‘Right you are, ma’am. Consider it done.’
As they left, Annie took Tommy’s arm and led him into the kitchen with Sunday and Jacob trailing behind.
‘What you all need is a good strong cup o’ tea wi’ a nice tot o’ brandy in it,’ she said. ‘Jacob, would yer fetch it fer me from the drawin’ room? I’m sure the missus won’t mind under the circumstances.’
‘Of course.’ Jacob shot off to do as he was told as Annie warmed the teapot feeling at a complete loss. There was absolutely nothing she could say that would make the situation any better.
Later that night, the five of them lit a candle and, after Jacob had said a prayer, they sat together for a while, each thinking of the gentle girl they would never see again.
Daisy was laid to rest in Chilvers Coton churchyard on a cold, grey day in a grave as close to her parents as Mrs Spooner could get her. Lady Huntley attended the funeral along with Mrs Lockett, and the Reverend Lockett did a particularly beautiful service for her that left not a dry eye in the congregation. Then Tommy stood at the side of the grave staring down at the fine mahogany coffin with the gleaming brass handles as he gripped Sunday’s hand.
‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he whispered brokenly. ‘I feel as if I’m trapped in a nightmare. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and Daisy will be there smiling that sweet smile and caring for me as she always has.’
‘I know,’ Sunday answered as tears slid down her cheeks. Today was one of the very rare occasions when she couldn’t prevent herself from crying.
It was to be a very long time before Tommy Branning could accept the finality of what had happened – that he was all alone in the world. Overnight had changed him from a boy into a young man.
As the mourners filed from the churchyard, Tommy and Sunday stayed behind for a few moments to say their last goodbyes, then Sunday set off for the lych-gate to give Tommy a final moment of privacy with his sister. It was as she was rounding the high church wall that she caught sight of someone lurking in the shadow of a tall yew tree. As she shielded her eyes from the drizzling rain and peered closer, she saw that it was Albert Pinnegar and her hands clenched into fists of rage. How dare he show his face here today?
As their eyes met, he walked towards her with a little sneer on his ugly face. ‘What a shame,’ he leered. ‘Looks like I’m not going to be a papa after all.’
‘One day you will answer for this,’ Sunday said with absolute conviction, then she walked unhurriedly away, her head held high. When she paused to glance behind her he was gone as if he had never been there – and once again she knew that she must say nothing. Things were bad enough as they were without her adding to everyone’s grief.
Back at the house Annie had laid on a feast fit for a king for any of the mourners who wished to return there, but the food might have been sawdust and Sunday found that everything stuck in her throat. Tommy sat in a trance-like state as Annie supplied everyone with a glass of sherry or something stronger if they fancied it.
Lady Huntley had come back to the house with them; she offered her condolences and accepted a glass of sherry. She knew that she would be in trouble with Ashley when she returned home. He had expressly forbidden her to attend the funeral, saying that it wasn’t seemly for a woman in her condition to be seen abroad, but she had disobeyed him and was prepared to face the consequences later. All her efforts to get Tommy and Daisy out of the workhouse seemed pointless now and she could have wept at the loss of such a dear young girl, dead before her life had even begun. Tommy was clearly devastated and she wondered how he would ever get over it, and yet deep down she knew that he would. He had no choice, as she knew to her cost. Following the deaths of her babies she had been devastated too, but somehow she had managed to go on, with Zillah at her side, and Tommy too, was loved. Albert Pinnegar was a truly wicked man, and she trusted in God that one day he would be punished.
‘You’re looking well,’ Mrs Spooner commented as they sat together. The old lady was dressed from head to toe in black and today, without her paint and powder, she looked every day of her age. It seemed so unfair to Biddy that she, who had led a long and full life, should still be there while Daisy, who was little more than a child, was dead and gone. She had become more than fond of the girl. Daisy’s death had presented another problem too. The house was full now and thriving, thanks to Sunday, but how would the girl manage all the work on her own without Daisy to share the load?
‘Thank you,’ Lady Huntley answered politely as she felt her child move inside her. The little one was very lively today.
‘There was something I wanted to ask you,’ Mrs Spooner said then. ‘But I’m not sure if today is the right time . . .’ she ended uncertainly.
‘Please go on,’ Lavinia Huntley urged, taking the old woman’s hand. She was clearly very upset.
‘Well, the thing is, as you know, when Sunny suggested Daisy and Tommy should come here, we filled the rest of the lodgers’ rooms and between ’em, the young ’uns kept the place running along smoothly. But now that Daisy’s . . . Now it’s going to be an awful lot of work for Sunny on her own, so I was wondering if –’
‘If perhaps another girl from the workhouse might take her place?’ Lady Huntley finished for her.
‘I doubt if anyone could do that.’ Mrs Spooner dabbed at her eyes. ‘But I’d like to think I could give another little lass a chance.’
‘Then leave it with me. Obviously I am not attending the guardians’ meetings at the moment but I can certainly write to one of them and suggest it.’
‘Thank you.’ Mrs Spooner had no more words then as she stared off into space thinking of the freshly dug grave they had just left in Coton churchyard, of the poor little unborn innocent, and of the loss that Daisy would be to all who had known and loved her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When they arrived back at Treetops Manor later that afternoon, George helped Lady Huntley down from the carriage and up the steps to the front door, which was instantly opened by a little maid who bobbed her knee respectfully.
‘Please, ma’am,’ she said as she took her mistress’s hat and cloak, ‘the master is in the library and he asked me to tell you he wished to see you as soon as you got home.’
‘Thank you, Alice.’ All Lavinia really wanted to do right then was go to her room and rest for an hour. She hadn’t expected Ashley to be in. It wasn’t often that he graced them with his presence just lately, which suited her just fine. But she supposed she should go and see him.
After patting her hair into place in the gilt mirror she slowly waddled along to the library. The moment she opened the door she knew that he had been drinking. It was also clear that he was in a rage. She approached the fireside chair through a fog of blue smoke from the fine cigar he was smoking, sat down and said, ‘You wished to see me?’
‘Yes, I damn well did! Didn’t I tell you not to risk our child’s health by gallivanting about? Especially to the funeral of a bloody maid!’
‘That “bloody maid” as you refer to her was badly mistreated,’ she answered quietly. ‘And I had every right to pay my last respects if I so wished.’
‘And yet you were too tired to entertain my guests for dinner when I asked you last week,’ he spat peevishly as he slopped yet more brandy into his glass from the decanter.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that?’ she said unwisely and his chest swelled with anger. Slamming the glass down, he strode across to her.
Leaning down so that she could feel his breath on her cheek he ground out, ‘I’ll say when I’ve had enough! You would do well to remember that I am the master in this house!’
‘I need to rest, Ashley.’ She was suddenly just too weary to argue and rose in ungainly fashion from the chair, causing his mouth to curl into a sneer.
‘Look at you.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘You’re not fit to be seen abroad! What must people have thought?’
‘I dare say all their thoughts were on
the poor young soul who was being buried.’ She made for the door but he stepped in her path, barring her way.
‘And where do you think you’re going? I haven’t given you permission to leave yet.’ It was becoming clearer by the minute that he was spoiling for a fight but she faced him calmly.
‘I’m extremely tired and I’m going upstairs to lie down.’ She had to almost push past him but he dogged her footsteps all across the hallway.
‘Don’t you dare walk away from me, Lavinia.’ He was so close behind her that she feared he would stand on her skirts, but doing her best to ignore him she continued to climb the stairs – which only served to incense him all the more.
‘Are you deaf?’ he shouted then, causing a couple of the maids to come running. ‘Get back downstairs now until I give you permission to leave the room, woman!’
Still she continued to ignore him, staring fixedly ahead, and suddenly with a roar, when she had almost reached the top of the stairs, he caught her arm and swung her about. The action was so unexpected that she lost her footing and the next moment she had the sensation of flying through the air as he looked on in horror. Someone screamed and then she hit the hard hall floor with a sickening thud . . . before darkness wrapped itself mercifully around her.
‘It’s much too soon!’ . . . ‘How long will that midwife be?’ . . . ‘Oh, my poor dear lamb.’
Lavinia was aware of a voice. It sounded like Zillah’s but somehow she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. She was on fire with pain and this time when the darkness again rolled over her she welcomed it and thankfully knew no more.
The doctor tutted as he hung over his patient.
‘I’m afraid there is nothing I can do to prevent the birth now,’ he told Zillah sadly. ‘Labour has started.’
‘But it’s too soon – at least two months too soon,’ the maid wailed. ‘An’ how will the poor soul bring it into the world if she’s unconscious?’ She wrung her hands in terror as she stared down at her mistress. Lavinia was the colour of wax and her lips had taken on a bluish tinge.
‘Her arm is broken as well,’ the doctor said as he continued with his examination. ‘But that will have to wait until after the birth and then I can splint it. And in answer to your question, we can only do what we can do. The rest is in God’s hands. Now fetch me hot water, lots of it, clean linen and towels, and then we must get her undressed and prepare her for the birth.’
Zillah skidded away to give instructions to the maids then hurried back up into the room to undo her mistress’s clothing. It was like undressing a rag doll and tears slid down her cheeks as she was doing it. Oh, for this to go and happen now when everything had been proceeding so well. And all because of that swine’s drinking! She would never forgive him for this – never. Especially if it cost the innocent child its life. He’d been rough with Lavinia before, of course, but never so violently as this. The house was as quiet as a grave for Ashley had collapsed in a drunken stupor and the staff were creeping about like shadows, afraid to do anything that might disturb their mistress. It was as if they were already mourning her and Zillah prayed that this wasn’t an omen.
Over the next two hours she never left Lavinia’s side. Occasionally the latter would wake and groan with the pain but before Zillah could offer her any comfort, unconsciousness would claim her again. Even if it’s another little lass I’ll not let it go the way o’ the others if God will only spare it, Zillah thought as she continued to sponge her mistress’s damp forehead. I’ll get Lavinia and the lass well away from here and hang the consequences. This time I refuse to do his biddin’! On a few occasions, Ashley, who had roused himself and was pacing up and down on the landing, would hammer on the door to enquire how she was but each time Zillah sent him away with a flea in his ear. Let him reflect on what he’s done, she thought and hoped that he was suffering all manner of guilt.
It soon became clear that Lavinia had developed a fever, which added to the doctor’s concern. Her temperature had risen alarmingly and now he feared for both the mother and the child.
‘We shall have to deliver this baby very soon otherwise we could lose both of them,’ he warned Zillah and she nodded. She was prepared to do anything to save Lavinia. The labour was progressing rapidly but with the mother unable to assist her child into the world, it was struggling.
Finally, the doctor made up his mind and, rolling up his sleeves, he told Zillah, ‘Pass me that scalpel. The child’s head is crowning but it keeps slipping back.’
Zillah took a deep breath before doing as she was asked, and offered up a silent prayer. And then the doctor was leaning over his patient and as Zillah gripped Lavinia’s limp hand she closed her eyes tight. She couldn’t bear to watch what he was doing.
After what seemed like a lifetime but what was actually only minutes, there was a slight gasping sound from Lavinia as the baby was expelled from her womb. Zillah stared down at the seemingly lifeless little body on the bed as the doctor said curtly, ‘Take it, woman, and hold it upside down, for God’s sake, while I try to stem this bleeding!’
Zillah hastily did as the doctor ordered and once the child was dangling she gave it a sharp slap on the backside. Nothing happened so she repeated the action and was rewarded with a mewling little cry.
‘It’s a boy,’ she cried out as tears started to her eyes. ‘She’s got a little son.’ But there was no time for rejoicing for the doctor was battling to save the mother now. At last the bleeding seemed to slow and Zillah let out a sigh of relief as she turned her attention back to the babe that was nestling in the crook of her arm. He was incredibly tiny and his lips, like his poor mother’s, were blue.
‘Get him into some warm water and keep massaging his chest,’ the doctor told her. ‘He’s very early. Who knows if he’ll survive.’
He will if I have anything to do with it, Zillah thought just as the bedroom door burst open. It was Ashley, and ignoring the still figure of his wife and the blood-stained sheets and towels, he barked, ‘What is it?’
‘You have your son, though the Lord knows if he’ll survive.’ Accusation shone in the woman’s eyes but, ignoring it, he punched the air with delight.
‘A boy! A son at last. I must get word to Mr Wilde!’ He hadn’t even looked at the child. Zillah felt sick with disgust as she lowered the tiny body into the bowl of warm water she had ready as Ashley turned on his heel and left.
The baby’s skin was almost translucent, his breathing was shallow and there was not a single hair on his head – but then Zillah supposed this was because he had been born far too early. If this little mite survived, it would be a miracle. The clothes that had lovingly been laid ready for the past weeks almost swamped him when she had patted him dry and swaddled him, but by then thankfully the doctor was a lot happier with Lavinia.
‘I’ve managed to stop the bleeding and she’s delivered the afterbirth,’ he told her. ‘Now I’m going to stitch her up and set her arm, and the rest will be in the lap of the gods but there’s a good chance she will recover. I think you will have to find a wet nurse for the child though. It’s doubtful your mistress will be strong enough to feed him when she regains consciousness. And her milk may not come.’
‘I know somebody who’s just had a fine healthy girl,’ Zillah told him. ‘She’s the sister of one of the maids here an’ she lives not a stone’s throw away in a cottage in Apple Pie Lane in Hartshill. l’m sure she’ll help out if the master is prepared to pay her. I’ll ask her if she’ll move into the nursery with her own little lass, an’ that way she’ll be on hand to feed this little mite an’ all.’
‘Excellent.’ The doctor nodded approvingly as he threaded a fearsome-looking needle, and after laying the baby in his crib Zillah hastened away to speak to the maid immediately.
When she got downstairs she found that Ashley had already despatched the groom with a note telling his late uncle’s attorney of his son’s birth.
‘I shouldn’t get too excited if I were you,’ she said caustically. ‘
The poor little soul has been brought into the world far too early because of what you did, an’ there’s no sayin’ he’ll survive.’
‘He has to!’ Ashley told her, his eyes glinting dangerously. ‘I’m planning a trip abroad and have put a deposit on a racehorse I’ve had my eye on for some time. Just fetch a nurse in or do whatever you have to. Money is no object now.’
‘There are some things that money can’t buy,’ Zillah told him roundly. ‘An’ be you a beggar or a king if your card is marked an’ it’s your time to go then no amount o’ money in the world can change it. It could be that you’re about to lose you wife an’ your child, an’ if they do die then it’ll be on your conscience. I just hope you’ll be able to live wi’ yourself.’
With that she went off to try and arrange with the maid for her sister to come and nurse the baby.
Molly Worthington arrived three hours later with her baby daughter and a bagful of clothes. Molly had readily agreed to act as a wet nurse for the Huntley baby. She was a sweet-natured young girl, with laughing brown eyes and springy dark hair, and little Marigold who was just three weeks old was the apple of her eye. Her husband had also happily agreed to the arrangement. Marigold was their firstborn and as he only earned a meagre wage working on the railways in the nearby town of Atherstone, the money that Molly earned would come in very handy. She and Zillah talked as the latter was installing Molly in the nursery and it was arranged that Molly would visit her husband each evening after work in between the babies’ feeds. Her husband was also welcome to visit Treetops Manor during any free time he had so, all in all, the first crisis was averted. Because of the baby’s premature arrival, Lavinia hadn’t as yet appointed a nanny but Molly assured Zillah that she was quite able to manage the two babies herself for the time being. In fact, she preferred it that way and so it was agreed.
Once Molly had settled her own daughter in the spare crib that had been placed in the nursery for her, the newborn was carried tenderly up to her. Molly frowned when she saw him. Next to her own plump, thriving baby he looked more like a little wizened-up old man but Zillah saw immediately that the tiny soul would have the best of care with young Molly and so she was content.
Mothering Sunday Page 26