A Carriage for the Midwife (46 page)

‘You are so beautiful, my Susan.’

His hand was on her waist, her hip, her belly, touching her through the woollen folds while his encircling left arm rocked her with a tender, reassuring movement that filled her with an infinite longing, as if she glimpsed a distant happiness not allowed to such as she. She made herself lie still and breathe slowly while he whispered to her of his love, but when his questing fingers descended towards that place she knew so well in other women, her whole body tensed, and at once he withdrew his hand. Memories of their wedding night, the disappointment and humiliation now flooded back to them both with keen dismay; Edward remembered holding a terrified woman in his arms, and had no desire for that to happen again.

‘All right, dearest Susan, all right, you have nothing to fear. Go to sleep, my love – go to sleep.’

But it took her some time to rest in his arms and breathe normally.

One day, he thought, I shall ask her to tell me all about what happened to cause this unnatural fear. But not yet.

One day, she thought, I shall tell him how he can be free. But not now.

With the war over, life in Beversley went on as usual. Miss Glover returned to her cottage and threw herself into parish duties with much of her former energy and enthusiasm; Mrs Decker became proficient at caring for women in travail, and able to cope with the easier deliveries when several babies were born within a short space of time; and Miss Calthorpe continued teaching the orphaned children, and wondered whether she should mention to the midwife that poor Dolly Lucket had become noticeably frailer of late, an old woman at forty.

Mrs Osmond Calthorpe spent her time lying on a chaise-longue with a romantic novel. Her mother and mother-in-law spent much of their time at her side, while Mrs Ferris quietly busied herself in the background.

‘Mrs Madingley of Belhampton is a midwife to gentlewomen, and delivered Lady Lyle’s granddaughter last week,’ said Mrs Gertrude Calthorpe to Mr Turnbull when he called to enquire about the progress of the young wife and admire her swelling belly. ‘She is coming to stay here at Bever House at the beginning of August, so as to be on hand for Rosa’s travail.’

The apothecary bowed and said that he had heard Mrs Madingley highly spoken of, while privately hoping that he would not be involved with the confinement. He could have wished that Madam Trotula was in charge, but that of course was out of the question; and poor Mrs Coulter was in constant pain, unable to leave her bed in the almshouse.

The news from Oxford was good, and Susan eagerly awaited Edward’s letters. As Mr Calthorpe observed on one of his quiet visits to the daughter-in-law he secretly preferred in spite of her continued estrangement, Edward was no mere undergraduate. With his classics degree and excellent testimonials from former tutors, and perhaps above all for the maturity that life in the navy and as a prisoner-of-war had given him, he found himself in good standing with the Bishop’s chaplain, the official who would examine him for ordination as deacon.

‘This is a very different Life from when I last was here, dear Wife,’ he wrote. ‘Already I read Prayers and Preach in country Churches around Oxford where there is a lack for any reason, and I have been told that there is a Curacy in the offing.’

‘D’ye think he means in Hampshire, Mr Calthorpe?’

‘No, no – Oxfordshire. They will not easily part with him,’ replied his father. ‘Are you not glad for your husband, Susan?’

She was silent, and Calthorpe could see that she was troubled, though he could not hope that she would confide in him.

‘I’m glad that Edward’s taken up with the Church,’ she said at last, putting on her bonnet and cape. ‘’Tis likely to bring him more comfort than the law. I must go out on my visits now, sir, so bid ye good day. Thank ye for calling to see me.’

She gave him no message for Bever House.

At the end of her rounds, Susan decided to call on Sophia and talk over a cup of tea.

‘Was that the rector I saw coming from here, Sophy?’

‘Yes, he has visited,’ replied her friend, looking flustered.

‘So did he give ye a list o’ his ailments, the same as he gave Edward?’

Sophia gave a choking sound, and Susan looked at her sharply.

‘Ye’re upset about something, Sophy – what is it?’

‘’Tis not serious, but I suppose I’m feeling a little – er – surprised,’ replied Sophia, clasping and unclasping her hands.

‘What’s
happened
?’ demanded Susan in alarm.

‘I have had to disappoint him, you see – the rector.’

Susan stared at her pink-cheeked friend.

‘Disappoint him? How? You
don’t
mean . . .’

‘You’ll probably laugh, Susan, but the poor man came to ask me to marry him.’

‘
What
? Asked you – so soon after – oh, the bare face of him – the wicked old – oh, I can’t believe it!’

Susan was so angry and offended on her friend’s behalf that Sophia felt she should try to excuse the rector to some degree.

‘He feels so lonely and neglected at the rectory these days, Susan, and misses Amelia very much.’

‘Yes, ’cause she gave in to his whims and fancies, and had no life o’ her own! And did he think ye would do the same, give up all y’r good works to wait on him hand and foot?’

‘Oh, Susan, he has never been able to see his own faults, and nobody has ever challenged him about his shortcomings as a clergyman. He had seen how well Edward recovered from his illness, and thought that if he had me to look after him, he too would improve in health. That’s what he said: “If you were to marry me and move into the rectory, Miss Glover, I know I would be comfortable.”’

‘Good God! And what did you say to that?’

‘I simply told him that I would never marry. I could not bring myself even to utter dear Henry’s name. He started to tell me of the advantages I would enjoy as rector’s wife, but I cut him short and said I was sorry to disappoint him.’

‘And what did the old wretch say to that?’

‘Well, he thought I was foolish to turn down a good offer, and that I was not likely to get another at my age and with no
status
, you know – by which he meant my parentage – and he said he hoped I wouldn’t regret it.’

Susan sat down and threw her bonnet on the floor. ‘How dare he think himself half good enough! Oh, Sophy, just to think o’ you and
ugh
!’ She wrinkled her face in revulsion.

‘Don’t be too hard on him, Susan. I think he’s truly a sick man, and ready to grasp at straws.’

‘Ready to graps at a handsome woman, you mean!’

Susan’s burst of derisive laughter was heard by Tess and the kitchen maid, and did not take long to re-echo in places where the choicer morsels of Beversley gossip were recounted.

When the news of Mrs Coulter’s death reached Beversley, Mr Calthorpe at once arranged for her body to be brought back for burial in the churchyard of Great St Giles. The church was packed for the funeral of a woman who had served the parish faithfully throughout her long widowhood. Parson Roberts read the prayers, the rector being indisposed, and Miss Glover gave the eulogy, during which Widow Gibson wept noisily.

‘We can all take comfort that Margaret has entered into her rest, freed from the burden of pain at last,’ concluded Miss Glover to a general murmur of assent, and a large procession followed the bier to the last resting-place.

‘Who be the gen’leman in the tall black hat?’ asked young Mrs Spooner, her voice carrying above the low murmurs of the rest.

‘Hush, Mary, that’s the man-midwife from Belhampton, come to pay his respects,’ answered Mrs Decker, frowning and glancing sideways at Susan.

When the earth had been cast over the grave and the mourners began to disperse, Charles Parnham edged his way to Susan’s side. After shaking hands with Miss Glover and Mr Turnbull, he took Susan’s arm and led her a little distance away among the headstones, out of earshot.

‘And how goes the world with you, Signora Trotula?’ he asked.

‘Well enough, Dr Parnham. And yeself, sir?’

‘Still at your service if and when you have need, my child.’ He spoke hurriedly, searching her face. ‘Your husband is to enter the Church, I hear. Do you see yourself as a clergy wife?’

Susan’s face was pale and set. ‘I can’t be his wife, sir, f’r the reason ye know well,’ she muttered in such a low, rapid tone that he had to lean his head towards her to hear. ‘At some time, maybe after he’s ordained f’r the Church, I’ll tell him how he may be free o’ me. May I call on ye then, sir?’

He sighed. ‘You know you can call on me, child, but I had hoped that you and he were – having seen your husband on the very day of his return, and his need of your devotion—’

He broke off, inwardly struggling to advise her rightly.

‘My dear child, I have been thinking about you and Edward and – and this burden you bear from the past. Does he still know nothing of it?’

‘No, and he must
never
know it, Dr Parnham!’

‘Now listen, for I think you are wrong there. I now believe that you should tell him the full truth.’

‘No!’

‘But he has a right to be told, and allowed to make his own judgement. If he’s the man I take him for, he’ll be distressed, of course, but his love will be unchanged. In my experience truth is almost always better than ignorance, however painful it may be.’

‘For God’s sake, Dr Parnham, he mustn’t
ever
know,’ she insisted with controlled vehemence, and he noticed that Miss Glover was watching them.

‘Hush, hush, all right, forgive me, my poor child.’ He put a hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘Now, I have been invited to the Hôtel-Dieu in Paris for two months, until mid-September. I’ll let you know of my return in case you need me.’

He smiled and shook her hand. ‘Your friend Miss Glover is waiting for you over there. She will assume you are upset for Mrs Coulter, so let her think so. We must say goodbye now, my dear, and please consider what I have said.’

‘Goodbye, Dr Parnham. God bless you, sir.’

They shook hands and he turned abruptly away. Sophia looked on the point of saying something when Susan rejoined her, but refrained. Whatever the state of the doctor’s heart, she was in no doubt of Susan’s loyalty to her husband.

When Mr Turnbull left the graveside of his old and trusted friend, the promptings of conscience sent him straight to the rectory. He had been putting off his next visit to Dr Gravett, and now braced himself to hear the usual catalogue of woe with better forbearance.

As he was shown up the stairs by a housemaid – Miss Gravett having not yet returned from the funeral – he met a manservant carrying a chamberpot from the rector’s room. Suddenly an idea came into his mind: a suspicion that the old hypochondriac might have some reason for his complaints.

‘Give that to me for a minute,’ he told the man. ‘I have to make a diagnostic test.’

On the landing he set the pot upon a chair, and dipping his right forefinger into the urine he swirled it round and then, holding his breath, he placed his wet finger on his tongue.

There was no mistaking the taste: it was honey-sweet.

Of course. He should have guessed it weeks ago. The thirst, the loss of weight, the dry, sore mouth – all pointed to the mysterious and fatal sugar malady, described as
diabetes
by the ancient Greek physicians. The cause was not understood, and there was no cure: Octavius Gravett would die.

The apothecary felt sick and ashamed of his former impatience with a man he had never liked, but who must now face a hideous ordeal, starving to death whilst his body for some unknown reason rejected food and passed it straight through the system.

Turnbull heard the front door open, and Miss Gravett’s voice below in the hall. Putting on a suitably grave expression, he went down to break the news to her and discuss what to tell the invalid.

Even as he did so, he caught himself looking ahead: the rector would need to be replaced, and soon.

SUSAN DREW EDWARD’S
letter from its envelope and spread it out on her lap to read again. It was dated 2 August.

‘I think I did well enough before the Bishop’s chaplain,’ he had written. ‘He gave me a Greek New Testament & set me to construe the 4th Chap: of St Paul’s Epistle to Ephesians. I went tolerably through to the end, but wonder what good Greek will be to a Country Parson?’

Susan smiled and sighed; she felt she could picture the scene.

‘Though there is much Good in this Chap: esp: the final Verses.’

I must look at that passage in the Bible, Susan thought, and continued to read.

‘He then asked me if I wd uphold the Protestant Religion in England, and abide by the 39 Articles of the Church. The whole of it was not above half an hour. I am hopeful of taking Holy Orders in another Month, and then to see you again, dear Wife and Love of my Life. There is much to consider fr the Future. I pray fr you & ask yr prayers fr yr loving & devoted Husband, Edwd: Calthorpe.’

Susan sat in silent thought, wondering if he had yet heard of the rector’s illness. Parson Roberts was taking Divine Service in both parishes, and finding his duties heavy, especially as his young wife was due to give birth at Christmas to their first child. Mr Calthorpe made no secret of his hopes that Edward would be the next incumbent of Great St Giles.

I simply could not bear it, Susan thought despairingly. To live in the shadow of Bever House, patronised by Mrs Calthorpe and Osmond’s wife would be intolerable. Edward will have to be told about the annulment, and soon. Should she write to tell him of it now? Or wait until he returned, a clerk in Holy Orders, and spring it on him? What a greeting!

Oh, Edward, Edward – would he ever forgive her?

There was a tap at the door, and Mrs Decker’s eager face appeared round it.

‘Yes, Lizzie, what is it?’

‘My mother thinks you should know, Susan, that Mrs Osmond Calthorpe’s waters broke this morning, a full month before due time, as she sat on the close-stool. Mrs Hansford has gone to her side, and the gig has been sent to Belhampton to fetch Mrs Madingley.’