Mothering Sunday

by Rosie Goodwin

  ‘He ain’t even whimpered,’ Zillah told her worriedly as Molly unfastened her blouse ready to feed him. ‘Most babies would be screaming their heads off fer a feed by now.’

  Molly gently laid the baby on her breast but saw immediately that this was not going to work. The baby’s mouth was tiny whilst her nipple was swollen and engorged with milk but Molly wasn’t going to let this stop her.

  ‘Could you go down and see if they have a pap boat in the kitchen?’ she asked as she rocked the baby to and fro. ‘I can squeeze some milk into that then drip it into his mouth. At least that way we’ll be able to get something inside him.’

  ‘Bless you.’ Zillah, who had been up since the crack of dawn the day before was almost dizzy now with tiredness but she was determined not to rest until she knew that the child had been fed.

  ‘Does he have a name yet?’ Molly asked an hour later. The baby had had his first feed but it had been a long, laborious job and even then she had only managed to get a few drops of milk into him. And now her own baby was stirring for a feed.

  Zillah shook her head. ‘Not yet, an’ I’m just prayin’ that his mammy will stay with us to give him one.’

  ‘Then you get back to her,’ Molly urged kindly. ‘And don’t get worrying about this little one. I shall feed him on the hour if need be.’

  Zillah headed back to Lavinia’s room with her mind slightly easier. Despite the fact that Molly had only just had her own baby she was the oldest of ten siblings, so was well used to caring for babies and children and Zillah felt that if this baby had a chance with anyone it would be with her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  ‘So that’s what’s been happening,’ Cissie finished breathlessly. It was now three days since Lavinia Huntley had given birth and she had walked all the way to Whittleford Lodge to inform them of the news.

  ‘I can’t believe all this took place on the same day as poor Daisy’s funeral,’ Mrs Spooner said sombrely. ‘We’ll not be forgetting that day in a hurry, will we? But how are the mother and baby now?’

  ‘Well, Lavinia has come round now but she’s in a lot of pain so they’re giving her laudanum to keep her semi-sedated. And the baby is in the nursery with Molly Worthington. Lady Huntley is too poorly to feed him herself, you see, so Molly is his wet nurse. He’s only just about holdin’ his own though, so I’m on my way to get the vicar to come. Mrs Lockett is Zillah’s niece, as you know, so I’ve to tell them what’s happened and ask the vicar if he’ll come and christen the baby just in case . . . you know . . .’

  ‘Is it as bad as that?’ Sunday asked, and when Cissie nodded she sighed. It was heart-breaking to think that Lady Huntley had finally given birth to a live child and that he too, might soon be snatched away from her.

  ‘Zillah is so angry wi’ the master she’s almost spittin’ feathers,’ Cissie confided. ‘He didn’t actually push the mistress down the stairs admittedly, but if he hadn’t grabbed her arm and startled her she wouldn’t have lost her footing and fallen.’ She blew out a breath. ‘I tell you, the atmosphere at Treetops Manor is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The master ain’t shown no remorse at all. In fact, he ain’t been sober since the baby arrived. Talk about wet the baby’s head! I reckon he could have drowned him, and he hasn’t even been to see him properly yet either, which is another thing Zillah is fuming about. He obviously only cares about the money he will get from his uncle’s estate now that he’s produced a son. Trouble is, will the trust still pay out if owt happens to the baby?’

  Mrs Spooner pursed her lips. ‘Well, thank you for coming to keep us informed, Cissie. But now you get off and fetch Mrs Lockett and the vicar, and rest assured we’ll all be prayin’ for them both.’ She herself took Cissie to the front door.

  When the girl hesitated on the step, Mrs Spooner asked, ‘Was there something else, pet?’

  The girl shuffled from foot to foot uncomfortably before saying in a low voice, ‘I thought you should know that there are a lot of rumours flying around the town . . . about Sunday.’

  ‘Sunday?’

  ‘Yes. People are saying that she’s very free with her favours with various men. I know it’s not true, o’ course, but it’ll really upset her if she gets to find out what’s being said. We can both guess who started the rumours though, can’t we?’

  ‘Pinnegar!’ Mrs Spooner said immediately. Then, ‘Look, let’s keep this from her for the time being, shall we? There’s no point in needlessly upsetting her.’

  Cissie nodded in agreement then hurried away. Soon afterwards, the vicar and his wife drove her back to Treetops Manor in their cart with baby Phoebe gurgling happily on her mother’s lap. Zillah fell onto her niece’s shoulder and began to sob when they entered the house whilst Cissie showed the vicar up to the nursery.

  His heart was wrenched with pity when he saw the baby. Molly was clearly doing all she could for him but he was like a tiny doll and the Reverend Edgar Lockett didn’t hold out much hope for him at all. After unwrapping the small bottle of holy water he had brought with him he asked, ‘Have his parents decided on a name for him yet?’

  Molly had the answer ready. ‘Yes. It will be Stephen and then Walter after the master’s late uncle.’ And so the vicar solemnly welcomed the child into the Church and blessed him before making the sign of the cross on his tiny forehead, all the time praying that the light of Jesus would shine on this little soul who was clinging to life.

  When it was done he made his way to Lady Huntley’s room to find his wife and her aunt sitting at Lavinia’s bedside.

  ‘Has she seen the baby yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Zillah said. ‘She’s been in no fit state to. To be honest, I’m not at all sure she’s even aware that she’s given birth. As soon as she comes around she’s in so much pain that we have to dose her up again, bless her.’

  ‘And where is her husband, the child’s father?’

  ‘Huh!’ Zillah’s lips curled back from her teeth. ‘That ne’er-do-well. Probably in some gin-house somewhere. It’s all his fault that this has happened,’ she ended bitterly.

  ‘God is all-forgiving,’ Edgar tried – but Zillah was having none of it.

  ‘God may be but I ain’t!’ she declared emphatically, then looked embarrassed. He was a vicar, after all.

  Verity smiled encouragingly at her aunt. ‘Things will work out, you’ll see,’ she advised, then standing up she asked her husband, ‘Are you ready, darling? This one will be screaming for her feed soon.’

  Edgar stood up hastily. Phoebe might appear like a little angel but she had a right pair of lungs on her if she got hungry. It always amazed him how so loud a noise could come out of such a little person’s mouth, although he wouldn’t have changed a hair on her head.

  ‘We’ll be off then,’ he said. ‘But you know where we are should you need us, Zillah. And do please try to get some rest. You look almost as ill as Lavinia.’

  ‘I’ll rest when she’s out o’ the woods,’ Zillah promised, then after kissing them all soundly on the cheek she sat back down at the side of the bed to continue her vigil as Cissie saw them out.

  The mood was no happier in the Spooner residence and everyone was very concerned about Tommy. He had not cried once since the day of his sister’s funeral, nor had he said more than a word or two. He continued to work as hard as he ever had – harder, if anything – and Biddy Spooner was watching him closely.

  The happy-go-lucky lad she had welcomed into her home had gone and in his place was a sullen, hard-faced stranger who seemed to be pushing himself to the limits.

  ‘I’m worried about him, Annie,’ she confided the day following Cissie’s visit. ‘If only he’d cry an’ let all his hurt out I’m sure he’d feel better.’

  ‘Everyone deals wi’ grief in their own way,’ Annie said. ‘Perhaps he’s best left alone at present.’

  ‘And then there’s Sunny,’ Biddy went on as she fingered the black velvet choker around her lined neck. ‘She’s doin’ the work
o’ two now that Daisy’s gone. The poor lass looks fair worn out. I’d asked Lady Huntley to see if there was someone from the workhouse who could take over Daisy’s work but it could be weeks afore she’s well enough to do that now.’

  ‘That’s soon sorted,’ Annie answered, straining tea into two china cups. ‘I’ll pop down an’ see our Verity. She’ll go an’ enquire at the workhouse fer us.’

  ‘What a good idea – I hadn’t thought o’ that,’ Biddy said. ‘It makes you wonder what we’ve all done wrong to have all this heartache,’ she added gloomily. ‘Talk about killin’ a robin, I reckon we must have killed a whole family of ’em!’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Annie wasn’t in the least superstitious. ‘It ain’t got nothin’ to do wi’ robins. It’s life – an’ there ain’t none of us can change what’s round the corner.’

  ‘Happen you’re right.’ Biddy took her cup and the old friends sat in silence as they drank their tea.

  The mood at Whittleford Lodge lifted slightly the following week when Mrs Lockett called to tell them that she’d arranged for a girl to come and help out from the workhouse.

  ‘She’s thirteen and the new matron assures me she’s a good little worker,’ Verity told Mrs Spooner. ‘Her name is Nell and she’s been in the workhouse since she was five, following the death of her parents. I’ve met her and she seems very nice and all of a flutter at the thought that you might take her. She remembers Sunday used to be be kind to her. And Daisy too, bless her soul. The only thing is, she’s a little bit . . . er . . . slow, if you get my meaning, so what do you think? I could fetch her tomorrow for you if you think she’ll be suitable and you’re prepared to give her a trial?’

  ‘So long as she takes some o’ the work off Sunny I ain’t bothered if she’s slow, so thank goodness for that.’ Mrs Spooner nodded her approval. ‘Poor Sunny is runnin’ herself ragged. The sooner the better, that’s what I say.’

  And so the following day Nell was duly delivered to the Spooner residence and everyone took to her straight away. She was quite a shy little thing and spoke very rarely, but she was a good worker for all that and Sunday was so pleased to have her there. She had cleaned out and prepared the last spare room up in the servants’ quarters for her; it didn’t seem right to put the new girl in Daisy’s room somehow and she had a feeling that Tommy wouldn’t have liked it. The room was still just as Daisy had left it and although Sunday had offered to clear it for him he obstinately refused to let her touch a thing. She often found him sitting in there when she went to bed and guessed that this was the only place he could feel close to his sister any more so wisely didn’t comment on it. He’ll do it when he feels ready, she told herself and sympathised with him, for she too missed Daisy’s laughter, the little chats they used to have and her cheeky smile, and still found it hard to believe that she would never see her dear friend again.

  On the same day that Nell arrived at Mrs Spooner’s, up at Treetops Manor, Lavinia Huntley finally met her son for the first time.

  Zillah had been gradually weaning her off the laudanum, lessening the doses each day, and on that particular morning when Lavinia awoke she stroked her stomach and asked groggily, ‘Have I had my baby?’

  ‘You most certainly have, pet,’ Zillah told her as a sob of relief caught in her throat. It was the first lucid thing Lavinia had said for days, and although she was stick-thin and pale as a ghost she looked better than she had. ‘You gave birth to a little boy, an’ a right bonny little thing he is an’ all.’

  Lavinia’s eyes fluttered open. ‘A-and he’s alive?’ she croaked.

  Zillah nodded as she tenderly brushed a lock of hair from her mistress’s forehead. ‘Yes, he is. He’s up in the nursery with young Molly Worthington. She’s been feeding him while you’ve been ill.’

  ‘Ill?’ Lavinia frowned and tried to pull herself up on the pillows before Zillah could stop her – and as pain shafted through her broken arm everything came flooding back and she winced. ‘I – I was on the stairs . . . Ashley was angry with me . . . and that’s the last I remember.’

  ‘You had a nasty fall and that’s why the baby came early,’ Zillah explained gently.

  A tear trickled from the corner of Lavinia’s eye as she breathed, ‘I have a son – I can hardly believe it. But is he all right? Bring him to me, Zillah?’ She became agitated.

  ‘As soon as we’ve got you washed and you’ve had something to eat I’ll bring him down to you,’ Zillah promised.

  Later that morning Zillah went up to the nursery and fetched Lavinia’s son down to meet his mother. She would never forget the look on her mistress’s beloved face for as long as she lived, for it glowed with an inner light at the sight of him, even though she was still in considerable pain.

  Zillah carefully lowered the baby into his mother’s one good arm while Lavinia stared at him in awe.

  ‘He’s so perfect – but so tiny,’ she breathed fearfully. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing him now.

  ‘Now don’t start worriting,’ Zillah mock-scolded. ‘He’s small, admittedly, because he was born so early but Molly is doing a champion job with him, bless her. She couldn’t do more for him if he were her own and she’s feeding him on the hour even through the night. The poor lass looks fair worn out but she’s determined that he’s going to survive. He looks better already, even the doctor said so.’ Zillah remembered how the doctor had struggled to save them both when the baby was born. The poor man was no doubt remembering the three death certificates he had signed. At least he hadn’t had to do that this time!

  ‘Ashley must be pleased,’ Lavinia said bitterly. ‘I dare say he’s already informed the lawyers.’

  ‘I dare say he has,’ Zillah answered non-committally. The last thing she wanted at present was for Lavinia to go upsetting herself. She had come through the worst but she was still very weak and had a fair way to go.

  Lavinia focused her attention on her son then and kissed his tiny bald head. At that moment he opened his eyes and blinked up at her and she felt a rush of pure, protective love, the like of which she had never experienced before. She breathed in the sweet baby smell of him and tears of joy blinded her. This was the magical moment she had waited for all her life. Already she was looking into the future and picturing him handing her flowers at the Mothering Sunday service in the church when he was big enough. Then never again would she have to watch enviously as the other mothers accepted their offsprings’ bouquets. Now she had a child of her very own, a live child to love and bring up . . . and it was the best feeling in the whole wide world.

  It was as Nell was cleaning the front doorstep one bright spring morning that a gentleman approached her to ask, ‘Do you have any eggs for sale?’

  Nell glanced up with a polite smile on her face but it died instantly when she recognised the former workhouse master. ‘Tommy keeps chickens but I don’t reckon he sells the eggs,’ she answered timidly. ‘I-I’ll go an’ ask him, shall I?’

  Pinnegar nodded, and rising from her knees Nell fled down the hallway to almost collide with Mrs Spooner, who was just leaving the drawing room.

  ‘Hold yer horses, gel. Is there a fire or sommat?’

  ‘It’s Mr Pinnegar . . . from the workhouse,’ Nell gasped in a panic. ‘He’s at the front door askin’ if yer sell eggs.’

  ‘Is he now?’ Mrs Spooner’s eyes turned into chips of ice. How dare that creature come near or by her house after what he had done to Cissie and Daisy! ‘Right, you just leave him to me, lass.’

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’ Pinnegar swept his hat off and gave a little bow when she appeared in the doorway. ‘And what a beautiful morning it is. I was wondering if you had any eggs for sale?’

  ‘An’ how would you know that we kept chickens?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘I happened to see the young man that works for you purchasing some in the market one day. I know him, you see. I was—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are,’ Mrs Spooner said contemptuously. ‘An’ if y
ou ever have the nerve to come to my door again you’ll get eggs all right – shoved right up your arse! Now clear off wi’ you afore I call a bobby!’

  Just as she was about to close the door he stuck his leg out and stopped her, and now his face was ugly as he asked, ‘And how is the Small girl doing? Are you aware of her reputation? She’s a little whore, did you but know it; she’ll drop her drawers for any man. Can’t get enough of—’

  ‘Clear off, I said, an’ wash yer mouth out wi’ carbolic soap while yer at it, yer lyin’ toerag!’

  She slammed the door then, regardless of the fact that his leg was in the way. Yelping with pain, he stepped back, upsetting the bucket of water that Nell had left on the step; and it overturned with a clatter, soaking his trousers and shoes.

  Biddy felt her heart slow to a steadier rythm as she heard him curse. ‘Serves yer right,’ she shouted through the door. ‘Now bugger off!’

  When she turned, she found Sunday and Nell staring at her with their hands across their mouths to conceal their dismay.

  ‘There!’ she said with a loud sniff. ‘That told him. Now get on, the pair o’ yer. I don’t pay you to stand about.’

  ‘What he said – it isn’t true,’ Sunday said, her face pale with shock. Then she burst out, ‘I don’t think he’s ever going to leave me alone!’

  The woman waved her hand at her. ‘He’ll leave you alone all right else he’ll have me to answer to,’ she snapped. ‘And o’ course I know it ain’t true. Put it from your mind. He’s a lyin’, horrible little toad!’

  Sunday and Nell turned and hurried away to do as they were told, but Sunday was deeply troubled. When would Pinnegar finally give up and leave her in peace?