Sentence of Marriage

by Shayne Parkinson

  Mrs Kirkham took one look at her and put the tray down on the washstand. ‘Where does it hurt?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing much, only a bit of backache. It’s just a bit worse than what I’ve had up till now.’

  ‘Low in your back? And spreading across towards your hips?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is it coming and going?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is. It lasts a minute or so, then it goes away for… oh, I don’t know, maybe quarter of an hour.’

  ‘It’s started. You won’t want this,’ Mrs Kirkham said, glancing at the breakfast tray. ‘I’ll pack your things.’ She opened the wardrobe and pulled out Amy’s case and her other dress.

  ‘What’s started? What are you doing?’

  ‘The child’s coming.’ She lifted Amy’s underwear in a heap from the drawer and shoved it into the case, then looked around the room to see if she had missed anything.

  ‘But it’s not time yet,’ Amy protested. ‘Not for another week at least.’

  ‘Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are. My first was two weeks ahead of time. You wait there, I’ll run out and find a cab.’ She darted out of the room, leaving Amy wide-eyed and trembling.

  So it had started, and she had been too stupid to notice. She wished she knew just what was going to happen. She had seen enough calves being born to know that the baby was going to come out from between her legs, though it was hard to believe there was enough room for it. She remembered hearing Susannah cry out through the wall before the chloroform had silenced her, but Aunt Edie had said that wasn’t real pain. Susannah had told her she wouldn’t have to know what was happening, because the chloroform would make her sleep, but Susannah had said it was terrible when she had Thomas and George. Of course Susannah always made an awful fuss about everything; maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. And the chloroform would take away the pain before it was too hard to bear.

  Mrs Kirkham was soon back, and she helped Amy on with her cloak. ‘We’ll be on our way, then. Oh, just one thing, Miss Leith.’ She pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket; Amy saw that it was a ten-shilling note. ‘Your aunt left extra money in case I needed to cable her, and you’re leaving me a week earlier than I expected, anyway. I don’t want money I’m not entitled to.’ She slipped the note into the bottom of Amy’s case, then helped her outside to the waiting cab.

  The nursing home was only a few minutes’ drive away. Mrs Kirkham was soon leading Amy up a short flight of steps and through an open door. They went a little way down an echoing corridor and into a room where a severe-looking woman with her hair scraped under a white cap sat behind a desk, writing in a large notebook. She looked up from her writing when Amy and Mrs Kirkham walked in.

  ‘I’ve a patient for you,’ Mrs Kirkham said. ‘I believe she’s booked in, though it’s a week or so early. Miss Leith.’

  ‘Miss?’ the woman at the desk echoed. She looked disapprovingly at Amy.

  ‘Yes. Miss Elizabeth Leith.’

  The woman glanced down at her book and flipped over a page. ‘I have an Amy Leith written down.’

  ‘That’s me,’ Amy put in. ‘My name’s Amy.’

  Mrs Kirkham looked at her in surprise. ‘Your aunt told me your name was Elizabeth.’

  ‘It’s not. It’s Amy.’ And she’s not my aunt.

  ‘Her pains have started?’ the nurse asked Mrs Kirkham.

  ‘Yes. This morning, I believe.’ As if on cue, Amy felt another pain. She grimaced at it.

  ‘Right, we’ll soon have you sorted out.’ The nurse rose from her chair, picked up the suitcase, took Amy’s arm and propelled her down the corridor. When Amy turned to thank Mrs Kirkham, the landlady had already gone.

  The nurse led Amy into a small room that contained an iron bedstead and little else. ‘I’m Sister Prescott,’ she said. ‘Get undressed.’ It was obvious from her voice that she was not used to being disobeyed. Amy slipped off her cloak and unbuttoned her dress as quickly as she could. ‘You’re not married,’ Sister Prescott said.

  ‘No,’ Amy admitted, her voice muffled through the fabric of her dress as she pulled it over her head.

  The nurse made a noise of disgust. ‘I don’t particularly like having young whores in my nursing home.’

  ‘I’m not a whore,’ Amy protested feebly. She was not sure exactly what a whore was, but from her father’s reaction when Susannah had called her that name she knew it must be a very wicked sort of girl.

  ‘What do you call yourself, then? You’re not a decent married woman, are you?’ Amy said nothing. ‘Come on, take the rest of your things off, then put this on.’ She pointed to a long robe that lay across the end of the bed, then watched as Amy removed her underwear. It was hard to strip under Sister Prescott’s gaze, but she knew it would be no use asking the nurse to look away. She snatched at the gown and pulled it on quickly, the coarse linen rasping at her flesh.

  The nurse pulled back the sheet and made Amy lie down. She washed her hands at a basin in one corner of the room and came back to the bed. She pushed Amy’s knees up and out, so that the girl was lying with her legs sprawled wide apart, and started prodding at Amy’s abdomen. Sister Prescott’s touch was rough, and Amy cried out in shock.

  ‘What are you doing to me?’

  ‘Seeing if the child’s lying right. Now I want to see how far along you are. Quiet.’ Amy could not see what the nurse was doing, but she felt hands probing between her thighs. She managed to smother a cry of distress when the probing became more painful. ‘Only two fingers dilated,’ she heard the nurse mutter, but it meant nothing to Amy.

  ‘Nothing’s going to happen before evening,’ Sister Prescott said, withdrawing her hands and wiping them on a cloth.

  Another wave of pain spread out from Amy’s back; this time it was sharper, and seemed to spread out further. ‘Sister,’ she said timidly when the wave had passed, ‘it hurts a bit when the pains come.’

  ‘I know it does. It’s the worst pain a woman can endure. That’s nothing, what you’re feeling now. Come evening, you’ll know what pain is.’

  ‘When will you give me something?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Something to take the pain away. Chloroform.’

  ‘I don’t waste chloroform on bad girls like you. That’s for easing the pain of respectable women.’

  Fear gripped Amy like a hand clutching at her heart. ‘But… but it’ll get really bad later, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it will. I want you to remember it afterwards. I don’t want to see you back here in twelve months carrying another bastard. That’s what happens when things are made too easy for bad girls.’

  Amy was too frightened for tears, but her voice trembled as she spoke. ‘But what if I can’t bear it?’

  The nurse leaned over her and spoke quietly. ‘You’ll have to bear it, won’t you? And you should have thought about that before you lay with a man who wasn’t your husband.’ She went out, shutting the door behind her with a slam that rang against the bare walls of the room. Amy felt the noise echoing inside her head like a throbbing pain.

  32

  November 1884

  Amy lay on the hard bed waiting for each new wave of pain. At first she tried to be brave and tell herself it wasn’t too bad, she could bear this, but as the day wore on the pains became stronger and more persistent. When each one came she tensed against it. Her clenched jaw soon ached, a discomfort that remained steady as the sharper pain waxed and waned.

  Every hour or so a nurse would look in on her, either Sister Prescott or another, slightly younger, woman whom Sister Prescott called Nurse Julian. She was no gentler than the other nurse when she probed Amy to check the progress of her labour. Amy had no pride left to make her try and hide her tears, but weeping gave no relief.

  She measured the passing of the hours by the changing faces around her. Nurse Julian took over in the afternoon, then disappeared to be replaced by Sister Prescott. When Amy opened her eyes fro
m one particularly severe contraction she saw that the room was dimmer. The day was nearly over.

  There seemed to be nothing left of her but the pain. The waves that squeezed her like a giant fist came every few minutes now, and left her whimpering and shaking.

  When all the daylight had gone and the lamps had been lit for hours, Nurse Julian came back. The two women stood over Amy and discussed her.

  ‘Still not fully dilated,’ Sister Prescott said, after probing Amy once more. ‘She’s going to be a long while yet.’

  ‘She’s going to have a hard time of it,’ Nurse Julian said. ‘She doesn’t seem very strong.’

  ‘Too much sitting around, that’s her trouble. Her muscles have gone. There’s nothing to be done here for now, come and have a cup of tea.’ They left her alone again.

  The lamps seemed unnaturally bright. Amy squeezed her eyes shut against them and saw red shapes as the light flickered. She wondered how long ‘a long while’ was, when she had been labouring since the early hours. The pain clutched at her again, even stronger now. She bit on her fist to stop herself from crying out.

  Hours later she saw blood on her hand from the bites, but she had no attention to spare for that. The pains were too intense for her to keep silent any longer. She screamed, and found it gave a tiny scrap of relief. She half-expected the nurses to come running, but she was left alone to scream as pain gripped her. Amy felt a warm wetness flooding out from her; she wondered if it was blood. Maybe I’m going to bleed to death. The thought carried no fear. Death would bring relief from the pain.

  When the women did come back, Amy did not even feel Sister Prescott’s rough handling, so tuned was her body to the greater pain. ‘Good, the waters have burst and she’s fully dilated at last,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘Nearly midnight, too. Now the real pain starts,’ she said, addressing Amy for the first time since that morning.

  Amy felt an irresistible urge to push, although pushing seemed to make the pain even worse. She pushed and screamed, pushed and screamed. It went on and on, and nothing seemed to change except that the pain racked her with ever-increasing intensity. Her whole body was soon drenched with perspiration. Sweat ran off her forehead and into her eyes, making them sting.

  ‘She’s taking a long time.’ That was Nurse Julian’s voice. ‘How long are you going to let her try?’

  ‘Another couple of hours won’t matter,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘Leave her to yell her head off for a bit.’

  The door closed, and Amy knew she was alone again. She screamed, but screaming no longer gave any relief. And she was so tired. Her head was trying to tell her to push, but her body rebelled. Why do I have to push? Maybe if I lie very, very still it won’t hurt so much. I have to push. I can’t push any more. She pushed and screamed, then she lay limp. Yes, that doesn’t hurt as much. Her body pushed feebly, but the urge was weaker. It grew weaker still, and Amy let exhaustion wash over her. The slight lessening of pain was like pleasure. Oh, yes, that’s much better. Her jaw unclenched and her eyes closed.

  Amy did not know how much later it was when the nurses returned.

  ‘She’s going out of labour!’ she heard Nurse Julian say.

  ‘Come on, push again, you lazy girl,’ Sister Prescott said, shaking Amy’s shoulders roughly.

  ‘I can’t,’ Amy murmured. ‘I can’t push.’

  ‘Forceps?’ Nurse Julian asked.

  ‘That means getting a doctor, and it’s after three in the morning.’ Sister Prescott leaned close to Amy. ‘Listen, girl. Do you want me to get a doctor to you? He’ll stick his instruments up inside you to rip the baby out. Do you want that?’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Amy mumbled.

  ‘I won’t leave you alone. Either I get the doctor in with his butcher’s tools—then you’ll think your insides are being ripped out—or you start pushing again. What’s it to be?’

  Her words slowly penetrated, and Amy roused herself enough to give a feeble push. The pain brought her back to full consciousness, and for a moment she tried to resist the urge, but she knew that the terrible woman meant it. If Amy didn’t push, then a man would come and pull her apart with bits of metal. She pushed harder and screamed.

  ‘That’s better!’ Sister Prescott said with satisfaction.

  There was no longer a rest between bursts of pain. Now it was all one long scream. The screams seemed to come when she breathed in as well as when she exhaled, so that there was no break in the wailing noise that echoed round and round the bare walls of the room.

  She felt her body being ripped. I’m going to die. There’s no room. The baby can’t get out because there’s no room. Still she pushed, even though she knew it was tearing her apart. How long before I die? I hope it’s not long. There was a tearing pain, even worse than all that had gone before, and a scream that seemed to take the top of her head off, then she lay flat and unresponsive. It was over. She had no more to give. It didn’t matter if the butcher-man came to rip her apart; she had already been torn in half.

  Through the silence that replaced her screams she heard a strange mewling sound. Sister Prescott took a step back from the bed, holding aloft a tiny, bloodied creature. ‘It’s a girl,’ she announced.

  Amy slowly became aware that the horror was over and she was not dead. The searing agony was replaced by rhythmic throbbing that gradually subsided to a background discomfort. Every few moments her body was racked by a fresh wave of trembling. She felt bruised all over.

  Sister Prescott disappeared from the room with the little creature, leaving Nurse Julian to deliver the afterbirth. The nurse massaged Amy’s abdomen firmly, making Amy cry out with the pain of it. ‘Be quiet,’ Nurse Julian ordered. ‘I’ve got to do this if you don’t want to bleed to death.’ She continued until she was satisfied with the results. ‘You’re not really made for childbearing,’ the nurse told Amy as she cleaned the blood and mucus from her loins. Amy’s flesh burned and stung at the nurse’s touch; she whimpered at it. ‘You’re too small. Especially if the father was a big man.’

  The door opened again. ‘Prop her up a bit,’ Sister Prescott said, advancing on the bed. Nurse Julian slipped pillows behind Amy and helped her sit up. It hurt, but she was beyond complaining. If the pain would only weaken a little, she would fall asleep in spite of it. ‘We’ll get her to suckle it for a minute to help the milk come in.’

  Nurse Julian undid the buttons of Amy’s bodice and peeled it open. She took a small, blanket-wrapped bundle from Sister Prescott and placed it on Amy’s chest.

  Amy looked down to see a tiny creature lying in her arms. It had a little rosebud mouth and huge, blue-grey eyes. The eyes, though unfocussed, studied her with a strangely knowing expression. Its head was covered with a thick, black mop of hair. Nurse Julian nudged the baby on to one of Amy’s breasts and its mouth nuzzled at her, exploring the flesh before it began to suckle.

  A rush of emotion flooded through Amy as the baby pulled at her breast. She looked at the child in wonder. My baby. I made you. You’re perfect. Her fingers brushed against the baby’s face, feeling the softness of her skin. ‘Little one,’ she murmured close to the tiny ear. ‘My little one.’

  She looked up at the unmoved faces of the two women. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘All mothers think their babies are beautiful,’ Sister Prescott scoffed. ‘But I think that one is going to be pretty, once her head gets to its proper shape. She’ll look like you. I hope she turns out better.’

  Nurse Julian fetched a cradle and placed it beside the bed, while Sister Prescott put the baby to Amy’s other breast. After what seemed only moments, Sister Prescott took her from Amy and placed her in the cradle, ignoring Amy’s feeble attempts to push the nurse’s hands away. She found that if she leaned over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain moving brought, she could just see the baby’s face.

  ‘She’ll sleep now,’ Sister Prescott said. ‘You will, too.’ Both women left the room.

  Amy was sure she would not sleep. All she wanted
to do was lie and watch her baby, fascinated by each tiny movement of the head, each little grimace on that beautiful little face. But it was not long before weariness overwhelmed her elation. She closed her eyes and dropped into an exhausted sleep.

  *

  All Amy’s waking moments now centred on her baby. As soon as she opened her eyes she would check the cradle. Sometimes it was empty, and she knew that one of the nurses had taken the baby away to wash her or change her. Sometimes the little girl was asleep, and Amy would watch her making tiny movements while her eyes stayed tight shut, listening to the strange little snuffling noises the baby’s breathing made. And sometimes she was awake, and those were the best times of all. Amy would lie and watch the baby turning her head from one side to the other as though she were trying to comprehend her surroundings, and wait until hunger led to the little mewling cries that would summon a nurse to lift her into Amy’s arms.

  Amy’s milk came in on the second day. Feeding was the only time she was allowed to hold her baby, and the hours between each one dragged. When a nurse lifted the baby into her arms Amy kissed her and held her close, whispering her love into the little girl’s shell-like ears. She tried to prolong these precious moments as much as she could, but one of the nurses would always come back into the room and take the baby away much too soon.

  In the afternoon of the day her baby turned one week old, Amy looked up from the child in her arms to see Sister Prescott standing close beside the bed.

  ‘Is that child still feeding?’ the nurse asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes,’ Amy said, sneaking a nipple back into the slack mouth. Suck, little one, she begged. As if she understood, the baby began sucking vigorously. ‘You see?’ Amy said, smiling at her baby’s cleverness.