND STIRRED IN
the pale light that filtered through the curtains. Polly’s dark head rested on the inner curve of his elbow, gradually numbing the arm on which it lay; the loss of sensation was beginning to penetrate to his brain, giving rise to a terrifying dream in which he lay bound to a table while a surgeon with a monstrous bald head was sawing through his arm at the elbow joint.

Osmond struggled and tried to shout for help, but his mouth was gagged. His face twitched and he moaned aloud, shaking his head from side to side. Suddenly he wrenched himself free of sleep, and sat up with a cry, sharply withdrawing his arm from under her head.

She had been deep in exhausted slumber after his insatiable demands on her young body, and she now sat up beside him.

‘What? What be . . .?’ She gave her head a shake to clear it.

‘Devil take it, Poll, my arm is as dead as my damned lost leg. Ugh, such dreams! Give it a good hard rubbing for me, do.’

‘There now, my love, ’twas but an ol’ dream, nothin’ to vex ’ee,’ she soothed, slapping his arm to restore it to tingling life, and gazing anxiously at this pallid young man who took his fill of her with such ferocity night after night. She squinted towards the clock on the table.

‘Lord, it be nearly six – they’ll all be risen over there! I’ll ha’ to go, Osmond,’ she muttered, slipping off the bed and reaching for her shift and kirtle. Another stolen night in her master’s arms, and who might she meet on the way back? She’d sometimes seen that old Mrs Ferris prowling around in the dawn.

Halfway down the corridor she stopped, thinking she heard Mrs Calthorpe’s voice behind the door of the main bedchamber; then she scurried on, down the stairs and into the little writing room from which she left by the window, dropping down on to a wall and from there into a lupin bed, and so round to the stable-yard and the back entrance.

Jael Ferris emerged with a sigh of relief and closed the window, refastening the sash.

The maids had been up since half-past five.

‘Mrs Martin been askin’ fur ’ee, Polly. Oi told her ’ee didn’t want no breakfus’,’ said one of them, and Polly pulled a face, for it was true, she felt slightly sick. She knew the risks she took, and hoped and trusted that the vinegar-soaked pad of lambswool had done its preventive work. To find herself with child would be a disaster, but how could she refuse her beloved Osmond in his sadly crippled state? Gone were the days of teasing half-promises and merry chasings; she now longed only to please him.

There were whispers and rumours of a different kind in the servants’ quarters. They all knew that Master Edward had packed his bag the day before and left for Belhampton, leaving his parents wrapped in gloom. At midday Lieutenant Hansford brought a letter for Mr Calthorpe, and later Miss Rosa Hansford came up to see Miss Caroline; the two girls shook their heads over the shocking news that soon became common knowledge.

Mr Edward had been married that morning to the girl known as Susan Lucket, who worked in the House of Industry. She was now Mrs Edward Calthorpe!

As she took in this amazing news, Polly’s heart leaped for joy. Good old Sukey! And if the elder Lucket sister could become Mrs Calthorpe, why not the younger? Poor Osmond was not likely to find a wife among the haughty county families now; no, what he needed was a patient, loving girl, able to anticipate his every need, someone to comfort him and chase away the demons of the night.

Polly’s bright eyes softened. Even his mother would have to admit that she was the only girl for Osmond in his present state. So even if she
was
with child, it need not be a calamity; on the contrary, it could be the deciding factor that settled Osmond’s choice of a wife.

Or so reasoned pretty, foolish little Polly.

With the war going badly for Britain, the women of Beversley eagerly turned to the happier subject of young Mr and Mrs Calthorpe, who were often to be seen driving through the village in their new pony-trap during these last days of July.