A Time Like No Other (23 page)

Tansy, who had been about to take up a pot of hot chocolate to her new young mistress, listened avidly to the garbled tale until Mrs Stevens sent her on her way.

‘It’s nothing to do with you, Tansy Beesley. Take up the mistress’s chocolate before it gets cold.’

But with the vicarious pleasure some take in being the imparter of bad news Tansy poured the whole story into Mrs Sinclair’s ear.

‘Who was it, Tansy?’ Lally asked anxiously, taking the tall cup of chocolate from the maid’s hand.

‘A lad by’t name o’ Sam is all ah know, ma’am,’ Tansy said importantly, trying to look sad but as she didn’t know the boy it was a bit tricky. Well! she was to say later, tearfully, to Dulcie, how was she to know the mistress knew him? You could have knocked her down with a feather when the new mother leaped – yes, she leaped, there was no other word for it – from her bed, chucking the chocolate all over her lovely carpet and she knew who would have to clean that up, didn’t she? She demanded that Tansy help her into her outdoor clothes.

‘Eeh, no, ma’am,’ Tansy gasped. ‘Wi’t bairn not yet a day old tha’s confined ter tha’ bed an’ maister’d be—’

‘If you won’t help me, Tansy, then I shall have to manage on my own,’ the mistress said, her pale face, which had drained of all colour when Tansy had told her the name of the boy, turned a bright pink as the blood ran under her fine skin.

‘Eeh, ma’am, ah’ll fetch Mrs Stevens.’

‘You’ll do no such thing, Tansy. Now, look in that wardrobe and bring me a gown . . . no, no, any will do and . . . and some drawers and a towel to pad . . . well, you will know what I mean . . .’ though Tansy hadn’t the faintest idea, never having had a child, until she saw Mrs Sinclair stuff the towel between her legs! ‘My warm fur cape and a pair of boots then run down and tell Carly to bring the carriage to the side door and if you so much as breathe a word to Mrs Stevens or that damn nurse I swear I’ll fire you. Go by the back stairs and out of the side door.’

‘Eeh, ma’am . . .’ Tansy began to cry, for it was all too much for her who was only a housemaid. Mrs Stevens would kill her!

Harry had Susan, her son still in her arms, in his office when Lally, helped by the appalled Carly, almost crawled up the stairs that led to it. Carly was ready to carry her, for surely she should not be out of her bed yet or if she was, since she was known to be a wilful young woman, should still be confined to her bedroom. She had walked steadily enough from the side door but had allowed him to help her into her carriage. He had done his best, since they had known one another ever since she had come as Mr Chris’s bride, to argue with her, telling her he would gallop to the mill to find out what he could about the little lad but she would have none of it.

‘Do as I ask you, Carly. I don’t know why such a fuss is made just because a woman has given birth to a child. In the fields of India I believe the women give birth and a few minutes later are picking tea or whatever it is that grows—’

‘Wi’ respect, Miss Lally, this ain’t India an’ Mr Sinclair’ll—’

‘Mr Sinclair is my business, Carly, and I will deal with him. Now, are you to drive me to the mill or must I take the reins myself?’ Which was sheer bravado since she could only stand with great difficulty, let alone drive a carriage. The pad between her legs was chafing her where Doctor Burton had sewn her up and blood was seeping out of her but as long as she could sit, in the carriage and back again, with Susan beside her, she would manage.

Doctor Burton was there, doing his best to get Susan to relinquish her pitiful burden, but she merely sat, her gaze focused on her dead son’s face, saying nothing. One hand was tenderly brushing back his ginger curls which were stained with blood and though she spoke no words the sound of her agony rustled through the office.

Lally managed to walk quite steadily across the deep pile carpet of Harry’s office. Doctor Burton turned an appalled face towards her, springing to his feet, his hands outstretched to her, but she took no notice of his cries of admonishment, sinking to her knees before the ravaged figure of Susan Harper and the child she cradled to her. Sam seemed to be no more than a baby, his thin little body, undernourished and overworked as it was, making him appear a lot younger than his ten years. Harry, speechless for the moment at the sight of his wife, reared back in his chair which he had drawn up to the one in which Susan huddled. He had been struggling with the problem of what he was to do with her, with her baby which lay on a couple of cushions beside her, and with her dead son who must be got ready for the undertaker and the sight of his wife who had given birth only hours ago rendered him not only speechless, but senseless.

‘Lally . . .’

‘Mrs Sinclair,’ both men croaked but Lally ignored them. She put gentle hands on Susan’s arm, stroking it, then took Sam’s lifeless hand which dangled down over his mother’s arm, holding it with one of hers. She said nothing then leaned forward and in a lovely gesture kissed Sam’s cheek, his misshapen cheek, and her hand went to the bit of bright hair that rested on his mother’s breast.

‘You shall come with me, Susan, you and Sam and Jack. I have a room where you can be with them, with Sam and your baby. I will help you to . . . do what is necessary and you will have peace and quiet, privacy to be with your children. My carriage is waiting. Come with me, darling. I will take care of you until you are . . . more yourself. You must not be alone in this. You will
not
be alone in this. We will help each other in any way that is needed. My husband will help you. Come, dearest, stand up. Will you let Mr Sinclair or Doctor Burton carry your . . . carry Sam? No . . . then of course, you will take him to the carriage and hold him for as long as you want to. There is a clean bed for him and a cradle for Jack . . .’

Susan stood up and the rigid expression on her face relaxed a little and Harry felt the wonder of his love for Lally expand and creep more incredibly into his heart. Incredibly because he had believed that he could not love her more than he did. She had drawn this grieving woman into her own heart, taken from her the formidable decision on what she was to do, at least for the next few days. They could hardly have sent her and her sons, one dead and one very visibly and loudly alive, to that hovel in which she lived and what was she to live on while she recovered from this hellish blow? Lally had risen from her childbed and come to rescue her. She looked pale, her pallor worsening with every moment but she was strong, courageous for this suffering woman whom she hardly knew.

Susan allowed them to lead her to the carriage. Harry carried the baby who was beginning to bellow even louder his displeasure at missing a feed, Lally with her arm about his mother, herself looking as though she might fall at any minute, with the good doctor nearly carrying them both. Carly, thinking the same, hovered at her side, his arms ready to catch either or both women.

The lights of the Priory were gleaming in every window as though to light a group of weary travellers who might have lost their way and at the door Biddy waited with a trio of maidservants at her back, for by this time she had been told by the almost hysterical Tansy what had happened in her mistress’s bedroom. She had landed the girl such a clout poor Tansy sported a black eye the next day but Biddy, knowing her young mistress as she did, was quite prepared for what happened. What else would Lally Sinclair do but bring the poor woman back here, but it must be admitted they had not bargained for the sight of the dead boy in her arms. The three maids, Dulcie, Jenny and Clara, had tears rolling down their cheeks though they knew better than to cry openly before Mrs Stevens.

‘Room’s ready, Miss Lally,’ she said steadily. ‘I’ve put the bath in there and . . . now Jenny will get you back to bed.’

‘I’ll see to Susan first, Biddy, but I’d be glad of your help.’

‘I really think you should go back to bed, Mrs Sinclair,’ Doctor Burton was saying, doing his best to separate Lally from Susan but Lally’s arm was still gently holding Susan as she led her up the stairs. Biddy, like a shepherd directing his flock, arms spread wide as though to encompass them all, followed on Lally’s heels, determined at the first possible moment to get Susan Harper and her two sons into the comfortable bedroom that had been prepared for her.

‘Dulcie, take the baby from the master, if you please, and put him in the nursery where—’

‘
No! No!
’ shrieked Susan. ‘Babby comes wi’ me . . .’ and Tansy began to cry in earnest.

‘Stop that, lass, and help Mrs Sinclair to—’

‘Leave us alone, Biddy. I will get Susan—’

‘Mrs Sinclair, you must get to your bed. I do not wish to alarm you but I really must insist.’ The doctor might have addressed his worry to the banister rail for all the notice Mrs Sinclair took of him.

‘Lally, listen to what Doctor Burton is saying.’ Harry was beside himself and the maids fell back, for it seemed as though he might lift Mrs Sinclair by force and take her to her bedroom where warmth, comfort and rest, which is what she needed, were waiting for her. Fancy going out to help this ordinary working woman, a spinner in her own husband’s mill, only hours after giving birth and it was becoming very evident that the mistress was at the end of her strength. Suddenly her knees buckled and with a soft sigh she swayed against the very woman she was determined to help. Susan Harper, just as though she were abruptly aware of what was happening, looked down on the young woman who was sprawled by her side on the staircase.

‘Mrs Sinclair . . .’ Her voice was low but it was evident that she was in her right mind. ‘Lass, tha’ mun get ter tha’ bed. These . . . folk’—looking around her at the maidservants – ‘’ll get me ter me room.’ She waited expectantly and at once Biddy, with a great sigh of relief, directed Dulcie, who still clasped the screaming baby, to show Susan to the room which, like Miss Lally’s, was warm, comfortable and quiet and where she could be peaceful with her children. She could nurse her bairn and with the help of the compassionate maidservants prepare her boy for his burial.

With a nod at the doctor Harry lifted his wife’s inert body and, taking the stairs two at a time, carried her to her bedroom where he laid her tenderly on the bed. He knelt at her side and even as the doctor watched him, he brushed her hair back from her forehead, kissing her and murmuring her name with such a wealth of love John Burton wanted to turn away, for it seemed to him he should not be spying on such an intimate moment.

But this was not the time for sentiment. ‘Mr Sinclair, I beg you, let me attend to your wife. I must examine her at once, for who knows what damage she may have done to herself. I had to stitch her and I’m afraid . . . Ask the nurse to come.’ But before Harry could move towards the door with the intention of obeying the doctor, it opened and Biddy moved quickly into the room.

‘There’s no need for that, Doctor. Tell me what to do.’

‘Clean towels, madam, hot water . . . ah, yes, it’s as I feared, she is haemorrhaging . . . Quickly, woman. Why she was ever allowed to get out of her bed so soon after childbirth is a mystery to me and not only that but to gallivant about the mill and—’

‘Doctor Burton, my wife is the most courageous, compassionate woman I, and you, have ever known. She helped Susan Harper and . . . but sweet Christ, do something . . . don’t let her die . . .’ His voice broke and he fell to his knees beside the doctor.

‘I have no intention of letting her die, sir, and if you will get out of my way . . . ah, here is . . . whatever your name is, come here and help me,’ as Biddy returned to the room with Jenny, the most sensible of her servants, behind her carrying all that the doctor needed. ‘And my bag, if you please . . .’

Lally awoke to a feeling of great tranquillity as though her dreaming mind was aware that all was well. That everything she had set out to do was done. She was not yet certain what that might be, for she felt so drowsy, so peaceful, so rested she wanted nothing more than to stretch and sigh and settle herself down in her warm and comfortable bed once more and drift off to sleep. A slight noise from the fireside brought her back again and when she turned her head there was Harry in his shirt sleeves asleep in a chair before the fire. He was unshaven, his hair standing in spikes about his head as though he had pushed his hand through it a score of times. He looked rumpled, crumpled, not at all like his usual immaculate self; there was even what looked like blood on his sleeve. His head lolled to one side of the wing chair and he was pale, drawn, with deep smudges under his eyes. She watched him for several minutes, smiling, then all of a sudden it all came back to her and she sat up and was ready to swing her feet to the floor. Her movement woke him at once and in a second he was across the carpet and pushing her quite roughly back beneath the covers.

‘What in hell’s name d’you think
you’re
doing? Get back in that bed at once and until Doctor Burton says you may get up, you’ll stay there, even if I have to sit here and watch you twenty-four hours a day. D’you hear me? After that bloody performance yesterday . . .’

Her mind, astonished by his outburst, suddenly returned to yesterday. Struggling against his restraining hands she did her best to sit up.

‘Susan . . . I must go to Susan . . . that poor woman . . .’

‘That poor woman . . . and yes, I am as sorry as you, but she is being cared for by every maidservant in the house. They are all terribly sorry for her, sweetheart, and can’t do enough for her. She is in bed where the doctor put her and the baby is in a cradle next to your . . . to our daughter.’ The endearment went unnoticed by both of them.

‘Oh, Harry.’ She fell against him and began to weep. His arms went round her and she felt the comfort of them, the strength and warmth and was thankful for him, and for his arms. She wept softly and he let her, then he began to talk quietly.

‘She has Sam with her. She wanted it that way and though the servants were uneasy at first to have a dead child in the room, they let her have her way. They have bathed him and put him in a nightgown that was once Chris’s when he was a child. He is on a small trestle bed with candles about him and she seems to find comfort from it so who are we to deny her. The baby is sharing the breast of . . . of the woman who is nursing . . . our child and is content, or so it seems. He has been taken in to Susan and . . . and all that you wanted to do for her has been done. Now, will you rest, or must I carry you in to see her? Yes, I see I must. Very well, let me wrap you in that shawl.’