A Carriage for the Midwife (42 page)

‘I’ll be back by the end of September, probably much earlier, dearest Sophy, and then we shall never part again. Will you marry me before I go?’

Gibraltar. It was not America or the West Indies, on the other side of a great ocean. Admiral Lord Howe was confident that the blockade would be speedily dispatched, and the highly respected Admiral Kempenfelt, ‘the brains of the navy’, was already aborad the flagship
Royal George
to lead the attack. This great man-o’-war now lay in harbour off Spithead for repairs and provisioning, along with over thirty other ships of the line.

Once again Sophia Glover decided to wait until Henry was finished with fighting and home for good, and the wedding was fixed for the second day of October, a Wednesday, at Great St Giles. Meanwhile Henry had the brilliant idea of taking her with his parents and brother on an expedition to Portsmouth to see the fleet. They duly travelled down in the Hansford chaise, to take lodgings at a comfortable inn where they stayed for three days; then they had to make their farewells and travel back without Henry.

‘Oh, Susan, it was so wonderful, so incredible, the time of my life!’ Sophia said later, for the excursion had far outstripped anything she could have imagined.

‘When we stood at the sea wall and beheld the magnificent spectacle of the fleet at anchor, I simply held on to Henry’s arm and just stared and stared!’ she recalled. ‘And the next day Henry escorted us all aboard the
Royal George
, an experience I’ll never forget. He took us on the most amazing tour of the upper and lower decks.’

‘Were you the only visitors, Sophy?’ asked Susan, hanging on every word.

‘No, that was what amazed me. There were whole families of women and children keeping company with the seamen who were preparing to sail. We saw water and provisions being taken on board, and there was a sloop with barrels of rum. In fact it was quite a carnival atmosphere! I stood and gazed up at those great tall masts and the enormous canvas sails, all furled and roped – and Henry took me to the gun-deck and showed me how those hundred guns have to be evenly balanced to keep the vessel from keeling to one side. Oh, Susan, I stood there and listened to all his descriptions and explanations, and I’ll be able to picture the
Royal George
at Gibraltar – though I shudder when I think of the guns firing and those decks flowing with – oh, Susan!’

The two women put their arms around each other, and Sophia could not say more. She remembered trembling beside Henry, and his reassurances.

‘This will not be a bloody battle, my Sophia, nor do we expect to lose any of our ships. ‘Twill be more of a formidable show of strength to frighten the enemy and send him packing, rather than to blast him out of the water.’

The very idea of a battle seemed unreal to Sophia as she stood on a flat, steady deck in the sunshine, surrounded by water as blue as the sky and as calm as a millpond. On shore the wooded hill rose up above the port, and above them the seagulls circled lazily, their mewing calls drifting down on the clear air. What an evil thing is war, Sophia had thought with sudden conviction, though she kept her thoughts to herself as the days quickly passed, and all too soon it was time to return to Beversley.

Their last farewell was said at the quayside. He pinned a silver anchor brooch to her cloak, and she placed her little leather-bound prayer book inside his jacket, over his heart. Years of self-discipline had strengthened these two, and there were no tears.

‘I shall pray every day for God’s protection to rest upon you, Henry, and on all aboard the
Royal George
.’

‘And I shall see you standing there on the deck beside me, my dearest love, to comfort me and give me courage. Oh, my Sophia . . .’

One last kiss, and then she had to walk away with her future relations, who had long come to value and respect her, though it had been a mainly silent party that travelled home through the bountiful Hampshire countryside, nearly ready for harvesting.

‘Just think, Susan, a little more than a month and then Henry and I will stand side by side and be man and wife, never to be parted again.’

For answer Susan held her more tightly, for words had strangely deserted her.

‘And who knows, Susan, this time next year you may be attending me as midwife, for be assured I’ll have none but you to deliver me!’

Susan looked into the rapturous blue eyes, and tried to imagine Miss Glover, the benefactress of Beversley and her own especial patroness and friend, in travail with the child of Henry Hansford. At nearly thirty-four a first confinement might not be easy, and they both knew about the hours of waiting, the agony, the possible danger . . .

‘I would endure it all gladly, willingly, Susan,’ went on Sophia, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Oh, can I dare to believe such joy? Can it really be true that I shall be his wife and the mother of his child? His children?’

‘Dearest Sophy,’ whispered Susan, returning her friend’s loving embrace. ‘Dearest Sophy!’

For she could think of nothing else to say. However hard she tried, she could not envisage the scene her friend described so eagerly.

SUSAN WAS CERTAIN
that young Mrs Spooner’s baby was in the breech position, so she was not sorry to hear that the waters had broken and the pains commenced, two or three weeks earlier than expected. A smaller baby’s head would be better able to emerge from the tight ring of the womb, a known hazard with breech deliveries, especially when it was the first child, as in Mary Spooner’s case.

No sooner had Susan ascertained that travail had begun and that the baby’s heart was strong and regular, than a message came from Pulhurst Grange where Squire Gosney’s daughter, a Mrs Knight, had also started in travail. She had made it known that she wanted Madam Trotula to deliver her.

Susan sighed. It was always the way with babies! Days would go by without a call, and then two or three would come together.

‘I’ll take ye with me to Mrs Knight, Lizzie, and find out how she does. If she be near delivery I’ll stay till the child be born, otherwise I’ll leave ye with her and go back to Mary.’

Lizzie Decker looked very doubtful. ‘Mrs Knight and Mrs Gosney ha’ asked for Madam Trotula, not her assistant, and I reckon they won’t be happy to be left with me.’

‘I’ll come back as soon as I can, but if ye run into trouble they’ll ha’ to eat humble pie and send f’r the Pulhurst midwife,’ replied Susan firmly. ‘Dan Spooner ha’ been good to my brother Joby in his way, and his son’s wife’ll need close watching with that breech.’

Leaving little Kitty in her grandmother’s charge, they headed the pony-trap towards Pulhurst. Mrs Knight was found to be in very early travail, with the ring only just beginning to open. Susan gave her five drops of tincture of opium in water, and left another dose for Lizzie to give in the night, advising the mother and her attendants to rest if they could. She then left, promising to return as soon as Mrs Spooner was delivered.

As Lizzie had predicted, the Pulhurst ladies were distinctly unimpressed at having to make do with her instead of Madam Trotula who seemed to consider a blacksmith’s daughter-in-law more deserving of her attention than a squire’s daughter. Lizzie took up her post and spent the night hours rubbing Mrs Knight’s back, feeding her sips of sweetened water, assisting her on to the chamber pot and telling her that everything was as it should be, while praying desperately for Susan’s return.

Meanwhile Susan watched beside Mrs Spooner, accompanied by the mother and mother-in-law. The travail lasted all night, and when the body of the child emerged at twenty minutes to six, the delivery of the after-coming head seemed endless; Susan steadily adhered to Dr Parnham’s method, and waited until the hairline appeared at the nape of the neck before embarking on the most critical manoeuvre: too fast and there could be damage due to the sudden release of pressure; too slow and the child could suffocate through lack of air. When the head of the baby girl smoothly emerged at a quarter-hour before six, and gave a gasp, a cry and then a loud wail, both of the new grandmothers wept their thanksgiving.

Susan tied and cut the cord, handing the baby to Mary’s mother while the after-burden was expelled. At her earliest opportunity she took her leave, refusing breakfast, so anxious was she to get back to Pulhurst. Dan Spooner stood outside with the trap ready and Brownie in the shafts.

Arriving at the bedside of Mrs Knight, she found that the ring of the womb had opened enough to admit three fingers, and the ensuing slow progress throughout the morning was tiring to all concerned. With the ring fully open at one hour past noon, another two hours of strenuous pushing were needed to bring forth a son of almost twice the size of the Spooner baby. Susan used her special scissors to make a widening cut in the outlet, and stitched it afterwards with linen thread.

Leaving the new mother to rest after her ordeal, Susan instructed Mrs Gosney to give the baby spring-water from a teaspoon until Mrs Knight was able to put him to the breast. She and Lizzie climbed wearily into the trap at half-past four in the afternoon, their heads aching with fatigue.

Lizzie’s bonnet drooped as they jogged up the Portsmouth Road, and after turning off into the narrow lane to Beversley, Susan slackened her grip on the reins and let Brownie follow his nose to lead them home.

They did not at first hear the urgent clatter of hoofs behind them, but as they became aware of it, Susan looked back and saw two riders, one in the blue jacket and tricorn hat of a naval officer. He called out to her, coming on ahead of his companion, a rougher-looking character in a stained shirt, ragged breeches and a dirty scarf tied round his head.

‘Good day to you, mistress,’ said the officer. ‘We’re on our way to Belhampton.’

‘Then ye should ha’ stayed on the Portsmouth Road, sir. This way only goes to the village o’ Beversley,’ answered Susan a little warily, wondering if they were ruffians and the uniform stolen.

‘Then we’re on the right road, mistress, for we have to visit Beversley on our way,’ replied the officer. ‘Are you going there?’

‘Aye, sir, we’re returning there.’ Susan stifled a yawn as she nodded, and decided that there was no cause for fear. She reined in the pony at the side of the lane to let the riders pass, but to her surprise the officer lingered, looking down at them from his tired steed as if he was wondering whether to speak further.

‘You live there, then, mistress?’

‘Yes, sir. I’m the midwife in Beversley.’

She raised her eyes to his face, and that was when she first noticed the black cockade in his hat, the black sash across his shoulder. A shadow seemed to fall across the sun, though there were no clouds in the sky.

‘Wh-who ha’ ye to see in Beversley, sir?’ she heard herself enquire. Lizzie raised her drooping head and opened her eyes.

‘We have a message to give to the squire there, mistress. Name of Hansford. I fear ’tis ill news.’

The skin on the back of Susan’s neck started to prickle as they both stared at the messenger. The air was unnaturally still.

What day is it? thought Susan – Wednesday? No, Thursday, the twenty-ninth day of August. Sophia had said that the attack on Gibraltar was not until the end of the month. Had it already taken place?

‘Tell us, sir, is it ill news from Gib-Gibraltar that ye bring?’ she asked, her mouth dry.

‘No, mistress, not from there. The fleet hasn’t left harbour,’ he said gravely. ‘The
Royal George
has never left Spithead.’

‘Then thank God, sir, surely—’ began Susan.

But the other man drew his dirty sleeve across his eyes and cried out, ‘Aye, an’ her never will, not now, missus!’

‘For heaven’s sake, sir, tell us what’s happened, what ha’ ye come to—’ Susan broke off, seeing tears in the officer’s eyes, while his companion wept openly.

‘The
Royal George
is sunk in harbour, mistress, gone down with her crew at nine o’clock this morning. It was a matter of minutes – just as if the bottom had fallen out of her.’

‘God ha’ mercy on us all,’ breathed Susan as Lizzie began to weep. ‘And the men on board – did any escape?’

‘Hardly a score, it was all so quick. In fact she pulled a sloop and its crew down with her. Jim here saw it all, and should have been on board, but his escape to shore last night saved his life.’

The other man hung his head, his shoulders heaving. ‘All drowned! All drowned, every man Jack on ’em. Eight hundred souls!’ he sobbed.

Susan felt the blood drain from her face.

‘Eight hundred?’
Eight hundred men
perished?’ she whispered.

‘At least that number, perhaps more, with Admiral Kempenfelt and some women and children still aboard when she went down.’

‘Oh, no! Oh, woe!” moaned Lizzie, covering her face, reliving the news of Decker’s death; Susan put her free arm around her.

‘Hush, Lizzie, think o’ the sorrow to – oh, Sophy, Sophy! And is Mr Hansford known to be drowned wi’ the rest, sir?’

‘Aye, he be gone who were the best o’ friends to me,’ replied the man called Jim with another burst of sobs. The officer ordered him to go on ahead and wait.

‘I’m sorry for this, mistress, but we must go on our way. ’Tis a bad day, a bad day.’

He bowed from the saddle, and urged the horse forward, rounding a bend in the lane, leaving the women sitting in the trap. Lizzie was weeping and Susan shook uncontrollably as if with an ague. She forced herself to marshal her thoughts together: it was past five, and the messengers would go up to the Hansford farmhouse. Sophia might be at home or out visiting, and although Susan shuddered at the thought of breaking the dreadful news, she wanted to be there when Sophia heard it.

‘I’ll get down at Glover Cottage, Lizzie, and you must go home to your mother and daughter,’ she said. ‘Fetch Mr Roberts from the parsonage. Tell him to come to Glover Cottage.’

When Susan arrived at her friend’s house Tess let her in and said that the mistress was out visiting with Mrs Hansford.

‘Though she’s like to be in any minute,’ she added, staring at Susan’s white face and red-rimmed eyes.