All Agnes could think about was the state Christine might be in. If she was anything like poor Maisie Warren, had been she could be bleeding in a freezing ditch somewhere.
Lil seemed to be haunted by the same thought. ‘If Annie Pilcher has harmed one hair on my little girl’s head,’ she hissed, ‘I’ll have her. As God is my witness, I’ll have her!’
‘Let’s just concentrate on finding Christine, shall we?’ Agnes said gently.
They continued on in silence. They met Tony and hope flared in Agnes, only to die when he said there was no sign of Christine at the goods yard, or around the library, or the school.
‘Why don’t you go home, Ma?’ he suggested gently. ‘You never know, she might be there?’
But Lil shook her head. ‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’m going to keep looking for her.’
‘But Ma—’
‘I’m going to keep looking for her!’ Lil repeated tautly.
He clearly knew better than to argue with his mother. ‘All right,’ he said quietly. He glanced at Agnes. ‘Let me know if there’s any news, won’t you?’
‘We will,’ Agnes promised.
They went on their way, plunging into the darkness of another narrow alleyway. The ice underfoot made it difficult to walk, but Lil ploughed on ahead, heedless of everything.
‘I should have known,’ she kept murmuring under her breath. She seemed more angry with herself than with her daughter. ‘I’m her mother, I should be able to tell these things …’
Agnes cleared her throat. ‘It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t see it. She was barely showing.’
‘You knew!’ Lil turned on her, her face blazing. ‘You could tell.’
Only because I was once in that position myself, Agnes thought. Hiding her shame under layers, afraid to admit the truth, even to herself.
‘But why didn’t she tell me?’ Lil was saying. ‘She could have come to me, surely?’
‘Perhaps she didn’t want to disappoint you?’
Lil stared at Agnes, her face shocked. ‘Disappoint me?’
‘You had such high hopes for her. Perhaps she didn’t want you to think she’d failed you.’
‘But how could she ever fail me? She’s my little girl.’
It was such a simple question, and yet it was as if someone had pierced Agnes’ heart with an arrow, stopping her briefly in her tracks.
Luckily, Lil didn’t seem to notice. ‘I suppose I owe you an apology,’ she said stiffly. ‘The way I behaved when you tried to tell me before … I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. I should have listened.’
Yes, Agnes thought. Yes, you should have. Part of her still felt angry and humiliated over the way Lil had treated her. But seeing the poor woman’s face as she stood before her now, so full of anguish, Agnes couldn’t find it in her heart to punish her any more.
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said quietly. ‘What matters is that we find Christine.’
‘You’re right,’ Lil said. They trudged on in silence for a few moments, but Agnes sensed Lil had something on her mind.
Finally, she said, ‘How did you know? About her being—you know?’ She sent Agnes a sideways look. ‘I s’pose you can tell these things, with being a nurse?’
Lil was looking for comfort, to make herself feel better for not seeing the signs. She was still blaming herself, though, wondering how a stranger could see what had been staring Lil in the face so plainly.
‘It was – experience,’ Agnes said, choosing her words carefully. ‘But I also saw her once, with her young man.’
Lil’s face darkened. ‘Young man? Do I know him? Is he a local lad?’
‘I – I don’t know,’ Agnes faltered in the face of Lil’s simmering anger. ‘All I know is that I saw them coming out of …’
‘What?’ Lil said. ‘What is it?’
Agnes turned to her. ‘I think I know where Christine might be!’
Chapter Forty-Five
The landlady of the bed and breakfast eyed them suspiciously.
‘What do you want? If it’s a room you’re after, they’re all taken.’
She went to close the door, but Agnes put out a hand to stop her. ‘We’re looking for someone,’ she said. ‘A girl with red hair? She’s been here before, with a young man.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about her?’
‘Is she staying here?’
‘None of your business,’ the woman snapped. ‘I run a discreet establishment.’
She went to close the door again, but Lil shouldered her way in.
‘That girl is my daughter,’ she growled, squaring up to the landlady. ‘She’s in trouble, and if you don’t tell me where she is—’
‘Room three,’ the woman quavered, her eyes bulging with fear. ‘Top of the stairs, on the left.’
Lil started up the stairs, with Agnes following. The landlady trailed behind.
‘What’s going on?’ she demanded, keeping a safe distance between herself and Lil. ‘I want to know. I have my good name to protect, you know! You ask anyone, Maud Pettman is the soul of respectability …’
Lil found the door and rattled on the doorknob. ‘It’s locked,’ she said.
They both turned expectantly to Mrs Pettman. She must have found the courage from somewhere because she shook her head.
‘I can’t let you in. It’s against my rules. As I said, I run a discreet—’
She was interrupted by the sound of a low, anguished moan coming from the other side of the door.
‘Christine!’ Lil was instantly galvanised, pounding on the door with her fists as if she could break it down with her bare hands. ‘Christine love, can you hear me?’
The landlady stepped forward, reaching for the ring of keys that jangled at her waist. ‘I’m warning you,’ she said, ‘if there’s been any funny business—’ She threw open the door and gaped in horror. ‘Oh my God! What’s this?’
It was like opening a door into a horrible flashback. Christine lay on the bed, her red hair plastered to her white, sweating face. Her clawed hands clutched at the bedsheet, bunching it tightly between her fingers as she gritted her teeth against the pain.
The world suddenly tilted on its axis and Agnes felt herself go with it, the ground sliding from underneath her feet. She grasped the doorframe to keep herself upright as her knees buckled.
‘Nurse?’ Mrs Pettman’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. Agnes turned and groped towards the sound. Her vision cleared and she saw the picture as it really was, with Lil sitting at her daughter’s side and the landlady standing in the doorway, staring at Agnes.
They expected her to take charge, she realised. Her nurse’s uniform gave her instant authority, even if she didn’t feel able to wield it.
She managed to hold herself together enough to give Mrs Pettman instructions to telephone the district nurses’ home for the emergency nurse.
‘Tell her there’s a girl in labour,’ said Agnes. She couldn’t allow herself to voice the other awful possibility: that poor Christine might be in the throes of a miscarriage. ‘Don’t just stand there. Hurry up!’ She snapped, tension getting the better of her as the landlady remained rooted to the spot.
The woman went off in a huff, still muttering about her reputation, and Agnes closed the door behind her.
Christine clutched her mother’s hand as if her life depended on it. Her eyes were feverishly bright in her bloodless face.
‘I’m sorry,’ she kept saying, over and over again. ‘I couldn’t do it. I thought I could, but – I ran away. I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough, Ma!’
‘It’s all right, my love. You’re safe now.’ Lil gathered the girl into her arms, rocking her gently. ‘Everything’s all right now. I’m here. I’ll look after you.’ She looked at Agnes over the top of her daughter’s head. ‘Well? In’t you going to do something?’ she hissed.
Agnes stared back at her blankly. ‘What?’
‘Get ready to deliver this bab
y, for one thing!’
‘I can’t!’ Agnes was aghast. ‘I’ve sent for the nurse.’
‘You are a bloody nurse, in’t you?’
‘Yes, but …’ She winced as Christine let out another wail of agony. ‘We need to wait.’
‘I don’t think we’ve got any choice in the matter.’ Lil held her daughter tighter as her cries subsided. ‘It’s all right, love. I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon.’
Agnes stood frozen to the spot. She wanted to run away, close the door, put as much distance as she could between herself and Christine’s pain.
Mrs Pettman returned. ‘Both the emergency nurses are out, but they say they’ll send someone as soon as they can,’ she announced.
Agnes looked at Lil, still holding on to Christine as if she would never let her go again.
She was right. They had no choice in the matter.
Agnes took a deep breath and turned to the landlady. ‘Right, we’re going to need boiling water, as much of it as we can get,’ she said. ‘And bowls, and jugs, and plenty of newspaper, and—’
‘Don’t you worry, love.’ The landlady patted her arm reassuringly. ‘I’ve had three kids. I know what to do.’
I wish I did, Agnes thought as she watched Mrs Pettman hurry off.
Agnes scrubbed her hands at the tiny washbasin in the corner of the room, rubbing the soap under her nails. She was putting it off, delaying the moment when she would have to step forward, take action.
But in the end she couldn’t avoid it any longer.
She turned to Christine with her most professional smile in place. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a look at you, shall we?’
Christine looked up at her with pleading eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry I let everyone think you were lying about me …’
Agnes glanced at Lil who had her eyes cast down, not looking at her. ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said.
There was no doubt the baby was well on its way. ‘You’re almost fully dilated,’ Agnes said, when she’d finished examining her.
‘I’ve been having pains for a while,’ Christine said. ‘I didn’t know what was happening to me, I didn’t realise …’ Her eyes glittered with tears. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to Annie Pilcher,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t want to, but I didn’t know what else to do.’
‘Did she do anything to you?’ Agnes asked.
Christine shook her head. ‘She tried to give me something to drink, but I – I couldn’t do it.’
‘Thank God you didn’t,’ Agnes murmured. She knew about the concoctions some old wives swore by. One of the girls at St Jude’s, driven to despair by fear and shame, had concocted a brew of tansy and pennyroyal, with disinfectant added. By the following morning she was dead.
Lil Fairbrass seemed to read her thoughts. ‘By God, I’m going to string that woman up!’ she hissed.
‘Let’s just worry about Christine, shall we?’ Agnes said, seeing the look of helpless distress on the young girl’s face.
‘Aye, you’re right.’ Lil squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘At least you’re all right, lass.’ Agnes looked away so they wouldn’t see her troubled expression. She wished she could say the same about the child she was carrying. The fundus measurement was so small, no wonder no one had spotted Christine was pregnant. She could barely be more than seven months, if that.
The baby would be lucky to survive.
A feeling of dread began to gather inside Agnes. Christine’s baby was going to be born dead, just like Agnes’ own precious little one.
She couldn’t bear that, not again. A wave of panic rose like a wave, engulfing her until she couldn’t breathe.
Mrs Pettman came back, carrying a tray laden with jugs and bowls, clean towels and various other items.
‘I’ve boiled and sterilised everything as best I can,’ she said, setting the tray down on the dressing table. ‘I’ve brought scissors to cut the cord. See, they’re in this jar, steeping in disinfectant.’
‘Thank you,’ Agnes said shakily.
‘And I’ve brought some clean sheets for the bed, and some newspaper like you asked.’
The three of them worked busily, laying down newspaper and changing the sheets. There was no mackintosh, so they laid more newspaper over the mattress. The landlady seemed quite tickled by the idea of a baby being born in one of her guest rooms, once she’d got over the shock.
‘And I suppose the father’s nowhere to be found?’ she whispered to Agnes, as they made the bed together. ‘I always knew he was a wrong ’un,’ she declared. ‘A bit too pleased with himself for my liking. Poor lass.’ She shook her head in sorrow. ‘Still, she’s not the first to get caught out and I daresay she’ll not be the last. Eh, nurse?’
But Agnes wasn’t listening. Once again her mind was full of the image of another room, and another girl on a bed in the throes of labour.
Like Christine, Agnes’ pains had begun when she was alone. She had escaped from St Jude’s to go walking in the grounds. They were the only beautiful thing about the place, acres of gardens giving way to wild meadows and a small wood with a stream running through it. Agnes loved to go down to the stream, far away from the nuns and their strict, punishing daily routines. She would sit on the bank and try to remember a time when she was happy, fishing with her brother and her father.
But on this particular afternoon, her waters had broken and the niggling aches she had been feeling all day suddenly gathered force, taking her breath away.
Agnes had tried to get back but it was a long walk, especially when she had to keep stopping every few minutes to deal with the painful spasms that racked her body. By the time she made it back to St Jude’s, there was barely time to rush her to the delivery room before her baby came into the world.
Afterwards, they blamed her. It was her long walk that had brought the baby on too soon. If she hadn’t taken it into her head to go wandering off by herself, they might have been able to save him.
Agnes knew nothing about that. All she could remember was the silence as she held him in her arms …
‘Why isn’t he crying?’ she had asked. Then hands had come out of nowhere, grabbing him from her. He was whisked away and she never saw him again.
There’s nothing anyone can do for him. Now stop crying, you silly girl. No one cares about your tears.
‘Nurse!’ Lil shouted at her, bringing her back to the present. ‘Do something, for God’s sake!’
Agnes looked round at Christine. Her knees were drawn up, her face contorted as she pushed with all her might. One hand was wrapped around her mother’s, gripping it so hard her knuckles were white. But Lil didn’t seem to notice as she urged her on, glued to her daughter’s side by love, whatever she might think of what she’d done.
Agnes’ mother hadn’t been there to help her during her birth. She wasn’t there afterwards, when the puerperal fever took hold and Agnes lingered for days between life and death.
The only time Agnes saw her was days later, when her fever had finally broken. She’d woken to find her mother at her bedside with the news that the baby had died.
‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ were the only words of comfort she had offered. ‘After all, God works in mysterious ways.’
‘The head’s coming!’ Lil shouted.
Agnes snapped herself back to the present. She had to concentrate, to focus. She had to do this right, couldn’t afford to make a single mistake.
Thankfully, it was a quick, straightforward birth. Within half an hour the baby emerged, perfect and tiny as a doll. It slipped into Agnes’ hands and she could only stare at it, dazed by the miracle that had just happened.
‘It’s a girl,’ she said.
‘A girl!’ Lil beamed with pride. ‘You’ve had a little girl, lass.’
Suddenly everyone seemed to be celebrating. Christine was weeping and laughing, and Lil and Mrs Pettman were embracing each other as if they were old friends.
But in the middle of it A
gnes stood very still, staring at the baby in her hands. No, she thought, dread washing over her. No, no, no …
Perhaps it’s for the best … After all, God works in mysterious ways.
Who would miss another unwanted little soul, who didn’t deserve to be born and had no place in the world?
Then Christine spoke up. ‘Why isn’t she crying?’ she asked.
Suddenly all eyes were on Agnes and the lifeless little form in her hands.
She looked back at their beseeching, hopeful faces. The baby wasn’t unwanted by them. She might not have been expected, but she already had a place in their world, whether she knew it or not.
Unlike Agnes’ own poor baby, who had slipped out of the world unloved and unmourned by anyone but her.
She hadn’t managed to save her own baby, but she would do her utmost to save this one. Perhaps if she could save Christine’s little girl, she could forgive herself for the death of her own child.
She turned to Mrs Pettman. ‘Stoke up that fire,’ she said. ‘And bring me extra blankets. We need to make her as warm as we can.’
As she tied and cut the cord and swaddled the baby up in the blanket the landlady had brought warm from the airing cupboard, Agnes tried to remember what Bess had told her on the night they had delivered the Rankin baby.
The child had gone into shock, and Agnes had to try and revive her.
She set the baby down beside the fire. ‘I need you to help me,’ she said to Lil. ‘Come and hold the baby’s feet.’
‘Why? What are you going to do?’
‘Just do as I say, will you?’ Tension made her snap.
Lil looked shocked – Agnes suspected no one had spoken to her like that before – but did as she was told, kneeling down on the rug opposite Agnes.
‘Now what?’ she whispered.
‘Shhh. I need to think.’ Agnes grasped the baby’s tiny arms between her fingers, trying to remember how Bess had done it. She gently circled the arms, opening up the chest, just as Bess had for the Rankin baby.
But the Rankin baby didn’t survive, did she? A small voice taunted Agnes. She died, just like your baby died.
The Nurses of Steeple Street Page 35