‘Shall we see you at the Races, Miss Langley?’ he enquired, after he had asked after her health and she had assured him that the feelings with which she had been afflicted were beginning to pass away. Alan, looking at her, knew that she was speaking the truth. She was looking radiant again, her complexion was brilliant and her green eyes were shining at him—in friendliness now and not in disdain.
Whenever he had had a free moment she walked into his thoughts, and he could not walk her out again. She was nothing like the girl he had lost, but perhaps that was her attraction.
Her attraction! What was he, an Emancipist in a colony that demeaned them, doing pining after a lady like Sarah Langley?
Sarah, for her part thought that he looked tired. All Sydney knew how hard he worked, how tireless he was in the care of his patients. She did not tell him that her days, too, had become very full. She wondered if he knew about her latest venture.
With Tom Dilhorne’s amused help—and despite her brother’s disapproval—she had taken over a small room at the back of his store where, three times a week, she taught Sukie and some of the Emancipists’ children their letters. Even Lucy, she found, did not totally approve of what she was doing, partly because she was losing a little of Sarah’s company, and partly because her sympathy towards the Emancipists was more theoretical than practical. It was really a small rebellion against her mother’s strict ways.
Teaching, Sarah soon discovered, was not easy. She made too many assumptions about the state of knowledge of Sukie and the others. She had few books, few slates, few slate pencils and little paper. Her own chalks and pencils had to be used and she occasionally found herself resenting the time it took from her own interests. Her stubborn determination not to be bested drove her on, though—she would succeed, she would.
Now, smiling freely for the first time at Alan Kerr, she was unaware that her new interests had given her a glow and a vibrancy which contrasted strongly with her recent apathetic state. Elasticity had been restored to her step and her manner to him was lightly playful where previously it had been antagonistic.
Before they parted Sarah told him that she was engaged to visit the Races with Lucy and Frank Wright, Pat Ramsey being fully employed in the necessary task of turning an unpromising field into a race track.
Sarah thought that Dr Kerr looked a little disappointed on hearing that she was already engaged, but persuaded herself that she must be mistaken. She was not to know that the last flash of her green eyes stayed with him all the way down the street and round the convict gang that had almost completed paving the corner.
Sarah had been correct. Alan had half-thought of asking her to accompany him to the Races, but common sense had prevailed. He might have once been a gentleman—now he was an Emancipist; and if the Governor chose to favour him, few others did. John Langley had been kind, but Sarah was another matter.
She was a lady, a fine lady, almost certainly assured of a great marriage back in England, and the Mrs Middletons of this world were outraged enough that he spoke to her at all. To wish to squire her to social functions was quite another matter. Even John Langley’s kindness might wilt at such a proposal.
Besides, there was Sarah herself. What would she say to him if he made her such an offer? It was further foolishness to suppose that she saw this visit to New South Wales as more than a mere interlude.
Tom Dilhorne’s laconically transmitted information that she had opened a charity school in a room behind his store, in order to teach Emancipists’ daughters and illiterate servant girls like Sukie to read and write, had surprised him more than a little. He had not thought her sufficiently serious enough to embark on such an undertaking, and he wondered how long she would persevere with it.
He sighed impatiently before walking on. Miss Langley took up far too much of his thoughts. He would have been surprised to learn that Sarah was telling herself the same thing about him.
Sarah found Tom Dilhorne waiting for her when she rounded the corner that separated Sydney from the bush. It was not the first time that she had come across him unexpectedly, but it was the first time that she had asked herself whether his appearance was as accidental as she might once have thought. He tipped his hat back a little on seeing her.
‘Your servant, Miss Langley. I have a favour to ask of you.’
‘Indeed, Mr Dilhorne? You have done favours for me. It is time that I repaid your kindness over the room.’
He waved that on one side. ‘That was nothing. No need for thanks, as I said at the time. Now, I know of a little lass whose mother died recently and she needs the kind of help that I think you can give her. I wondered whether she could join your class.’
Once before she had heard Tom Dilhorne speak in this measured, almost gentlemanly tone, so different from his usual lower-class mode. There was more to him than she might have thought. For the first time Sarah wondered what story lay behind Tom’s arrival in chains.
She smiled back at him, saying, ‘Of course she may join my class, it will be a pleasure to help her. Bring her along this afternoon.’
His thanks were brief, but heartfelt. He tipped his hat again and walked away. His bearing, she thought amusedly, was still as ungentlemanly and as unmilitary as it could be. John had told her that, for a colonial, he was amazingly rich, but you would never guess it from his manner.
Chapter Six
Race Day dawned fine and clear. John left early in the morning, having been invited to breakfast at the Officers’ Mess. The Middletons were due to arrive shortly after nuncheon in order to drive Sarah to the course in their carriage.
She dressed herself in the gown that, with Lucy’s assistance, she had made: yet another new experience for her. It was a delicate blue muslin, with a high waist and tiny puffed sleeves. Her straw bonnet had been decorated by Lucy with tiny home-made forget-me-nots and Sarah herself had stitched on its wide blue ribbons. ‘The work of my own fair hands,’ she had proudly told John.
She had just pulled on her dress and was carefully smoothing it down when she became aware of an extraordinary hubbub coming from downstairs. Mrs Hackett’s angry voice was predominant. Someone was crying and Sukie’s shrill whine cut across the other noises. Sarah sighed. Such scenes had been common in her early days in Sydney, but she had thought that those unhappy times in the kitchen were over and done with.
The uproar did not die down. Quite the reverse. Just when Sarah had decided that she really must find out what on earth was happening, the door flew open without ceremony, and Sukie burst in. Her face was scarlet and her excitement was such that she could not speak without stuttering.
‘Oh, M…m…mum, you m…m…must come down. She m…m…mustn’t… M…m…Mrs Hackett mustn’t…’
She ran out of words and began to wring her hands together in her desperation.
Sarah put down her new bonnet. ‘Really, Sukie,’ she said, annoyed that her last-minute preparations were being so rudely interrupted. ‘You must slow down and tell me exactly what is wrong.’
This stern injunction had the effect of rendering Sukie even more incoherently urgent. She grasped Sarah by the hand and began to pull her towards the door. This manoeuvre succeeded in convincing Sarah that something must be very wrong if the normally apathetic Sukie was so strongly affected.
She threw her bonnet back on the bed and ran lightly down the stairs and into the kitchen.
There she found Nellie, purple in the face, and moaning loudly, hanging on to the back doorknob and Mrs Hackett trying to drag her free of it and shove her towards the open doorway.
‘You bad girl, you wicked girl!’ she was shouting. ‘You must leave at once. At once, do you hear.’
Nellie’s moans turned into shrieks and cries of, ‘No, I dassn’t, I dassn’t!’
Sarah attempted to take control of the situation by trying to make some sense out of what was happening.
‘Mrs Hackett, tell me at once what is going on. Why are Nellie and Sukie screaming, and why are you trying to
push Nellie out of the back door?’
Mrs Hackett let go of Nellie, who at once fell to the floor, clutching her stomach, and redoubling her wailing.
‘You may well ask, Miss Langley,’ replied Mrs Hackett, ‘and I will tell you. This wicked girl is with child and is trying to give birth in my kitchen. I will not have her here. She must take the fruit of her sin to the workhouse to be born. I want no sluts having by-blows here, and nor will you, Miss Langley, if you have any sense of decency. Out with you, my girl,’ and she advanced on the shrieking Nellie again.
‘Stop, stop at once,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘Am I to understand that Nellie is on the verge of having a baby and that you are turning her out into the street?’
Before Mrs Hackett could reply, Sukie cried out, ‘Lor’ bless you, Mum, you have the right of it. Don’t let her send Nellie away. She’ll die, Mum. It’s Race Day and there’ll be no one about to help her.’
‘She should have thought of that when she was misbehaving herself,’ cried Mrs Hackett in an ecstasy of righteousness. ‘She’s an offence to all decent women. I’ll be bound she doesn’t even know who the father is.’
On this Nellie crawled across the floor towards Sarah and began to pull frantically at the hem of her dress. ‘Don’t let her turn me out, Mum. The baby’s nearly here. Oh, Gawd, Mum, I don’t want to die in the street.’ Her writhings redoubled and even Sarah could see that she was in the last stages of birth.
In the whole of her previously calm and ordered life she had never found herself in such a position as this. It was obvious that she was going to receive no help from Mrs Hackett, but in all humanity she could not allow her to turn Nellie out. That unfortunate had now begun to sob unremittingly, lost to everything but her own pain. To make matters even more complicated the Middletons were due to arrive at any moment.
She took a deep breath, and said to Mrs Hackett with a calm that she did not really possess, ‘Mrs Hackett, under no circumstances are you to turn poor Nellie out.’ Since this did not appear to be enough to prevent the woman from beginning to argue with her again, she added sternly, ‘I warn you, Mrs Hackett, your own position here is at stake if you disobey me.’
She looked across at Sukie. ‘Are you sure that Nellie is really about to give birth?’ At Sukie’s nod she added, ‘Then you must go to Dr Kerr’s surgery and ask him to come here immediately.’
Sukie’s response was a ‘Lor’ bless you, Mum’, before running out of the back door at the double.
Now, thought Sarah, if Dr Kerr can arrive soon I might be able to accompany the Middletons to the Races, leaving Nellie in good hands. She addressed the stiffly disapproving Mrs Hackett. ‘If you are not prepared to do anything else, please put some water on to boil, ready for the doctor, should he need it.’
Sarah had some dim memory that this was the correct thing to do at the birth of babies, calves and dogs. She bent over Nellie, who was briefly silent and tried to help her to her feet. ‘Come, let me take you up to bed.’
Unsteadily she hauled her up the stairs, reflecting wryly that Nellie’s bulk had been the consequence of the baby rather than of layers of clothing. She lifted her on to her own bed, throwing on one side her splendid new bonnet, with a dry internal query as to whether she would wear it that day.
Mrs Hackett, still stiff with disapproval, arrived shortly afterwards with a kettle of hot water, and unwillingly helped Sarah to free Nellie from her carapace of grubby clothing, and dress her in one of Sarah’s fine cambric nightgowns. She gave a martyred sigh when Sarah told her to wet her flannel so that she could bathe Nellie’s sweating face and her hands, which were grimy from struggling around on the kitchen floor.
The minutes crept by, with no sign of Dr Kerr or a returning Sukie. Nellie seemed to have settled down into a cycle of low moaning interspersed at regular intervals with agonised writhings.
‘Mrs Hackett,’ said Sarah when it became apparent that Nellie’s baby was about to be born, ‘you have assisted at births, surely. After all, you were Mrs Corporal Hackett for a number of years.’
Mrs Hackett averted her face. ‘I have always made certain, Miss Langley, that such tasks were always given to others. My sensibilities would not allow me to take part in such a delicate operation.’
‘Oh.’ Sarah contemplated her housekeeper’s ignorance as well as her own. She guessed that the wretched Sukie was likely to be the only one of them, apart from the helpless Nellie, who had actually been present at a birth.
Some little time later the doorbell rang. It almost certainly heralded the Middletons’ arrival. Sarah stripped off her overall and ran downstairs. She opened the door to find that Mrs Middleton and Lucy were waiting for her in their landau. She advanced rapidly to the carriage, composing herself and putting a cheerful expression on her face.
‘I fear that you must excuse me. It is the most annoying thing. I have had an accident to my dress, as you see, and I must stay to change it. Pray do not wait for me. I will send for one of Tom Dilhorne’s gigs and join you later.’
Mrs Middleton simply looked suspicious.
‘Oh, dear, whatever has happened to your beautiful dress?’ lamented Lucy. Sarah’s excuse sounded uncommonly thin even to her, but there was no telling Mrs Middleton the truth. She had the uncomfortable feeling that she would certainly approve of Mrs Hackett turning Nellie away. Sarah had already been made aware that nothing indecorous must pollute Lucy’s ears. She could only imagine what Mrs Middleton’s middle-class gentility would make of learning that Miss Sarah Langley was preparing to act as midwife to her own immoral kitchen maid!
‘Pray present my excuses to Lieutenant Wright and Captain Ramsey,’ she added brightly, retreating to the door, still talking gaily, ‘and tell them that I hope to join you all later.’
Sarah felt compelled to rush away since she had the uncomfortable feeling that if her absence were prolonged Mrs Hackett might take the opportunity to push Nellie out of the house. She knew that Mrs Middleton did not believe her excuses even if she could not guess at the unlikely truth—which, sooner or later, she was nevertheless bound to discover. She watched the Middletons’ carriage depart, taking her afternoon’s pleasure with it and, once indoors, resumed her overall and took up her place at Nellie’s side.
That unfortunate had subsided into a half-sleep punctuated by moans—something which alarmed Sarah since she had had a vague notion that once birth had started to take place it went forward briskly if all was well. Another cause for worry was that Sukie had not returned. To try to distract herself and also to remove her grimly disapproving housekeeper from Nellie’s bedside, Sarah ordered the still grumbling Mrs Hackett to go and make tea for the three of them.
Mrs Hackett had just come back with the tea when they heard the kitchen door bang. Sarah put down the cup she had just been given and set off downstairs in order to see what in the world could be happening now. Halfway down she met Sukie running up, and the first sight of her face was enough to tell Sarah that Dr Kerr had not been found.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she wailed. ‘I went to Dr Kerr’s lodgings as you said. But he wor’n’t there. His landlady said as how he’d gone to the Rocks to set a convict’s broken arm. An’ when I got there he’d been and gorn.’
Her agitation was so extreme that she had to stop for a moment to get her breath back before continuing her story in the voice that she had always used until she had been employed by Sarah.
‘They said he was orf to a farm on the edge of the bush where the farmer’s wife had gone into labour. Oh, dear, I couldn’t go all that way on foot, but then I saw Mester Dilhorne in his gig. He stopped and asked me what I thought I wuz doing there, so I told him. An’, oh, Mum, he said that he would fetch the Doctor for you and that I was to go straight home with the news. He said that he knew that we would both be brave gels and help Nellie and the baby until he arrived with the Doctor. I’d already told him that ole Hackett would be no use. He said he’d come to help if he couldn’t find Dr Kerr.’
Sh
e ran down at last to sink gasping and panting on the chair beside the bed. Sarah picked up her cup and handed it to Sukie who obviously needed it more than she did, since she had spent the last three-quarters of an hour running around Sydney. Sukie drank it down in one giant gulp.
So, Tom Dilhorne looked as though he might be her unlikely saviour if, God forbid, he couldn’t find Alan Kerr. And how long would it be before either of them arrived? More and more it looked as though the task of birthing and saving Nellie’s baby was to fall to her.
‘Sukie,’ she asked, trying not to let the very real desperation that she was beginning to feel to affect her voice, ‘Have you had any experience in birthing babies?’
‘Lor’ no, Mum. I were there when my little sisters were born, but I was only a young’un then, and I can’t rightly say that I remember what happened.’
Sarah sighed. It was plain that she was going to have to summon up all the resolution of which she was capable if she was not going to allow Nellie to suffer needlessly should the baby arrive before either Tom or Alan Kerr did.
Nellie had begun to shriek again, and this time it was plain to even the untutored Sarah that the baby was already being born. She bent over the bed and examined Nellie—to discover that the baby’s head was already showing! After that she had no time for thought. Mrs Hackett promptly had hysterics when she realised that the baby was actually being born, and only behaved herself after Sarah had slapped her, hard.
Sukie, on the other hand, was only too willing to help, and between them they brought Nellie’s baby girl into the world unharmed, even if her cries and Nellie’s were enough to wake the dead—as Sukie gleefully commented to Carter later.
At the last moment, just before the baby was born, Nellie put her hand into Sarah’s, and after she and the baby had been washed, she took it again, and slept, still clutching at it. Almost as though sleep were infectious, Sarah dozed off herself in her bedside chair, after she and Sukie had swaddled the baby in towels and laid it in its makeshift cot.
An Unconventional Heiress Page 9