The Oyster Catchers (44 page)

The midwife examined Sarah swiftly and efficiently and nodded her head in satisfaction.

‘The husband can come back in and hear what I have to say,’ she told the doctor autocratically.

‘The baby is coming a few weeks early,’ the midwife said briskly, ‘but there is no reason why it should not be a perfectly healthy child.’ She looked sternly at Sarah. ‘But you will need to take great care of him, feed him with your own milk, none of this wetnurse nonsense, mind.’

Sarah couldn’t speak, another pain was racking her, tearing at her, breaking her bones apart. She held out her hand and Geoffrey took it firmly. Beads of perspiration dampened her hair so that curls clung around her face. She laboured to bring her child into the world, feeling as though she would die in the attempt. The pain seemed to go on and on until Sarah felt she could no longer bear it.

‘Good girl,’ the midwife urged, ‘the head is nearly here, I can see it, a big, strong head. It will be a fine child, you’ll see.’

‘Come on, Sarah,’ Geoffrey’s face was animated, alight with excitement, ‘you can do it, bear down now as the midwife tells you.’

There was one last wrenching surge and then a feeling of utter peace. Sarah lay for a moment, breathing in the luxury of not being in pain and then, the silence was
broken by a sharp cry that seemed to tear at her breasts which yearned to suckle her young.

‘There!’ The midwife sounded triumphant, as if she had borne the child herself. ‘You have a fine son.’

She put the child into Sarah’s arms and as she looked down at the crumpled, indignant face, Sarah felt a rush of pure happiness and love that brought tears to her eyes. She had never felt like this before, certainly not when she’d given birth to her first child.

‘You have done well,’ Geoffrey said softly, ‘you are a good, brave woman, Sarah.’

‘Right,’ the midwife intervened, ‘enough fussing now, your child is safe and well and your wife needs attention. Go on out and tell everyone that you have fathered a fine boy, that I find is all husbands are good for at a time like this.’

Geoffrey smiled. ‘I’ll let my father know, he’ll be so proud to have an heir.’

Sarah felt the weak tears come to her eyes, it seemed that her husband’s approbation was more important to her than she would ever have guessed.

Emily looked down at the papers in her hand, a smile of joy on her lips.

‘You look like the cat that got the cream,’ John said softly and Emily held out her hand to him.

‘She’s ours, Pammy is really and truly our daughter, John, now no one can take her away from us.’

John took her hand in his. ‘I know, love, and I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for our Sarah. What sort of mother gives up her first born in such a way?’

‘You are a dear, sentimental man,’ Emily said indulgently. ‘Look, love, Sarah was too young when she had Pammy, she wasn’t ready for the responsibility of bringing up a child properly. Sarah was not able to forge a bond with her baby then, but this time it will be different, she will love her new son to distraction, you’ll see.’

John’s face brightened. ‘Aye, she seems proud of him, all right and he’s a fine boy, healthy and with such lungs on him, he’ll be a tenor in the choir, if I’m any judge.’

Emily felt a stirring of pain within her, she was very conscious that she could never give John the son he so obviously wanted. She rose and looked at herself in the elegant mirror that hung over the fireplace; she was a young woman, in the prime of her childbearing years, it wasn’t fair that by some freak of nature she could not have a child of her own.

For a moment, her joy at having adopted Pammy was swamped by feelings of frustration, then she pushed the dark thoughts away.

John, as always, sensed her mood. He rose and took her in his arms, cradling her close to him. ‘You are all I ever wanted, Emily,’ he said softly. ‘You know that.’

She touched his cheek lightly and a great sense of happiness filled her. ‘I do know, my love.’ She put her arms around his neck and clung to him telling herself that she should count her blessings, she was the luckiest woman in the world.

Sarah held her son close, coaxing him to suckle at her breast. His small, rosebud mouth sought and found and he clamped on to her with such determination that Sarah laughed out loud in joy.

‘Look at him, Geoffrey,’ she exclaimed, ‘he will grow up a fine child, he knows where to find his nourishment, all right.’

Geoffrey was fascinated by the boy, he stared down at his son in wonder and Sarah exulted at the feeling of power that Geoffrey’s softened attitude gave her.

‘Geoffrey,’ she said softly, tentatively, ‘come here.’ She held out her hand and Geoffrey drew nearer the bed touching her fingers lightly with his own.

‘Will we have more children, Geoffrey?’ she asked him quietly.

‘Perhaps,’ he said reaching out a finger to touch his son’s petal-soft cheek.

‘Geoffrey,’ Sarah looked at him pleadingly, ‘couldn’t we try to make a good marriage together? Our son deserves parents who will be close and care for him.’

Geoffrey looked at her with a strange expression in his eyes. ‘Sarah, I must confess that I have a new respect for you after witnessing your bravery during childbirth. I want us to have a successful marriage as much as you do.’ He paused and rubbed his forehead. ‘I must be honest with you, however, I can never love you as a man should love a woman, I do not have that power within me. You must accept that I am different from other men, I have other needs, it is something I can’t help and in any case wouldn’t change.’

He smiled without any of his usual sarcasm. ‘I will be good to you, Sarah, as a friend is good. I will provide for you and our son and I would fight to the death for both of you if you were in danger.’ He shrugged. ‘That is all I can promise you.’

Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. ‘Very well, Geoffrey,’ she said with new determination, ‘I will try to be a good wife and I
will
be a good mother, that
I
will promise you.’ If there was regret in her voice, Geoffrey chose to ignore it.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Sarah covered her breasts quickly.

‘It is my father,’ Geoffrey said, a pleased smile on his face, ‘the old boy can’t keep away from his grandson.’

Old Mr Frogmore seemed rejuvenated, his face lit up as he saw the picture of an apparently happy family scene, his son sitting at the bedside of his wife and child, his hand holding that of his wife, his other hand on his child’s cheek.

‘You don’t know how happy you have made me, both of you.’ His glance encompassed Geoffrey and Sarah then came to rest on the sleeping face of the baby.

‘May I hold him?’ he asked and Sarah smiled, gently handing over her son.

‘Be careful with him, he has just been feeding, don’t shake him about too much.’

Old Mr Frogmore’s eyes misted with tears as the baby waved indignant fists at him, eyes screwed up as though trying to see into the distance.

‘He’s so handsome,’ Mr Frogmore said raggedly, his voice trembling, ‘so very handsome.’

He handed the baby back to Sarah and made a visible effort to control his emotions. ‘What are you going to call him?’

‘We thought, Jack Winford after you, father,’ Geoffrey answered quickly and Sarah, catching his warning glance, remained silent. On reflection, she rather liked the names, just as she liked old Mr Frogmore. ‘Winford is a fine, strong name,’ she said softly. ‘I’d be honoured to call my son after you.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Father,’ she added almost shyly.

Mr Frogmore seemed to swell with pride. ‘I will keep my promise and sign over to you some money and lands at once, Sarah. Some securities I will put in trust for my grandson so that his future is assured.’

He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out a long velvet box. ‘In the mean time, this little bauble is for you, my dear.’

Sarah’s gaze softened, her father-in-law was so kind to her. She prized open the box and saw glittering within its plush interior a necklace of emeralds and diamonds which matched both her earrings and the ring Geoffrey had given her.

‘I wish I could say they were family heirlooms, my dear,’ Mr Frogmore said, ‘but I must admit I came by them in London a few years ago.’ He smiled drily. ‘I do believe they once belonged to your step-mother, Mrs Emily Miller. As they say, it’s an ill wind that blows no good.’

Sarah felt momentarily sorry for Emily, to have lost such priceless gems must have hurt unbearably. But then Emily had made a great fortune, she could afford to buy all the gems she wanted now, so why feel sorry for her?

‘They are beautiful and I will treasure them,’ she said and lay back against the pillows suddenly tired.

‘I will leave you to rest, now.’ Mr Frogmore was nothing if not perceptive. ‘Conserve your energy, my dear, you must look after yourself so that you regain your strength quickly.’

He left the room and Geoffrey smiled at her in approval before following his father from the room.

Sarah looked down at the sparkling emeralds and diamonds and then at the face of her sleeping son and for the first time in her life, she knew that possessions were worthless baubles, that the real riches of life came only with love.

‘Well, I say we ought to run her and her gallery out of the neighbourhood.’ Nina Parks’s strident voice echoed among the people gathered in the church hall. ‘That Eline Harries has brought nothing but ill luck to this village from the moment she came here.’

‘How is getting rid of the gallery going to fill the bellies of our children?’ It was Carys Morgan who broke the uneasy silence. She looked down at the child in her arms, her expression anxious.

‘My little one is wasting away under my very eyes,’ she said brokenly, ‘and my Sam drinking what little money we have. He is hoping the drink will take away the pain and shame.’

‘What has Eline Harries ever done for us?’ Nina demanded, hands on hips. ‘What has she brought to this village? She’s an outsider and she’s bringing in other outsiders to look down their noses on us.’

Nina paused, her anger gathering momentum. ‘What do the outsiders care that we starve while they buy pictures costing enough money to keep us in food for a year? Why should we put up with it? Answer me that.’

‘Eline gave
me
a job,’ Carys said, ‘and I was daft enough to listen to your grumbles and pack it in. Why didn’t I stick to my guns? I don’t know. After all, I was bringing good money into the house.’

‘Aye and your man would have been more ashamed than ever, then, wouldn’t he?’ Nina Parks said bitterly. ‘His wife kotowing to the likes of
her
, it’s not right.’

‘Well, you’ve got
her
cottage, haven’t you? Didn’t turn that down, mind,’ Carys said with some of her old spirit.

‘
That
was given to me by Joe,’ Nina retorted sharply, ‘
I
was really wife to him, especially at the end,
she
did nothing but run away from the thought of hard work and the suffering of her man.’

Carys rose abruptly from the hard, upright wooden chair upon which she had been sitting.

‘Well, if you call this a meeting then I’m a Dutchman,’ she said. ‘I thought we were going to talk about ways around our problems, instead all we’ve done is throw mud at Eline Harries. Drinking sour wine I call that, pure jealousy because she’s making a success of things.’

Carys made her way slowly to the door and once outside stood looking along the street as though wondering what to do. The child in her arms cried fretfully and Carys put her cheek against the little boy’s head, it was burning as though with a fever.

She turned and hurried towards home; the sooner she got the baby into the house, the better, she should never have brought him out in such bitter weather and him with a bad cough on his chest.

The fire was burning low in the grate when Carys entered her house and she quickly pushed another log into place. Thank God that at least the wood from the trees was free not like coal which the merchants thought was gold-dust these days, the price they were charging.

Carys put the child into bed and set to work rubbing his small chest with goosegrease. A bit of warm flannel wrapped around her son’s small body seemed to ease the rattling cough and soon the child fell into a gentle sleep.

Carys boiled the kettle and made herself some hot cordial of dandelion leaves, sipping it gratefully. She would have loved a cup of tea but there was not even a dusting of leaves in the once full tin.

Carys felt herself sway, she was so weak, it was days since she’d had anything to eat, her last meal was nothing but a crust of stale bread.

Sam had been given the only bit of cawl in the house for his dinner but now the pantry was empty and not even Carys’s ingenuity could produce a meal from nothing.

She must have dozed a little in her chair for she sat up startled to hear the rattle of the door latch. Sam came into the kitchen and Carys noticed the deep lines of worry around his eyes.

Reluctant to add to his misery, she held her tongue about the baby and instead, handed him a drink of cordial.

‘What to eat, girl?’ he asked, his voice low, his shoulders, once so proudly held, slumped as he leaned over the scrubbed table.

‘I was just going up the road for something,’ she improvised quickly. She took her shawl from the back door and rested her hand for a moment on Sam’s bent head. ‘I won’t be long, love.’

In the chill of the street, she hurried towards the gallery, her mind suddenly made up. She would ask Eline most humbly for her job back.

The gallery door stood open, the front window, enlarged now, was filled with paintings. Ships rode out storms on green and grey seas and sails billowed as though they were real not simply paint on canvas.

From inside, Carys heard the sound of voices, cultured and low and she hesitated in the doorway, embarrassed at intruding. Hunger growled in her belly impelling Carys to go inside. From the back of the house came the succulent smell of food and Carys leaned against the wall, suddenly overcome with faintness.

‘Carys, what is it?’ She heard the voice as though from a distance and then she was being led to a chair in the hot, steamy kitchen behind the tea rooms and there on the large hob bubbled a cauldron of soup.