A Carriage for the Midwife (9 page)

‘All right, Marianne. Go home and tell Susan that I’ll go at once to Ash-Pit End and bring Polly back with me. Tell her that Polly will be safe under my roof tonight.’

Within twenty-four hours the news was all over Beversley that both the Lucket girls had left the Ash-Pits to work as maidservants, thanks to the intervention of Miss Glover following a family crisis. Susan was at the Bennetts’ and Polly was in the laundry at Bever House, and they were thought to be very lucky to get such good places, considering where they came from. Bartlemy was a drunken sot and Doll Lucket had gone so wild and strange that neighbours avoided her and threatened their naughty children with a visit from Mad Doll.

Polly found herself the youngest maidservant at Bever House, with two blue stuff gowns, two aprons, two frilled caps and a pair of clogs. She slept on a straw pallet in a whitewashed room with three other girls, and hardly ever thought how this amazing change had come about, or why Miss Glover had so suddenly arrived at the Ash-Pits to remove her at the end of that day when Sukey had gone missing and Da was carried home dead drunk. That was all past, and Polly gave herself up to the happy present where her pretty, smiling face and coaxing ways made her the pet of the servants’ hall.

Susan had to make sure that Mrs Bennett never regretted taking her on. She learned how to scrub the dairy, sweep and polish rooms, shake feather beds and empty chamber pots quickly and quietly, without stopping to chatter. What was drudgery to other servant girls was joyful freedom to Susan, and memories of her past life began to fade, returning only in terrifying dreams from which she awoke with sobbing relief. Her eyes brightened and lost their wary look; her complexion cleared, and even the dour farmer was heard to remark that ‘Ye’d never know that wench was a Lucket.’

Miss Glover kneeled beside her bed and gave thanks for her part in rescuing the Lucket sisters from poverty and fear. She had put her pride in her pocket and begged Mrs Calthorpe to show her well-known benevolence by taking on a poor girl in the laundry, and Polly seemed to have settled well. And if there were some puzzling aspects about Susan’s dramatic appeal on her sister’s behalf, Sophia asked no questions but simply rejoiced at the great improvement in both their lives.

Widow Gibson sat at her cottage door in Quarry Lane and kept her own counsel. Poor Sukey Lucket had suffered for too long, but now she was safe, thank God, and so was that silly little creature Polly, though the old handywoman guessed that she would never know just how much she owed to her elder sister.

THE DAWN CHORUS
was already in full voice when Susan stole silently downstairs, avoiding the creaking stair fourth from the bottom. From the hallway she took the tiled passage to the dairy, cold and clean-smelling; gliding through, she lifted the latch and went out into the May morning. The sun was risen, but the air struck chill on her skin; a heavy dew lay on the grass, and she bent down to dabble her hands in it, rubbing her cheeks with the crystalline drops that would turn to vapour in the sun’s rays.

She remembered how she and Polly had dabbled-in-the-dew as children, washing their faces as milkmaids did. Sadly she now saw little of her high-spirited sister, but knew that she was safe and happy at Bever House, quite a favourite of Mrs Martin, so Miss Glover assured her.

Susan breathed a long sigh of contentment as Great St Giles’ clock struck five. It was her habit to rise before the rest of the household was stirring, to enjoy the beginning of the day in solitude. This was the hour when she could indulge her secret thoughts, and conjure up the face of Edward Calthorpe; she saw him smiling at her and heard his voice addressing her – as a child at the harvest supper, as a growing boy handing her tea in Miss Glover’s parlour and seeking her out in Bennett’s hayfield. There had been a few distant glimpses of him since, but when his schooldays at Winchester had ended he had gone to Oxford, and she could hardly hope to meet him again. He was her ideal, as unattainable as a hero in a story, but Susan would never dream of sharing these memories with the other maidservants, who giggled and whispered about their sweethearts, especially when the outdoor hands came clumping into the kitchen. The farmer’s son, Tom, was an awkward lad, who blushed when the saucy girls simpered at him, but Susan lowered her eyes and got on with serving. Her innocent daydreams set her firmly apart from the clumsy overtures of farm hands, the glances they gave her, sometimes shy, sometimes boldly direct; and she shrank from any actual contact as too close, too gross a reminder of the past.

Her modest demeanour endeared her to Mrs Bennett, who preferred her above any of the others to assist on baking days. It was during these times of working together that Sarah Bennett began to confide in the quiet girl about her worries over her eldest daughter.

‘’Tis four years since she was married to Percy Twydell, and miscarried after a year, poor girl. ‘’Twas a great grief to her, and then she went two years without conceiving, so feared she might have become barren,’ sighed Sarah Bennett, mixing yeast with sugar to add to the earthenware bowl of flour. ‘Now she expects to be confined some time in June, but I think she must be due sooner than she reckons, for she is such a great size. Poor Sally! I wish she could have Mrs Coulter as midwife, as I did, but they live at Pulhurst and that’s too far for Mrs Coulter to go with her rheumaticks.’

‘What’s it about Mrs Twydell as worries ye, Mrs Bennett?’ asked Susan. She was fascinated by the mysteries of childbearing, remembering how she had helped Doll at Joby’s birth.

‘Her ankles are swollen with the dropsy, and I fear she may have the mother’s malady that some women get when with child,’ replied the farmer’s wife with a frown. ‘I’ve heard Margaret Coulter tell o’ women who started having fits when the child was due to be born, and one who died with her child. This swelling up is a first sign, and I wish that my Sally were here under my own roof. Percy’s got no idea how to deal with her – you can’t expect a man to know of women’s matters.’

Susan hardly knew what to say to comfort her mistress, but it seemed that the Pulhurst midwife had recommended the young mother-to-be to rest as much as she could on a bed or couch, and to keep her swollen legs raised.

‘She’s told Sally to take rhubarb to keep her bowel open and reduce the fluid in her body,’ said Mrs Bennett, shaking her head doubtfully. ‘I declare I shall not have a full night’s sleep until she be safely delivered.’

‘Maybe ye worry overmuch, Mrs Bennett, bein’ her mother,’ said Susan gently. ‘In a week or two ’twill all be over, an’ the pains forgot, I dare say – an’ ye’ll have a baby to hold an’ hush!’

‘I pray that you be proved right, Susan. The trouble is that my Sally’s always been one to worry about herself, and we all fussed over her when she miscarried. Perhaps she needed firmer handling, though it breaks my heart to see her crying.’

Mrs Bennett wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron, and Susan stopped kneading dough for a moment.

‘Why don’t ye go an’ visit her this afternoon, Mrs Bennett? Me an’ Bet can see to the chickens an’ get the men’s supper in the pot. Ye could take Bessie with ye to cheer her sister!’

‘You’re a good girl, Susan,’ replied the anxious mother gratefully. ‘You’re right, I’ll get young Tom to drive me over to Pulhurst in the three-seater. But I’ll leave Bessie here, for ’twill be women’s talk, and not for little ears.’

Sophia Glover had been visiting at the parsonage of Little St Giles when she saw Mrs Bennett setting off for Pulhurst. It gave her an opportunity to call at the farmhouse in the hope of having a few words with Susan.

‘I’m that glad to see ye, Miss Glover! Mrs Bennett be gone to visit her daughter at Pulhurst, Miss Marianne has walked out with another young lady, and Bessie is working on her sampler.’

After duly admiring Bessie’s embroidery stitches, Sophia sat down with Susan in the kitchen, and was told of Mrs Bennett’s fears for her daughter.

‘’Tis a pity that Mrs Coulter cannot attend her, but she has become sadly crippled by the hip-gout and cannot travel any distance to a confinement,’ said Sophia, who was becoming increasingly concerned for Beversley’s only midwife. ‘Mr Turnbull has tried various remedies and poultices, but nothing gives her ease from the pain for more than an hour.’

‘I’m sorry to hear on’t, Miss Glover. And ha’ ye seen Polly?’ asked Susan eagerly.

Sophia smiled. ‘It seems that your sister has a way of breaking the hearts of the menservants without losing the friendship of the maids at Bever House! Why, she has even won over that grim-faced old coachman Jude, who let her take the reins of the gig and drive it round the stable-yard. Mrs Martin could hardly believe her eyes!’

Susan clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, can’t I just
see
her, my saucy little Poll! She’ll be lookin’ out to be Harvest Queen, I dare say.’

Sophia’s smile vanished. ‘I doubt there’ll be any harvest celebration this year, Susan. This wretched war against our American colonies is taking its toll, and land taxes are going up to pay for it. My cousin Calthorpe is feeling the pinch.’

Susan had managed to keep up with the progress of the war through reading the
Hampshire Chronicle
when the farmer had finished with it. She read it aloud to the other house servants, and was under the impression that the war was going well.

‘’Tis said that the army and navy’ll soon get the better o’ the rebels, Miss Glover.’

‘Yes, that’s what Dr Gravett says, but Squire Hansford is not so certain, and maybe he has better knowledge, with his son in the navy,’ replied Sophia, lowering her soft blue eyes. ‘This war has already lasted three years, and caused great divisions in Parliament, especially now that France has declared its support for the Americans.’

‘And does the squire fear for his son?’ asked Susan, recalling the tall, fair young midshipman who was a close friend of the Calthorpe brothers.

‘Henry’s parents cannot help but fear for a son on active service in time of war,’ answered Sophia gravely, and Susan was suddenly struck by an alarming thought.

‘But the war’ll be over afore Master Edward be done with . . .’ she began, then hesitated, unable to find the right words.

‘My cousin Edward has another year yet at Oxford,’ answered Sophia, not adding that Osmond had lately been sent down without obtaining a degree, to the dismay of his mother and anger of his father. ‘It’s likely that the war will be finished by then, one way or another. There are those in Parliament who would grant the colonies their independence. But, Susan, there is something else I must tell you, something much closer to home. This business of parish relief—’

Susan stiffened immediately. ‘I’ve heard somethin’ o’ the matter, Miss Glover, but it don’t concern me. If they – if the Luckets want parish relief, they must ask for’t.’

‘They – your parents have done so, Susan, and must attend Divine Service at Great St Giles in order to receive it from Dr Gravett. That will be on the first Sunday of next month, so I’ll be glad to have your company at Little St Giles on that day.’

Susan knew that her friend wanted to save her from witnessing her family’s humiliation.

‘That’s good o’ you, Miss Glover, but it’ll be up to Mrs Bennett. She likes all the house servants to go to church along o’ her an’ the farmer an’ – oh,
heavens
!’

‘Why, Susan, what is it? What’s the matter?’

‘The Calthorpes’ll all be there at Great St Giles, an’ their servants! Oh, poor Polly!’

Susan’s sudden wail would have been almost comical except for her distress, and Sophia Glover was impressed yet again by this girl’s care for her younger sister – and her complete indifference to her parents. Susan had never once visited Ash-Pit End, though she had seen her brother Joby, who worked at the blacksmith’s forge, holding horses, fetching fuel and doing whatever jobs a sturdy ten-year-old boy could find in that place of flying sparks and kicking hoofs.

Sophia Glover personally doubted whether careless little Polly would be that much affected by seeing her parents held up as a public example of improvidence, but she refrained from saying this to Susan, and simply pointed out that the dreaded day would come and go like any other day, and be forgotten by Polly, who had so many happier distractions.

Now past his fiftieth year, Mr Calthorpe had been looking forward to handing over some of his duties to his elder son, and it seemed that the time had come with unexpected suddenness. He spoke earnestly to Osmond as they walked round the Bever estate, his heart responding as always to this land in his care: the trees shimmering in their tender new foliage, the meadows gleaming green and gold with cowslips. In the hedgerows bloomed wild irises and cascading honeysuckle, purple vetch and red campion, jewels of colour against the white froth of may blossom. Fields, woodland and water teemed with a new generation of wildlife – scampering, burrowing, flying and swimming.

‘See that little red squirrel, Osmond, how he runs up the tree and looks so boldly at us? Is there anything fairer than our Hampshire countryside in spring?’

Osmond’s attention was certainly engaged, but not with the landscape.

‘You will need time to learn to hold the reins, Osmond, but you will have more leisure than when I was thrown headlong into landownership, already a married man with a family. I’ve been well served by an excellent bailiff and agent, but they’re getting on in years, as I am. When this wasteful war is over, there must be some changes. We should look into the new methods of crop-growing, take on more staff – Osmond? Have I your attention?’

Calthorpe stopped in his tracks and looked hard at the handsome young man beside him.

‘Father, is not that a most delightful picture, the little maid heading our way in her blue gown and cap? She seems to be bringing a message for us.’

Mr Calthorpe frowned. ‘You had better watch your step, Osmond, and attend more to your duties than to the sort of distractions that earned you disgrace at your college.’