A Carriage for the Midwife (34 page)

‘Go on, Brownie, go on – good boy!’

She sighed with relief when the roofs of Beversley came into view, the glimmer of candles in windows. Within a few more minutes they reached Glover Cottage, where the front door was open and Sophia stood in the triangle of light. Only when she let go of the reins did Susan realise how stiff and chilled she was from sitting in an open trap.

‘Thank God – you are welcome indeed, Susan!’ Sophia almost groaned her relief. ‘I pray that she may take heart from the sight of you.’

Susan hurried indoors while Job saw to the trap and horses.

‘This afternoon she had a shock, Susan. Osmond Calthorpe came to see her.’

‘What? Why should that betrayer come to trouble her now?’

Hush, Susan, I truly believe his conscience reproaches him – but he was shocked by the sight of her, as you will be too, and she swooned when she saw him. Now she complains of constant headache and pain at the front and the back, and Mr Turnbull says her waters have broken. Mrs Coulter was called to the Bennetts’ soon after Osmond left, to attend young Mrs Smart, and I felt that you should be here.’

‘Yes, oh yes, Sophy – thank ye for sendin’ Joby!’

‘Dan Spooner has lent him an old, broken-winded horse, and he’ll stay here in case there are any messages to send. The maids will give him supper, and you too.’

‘I must go to Polly straightway!’ And Susan flew instinctively up the stairs to the landing and the room where her sister lay. She stopped short at the doorway and took in the scene before her.

The curtains were drawn against the dusk, and a candle threw looming shadows on the ceiling. The air had the sweetish, acidic smell of a sickroom, mixed with rose water and lavender; a Bible lay on a shelf next to some glasses and medicine bottles. Mr Turnbull stood at the foot of the bed looking at the young woman who lay motionless in it. The once-pretty girl had become a mountain of waterlogged flesh, and her face was so swollen that her eyes were mere slits.

Susan at once felt the waiting presence of Death in the room.

Polly turned her head slowly. ‘Dear ol’ Sukey, Oi know’d ’ee’d come,’ she said weakly, and Susan kneeled beside her. Tears welled up as she kissed the hot cheeks and took hold of the puffy hand lying on the bedcover.

‘Yes, dearest Poll, I be here,’ she whispered. ‘How goes it wi’ ye? Are ye gettin’ hard pains in y’r belly?’

‘Oi ha’ the bitterest headache, Sukey, an’ the stars spin round like on the night o’ the ball. Remember how we danced an’ danced?’

And in a husky, tuneless voice she began to sing: ‘“Hand in hand go down the line, the lady’s little slipper trips –”’

Susan turned to the apothecary, who gave a helpless shrug.

‘Sukey, will ’ee fetch Osmond to me?’ croaked Polly. Tell un Oi be in great sickness, an’ bid un come. Oh, Sukey, let me see my sweet master once more!’

Susan held her hand as she tried to sing the second line of the refrain: ‘“Take the moment when it comes, an’ taste the sweet . . .”’

The words trailed off and Polly moaned plaintively, turning her head from side to side and repeating Osmond’s name.

‘You must put your trust in the Lord’s mercy, not in the ways of men, Polly,’ said Sophia gently, while Turnbull beckoned Susan to follow him from the room.

On the landing, he closed the door and spoke gravely.

‘I fear for the babies, Mrs Calthorpe, as I cannot hear their heartbeats, and Mrs Coulter says there have been no movements for several days. The waters are foul and greenish, and all this excess water in her body may affect the brain and cause fits. We can but hope that the pains of travail will soon begin.’

‘Has she been examined, Mr Turnbull?’ asked Susan.

‘No, not yet. Mrs Coulter had to leave in haste, and I have been waiting for you. Thank heaven you are here, Mrs Calthorpe!’

Susan remembered the apothecary’s fear of the complications of childbirth, and in any case he was not allowed to perform such an examination. Returning to the room, she washed her hands and smeared the right one with goose-grease from the jar in her bag. Sophia turned back the bedcovers and gently separated Polly’s legs as Susan instructed her.

Susan could scarcely put a fingertip into the ring of the womb, and could only conclude that Polly was not in true travail.

On hearing this Mr Turnbull said he would go home for the night, but that Job could be sent to fetch him at any time. There being no news from the Bennetts, Sophia suggested that Tess should sit with Polly for half an hour while Susan took some refreshment by the parlour fire. Downstairs the two women discussed the situation, and Susan wondered if she should send for Dr Parnham before it got pitch-dark.

‘There seems little point in his being here if Polly is not even in travail,’ said Sophia, suppressing a yawn. ‘Would it not be better to send a message in the morning? Perhaps we should all try to get some rest in the meantime.’

This sounded reasonable, but Susan had felt a deep foreboding as soon as she stepped over the threshhold. She also noticed with a pang that Sophia looked white and drawn, and remembered all the months of inconvenience she had had with Polly.

‘Ye must go to y’r bed, Sophy, ye look fit to drop. I’ll sit wi’ me sister now, and comfort her as best I can. Ye’ve done more f’r us than we can ever repay, dear Sophy, so I’ll bid ye good night now.’

But there was to be no good night. Tess’s frantic call summoned them upstairs with speed.

They never forgot the sight that met them. Polly’s head was thrown back, and every muscle in her body was stiffened and jerking convulsively. Her face was contorted into a hideous grimace, with her clenched teeth biting into her protruding tongue. Flecks of bloodstained froth spurted out on to her nightgown.

Sophia covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a cry.

Gus, thought Susan at once, remembering the frequent seizures she had witnessed in the House, when Gus would fall to the floor and foam at the mouth, hurting himself and biting his tongue. She had learned to keep calm, reassure the onlookers and protect him from injury with cushions and a gag between his teeth.

‘Keep her on the bed – don’t let her fall out,’ she now ordered sharply. ‘You stand that side o’ her, Sophy, an’ I’ll stay this side. All right, now, is there anything I can put between her teeth – a spoon? A wooden stick?’

There was a metal spoon in a cup on the shelf, and Susan quickly wrapped the corner of a huckaback towel round it.

‘Can ye hold her head still, Sophy? That’s the way . . .’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake be careful, Susan, she’ll bite you!’ cried Sophia as Susan managed to insert the handle of the padded spoon between Polly’s upper and lower teeth. It released her bleeding tongue, and she made a choking sound as blood and spittle dribbled out on to the bolster.

‘Good, now let’s get her over on to her side. That’s better.’

The situation was under control, but Tess quaked in terror, cowering behind Miss Glover.

‘Her be possessed by a demon! It’s a devil inside o’ her!’

‘Hold y’r noise, Tess, ’tis a fit and will pass,’ said Susan impatiently, though Sophia had more sympathy with the girl than she cared to admit.

Gradually Polly’s convulsive movements began to subside. They saw her face turn from a livid blue to a yellowish pallor, while her limbs relaxed, her features slackened and within a minute she lay still, breathing deeply and noisily, as if snoring.

‘Praise God!’ breathed Sophia, sending up a silent prayer of thanks. Susan saw that her friend was trembling.

‘Dear Sophy, I’m sorry ye’ve been frightened, but ’tis a fit such as we were warned about, an’ after she ha’ had a sleep there could be another,’ she cautioned.

‘Another? More fits? Oh, then let us by all means send for Dr Parnham!’ exclaimed Sophia, aghast at the thought of a repetition of what they had just witnessed.

Susan too was shaken by the struggle with her afflicted sister, but made an effort to sound calm and matter-of-fact.

‘I doubt if the doctor could do more’n we can if she has another, Sophy,’ she began, but Miss Glover insisted.

‘Job must go up to Bever House and ask my cousin Calthorpe to get out the Bever carriage and send to Belhampton to bring the doctor back,’ she said.

Susan stared. ‘I’d never ha’ thought o’ askin’ the Calthorpes, I must say,’ she said. ‘But ’tis only right, o’ course, seein’ that Polly’s givin’ birth to their grandchildren.’

‘And there are highwaymen and all kinds of ne’er-do-wells waiting to attack night travellers,’ added Sophia, ‘so a carriage should go, or at least two strong horsemen. I’ll call Job.’

At thirteen Job Lucket was a well-grown lad with strong muscles from working at the forge. He at once went to fetch the ancient nag that he had been lent; Bowman was gentle but wheezy from the smoke and coal-dust of the smithy.

‘Ask to speak to Mr Calthorpe, Job, and tell him I sent you,’ said Sophia earnestly. ‘Say your sister Polly Lucket is in danger for her life and – and the twin babies also. Beg him to get word to Dr Parnham at Belhampton. Do you understand, Job?’

The lad nodded, his steady grey eyes so like Susan’s.

‘I’ll do that, Missus Glover, just as ’ee says.’

He mounted Bowman, heading him towards the beech grove and Bever House. When he reached the gates he rode up the drive to the front entrance and, slithering down the hollow flank, he seized the bell pull with one hand and banged on the knocker with the other.

Dr Octavius Gravett was feeling more than a little put out. Surely a message could have been sent to the rectory to say that Mr Calthorpe had taken to his bed, and was unable to share a pipe and a bottle with the rector and squire as was his custom on Friday nights.

Mrs Calthorpe was apologetic, but had forgotten all about the gentlemen’s arrangement.

‘Mr Calthorpe has caught cold and is sweating and shivering by turns,’ she said. ‘I hope he has not caught the influenza. Mrs Martin is but slowly recovering from it.’

Alarmed by the threat of infection, the rector hastily bid her and her daughters good night and was about to leave when they were all startled by a sudden ringing and knocking at the front door.

‘Heavens, it must be a messenger with ill news!’ cried Gertrude Calthorpe, turning pale and clinging to the rector’s arm. ‘Stay with me, Dr Gravett, for pity’s sake.’

They hurried down to the hall just as Martin drew back the bolts and opened the door to reveal the slight figure of Job standing beside a tall old horse.

‘What brings you here, boy?’ asked the butler.

Job looked over Martin’s shoulder, straight at Mrs Calthorpe.

‘If ’ee pleases, missus, bid the master send the carriage or a good rider to Belhampton to fetch the man-midwife to me sister!’

‘What? Who is your sister, and who sent you to Bever House?’

Job stepped forward and showed his face clearly.

‘My sister Polly Lucket be in great sorrow, and needs the man-midwife to save her. Missus Glover sent me.’

Gertrude Calthorpe could scarcely take in such effrontery.

‘Lucket? Glover? Good God, how
dare
she ask my help for that slut of a girl! Be off with you, wretch, or I’ll have you whipped for coming to a house of sickness at such an hour.’

But Job stood his ground and regarded her steadily.

‘The women say Polly ha’ two babes, missus, an’ Master Osmond visited her today, Oi knows ’cause Oi seen un. Oi asks ’ee again to send fur the doctor.’

Gertrude Calthorpe had been making some rapid calculations, and now fairly exploded with fury.

‘How dare you – how dare
she
? What lies, what wickedness! Do you say that the creature is giving birth
now
? Don’t you see what this means, Dr Gravett? Selina, Caroline, do you hear? Don’t you remember that Osmond was lying close to death in Portsmouth last spring, and suffered the loss of his leg on the fifth day of May? Oh, how we have all been duped! That slut of a girl must have been with child for two or three months when she took advantage of poor Osmond’s weakness, planning to trap him into marrying her, just as foolish Edward was trapped by her sly older sister. Oh, my poor son, what a conspiracy to blacken his name! She came brazenly to his bed and—’

Her voice rose, and the rector began to be embarrassed by her hysteria.

‘Calm yourself, dear madam,’ he pleaded. ‘I shall send this boy packing, and see that he gives you no more trouble.’

He turned sternly to Job. ‘Do you seriously believe that this gentlewoman should order a horse to be saddled and a rider set upon him, to go five miles across the common on a moonless night, all for the sake of a shameless wench and a pair of bastards? Be off with you, impudent dolt!’

Had Octavius Gravett known it, his words were to echo in Beversley history for years to come; they burned into Job’s memory for life.

He drew back. ‘Then
I’ll
ha’ to ride fur the man, then, seein’ as there be no help here, nor pity neither. Don’t look fur me in that church o’ yourn agin.’

He remounted Bowman’s sagging back, and for the second time that day headed for the track that led up to the common. He strained his eyes to discern the way ahead when the horse reached the open country, but scudding clouds obscured the stars, and the wind whistled through the dry gorse, chilling Job’s brave resolutions. He gritted his teeth and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. The expanse of heathland seemed limitless in the dark, and as they skirted an alder copse, there was a rustling followed by an agonised yelp. Job’s involuntary cry startled Bowman, who lurched violently to one side, kicking out with his back legs.

‘Steady, ol’ feller – ’tis only a fox wi’ a hare, most like,’ panted Job, as much to reassure himself as the horse. He had no idea of the time, and trusted they were still heading north.

When the horse stumbled again the boy lost the reins and clung helplessly to the loose, leathery folds around Bowman’s neck.

‘Go on, go on, ol’ feller,’ he urged the sweating beast, forcing himself to keep his seat and stay alert as they stumbled on into the unending night, with no lamp to light their way and no sound but the moaning of the wind.