The Quietness (17 page)

A hot rush of shame flushed Queenie’s cheeks. She was angry with herself for standing there with an armful of gifts and no one to give them to. They were all getting on well enough without her. Da was there, Mam had a new baby and Tally was all grown up. They didn’t need her and her daft trinkets. They didn’t need her at all. The thought took Queenie’s breath away for a moment. What had she been expecting? That they’d still be missing her after all this time? It had been nearly a year, and not once had she let them know she was safe and doing well. A worm of guilt uncurled in her belly. How could she have done that to them? They most likely thought she was dead. She imagined Tally weeping for her and the thought made her throat tight and her eyes sting. She swallowed hard and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. They looked happy enough without her in any case. They’d probably mourned her and forgotten about her by now.

For a moment Queenie felt lost; caught between two worlds. She looked down at her new boots and felt ridiculous and embarrassed. Well, if they didn’t need her, thought Queenie, then she didn’t need them. She had a new place in the world now and it was far better than this stinking hole. With a last glance at the dark doorway she used to call home, Queenie turned on her heels and hurried out of the tangle of passageways. She trod carefully so as not to muddy the hem of her gown or dirty her new boots too much.

Queenie heard Ellen’s cries of pain sounding through the house as soon as she got back to Wild Street. She threw her parcels on the kitchen table and grabbed the kettle to fill. She would be needed now and she knew exactly what to do.

I woke with an ache in my back and thought I must have slept awkwardly. Although a small fire was burning in the grate, it was bitter cold in the room and I made my mind up to stay in bed a while. It was hard to move about with my belly so big and the effort to get dressed usually wore me out for the rest of the day. I propped myself up on my pillows and took up my sewing. The room was dim and it tired my eyes to sew by the light of a candle. I must have fallen asleep again and when I woke the fire had gone out. Grey light crept low into the room and I thought it must be late afternoon. My back was aching much worse than before and I was desperate to relieve myself. As I climbed from my bed and reached down for the chamber pot a warm fluid ran down my legs and pooled on the floor. I was surprised and dismayed, as I still felt the need to relieve myself and could not understand what had happened. I was embarrassed that Queenie would know what I had done, but I had no cloths to mop up the mess. Then the first pain came and then the next and I pulled myself back onto the bed.

The pains ripped through me and caught my insides so tight I thought I might die. I bit down hard on my pillow and howled like an animal. I curled into a ball. But still they would not stop. I knelt and held on to the headboard. I hardly knew where I was. Faster and faster the pains came, not giving me a moment to breathe. Just as I thought I could bear it no more, the tightening in my belly loosened and the pains slipped away. I gasped for air and slumped down on the bed. I saw the neat pile of tiny chemises that Queenie had brought. Would a child be dressed in them by the end of the day? Then the pains came again and all thoughts were wrenched from my head.

I was floating on a sea of agony; each wave of pain growing bigger and bigger. I was swallowed up and lost. The real world slipped away from me and time stood still. I called out for Mary but she did not come. The pains kept rolling through me.

Then there was a cold cloth on my brow and hot knives in my belly. And a voice telling me to hush, all would be well. Then I was pushing and pushing and I could not stop and there was a hot rush from inside of me. Then I saw Queenie smiling at me and she was holding a bloodied bundle in her arms.

Queenie wiped the blood off the baby and wrapped it tight in a soft clean cloth. It looked all there to her, with ten fingers and toes, a tuft of black hair and creamy white skin. It had all happened so quickly, but she was proud she had managed on her own. The worst part had been cutting the cord. It was thicker and tougher than she had imagined. She was worried it would hurt Miss Swift and the baby, as it was part of both of them. But Miss Swift hadn’t even noticed. She had fallen into an exhausted trance before the afterbirth had come out. Queenie had wrapped that mess up in old newspaper and thrown it on the fire. It had crackled and spat as it burned.

Miss Swift was stirring now. ‘Is it out of me?’ she mumbled.

‘Here,’ said Queenie, tilting the bundle towards her. We’ve been waiting for you to come round. Do you want to hold it?’

Miss Swift’s eyes opened wide. She shook her head hard, a look of alarm on her face.

‘Come on,’ said Queenie. ‘It won’t bite!’ She pressed the warm little parcel into Miss Swift’s arms. Miss Swift stared at Queenie and then down at the baby. She looked to Queenie like a young girl with a doll. Then very gingerly Miss Swift unwrapped the cloth from around the baby.

‘Oh,’ she said, looking up. ‘It is a girl.’

‘I know,’ said Queenie. ‘She’s beautiful, ain’t she?

‘She’s perfect,’ whispered Miss Swift. The baby was making small bleating sounds and rubbing its face into Miss Swift’s chest. ‘What is the matter with her?’ she asked Queenie. ‘Is she quite all right?’

‘She’s just looking for your ti . . . for you to nurse her,’ said Queenie. ‘She’ll be hungry, that’s all. But don’t you mind about that. I’ll take her downstairs and give her a bottle. Then you can rest some more.’

‘I . . . I am not sure,’ said Ellen. She looked shyly at Queenie. ‘I do not want to let her go yet. I think I would like to feed her myself. Would you . . . would you fetch me a bottle?’

Queenie brought a bottle of milk up from the kitchen. It was the freshest she could find and she had warmed it gently.

‘How do I do it?’ asked Miss Swift when Queenie handed her the bottle.

‘Well . . . you just have to offer her the teat. She’ll know just what to do.’

Miss Swift looked at Queenie with wide eyes. ‘Is she so clever?’ she asked. Miss Swift brought the baby close to and pressed the teat to her lips.

‘I’ll leave you alone now,’ said Queenie. ‘You’ll be wanting to be private.’ She felt strange, like she was intruding on something, that she shouldn’t really be there.

‘No . . . no. Please stay!’ said Miss Swift. ‘I . . . I need you, Queenie. I could not have gone through this without you. Please don’t go.’

Queenie sat on the chair and watched as Miss Swift awkwardly cradled her babe.

‘Oh!’ said Miss Swift. ‘You are right! She is suckling!’

Queenie saw that special look on Miss Swift’s face; like she was in the best place in the world. It seemed she had fallen in love with her child in an instant. Queenie remembered Mam looking like that with each new babe; like they were the only reason to keep going. A hole opened up inside her. She missed Mam and the little ones. She missed Da. And she didn’t like how much it hurt.

She thought of the babies downstairs. How still and unwanted they were. Would the same thing happen to this baby? Would Miss Swift let her little one be taken to a new home? A picture of blankets and baby clothes stuffed in a tin box flashed through her mind. She saw Mrs Waters coming out of the scullery with a brown paper parcel tucked under her arm, and she heard again the shouts of the newspaper boy. She shook her head hard; pushing the pictures and words back where they had come from. Back behind the imaginary sheet in her head. She could never let anyone know what she had seen.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Queenie jumped to her feet. The sisters were back and she hadn’t done any of her chores or checked on the babies once since she’d come back from her visit home. Mrs Waters walked into the room and took in the scene with one sweeping glance.

‘Mrs Ellis needs you downstairs,’ she said to Queenie. Her voice was cold. Queenie didn’t want to leave Miss Swift alone but Mrs Waters was already shooing her away and walking towards the bed. Queenie went out into the hallway and as the bedroom door closed behind her, she heard Mrs Waters say, ‘Now then. What have we here?’

‘You shouldn’t be doing that, Miss Swift,’ Mrs Waters said to me. ‘I am surprised at you. Only the lower classes nurse their own. Besides, you should be resting.’

‘I was only feeding her,’ I said. ‘She was hungry.’

‘Be that as it may, it is not fitting for a lady of your social standing to engage in such an activity. Believe me. Now give the child and the bottle here and I will see it is fed downstairs.’

‘But she is asleep now and I do not want to wake her.’ The thought of Mrs Waters holding my baby made my stomach churn. She had only been out of me for such a short while. She was so new and untouched. I wanted to study her face, her silky lashes and her lips like tiny plump cushions. I could not let her go. She belonged to me and for the first time in my life I felt the force of real, solid love. ‘She is happy as she is, thank you, Mrs Waters,’ I said. ‘I would like to be alone now so I can rest.’

In truth I was frightened out of my wits to be left alone. My whole body was sore and there was a deal of blood on my sheets. I dared not move for I thought my insides might spill out of me. My little daughter felt so fragile in my arms. I had no idea what to do. Would I know how to be a mother? All I could do for now was to hold her tight.

Mrs Waters set her mouth in a straight line. ‘As you wish,’ she said.

She swept out of the room and I prayed that Queenie would soon come up to me. I listened to my baby breathing and felt the rise and fall of her chest. She was curled up in the crook of my arm, warm and soft like a ball of newly risen dough from Ninny’s kitchen at home. I drifted into a half dream where Ninny was pulling loaves of bread and tins of cakes and pies from the oven. One after the other, until the kitchen table groaned under the weight of them. Then I saw Mother sitting at the end of the table. She was tearing off great chunks of bread and cramming them in her mouth. She was biting into pies and the juices were dribbling down her chin. She was grabbing at handfuls of cake and cream was oozing through her fingers. Her frail frame grew bigger and bigger and her cheeks grew so huge and round they looked fit to burst. Then the heaps of baking turned into a table full of squirming babies and Ninny was pulling more and more from out of the oven. Warm babies freshly baked. I turned to Mother and saw she had a baby in her hands. She was lifting it towards her mouth and I saw her sharp teeth glinting. NO! I shouted. NO!

I opened my eyes. I was trembling and a scream was dying in my throat. I looked down and saw the crook of my arm was empty.

My baby had gone.

I searched around under the sheets and leaned over the side of the bed to check the floor. She was nowhere to be seen. I thought I must still be dreaming.
Wake up!
I told myself.
Wake up!
My head was whirling
. I must find her, I must
find her
. I needed to get help now!

I got up from the bed. My legs were barely able to hold me; I was as unsteady as a newborn foal. The room swam in front of my eyes as I took tiny steps towards the door. My stomach felt as if it was falling out of me and blood poured warm and slow down my legs. I grabbed on to the handle to steady myself and for the first time since I had arrived at this house, I left my bedroom.

The landing was dim and dusty. A candle burned on a table in the corner. I picked it up and shuffled my bare feet across the floorboards as I made my way to the top of the stairs. I held on to the banisters to stop myself from swaying and slowly made my way down two flights. At the bottom of the stairs I found myself in a tiled hallway. There were two closed doors, but the muffled voices I could hear seemed to be coming from the other end of the room. I followed the noises and found myself standing at the top of a small dark stairwell. There was a chink of light shining from under the door at the bottom. I walked slowly down; careful not to stumble and drop the candle. I needed to sit down; my head had grown lighter and lighter, as though it was full of soft feathers. But I had to go on. I had to find my baby. I pushed open the door and as I walked into the room a darkness began to gather in front of my eyes. Queenie was there. She was running towards me and I was screaming. I couldn’t stop. There were babies everywhere and I did not know which one was mine. Then the darkness closed in and Queenie’s arms were around me.

Queenie sat by Miss Swift’s bed and held her hand. She didn’t know what else to do. All night Miss Swift had been restless; slipping in and out of a fitful sleep. She was feverish and Mrs Waters had instructed Queenie to keep a close eye.

Queenie had expected the sisters to be displeased with her. She was afraid they would think she had acted out of turn by helping Miss Swift give birth. But Mrs Waters had seemed happy. She patted Queenie on the shoulder and said to Mrs Ellis quite proudly, ‘She is learning well, our girl, is she not?’

Later on Mrs Waters had brought the baby downstairs and laid it on the sofa with all the others. She poured herself a glass of brandy and looked Queenie square in the eye.

‘It is not so hard to help them get their babies out, is it? And the mother is fine. That is the most important thing with the ladies that come for their confinement. We need to send them home in good health.’

‘Is Miss Swift to go home soon, then?’ Queenie asked.

‘I have sent word she has given birth and a carriage will be coming for her tomorrow evening. It is best she doesn’t see the child again. I think the birth disturbed her more than is usual.’

Queenie remembered how Mam had been after the baby had died. Miss Swift had the same faraway look about her and she wouldn’t stop crying.

‘Your little one is fine,’ Queenie kept telling her. ‘She is doing grand and you’ll be going home soon.’

‘No!’ sobbed Miss Swift. ‘I cannot go. I cannot go without my child. Why did that woman take her from me? Please bring her back to me, Queenie. Please!’