by Val Wood
‘All right, dear.’ Her aunt was half asleep. Stephen had given her a dose of opium an hour before and it was taking effect. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’
Jenny roused herself at suppertime and, groaning and panting a little, went down to prepare Stephen’s meal. She gave him the leftover pie and heated up potatoes, and took it upstairs to him where he was sitting at Agnes’s bedside.
An hour later when darkness had closed in, and she had cleared away and built up the fire, she shouted up to him. ‘Mr Laslett – Stephen!’
‘What is it?’
She called back, ‘I don’t feel well.’
He came to the top of the stairs and looked down to where she was holding on to the stair rail. ‘You haven’t— Is the baby coming?’
She turned incredulous eyes up to him. ‘I don’t know. I thought it was ’rabbit pie that had upset me!’
He gave a short laugh and came down. ‘Rabbit pie! Don’t you know when you’re due? What did Hill say when he was last here?’
‘He said a spring birth.’ She felt embarrassed talking to him about it.
‘Go and sit down,’ he said briskly. ‘I think you’re in labour.’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘Sit down, I mean. It’s too uncomfortable.’
He drew in a sharp breath. ‘I’ll go and fetch the midwife that Hill told us about. Will you be all right until then?’
‘I think so,’ she said. ‘I’ll go up and stay with Agnes until you come back.’
‘Please, if you will!’ His eyes were dark and brooding. ‘I don’t think it will be much longer, Jenny,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s in a great deal of pain.’ He gave a shudder. ‘I hate to see her suffer.’
‘So do I,’ she said. ‘But she needs you there. Go quickly,’ she added. ‘I’ll be all right.’
Jenny paced the floor of her aunt’s room, not wanting to disturb her but not wanting to be alone either. ‘Jenny,’ Agnes whispered. ‘Give me your hand.’
Jenny did as she was bid and a sudden spasm gripped her, causing her to clutch Agnes tightly. ‘Sorry! Oh, I’m so sorry!’ she cried out.
‘It’s all right. Squeeze tight if you want to,’ Agnes said breathlessly. ‘I won’t mind.’
Jenny knelt by the bed and clutched her aunt’s hand. ‘I didn’t want to make a fuss,’ she said. ‘But I hadn’t thought ahead to the birth. I somehow didn’t expect –’ She took a deep breath as another spasm creased her.
Agnes stroked Jenny’s head. ‘I wish I could help you, Jenny, but I’m so weak.’ She added in a whisper, ‘Yet I’m so glad that you’re here and that I’m with you. I shan’t mind dying now – I feel involved in creation.’ Tears trickled down her thin cheeks. ‘I feel as if this baby is part of me and your pain is mine.’
They heard the slam of the door and Stephen’s hurrying feet up the stairs. ‘She’s not there,’ he exclaimed as he came into the room. ‘She’s gone to stay with her daughter in Driffield.’ He looked from Jenny kneeling by the bed to his wife lying in it. ‘Look,’ he said, biting his lip. ‘There’s no time to fetch the doctor. I’ve never delivered a child. But I’ve delivered lambs and calves since I was a boy, so if you’ll let me, I will help you at the end.’
Jenny stared at him in horror, then considered and nodded. The doctor was a man; he would have helped her had he been here. Perhaps, she thought, as Stephen is a farmer, he’ll know what to do, whereas I don’t. When her mother was giving birth to her younger brothers, Jenny had been turned out of the house.
‘You’ll have to get through it now as best you can,’ Stephen said, ‘but when you think you’re ready, call me and I’ll come.’
‘How will I know?’ she asked.
‘You’ll know,’ Agnes croaked from the bed. ‘Be sure of that.’
Jenny went to lie down on her own bed, but she couldn’t settle and paced the floor, holding on to the bedrail when the pain was intense. Then as the sky started to lighten and the birds began their morning chorus, she knew that the time had come. ‘It’s a new month,’ she gasped. ‘A new day, and my son – Christy’s son – is about to be born.’
‘Stephen,’ she called. ‘Come now. Hurry.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Stephen had been reassuring and patient as Jenny had cried and cursed him as he’d urged her to push. ‘For God’s sake I am pushing!’ she’d screamed at him, and then immediately apologized. ‘Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.’
‘It’s coming! It’s coming,’ he’d urged her, then gently laid his hand on her naked belly to calm her before easing the baby from her. He held up the slippery newborn infant and gently patted its back until a mewling cry issued from tiny lungs.
There was a transfixed look of wonder on his face as he gazed at the infant, then turning to Jenny he said, ‘You have a beautiful daughter, Jenny.’ She heard the catch in his voice and saw the glisten in his eyes as he placed the baby in her arms. ‘A lovely little girl.’
But it should have been a boy, was Jenny’s first thought. That had been my plan. To produce a son as Christy’s heir. I would have taken him to the Ingrams when he was grown up and said, here he is, the rightful successor to the Ingram name. She looked down at the child and then gave a start as she realized that Stephen was speaking to her.
‘“Put her to your breast, Jenny,” ’ Jenny wrote in her book that night. ‘That’s what he was saying, and I saw the look of tenderness as he gazed at my child. He didn’t turn away as I unbuttoned my nightgown, and I didn’t feel at all embarrassed as I lifted out my breast and placed her on my nipple, for hasn’t he seen more of me than any other man? More even than Christy, for our inexperienced fumbling was always under cover of darkness, beneath chestnut trees, petticoats and shirt tails.
‘He sat beside me on the bed as the infant suckled my breasts and then asked if he might show her to Agnes. I said of course he could, for she must have been most anxious and disturbed by the noise I had been making. So whilst I sat on my chamber pot for the afterbirth to come away, as Stephen said I should, he wrapped the babe in a sheet and took her into Agnes’s room opposite. I saw them through the partly open door and watched as he placed her in Agnes’s arms. She kissed the top of the baby’s forehead and then Stephen leant forward to kiss Agnes on the cheek. She whispered something to him and I saw him sit back as if she had said something startling, and he shook his head. She spoke again and touched his cheek, and he put his hand to his head and I could tell by the way his shoulders shook that he was weeping.’
Dr Hill called two days later and found Jenny going about her usual chores and the baby sleeping in a padded drawer in the corner of the kitchen. ‘You’ve been delivered safely, I see,’ he commented. ‘Did Mrs Burley come in time?’
‘No,’ Jenny admitted. ‘Mr Laslett delivered her.’
‘Did he, by Jove!’ The doctor gave a hearty laugh. ‘Well, he was always practical. And are you well?’ he asked, putting on his medical manner. ‘No difficulties?’
‘No, sir, none at all.’ Jenny glanced towards the stair door. ‘Not with me, but my aunt is very ill. Mr Laslett spends all his time with her.’
‘And are you prepared for the inevitable?’ The doctor raised his eyebrows, but lowered his voice. ‘You have your child to comfort you, of course. Mr Laslett will take it very hard, having no-one.’
‘I’ve promised my aunt that I’ll stay if he wants me to,’ Jenny told him.
‘And if he doesn’t want, where will you go?’ Dr Hill looked at her quizzically.
Jenny shook her head. ‘Nowhere,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to apply to ’parish.’ She was prepared for that. When she had seen Agnes and Stephen talking on the day of the birth, she was sure that Agnes was imploring Stephen to let her stay, and that Stephen was refusing, not because he didn’t like her, but because he couldn’t bear to have another woman in Agnes’s place.
The doctor took in a deep breath as he pondered. ‘I see!’ was all he said before turning to go upstairs.
Stephen’s face wa
s ashen when the two men came downstairs. Jenny put the kettle on the fire and placed the teapot ready to make a brew of tea.
‘Something a little stronger, I think, Jenny,’ Dr Hill said. ‘If you have it.’
Jenny glanced at Stephen. She never went into the cupboard where he kept one or two bottles of spirits, which he gave sparingly to Agnes with hot water and honey. But he nodded and motioned her to go to it. There was half a bottle of whisky and an almost empty rum bottle. She brought out the whisky and fetched two glasses, setting them down on the table in front of the men.
‘Shall I go up to Aunt Agnes?’ she asked Stephen. ‘Or is she sleeping?’
‘She’s sleeping.’ The doctor answered for him. ‘Let her rest for a while, then go up.’
Jenny swung the kettle off the fire, and picking up the baby went outside. She walked up to the gate and leant against it. The day was bright and sunny, and here and there splashes of early white blossom were emerging in the hawthorn hedgerows. There was a smell of new grass, the bleat of young lambs in the meadow and the distinctive call of yellowhammers. She hugged the child to her. ‘This could be a new beginning,’ she whispered. ‘If only we can stay.’
She heard the door creak open and the doctor came up the path towards her. ‘What name have you given her?’ he asked as he approached.
‘Christina April. But she hasn’t been baptized yet.’ Jenny gazed down at the baby. Though she had at first been disappointed at her not being a boy, already she loved her and was making other plans. ‘Mr Laslett wanted me to call her Angel. He said that’s what she is!’
‘I’m sure that she is. Jenny,’ he spoke gravely, ‘your aunt hasn’t much longer. I’ve given Stephen medication to give to Agnes to ease her pain and help her depart this life. He might not be able to do it. I’m asking if you will, if he can’t?’
A sudden image of the prison cell swam into Jenny’s head. ‘Will I get into trouble?’ she whispered. ‘Will it be a crime?’
‘No,’ he said gently. ‘It will be a kindness.’
That night after supper Stephen called Jenny into the bedroom. ‘Agnes wants to speak to you,’ he said hoarsely, and as Jenny approached the bed he positioned himself outside the door.
‘Come close by me, Jenny,’ her aunt whispered and motioned her to come nearer. ‘I can’t speak for long.’ Although she was pale with dark rings below her eyes, she seemed peaceful. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said. ‘And I’m quite happy, especially since you had the baby. She’s a renewal of life, so we mustn’t be afraid of death.’
Jenny felt a lump gathering in her throat and found it hard to speak, but Agnes seemed to gather strength to say, ‘I want you to stay here and Stephen has agreed. I’ve asked him to promise me something and although he hasn’t yet agreed, he says he will try.’ She closed her eyes for a moment. ‘He’ll tell you what it is when ’time is right.’ She put her hand into Jenny’s. ‘I’m going to rest now. Go and see to your baby. I can hear her calling you.’
There was no sound coming from the baby, but Jenny leant towards her aunt and kissed her cheek. ‘Dr Hill asked me to give you your medicine,’ she said, picking up the bottle from the side table. ‘Just a small dose to help you sleep.’ She spooned the liquid into her mouth. ‘Sleep well, dearest Agnes,’ she choked. ‘Thank you for what you’ve done for me.’
She passed Stephen as she went out of the room but neither of them spoke, and he again took up his vigil by the bed.
Jenny took him a cup of tea an hour later and he was slouched half asleep in the chair. He jumped when she touched his shoulder and looked towards Agnes, who was sleeping. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured, but when Jenny suggested he lie down on the bed to rest, he refused. ‘I might fall asleep,’ he said, ‘and not hear Agnes if she should wake.’
Jenny went to her own bed, first asking Stephen to call her if she was needed. She tucked the baby into the crook of her arm and dozed off and was awoken by her nuzzling against her, her tiny mouth searching for her breast. The dawn was just breaking and a rustling and twittering was coming from the ivy around the house walls as the birds roused themselves. ‘Breakfast time,’ she murmured, gazing at Christina. ‘That’s what they’re saying. Another day has begun.’
She fed her and then, getting out of bed, placed the infant in the middle of the bed with a pillow on either side of her. Then Jenny put a shawl round her shoulders, and padded in bare feet to the other bedroom. Stephen was still sitting in his chair but leaning over with his head on the bed, fast asleep. She tiptoed in and saw Agnes lying still, her eyes closed. She’s gone. Jenny took a deep breath. She went to sleep and didn’t wake up.
Jenny tiptoed out of the room again and went downstairs, riddled the fire and put on more wood, then placed the kettle over it. Best if he makes the discovery himself, she considered. He won’t want me there. Not yet, anyway. She waited five more minutes and then set about some tasks, making a noise so that Stephen would hear. She opened the kitchen door and spoke to the dog whose kennel was outside, and rattled the water pail, and then as the kettle steamed she made a pot of tea.
She was sitting by the fire, a cup of tea in her hand, when Stephen came down. Jenny looked up enquiringly, but didn’t speak. Stephen’s face was drawn but calm. He swallowed hard and said, ‘She’s gone, Jenny. Agnes has left me.’
He went to the door and, opening it, looked out. ‘Such a lovely morning,’ he murmured, ‘and she’s not here to see it.’
Jenny came behind him and tentatively put her hand on his arm. ‘Perhaps she’s got a better view of it than we have,’ she murmured. ‘Perhaps her spirit is out there looking over the land and her home.’
He gave a crooked, trembling smile. ‘I’d like to think she is,’ he said. ‘I’ll try to hold on to that.’
Jenny washed and dressed, putting on a dark skirt and blouse out of respect for Agnes, and looked in at her. Stephen had straightened the bedspread, smoothed the pillows and arranged Agnes’s fine hair across them. She looks younger now that the pain has gone, Jenny thought, then, turning to the drawer where Agnes kept her face powders and false curls, she took out the curls and pinned them carefully around Agnes’s face.
‘What are you doing?’ Stephen stood in the doorway.
‘I’m – Aunt Agnes liked to look nice,’ Jenny stammered. ‘I thought – if anyone should call – to pay their respects, I mean.’
‘No-one will call,’ Stephen said bluntly. ‘Except Hill, when I fetch him. But – yes, she did. You can leave them on.’ He turned to go downstairs. ‘I came to tell you I don’t want any breakfast. I’ll be in the barn if you want me.’
‘But … shouldn’t we be doing something?’ Jenny halted him as he took a step down. ‘I mean – arrange something?’ She had never been involved with funerals, but she knew that preparations had to be made.
‘It will be taken care of. Once Hill has been to certify death, we can get on with the burial. Agnes didn’t want a priest.’ He gazed at her from the lower step. ‘I’m about to make a casket, and then she’ll be buried in the top meadow.’
‘Oh!’ Jenny gave a small gasp. ‘I didn’t realize that was allowed.’
He grunted. ‘Whether it is or not, that’s what is going to happen. It’s what Agnes wanted.’
‘That’s all right then,’ she murmured and tears began to fall for the first time that morning.
‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘It is.’
She could hear the sawing and hammering all morning, and at midday she took him a bottle of cold tea and a bacon sandwich. ‘You should eat something,’ she said. ‘It’ll keep your strength up.’
‘You sound like Agnes.’ He sat down on an upturned pail and took the food from her. ‘Or is that what all women say?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘I can’t remember my mother ever having to remind me to eat.’
‘What’s your mother like?’ he asked. ‘Is she like Agnes?’
‘No. Nothing like her. I think Agnes was quite different fr
om all her sisters. Was she beautiful when she was young?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes.’ His voice took on an enthusiastic lilt. ‘When I first saw her – it was in her husband’s inn, you know.’
Jenny nodded. Agnes had told her that.
‘I’d gone in with some friends. We’d travelled into Hull for a jolly and were on our way to one of the theatres.’ He gazed into space as he looked back in time. ‘We’d already had a few glasses of Hull ale, but decided to have one more before going to the show. The inn was in the Market Place and Agnes was serving at the tables. I saw that she’d been crying and that there was a bruise on her cheek. I spoke to her, but she didn’t answer and looked away in the direction of the innkeeper. I realized that he was the reason she was crying. She was obviously frightened of him. He was a big brute of a fellow.’
He bit into his bread and bacon and pondered. ‘I stayed behind. The other fellows went on to the theatre, but I stayed. I had a young man’s notion of rescuing her. I didn’t know then that he was her husband.’
‘And you fell in love with her?’ Jenny asked.
He nodded. ‘Yes. Immediately.’ He glanced up at her and smiled. ‘Some people don’t believe in love at first sight. But I know, Jenny. It can happen.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Jenny said. ‘Of course it can!’
They seemed more at ease with each other after their conversation and throughout the rest of the afternoon, as he continued with his hammering and planing, she occasionally heard him whistling. It’s done him good to talk, she mused, but then gave a wry smile as she thought he would comment that that was what a woman would say.
Later in the day, he came in, washed and changed and said he was going to ride over to tell Dr Hill about Agnes. ‘He’ll come tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And that’s when we’ll have the burial. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.’
‘I do want to,’ she said. ‘Agnes was my kin. It’s only right that I should be there.’