A Carriage for the Midwife (52 page)

‘My apologies, sir. I hold your wife in the highest esteem, and ’tis for that very reason I beg for this interview with you. She has honoured me with her confidence and given me leave to speak to you on her behalf.’

Edward stared back as the import of the words sunk in. Was it possible that this patronising middle-aged doctor knew of his Susan’s dreadful secret? That she had actually confided in him? Edward’s mouth hardened as he pictured them together, the man listening to her, comforting her and wiping away her tears. It was not to be borne!

‘You and various other busybodies seem to have knowledge about my wife that was denied to me until I went in search of it. Why could she not confide in her husband?’ he asked bitterly.

When Parnham saw that Edward knew already, he guessed that the shock had been recent.

‘Because she was terrified of what you would think – what you would say to her,’ he pleaded. ‘For God’s sake, Calthorpe, think of the shame and misery she has endured, the – her defilement—’

He stopped when he saw Edward’s fist raised against him.

‘Damn you to hell! I warn you, Parnham, I shall not hesitate to strike you here in the street for uttering such—’

But Parnham leaped forward and seized the upraised arm.

‘One moment, sir. You may call me what you like – I care nothing for you – but don’t ever let me hear anything but good of that virtuous woman, Mrs Edward Calthorpe. My God, I only hope you are half worthy of her love, Parson!’

And turning on his heel he strode away, leaving Edward in a confused state of anger and increasing regret, to continue on his way towards and across the common. He now admitted to himself that he had never got over his resentment of Parnham, though he had every reason to be grateful to the man; Susan’s close attachment to her teacher and the time they spent together as fellow practitioners had always made him feel excluded and therefore jealous; but now he began to suspect that he had not only misjudged the man, but insulted him deeply.

Plodding his solitary way across the darkening heathland, his main concern now was for Susan: how he should approach her with his new knowledge, whether he should tell her where he had been and what he had heard. Parnham’s words echoed in his head:
the shame and misery she has endured – her defilement.

‘Oh, Susan, Susan, my wife, my only love, what shall I say to thee?’ he asked the empty sky: and knew he could never bear to see fear in those clear grey eyes again.

And as the ground began to fall away towards the valley, the answer came to him like a message from heaven. He almost groaned aloud with relief as he understood what he had to do, what he must tell her. His heart beat faster as he approached Beversley. Soon he would see her face again, and hear her sweet voice. He found himself longing for her, not with bodily desire, but rather with the deep and protective love of a parent for a child, or a brother for a dear sister. He increased his pace when he saw May Cottage: he was home. Home at last!

To be greeted by an astonished Widow Smart.

‘Mercy on us, Mr Calthorpe, why didn’t you let us know you were coming today? Mrs Susan and my Lizzie have been with a woman in travail these many hours. Mag! Go and boil water for the master, and bring a glass of ale!’

Mrs Mary Spooner had been delivered of a son, and Susan was in that exultant state known to all midwives when a child is safely born; to come home and find Edward waiting for her was further cause for rejoicing. She went to him without a word, and he held her close against his heart for a long minute.

‘He’s come only in what he stands up in, Susan. His box is still at Belhampton,’ said Mrs Smart, bustling round them while Lizzie tactfully withdrew. ‘I’ve put out a clean nightshirt on your bed, and Nathaniel’s razor by the wash-stand.’

Edward slowly drew apart from his wife, checking the words of love on his lips. She looked anxiously up into his face.

‘Edward, are ye not well? Ye look wearied and pale. What’s happened? Why didn’t ye send word o’ y’r coming?’

He hesitated. The last few days have been difficult, Susan, and events have moved somewhat ahead of me. I find that I need time for reflection and to consider my new responsibilities as a man of the Church.’

‘Ye mean as rector o’ Great St Giles?’ She looked worried.

‘It seems that I must take charge of the parish while there is uncertainty over Dr Gravett’s position – and whether I shall be appointed as his successor is a matter to be discussed before it is decided. Your wishes must be my guide.’

Mrs Smart set down a tray on the table, and Edward gestured to Susan to be seated.

‘And in view of all this, and my own doubts about my fitness for such onerous duties, Susan, I have something that I must tell you. Thank you, Mrs Smart. Will you please close the door on your way out?’

They sat down together, and she looked into his face wonderingly; what was coming next? And how soon would she be able to speak of Dr Parnham, and send Edward to see him?

He took her hands gently between his, and spoke with the greatest tenderness.

‘Dearest wife, I have taken a vow of chastity.’

She shook her head slightly, not understanding.

‘Other priests of the Church have made this vow at various times, in order to devote themselves entirely to God’s work and to hear His voice more clearly, Susan. I know that I have need of a deeper spiritual life, and so I have made this solemn promise.’

‘Edward – why, Edward, I never expected to hear this,’ she said in some bewilderment. ‘How long’d it be for?’

‘For as long as I know it to be God’s will that I should continue in it, Susan. I trust that you understand and agree that we should live so?’

‘Why, yes, o’ course –’tis my duty to obey ye, Edward. And I can obey ye in this,’ she added, a smile lighting her eyes as she began to understand. ‘D’ye mean that we shall live under this roof as – like brother and sister?’

He smiled and nodded. ‘In a sense, my Susan, though closer if you are willing that we share the same bed as we have done. I am bound by my vow not to unite my body with yours, and shall not break it under any circumstances until such time as I know myself released from it.’

‘And how’ll ye know that, Edward?’ she asked, her eyes searching his face.

‘I think we shall both know when the time is right, Susan, and we would have to be in full agreement.’

‘And if we’re not, Edward, what then?’

‘Then the vow will remain – for life, if necessary.’

‘Oh, Edward.’ She whispered his name, unable to believe that he truly meant to live in chastity with her. It was something she had never expected and could not possibly have hoped for. It was welcome news, of course, and yet there was something that struck her as strange in the very timeliness of it.

‘Are ye truly sure o’ this, Edward? Is it what ye honestly believe ye should do?’

‘Entirely sure, my love. You need not doubt it.’

She felt that she had to persist, however. ‘But if ye wanted to be free o’ marriage, Edward, ye know we ha’ never been truly man and wife – and without that, we’re not lawfully married.’

He gave a gasp of shocked surprise. ‘What are you saying, Susan? We took vows in a church before God, and that means we are truly married in my belief.’

‘But not in law, Edward. Our marriage could be annulled in a court o’ law if we were both to swear before a judge that we’d never been man and wife together.’

He gripped her wrist. ‘You have been talking to somebody, Susan. Who has been telling you this?’ he demanded. ‘Was it my cousin Sophia?’

‘No, Edward, no, ’tis o’ no importance. I heard it somewhere, that’s all.’

‘Was it that man Parnham?’

She blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘Dr Parnham meant well, Edward. He had your good in mind.’

So that was it. The cunning old fox had clearly had an eye to his own advantage, just as Edward had always suspected. Well, he had not succeeded.

Still holding her hand, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

‘Let me say one thing and say it for ever, Susan. You are my wife, the only woman I have ever loved. I shall never seek for an annulment of the sacred bond between us, never as long as I live. Even if we never experience the bodily union. Do you understand that, Susan?’

And as if they were exchanging their marriage vows all over again, she nodded and replied solemnly, ‘I do.’

AND SO IT
was by mutual consent, unknown to the rest of the world, that when the bedroom door closed on Parson Calthorpe and his wife they slept together in peace and mutual understanding, lying side by side or with her curled up against his back. Warmed by their love, they were untroubled in their thoughts; she had no need to fear, and he, bound by the vow he had taken, experienced that total absence of carnal desire that many men discover when their wives are heavy with child or having their monthly flow or some other barrier to passion. Channelling his energies into parish duties. Parson Calthorpe’s days were full of good works and his slumbers were sweet.

A new era began for the parish of Great St Giles. Holy Communion was no longer restricted to once a month but offered weekly at Divine Service. The musicians and choirmen were encouraged to try out new settings for the liturgy and Pslams, and the parson greeted each member of the congregation as they left. When there had been a birth or a death in a family, he visited the home, and on occasion would admonish a drunkard or a neglectful parent, though always holding out the promise of forgiveness to the penitent. It was said of him that he was as good as poor Parson Smart had been in Lower Beversley.

He made time to call at the rectory daily to sit and talk with Dr Gravett, who became more fearful and querulous as his strength ebbed. Miss Glover assisted Miss Gravett with his nursing care, which seemed to give him comfort, while the elder Miss Calthorpe took over more duties at the House of Industry, prevailing upon a Belhampton physician to visit the orphans and keep a check on their health; this led to reform of their diet and other improvements. Mrs Croker was replaced by a decent married couple who ran the institution in accordance with their strict Methodist principles, seeing each inmate as a potential soul to be saved and a body to be cared for.

Parson Calthorpe and his wife were regular visitors at Bever House, for Susan was welcomed and respected for what she had done for Mrs Osmond and baby Gertrude, both now making good progress; the baby’s right arm was still weaker than the left, but was growing. There were even a few social exchanges between Susan and her brother-in-law, who complimented Edward on his good fortune.

‘My God, she was a good friend to Rosa on that ghastly night, Ned. Mrs Ferris has curdled my blood with the hideous details, and God knows when Rosa will be ready to try for a boy – but your Susan worships the ground you walk on, you lucky devil.’

Their contentment was noted by Miss Glover, who gave fervent thanks for the outcome of her bold intervention. Although Edward never spoke directly to her of his secret visit to Portsmouth, his meaning looks and the firm clasp of his hand conveyed his gratitude well enough, while Susan’s bright eyes and trustful smiles were sufficient proof of her happiness as a wife, and Sophia was convinced that all was known and understood between Mr and Mrs Edward Calthorpe.

Mr Roberts at the parsonage of Little St Giles was glad to have his duties eased and his stipend increased, while his wife grew heavier with their first child, due in December. She and Mrs Decker, who had grown up in the parsonage, became firm friends, and Susan promised to let her assistant deliver the baby if all went well.

‘D’you think she’ll give birth before Christmas, my love?’ Edward asked his wife. ‘Roberts is so taken up with her that he can hardly give his mind to his parishioners.’

Was there just a trace of envy in his voice? Susan was not sure as she replied. ‘The child’s head is well down, and she could be delivered by mid-December.’

But it was at ten in the morning on the twenty-fourth of December that the message came from the parsonage that Mrs Roberts’ pains had begun.

‘We’ll go to find out her progress, Lizzie, and then you can stay with her while I come back to make pastry and glaze the apricot tart,’ said Susan, busy with festive fare.

Jane Roberts was in early travail; the ring admitted barely two fingers.

‘Is it likely to take long?’ asked Mr Roberts anxiously. ‘I hardly like to leave the parsonage while she suffers so.’

Susan assured him that he could safely attend to his morning duties, and told Lizzie she would return in the afternoon unless sent for earlier. As she left, Widow Gibson appeared on the back doorstep with a bottle of French brandy.

‘Oi’ll mix a few tablespoons wi’ fruit cordial an’ peel an apple in a pan wi’ cloves an’ sugar,’ she told the curate. ‘Best relief fur pain o’ travail as Oi knows.’

Susan frowned and warned Mr Roberts not to give any of this concoction to his wife, though he might benefit from a little of it himself, taken in a glass of hot water. The delicious aroma of it filled the house, and when Susan returned just after three, she suspected that the whole household had tasted and approved the excellent punch, as the curate called it, though he wondered how the old woman had come by such coveted brandy.

Travail advanced slowly as the daylight faded, and Jane Roberts clung to Lizzie as the pains got stronger. When Susan went downstairs to check that there was water on the boil, she found the Widow Gibson in the kitchen, stirring her own heady mixture on the hob beside the open fire. Her face was flushed and her rheumy eyes gleamed when Susan entered.

‘Ah, ’ee’s a fine young parson’s wife these days, Dame Trot! ’Ee’s come a long way from the Ash-Pits, eh?’

She swayed slightly, and Susan saw that the young maidservant had also been tippling. She frowned and took the pan off the hob, putting a lid on it.

‘We’ll save that to celebrate the birth o’ the baby,’ she said firmly. ‘I don’t like folk drinking when a woman’s in travail.’

Mrs Gibson felt her disapproval and eyed her thoughtfully.