A Carriage for the Midwife (38 page)

His knee-joints creaked as he rose and held out his hands to her.

‘God bless you, my child,’ he said shakily. ‘I was but offering thanks that my poor widowed Elizabeth is delivered of a healthy daughter, thanks to your skill and good sense.’

‘Oh, Mr Smart, I’m that thankful that y’r prayers ha’ been answered!’ Susan’s own emotions threatened to overwhelm her when she saw how worn he looked, his sunken cheeks and red-rimmed eyes reflecting a life spent trying to serve his flock and bear their burdens whilst living on the poverty line with a cross wife. And now Lizzie had added another helpless dependant to the family, just as the older members were leaving the nest. Yet he smiled as he clasped her hands in both of his.

‘You always were a bright child, Susan, a clever little girl in spite of—’

‘Dear Parson Smart, I wouldn’t be here today to deliver y’r daughter if ’twasn’t f’r what ye did f’r us Luckets,’ Susan broke in with equal fervour. ‘We’d ha’ starved to death like Goody Firkin. And if I didn’t thank ye then, let me thank ye now, sir!’

And on an impulse she curtsied low before him and kissed his hand, at which he looked so thunderstruck that she could have laughed. Poor, threadbare Parson Smart with his chesty cough and the dewdrop that forever hung from his nose, what an unrecognised saint! Susan was grateful to the Almighty for the chance to repay his kindness all those years ago.

Widow Gibson was hovering in Mill Lane when Susan emerged from the parsonage.

‘Lucky fur ’ee Lizzie Smart was easy birthin’, Dame Trot!’ she grinned, and Susan did not miss the mockery. ‘No need to send fur yer man-midwife wi’ un’s knives an’ forks!’

Susan flushed, well aware that the old handywoman knew her history from before birth, and for all her makeshift ways had been good to the Luckets in bad times.

‘Yes, I was lucky, Mrs Gibson,’ she agreed. ‘’Twas a hard pushing f’r Mrs Decker, and a fair-sized babe – but she’s young an’ strong, and ha’ good parents to take care o’ her.’

‘Ay, she be luckier than many. Oi tells ’ee, young Dame Trot,’ went on the old woman, leaning confidentially towards Susan with onion-scented breath, ‘there’ll be work enough fur ’ee an’ me both if this war goes on much longer. We’ll reap a fine crop o’ bastards afore it be ended!’ She laughed, showing the gaps in her teeth. ‘Oh, ay! We’ll get more’n our share o’ night-sittin’!’

Susan shrugged, conscious of the contrast they must present to an observer, she in her neat dark blue gown with shawl and bonnet, carrying her equipment in a straw bag, while the other woman’s stained calico apron was permanently tied around her thick skirt, like the kerchief she always wore wrapped round her head with the ends tucked in at the nape of her grimy neck.

Yet Susan remembered that this woman often worked in co-operation with Parson Smart, treating common ailments and injuries in animals as well as the Beversley poor. Once again she acted on impulse and spoke in a friendly, almost conspiratorial manner.

‘I tell ye what, Mrs Gibson – two heads are wiser than one when there’s trouble wi’ a birthin’. If I was ever to ask y’r advice, I hope ye wouldn’t take it amiss?’

The handywoman beamed. ‘Lord, no, Dame Trot – ’ee can send fur me at any time!’

‘That’s good to know, Mrs Gibson. And likewise, if ye ever need another pair o’ hands, ye can call on me wi’ no loss o’ face. ’Tis only common sense!’

She got up into the pony-trap, and drove back to Glover Cottage well satisfied. An ally is of far more use than a rival, and Susan knew that she still needed to build up a reputation in the village after a year away from it. Some of Mrs Calthorpe’s friends from Belhampton and Pulhurst had mockingly referred to
Madam Trotula
, and unknowingly did her a favour, because the village had quickly adopted the title, and she was now Madam Trotula to almost everybody. It amused Sophia, who could not resist some gentle teasing. ‘What do you suggest, Madam Trotula?’ she would ask on all sorts of matters unrelated to midwifery, but Susan was secretly gratified by the name. It had a ring to it, as well as reminding her of Charles Parnham’s friendship; he was second only to Sophia in her affections, for she knew that those two had made her what she now was, a respected practitioner of her craft. The once scornful disparagement of her youth and inexperience was now all but silenced. With Miss Glover as her patroness and Dr Parnham as her champion – not to mention such Beversley notables as Mr Turnbull and Mrs Bennett singing her praises – she had no need of condescension from local gentry.

However, there was no shortage of interesting gossip at Bever House tea-parties. Miss Gravett, a prudent spinster who could have enjoyed the patronage of Bever House with all its social advantages, had chosen instead to visit the House of Industry and busy herself with teaching the half-witted children their letters, while the poor rector had to make do with cold boiled mutton and a lonely fireside. Not only that, but the lady had actually visited the Misses Calthorpe and – incredible though it seemed – had invited them to join her in this endeavour, saying that it would be useful and rewarding work for them. Of course she had been cold-shouldered, but a week later she had called again and repeated her invitation. Mrs Calthorpe wondered if the lady could be going through a certain difficult time of life: it was known to unbalance some women.

But then had come the real marvel: the sight of the elder Miss Calthorpe driving over to the House of Industry in the rectory phaeton with Miss Gravett, going to visit the orphans and organise regular reading lessons – and to introduce them to the mysteries of addition and subtraction as well.

Sophia was so delighted with this news that she called on Miss Gravett to congratulate her on her success, and to admit that she had had no great hopes of either of the Calthorpe daughters.

‘Ah, but you see, Miss Glover, I understand that Miss Selina suffered a – a disappointment a few years ago, when a faithless young man left her for another. I convinced her that the best way to forget that kind of thing is to throw herself into some kind of good work for the less fortunate.’

Sophia could think of no suitable reply to this.

‘I explained that I was in a position to give advice to her on the matter,’ went on the black-clad lady with a sigh. ‘And I’m very happy to say, Miss Glover, that she is becoming a much more thoughtful girl, far more agreeable than that silly sister of hers and her friend Miss Hansford. Forgive me, Miss Glover, but I’m known for speaking as I find.’

Once she got over the shock, Sophia was delighted to hear of Selina’s new interest, and thought it a good time to visit Mr Calthorpe to begin discussing the purchase of a dwelling for the Beversley midwife, by public subscription. It had to be done quietly, without Susan finding out, and Sophia looked forward to presenting her friend with a
fait accompli
in due course.

The summer months passed. Osmond Calthorpe was spared from his duties at the training depot, and returned home to help his father run the estate. Miss Glover was just beginning to be anxious that First Lieutenant Hansford had not yet appeared, when in the last week of July he fulfilled his promise and turned up on her doorstep, his face older and more weatherbeaten, his war-weary eyes fixed on the woman he loved and longed for.

Susan tactfully found herself more often out than in during those all-too-brief sunny days when Henry could hardly bear to let his adored Sophy out of his sight, though of course his parents, sister and brother also lay claim to his precious time. He slept at the farmhouse, but the greater part of each day was spent at Glover Cottage, walking out with Sophia in the noon sunshine, talking with her in the garden and reaching out to take her hand as evening shadows gathered.

But Henry had again been disappointed in his hopes of a wedding. Sophia continued to insist that they wait until the war was over.

‘You say that it cannot be much longer, Henry, another year at most.’

‘But for a man on active service, each day is an eternity, Sophy. If I could go back to this stupid, wasteful war knowing that you were my wife—’

‘Henry, when I become your wife, I don’t ever want to part with you again. We shall begin our life together, and stay together – no more partings!’

He sighed and looked earnestly into her eyes, wondering if he might express to her in words the hunger of his body. Sophia was such a gentlewoman, so devout in faith, so modest in speech and manners; and yet he wanted to tell her how deep was his desire for her.

‘Dearest Sophy, I am but a man as other men are, and I long to hold you in my arms as my wife, as part of my own flesh. Forgive me for even speaking of it, but you surely must have the same natural longings,’ he pleaded, hoping that she would not think the less of him.

She did not. ‘Yes, I long for the consummation of our love in marriage just as much as you do, Henry,’ she told him in a low voice, her blue eyes downcast. ‘And that is all the more reason why I say we must wait until we are free to claim what we long for. I shall bear your children, Henry, but not until we can be together to provide a proper home for them.’

She paused, thinking of Susan’s important work as a midwife, and how it would have been curtailed if she had been left with a child. She thought of poor Lizzie Decker and her baby daughter, Kitty, alone and unsupported apart from what the impoverished Smarts could offer her.

‘No, dearest Henry, we must be patient and wait a little longer, until the day when you come home for good. Then we may consider our own personal happiness. To rush into a hasty wedding now would be selfish. Can you not understand what I mean?’

Henry knew that there would be no changing of her mind; a woman such as Sophia Glover followed what she saw as duty rather than her own desires, or his. So he kissed her again and said yes, he understood, though he could not be glad.

And he was rewarded by her next words.

The last time we met, Henry, we passed a night together in this cottage, watching by the bedside of Polly Lucket. I shall never forget the sacrifice you made then, the hours you sat with her, comforting her in her last journey. I looked at you then, Henry, and if it was possible to love you even more than before . . . I shall remember that night all my life.’

With such reassurance, Henry vowed that he would not allow his spirits to be dampened by the postponement of bliss or by the sad changes he found in Beversley: Osmond hobbling around on his peg leg, his face hard and deeply lined; Edward’s wife so vengeful against the Calthorpes that she called herself some strange outlandish name rather than use her husband’s. Poor Edward! How he had worshipped her and defied his family to marry her on that three-week leave; it seemed much longer than a year ago, and the war was getting nowhere. The British forces were now split and strung out from New York to Charlestown, attacked by combined American and French troops under General Washington, and hampered by disagreements between Lord Cornwallis and General Clinton.

‘The sooner a truce is declared, the sooner the farce can be ended, and our men brought home,’ Henry said to Sophia one evening as they sat in the twilight.

‘And the sooner we shall be married, Henry.’

They exchanged loving smiles, and he continued somewhat hesitantly, ‘And now my young sister Rosa tells me that she has hopes of marrying Osmond Calthorpe, if you please.’

Sophia thought at once of Polly. And of Susan.

‘Has Rosa spoken of this to your parents, Henry?’

‘No, no, there is nothing to tell as yet, for he has not given her any real sign that he returns her affections. She thinks he’s grown more thoughtful since that shocking business of poor Polly Lucket – and now that she’s gone, Rosa thinks he seems to be ready to settle down and look after the estate, just as his father always wanted him to.’

And Rosa sees herself as mistress of Bever House, thought Sophia.

‘Has she considered what it might be like married to a cripple, Henry? Osmond can be foul-tempered when that leg-stump pains him. He would not be an easy man to have for a husband.’

‘I’m not sure, my love. If he really intends to be master of Bever House one day, he’ll need a wife! And who would be a better choice? A girl from an old local family, acceptable to his parents, not too young or too old, someone with pretty manners, respectful to his mother, friendly with his sisters. A girl who adores him. Does not my sister fit the requirements?’

‘I think that Rosa is looking too far ahead, Henry,’ Sophia answered, wondering what Susan’s reaction would be if an announcement was made. Henry caught her mood.

‘Then we won’t speak of it, darling Sophy. Kiss me instead!’

When Susan returned from a birthing that night after dark, she stopped short as she entered the door and saw two figures outlined against the uncurtained window of the parlour, unaware of her or of anything but each other. Sophia’s arms were around Henry’s neck, her head lying on his shoulder, her face hidden. His head was bent over hers, and as his lips brushed the smooth hair, his hands slid down the length of her back, coming to rest upon her buttocks in a husbandly gesture of possession. He whispered something, and Sophia’s arms tightened: she raised her head and looked up into his face, offering her soft mouth for his kiss – a long, long kiss that held all the yearning of their hearts, all the desire of their bodies, one for the other.

Susan recollected herself and proceeded quietly up the stairs, feeling that her own deep sorrow had no place in the vicinity of the lovers. It was not that she was envious of their happiness in each other – quite the contrary, she desired that Sophia be happy – and that meant Henry too. No, it was the glimpse of a deep bond of love that held no fear, a love that she had never known, had never given to Edward, her husband for whom hope was now virtually gone. He had loved her with a good man’s love, as Henry loved Sophia – and she had been unable to return it in the natural way. When she remembered the bewilderment in his eyes at her strange, unwifely behaviour, it was like a sword-thrust in her heart. She now bitterly regretted agreeing to the marriage.