A Carriage for the Midwife (45 page)

Mr Calthorpe gave her a grateful look, bowed to Susan, who had not spoken a word, and led his weeping wife from the room. Sophia followed them, and before they left it was arranged that a supply of nightshirts, linen and a sheepskin bedcover would be sent down from Bever House.

Soon after the carriage had rolled away, Mr Turnbull arrived; he hardly knew whether to rejoice at Edward’s return or warn his wife of the gravity of his condition.

The yellowness may be due to starvation, but I cannot rule out liver inflammation,’ he told them. ‘He must be encouraged to drink plenty of fluid-milk, cordials, a little wine – and try feeding him with bread soaked in milk, and a boiled potato mashed with butter and a beaten egg. We need to get some flesh on his bones.’

He paused and looked compassionately on the man he had known and liked from early childhood, then turned to Susan and allowed himself a smile.

‘He is as well looked after as any invalid could be, madam.’

Turnbull was not the only medical man to see Edward Calthorpe on the day of his return to Beversley. Lizzie Decker appeared at the bedroom door while the apothecary was talking in a low tone to the two women, and announced that Dr Parnham had come over from Belhampton to see Madam Trotula.

Susan rose at once. ‘Ah, yes, I will see him downstairs—’

But Sophia intervened, gesturing for Susan to sit down again.

‘Bid the doctor to come up, Mrs Decker, and see Mr Edward for himself.’

Susan obediently resumed her seat and took hold of Edward’s hand.

And that was the picture that Charles Parnham saw as he stood in the doorway: the sick man with his wife at his side, his cousin at hand and Mr Turnbull standing at the foot of the bed. He took in the situation in that one glance, nodded and bestowed a smile of sympathy upon them all.

‘Heaven be thanked, Mrs Calthorpe, that he truly lives and is restored to you,’ he said quietly, and glanced at the apothecary. ‘If there is anything wanting, Turnbull, anything I can obtain for him, you have only to send word.’

Susan could not speak. She felt that there was nothing she could say to this man who knew and could be relied on to keep her secret. She guessed that whatever he had done about negotiating for an annulment, he would proceed no further until Edward was fit enough to be told about it, whenever that might be, and meanwhile the whole matter would have to be set aside.

Miss Glover accompanied the two men from the room and down the stairs, where they exchanged medical opinions, both favourable and unfavourable, before taking their leave.

So began a week in which Edward’s life hung in the balance, when nights and days blurred into each other as he drifted down the strange and sometimes sinister pathways of delirium – always coming back to find Susan holding him in her arms, his head resting on the soft white bib of her apron. Her skilled hands now gently tended his body, washing his flesh and keeping his skin moist with oil applied to the creases of his groin and male parts. A glass jar was kept ready at the bedside for when he passed water, and Susan would carefully put it in position between his thighs and direct his limp male member into it. Sometimes he was scarcely aware of her ministrations, but in attending on these intimate needs she became familiar with his body in a way that she had previously never imagined.

By the second week in February Mr Turnbull pronounced Edward out of danger, and although he would need a long period of convalescence, he was gaining weight and strength with every day that passed. His parents continued to see him and note the improvement, and his sisters also visited. His brother, Osmond, and sister-in-law, Rosa, did not come to the cottage, but waited until he was well enough to make the short journey to Bever House. The carriage was sent for him and his wife, but Susan declined to accompany him, as she said she had to keep a close eye on a woman who had had a difficult birthing and whose baby she felt might have a stoppage.

On his return from the visit Edward was completely exhausted, and took to his bed; it was not until the following morning that he talked of it to his wife and cousin as they sat at their needlework in the parlour. He began by quietly passing on the news that his sister-in-law believed herself to be with child again, and expecting to deliver some time in early September.

‘My father is naturally happy at the prospect of a grandchild, and is sure that it will be a boy,’ he told them. ‘He hopes it will have a steadying effect on my brother, to know that he has an heir to follow him as landowner of the Bever estate.’

Sophia nodded gravely. She had heard about Osmond’s drinking, especially since Rosa’s disappointment last September.

‘And did Rosa seem well?’ she asked, as Susan remained silent.

‘She says she is hoping to carry this one safely.’

He did not mention his own misgivings about his brother’s marriage. Osmond had drunk his usual bottle of wine at dinner, and when the ladies had withdrawn, Edward had remonstrated with him at the request of their father.

‘For God’s sake, Ned, why d’you think I drink?’ came the irritable reply. ‘’Tis to banish the sight of my poor Polly lying there with my two sweet sons, dead as gravestones but always with me, night and day.’

‘It’s time to consign that poor girl to heaven, Brother, and have some care for your wife and the child she’s carrying,’ Edward had urged. ‘Your duty is now to the living. God has forgiven you your sins of the past—’

‘
He
may have done, but
I
have not,’ retorted Osmond, raising his glass again. Silent and morose when sober, he became maudlin when drunk, sighing and groaning over what could not be undone. Edward pitied him, having heard from Susan a brief account of Polly’s death and Henry’s secret part in it.

Sophia too kept her own counsel. Mrs Hansford had confided to her that Rosa was hurt by Osmond’s mutterings in his sleep, his troubled memories of ‘pretty little Polly’. Sophia prayed that the arrival of a lawful heir would end this dwelling on the girl he had loved and deserted.

Meanwhile she remarked on the improvement in Edward’s looks. Susan smiled her agreement, and Edward said he must soon be about the business of making a living. When they both protested that he must not think of work for some time to come, he bid them affectionately to hold their tongues and listen to what he had to say.

‘’Tis time I told you something, dearest Susan, and you, too. Cousin,’ he said with a sudden earnestness that compelled their full attention. ‘You will have observed that I am changed by my experiences,’ he began. ‘In fact I have changed in every respect but one – my love for you, Susan.’

Susan lowered her eyes and Sophia remembered Henry’s devotion.

Edward continued, ‘When we were on opposite shores of the great Atlantic ocean and I feared never to see your face again, I began to consider how I would use my life if I was spared to return to you.’

He paused a little breathlessly, and Susan put down her sewing to move closer to him and take his hand.

‘Ye always said ye’d join y’r father’s old law office in Belhampton, Edward.’

‘Ah, yes, and I dreamed of a couple of cosy little rooms where we would live above the office or within easy distance of it – that was the dream, my Susan. But that’s all past now, and I have lost any love I might once have had for the law.’

He paused again, his features assuming a faraway look, as if recalling a precious memory.

‘Let me tell you of something that happened when I was lying sick with fever at Chippercreek, and would certainly have died if Mrs Nollekens had not defied her husband and taken me into their house.’

He stopped and hesitated as he searched for a way to describe the indescribable, while the two women hung upon his words.

‘One night I seemed to leave my body and was carried up into an airy region of dazzling light, too bright to look upon. I believe that it was a foretaste of Heaven itself, and I cannot possibly convey to you what it was like, but I was in the presence of my Saviour and those who have gone ahead of us.’

‘Oh, ’twas a blessed vision, Edward, given to you by God!’ cried Sophia, tears springing to her eyes.

‘I believe so, Sophy. And when I came back to the sorrows of this world, I knew that I would recover, but that my life must change direction. I vowed then and there to devote the rest of my time to serving God in his church in England. I shall therefore return to my Oxford college and study for ordination.’

‘Praise be to God!’ exclaimed Sophia, though Susan felt bewildered.

‘But ye ha’ studied f’r the law, Edward!’

He smiled lovingly at her. ‘I have a good Bachelor’s degree, ’tis true, and am well versed in the classics and proficient in Latin and Greek. This will be no bar to offering myself as a candidate for ordination, quite the contrary, and I hope to be a clerk in Holy Orders before too long. I am called to service, Susan, and must follow.’

‘And when ye’re ordained, Edward, will ye serve here – at Little St Giles?’

‘My dear Susan, he must go where God sends him, whether here or elsewhere, and as his wife you must go with him,’ Sophia told her seriously. Rising from her chair she went and kissed her cousin, and then Susan.

‘I am so happy to hear your news, Edward, and will pray for your ministry – and for yours, Susan, as the wife of a clergyman.’

‘But ye need to get y’re strength back, Edward, and I won’t let ye go to Oxford or anywhere until ye’re ready for’t,’ Susan told him with equal firmness, at which he laughed and said he had a scold for a wife but no complaints.

‘With the good care and fattening up I’m receiving, I hope to be ready for Oxford before the end of March, though I dread the thought of parting from you again, dearest Susan.’

Parting again . . . The thought of it gave Susan a pang, not knowing for how long he would be away. During these winter weeks of nursing him, sleeping beside him as he lay in her own bed, she had experienced something very close to happiness. In his weak state there had been no question of conjugal relations, yet she had been reminded of the depth of his love, and of hers for him. Any talk of an annulment would have to be shelved until . . . perhaps until after his return from Oxford as a clerk in Holy Orders. She trusted that she would know when the time was right. It was not yet.

Then Sophia came and put an arm around her waist. ‘This has been a very special time in our lives, Susan. It has made a great difference to me, can’t you see?’

Susan turned to look at her friend – the sweetly earnest face, the blue eyes that could be stern as well as gentle. And she saw that it was true. Gone was the pallor, the hollow cheeks with their gaunt shadows, the hopeless misery of eyes and mouth: Sophia Glover was smiling again, as if a light had been relit.

‘Sophy! Oh, dearest Sophy, how would we ha’ done without ye through all this time?’

‘Ah, Susan, ’tis by God’s grace and thanks to you and Edward, I have returned to the land of the living.’

Visitors now began to call, among them the rector, who came and told the invalid about his own wretched state of health.

‘My niece has no idea of my needs as poor Amelia had,’ he said as he slumped wearily on the parlour sofa. ‘I’ve lost much weight, yet I’m hungry and parched with thirst half the time. It’s all very fine for Turnbull to tell me to drink more water, but nothing seems to quench it. Yesterday I drank a pint mug of porter twice over, and half a bottle of claret within two hours of dining.’

Edward winced, and tried not to recoil from the unpleasant, acidic smell of the man’s breath.

‘I can see that you are leaner, sir,’ he said. ‘Has Miss Gravett put you on a regime of no red meat or pudding?’

‘She seems to think that more vegetables and fruit will help to cure the soreness of my gums,’ grumbled the rector, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue. ‘And she says ‘twill help the gravel. I often need to void water more than twice in an hour – and ’tis as if the piss was scalding hot.’ He grimaced, and Edward had to agree that he looked far from well.

‘What does Mr Turnbull say, sir?’

‘I sometimes wonder how much that man actually knows about medical matters, Edward,’ growled the rector. ‘Half the time he seems to say the first thing that comes into his head, and is always looking at the clock when he visits.’

Dr Gravett’s tendency to hypochondria was well known – in fact something of a joke in Beversley – but it now occurred to Edward that the man might have a serious disorder and nobody was taking him seriously.

‘At any rate,
you
seem to have recovered well,’ said Gravett, who had not visited while Edward was at his most critical. ‘I hear that you are going for ordination.’ He sniffed. ‘Married men are better off than bachelors in the Church, though Amelia was practically as good as a wife when I was indisposed. My niece has no understanding of men’s ailments, none whatsoever.’

He sighed heavily, and got to his feet, leaning on his stick. ‘And you’ve had your cousin Glover attending on you as well, I hear. Well, young Calthorpe, I must bid you good day and wish myself half as fortunate.’

As Edward watched him shuffle out of the room, he felt that he was indeed more fortunate in every way than poor Dr Gravett.

Edward left Beversley for Oxford in the middle of March, just as the daffodils were coming into bloom. The parting was the more painful to Susan because of the secret plan she shared with Parnham and which now lay on her conscience like a betrayal of Edward’s love.

Lying in the narrow span of her bed meant that they slept closely enfolded in each other’s arms, their slumbers sweet and undisturbed by lurking terrors.

Until that last night.

‘Dearest Susan, you have saved my life, yet I have never honoured you as my wife,’ he murmured, kissing her forehead and drawing her closer under the sheepskin.

‘Don’t speak o’t, Edward, ye’ve been so ill – and ’tis all I want, to lie here alongside o’ ye,’ she whispered back. ‘I want nothing more’n this.’

‘Oh, Susan, Susan.’

He buried his face against her neck, and she felt his right hand stroking her back through her nightgown. She trembled as he gently turned her over and let his hand cover each soft breast in turn.