Sumerford's Autumn

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  But the point at which Ludovic began to answer was interrupted by the sudden thump of heavy footsteps in the corridor outside, and the sounds of at least five pairs of boots running from the kitchens towards the back staircase. Then as the footsteps receded, other noises intervened. Shouting, the imperious summons of his mother’s familiar voice, and then a great banging and clattering. Finally the door was thrust open and Brice strode in, looking first at the small and disreputable figure sitting on the chest, and then down at his brother. Brice regarded Ludovic with some amusement.

  “Attended by a winsome cherub, instead of the sweet Aphrodite of your dreams, my beloved? How sad. The trollop Aphrodite, is of course, at present otherwise engaged.”

  Ludovic frowned and started to emerge from the water. “What now?”

  Brice, leaning momentarily against the open door, arms crossed, shook his head. “Yes, yes, I know little brother. You must of course defend her name and reputation. But there’s no time, my beloved, for the infant you appear to believe I have sired myself – my own name and reputation evidently being beyond repair and naturally not meriting defence – chooses to enter our gentle world this very evening. Inopportune of course, as all Sumerfords tend to be, since we lords and masters are barely returned from our travels and are instead ready for our beds, alone or otherwise. But the future heir of our glorious title is announcing its arrival at this moment. Excitement is rife. But since the said brat is not seed of my loins, my loins being far too precious to me to entrust to the machinations of a woman I wholeheartedly distrust, I feel sadly unexcited, and will now retire. I leave the spreading of family congratulations to you, little brother.” He nodded, moving back into the cold shadowed corridor, pulling the door closed behind him. As the door snapped shut, he called, “Good night, beloved. Enjoy your cherub, by all means. I shall say nothing of it, I swear.”

  Silence followed his departure. The rush of servants and the calls for water, for towels, for the doctor and the apothecary, had ceased. “Well now,” said Clovis. “Seems like it’s gonna be a busy night.”

  Doubled over, squatting first on a stool and then stumbling to her bed, the Lady Jennine was attended by her maid Alysson, Mistress Purvis the dairy master’s wife, Mistress Barnes the principal brewster, Mistress Beatrice Shore, the head cook’s eldest daughter, and the impressive Mistress Tenby, madam of all the castle’s female staff. At first they encouraged Jennine to walk, dragging her feet interminably around the room. But as the labour became dangerously prolonged without noticeable progress, they backed away, frowning to each other, disagreeing as to the most suitable advice and how best to proceed, and bickering, as quietly as possible, about who amongst them should take precedence.

  “But has someone sent for the midwife?” demanded Mistress Beatrice under her breath.

  “Midwife? What midwife?” scoffed Mistress Tenby. “The nearest woman is a day’s ride away, and is no doubt already called out somewhere else. At the castle, we have always managed everything ourselves.”

  The evening blackened into night and finally the night dawned into a new day without any signs of the child’s birth being evident. Jennine no longer accepted guidance from the bustling women around her, but lay on the great bed, her knees drawn up and her head bent down. The windows were tight shuttered and although it was early July and pleasantly warm outside, a huge fire had been lit in the hearth, its logs flaming so high that the chimney caught the heat rising and the wind descending, and roared, as if in sympathy. Steam rose from the two cauldrons set with water to boil, and as the sweaty dampness increased, it smelled stale, desultory and tired. The chamber dripped and heaved, tight shut around the moaning and the pain.

  The door was kept closed when possible, and the gap beneath it stuffed with rags. No draught was permitted, and only the firelight and the flicker from one small candle beside the bed shuffled the shadows around the room. Neither cold nor any bright lights, being those two most proven dangers to a woman in the throes of birthing, were permitted to enter.

  In the outer solar the castle medik, the elderly surgeon and the apothecary waited, alert for the sudden sounds of an infant crying as they discussed herbal cures and stirred the medicines they had prepared. Now they frowned and predicted disaster. The perfumes of fenugreek water, pressed cherries, willow bark and dittany were strong at first, then mellowed and finally faded. The mixtures were cooling in the cups, ready to be passed to the first woman who dared stick her head around the door.

  The expectant father, though normally also waiting in the vicinity at such a time, was not present. Nor were any of the Sumerfords except for the countess. She stood wringing her long fingers, a little hesitant, before entering the birth chamber.

  Jennine wore only her chemise, its skirts pulled up to her waist. She had begun to cry, choking sobs that seemed to hurt her, and was curled on the bed, gripping the hand of her personal maid who crouched beside her. When the countess entered, Jennine looked up, then turned away. “It won’t come,” she said, half whisper. “It knows. It knows the truth and refuses to be born. It doesn’t want me, any more than I want it.”

  The countess walked immediately to the bed. She pushed Alysson away, and took Jennine’s hand tight, wrenching at it. “Listen, foolish girl. This is the Sumerford heir about to be born. You are honoured to be mother to this child. Stop thinking only of yourself - and push, girl, push.”

  Jennine rolled away, snatching back her hand and calling for Alysson. Beatrice Shore, the cook’s daughter, whispered urgently in the countess’s ear. “My lady, I’ve helped my mother give birth to eight little sisters and two brothers, and only one ever died. I know what I’m talking about my lady, and this is going on too long. She’s going to die, I know it, unless we do something.”

  “Do something?” demanded the countess. “What can we do?”

  Beatrice whispered, “Time, I believe, to send for the midwife, my lady.”

  Her ladyship shook her little headdress with a sniff. “There’s a woman in Exeter who smells of pisspots but I have no faith in such a female.” She stood again, leaving the bed and crossing to the fire. The chamber seethed, sizzling in its darkened swelter. Mistress Tenby kicked at the logs and the fire rose higher, spitting anew. The countess took Mistress Shore’s arm. “Well, girl? Tell me quietly. Do we cut her open, to save the child?”

  Beatrice shuddered. “I don’t know how to do such a thing, my lady. And it would surely kill her.”

  The countess lowered her voice. “It’s the child that matters. In such a case, what else can we do?”

  Beatrice stared around, eyes wide. Sweat had polished her face and her skin reflected the glistening fire. “I believe the baby’s upside down, my lady,” she whispered. “I’ve seen its little foot poke out more than once. But the child won’t turn. Perhaps if I could grab its legs, and pull, I might save both their lives.”

  The countess thought a moment. “Try it. Do you need her tied down?” She gazed across at the rumpled bed. It had been covered with old blankets to keep it from becoming soiled or blood soaked, but now every cover was in turmoil. Jennine tossed, rolling to one side and then the other. She had begun to scream, but a weak sickly sound, without strength or breath. Alysson had run again to her side, and was holding her, rocking her in her arms. Mistress Purvis continued to stoke the fire and watch the water boiling. Mistress Tenby had hurried outside to collect medicines.

  “No, don’t hold her down,” said Beatrice. “She might panic and do herself more harm. I’ll try my best. Will you help, my lady?”

  The countess backed towards the darkened window. “No.” She shook her head again. “I gave birth to six children,” she said softly. “Six boys, but the first two died. All that pain and misery for those tangled bloody shapeless things without breath or heartbeat. So much for midwives. The next time I dispensed with the wretched woman and was attended by my sister and my mother-in-law, and neither knew much. But in my day, you see, there was less knowledge. When the n
ext four lived, I could barely believe it. And every child a boy, and his lordship was – grateful. For me the memories are not so sweet. So I will stay here, but I cannot help. I cannot – touch.”

  Alysson looked up as Beatrice came to the bedside. “She’s bleeding heavily,” Alysson whispered. “What do you plan to do?”

  Beatrice shook her head. “The child’s lying the wrong way up,” she said. “I’m sure of it. But I’ve no experience of such a thing. I think I know what to do, but I’m only guessing.”

  “The others?” Alysson looked around. The other women were watching, but no one else came forward.

  “They’ve less experience than me,” Beatrice said. “Mistress Tenby is unmarried, though she says she attended her mother once. But the child died, and so did her mother. Mistress Purvis, well she’s only experienced with cows. But they pull the calves out, don’t they, if they don’t come natural? Well, Mistress Barnes knows a little more having helped birth her sister’s babies, but that was many years ago. And her ladyship, well perhaps she knows more than the rest of us, but she’s frightened to get involved. They should have called some woman in from the village. There’s plenty there have helped bring a dozen infants into the world, and know far more than me.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything either,” sighed Alysson. “I watched my two little brothers birthed, though I was very young and only did what the midwife told me. But I’ll help.”

  Night had led to another day. It was gone dinner time and a bright summer’s morning had clouded into a dreary afternoon. But neither sun nor cloud entered the birthing chamber and it remained constantly closeted in its sweltering darkness. The Lady Jennine was almost silent and almost unmoving. Sometimes she cried a little, and when the pains gripped her too deeply, she moaned and struggled. Alysson held her tight. They had brought her chicken gruel and a cup of strong beer, but although these were known as the best tonic for the pangs of birthing, Jennine had felt too ill to eat or drink. She had three times taken the medicines she was given, but this had done no good.

  “When I was young,” said Mistress Tenby, leaning over the bed attempting to serve the chicken gruel, “there were special charms spoken continuously over the bed, and herbs burned on the fire. Now they say these things are old fashioned, and even harmful. I don’t believe it. If I knew the charms, I’d pronounce them myself.”

  “We don’t need charms, we need prayers,” muttered Mistress Barnes.

  “Then who has a rosary? There must be a Bible in the castle? Does the lady have her own Book of Hours? Your ladyship, will you send for the priest?”

  “For pity’s sake,” muttered Alysson, “no priest. Jennine will think he’s come to read the final penance before she dies.”

  “Perhaps we should be prepared for that very thing.”

  “Hush, she’ll hear you.”

  “Besides, it would be most improper having a man in this chamber now. And what’s more, a man without any understanding of a woman.”

  “So he says.”

  It was close to supper time. Mistress Tenby drank the gruel prepared for Jennine. “Then do we save her ladyship, or the child? Do we call for the surgeon?”

  Beatrice kneeled beside the expectant mother, bending over, her voice soft. “My lady, do you hear me? If you try to lie still, I think I can help. But there are risks, and it will hurt, maybe quite a lot. Will you let me try?”

  “For pity’s sake, do you think it doesn’t hurt now?” Jennine stared up, bloodshot eyes and her mouth dry, lips split. “Do anything. Cut it out.”

  Alysson clasped her from behind, whispering in her ear. “Jenny, the baby’s trying to come out feet first. But Beatrice may be able to pull it out anyway. Open your legs my dear, shut your eyes, breathe very deep, and pray.”

  “Shit praying,” Jennine gasped, teeth clenched. “It’s that bastard that did this to me. But I’ll breathe till my breathing stops forever. Then look after the child for me if it lives. Promise me you will, dearest?”

  “I promise. Try to push now, Jenny.”

  “One last thing, before it kills me.” Jennine’s voice faded, so faint Alysson barely heard. But she knew what was said. “Once I’m gone, my dear – be careful. Beware Humphrey.”

  Edward Sumerford was born just before ten of the clock on a hot summer’s night in July, and from his first breath, yelled his fury at the indignities of birth. His two fat feet were red with pulling. He had finally emerged backwards, crushed toes first, and sucking his thumb. He was plunged into warm water, hurriedly washed, and then wrapped in the linen newly warmed by the fire. The cord at his navel was cut long and tied tight, the proper procedure for a boy. A wide strip of linen was bound around his middle to keep the knot in place, a padded bonnet was tied around his small squalling face to protect the fontanel and keep the brain warm. He was then shown briefly to the exhausted mother and was finally bustled into the countess’s arms.

  Her ladyship held her grandson and agreed, with faint surprise, that he was a fine size, his masculine equipment was impressive, his voice was lusty and he was undoubtedly handsome. “The tenth day of July. Excellent. A Sumerford should be born in the summer.” She then quickly handed him back to Mistress Tenby, who swaddled him in more linen and laid him in the family crib.

  “It’s time to send for the wet nurse,” Mistress Tenby announced. “I believe she’s been waiting outside since first light today.”

  Beatrice and Alysson stayed beside the Lady Jennine. Beneath her eyes swelled purple bruises of exhaustion. She was bleeding heavily and becoming weaker, while the bedding, already ruined, would have to be changed right down to the mattress. The faint coppery smell of blood drifted through the sour stench of overheated sweat and the mustier perfumes of burning logs. But the relief was sublime. “I’m still alive,” Jennine smiled, thick tongued, words tumbling. “Maybe only just. But breathing.”

  “You won’t die now,” said Alysson. “Probably never. You managed to live through all that, so now I imagine you can live through anything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “This is an honour indeed, my lord.” Ilara curtsied lower than her joints normally permitted. “We were not expecting – we had no idea -”

  “An honour beyond all expectations, and far beyond our merits, my lord.” Dulce had recently returned from market, and still wore her cloak. Ludovic recognised the threadbare kersey Alysson had once worn. “But I pray there’s nothing wrong, begging your pardon my lord?”

  Ludovic frowned. “There’s no occasion for concern. I came for only two reasons. Firstly, to be reassured as to your financial security. Secondly, regarding my search for the younger boy, Pagan.” He took the stool offered but refused the cup of ale. “I’ve discovered no signs of the child, but before abandoning the search, I need to know whatever you remember of his disappearance.”

  Ilara fumbled with her apron. “My lord, almost nothing. We left,” she blushed, unwilling now to repeat the circumstances, “in a hurry, as it were, to come to the castle with Alysson. Dulce told Pagan to stay here in the cottage. But I looked around and saw him following. I called, telling him to go home.”

  “But he didn’t want to stay in the house on his own,” Dulce said. “Never did. Hated to be alone, poor lad. He was always timid. Not – the brightest of boys, you understand.”

  “When we came to the castle, I saw him run off into the shadows,” Ilara continued. “It was late by then, and dark. I called out to him again but he didn’t answer.”

  Dulce nodded. “We didn’t want to be stopped by the guards, so we couldn’t go after him. But I called once, before we crossed the moat. I told him to wait there for us, and then we’d all go home together.”

  “We never saw him again,” whispered Ilara.

  Ludovic sighed. “No help then. I have sent out men in every direction, and throughout both the castle itself, its grounds, and its surrounding estates. Now I believe the child will never be found. It seems likely he drowned. The banks of
the moat can be dangerous, especially in the dark. I am sorry for it, but I see no further solution.”

  Ilara curtsied again, hesitating, unsure of her words. “It is – so personal of you, my lord – so untoward – and truly wonderful of your lordship to look at all, and to bother yourself with our affairs. The boy was a good child and sweet natured, and we loved him. But to you it must be of such insignificance. And now of course, so much time has passed.”

  “And as for ourselves, my lord,” said Dulce, “we have never – not even when my dear husband was alive – been so comfortable. We have everything we need, and a good deal saved for the future. We have our own chickens, three geese, and two goats for milk and cheese. Now when I go to market, I go to buy and not to sell. What we make, we keep for our own necessities for we’ve no need of extra coin, which seems quite marvellous to us. The cottage is fully repaired, we have a new bed with a real mattress upstairs and a store of candles, pots and linen. Indeed, we consider ourselves quite wealthy with everything you supplied my lord, and now young Alysson’s salary as well. She brings it to us each month on her day off, since she says she has no need of it herself, but secretly we save it for her. The new bed has more than one use, my lord, for we keep the extra coin under the mattress. It’s a mighty good feeling, and all thanks to your lordship’s great kindness and generosity.”

  “And now to come visiting us,” murmured Ilara, overcome. “So wonderfully condescending, my lord. We are deeply honoured. And especially at a time such as this.”

  Ludovic looked blank. “At a time such as this?”

  “Why, the birth of your precious little nephew, my lord. So exciting. It’s a long time since a Sumerford was born at the castle. A boy too, a new heir indeed, and the whole village is speaking of it. The market was all a bustle this morning, and the folk are so excited.”