A Wicked Deception

by Tanner, Margaret

  ***

  One morning a few days before Christmas, Melanie awoke with the most shocking pains. She felt as if her insides were being ripped apart. She clenched her teeth trying to stop the screams rising up in her throat. Rain had fallen continually for the last two days, the snow and ice had turned into oozing slush that dragged her down with every step she took. Had she strained herself yesterday? Expended so much energy it brought on labor?

  She was going to die.

  No human could survive this kind of torture.

  “Ann! Ann! Help me.” She hadn’t meant to scream out, but couldn’t stop herself.

  Ann dashed into the kitchen where they had moved Melanie’s bed a week ago. “What’s wrong? Is the baby coming?”

  “Yes. Yes. I think so. The pain is terrible.” She flopped back on the pillow. “Will I die?”

  “No, of course not, women have been giving birth since Adam and Eve.”

  Melanie gritted her teeth, trying not to cry and scream too much. Ann looked as frightened as she felt. Weeks ago they had washed some sacking to cover the mattress for this occasion so Ann raced off to get it.

  She returned, and Melanie screamed in agony as her friend maneuvered the bags under her.

  “Raise your legs and lift your bottom up so I can put this clean sheet under you.”

  Melanie screamed with the effort of following Ann’s instructions.

  “It won’t be so rough against your skin.” Ann assured. “I’ve got the kettle on, and I’ve stoked up the fire, so you won’t get cold.”

  Everything they would need for the birth and afterwards was close at hand. Ann had been meticulous in organizing this, so she wouldn’t have to leave Melanie alone for any space of time.

  Fear and pain drove Melanie to the brink of sanity. How much longer could she endure this? She pulled her legs up, grasping her knees to try and ease the pain.

  Ann stood at the end of the bed. “I think it’s coming.”

  With a sudden gush, that didn’t give her time to do anything, Melanie wet the bed.

  “Your waters have broken.” Ann soaked up the dampness. “It shouldn’t be long now.”

  Hours passed, Melanie didn’t know how long, she just wanted her suffering to end. Death would be a blessed release from this. “Oh God, please help me.”

  The urge to push became so great she could do nothing but open her legs, grab hold of her knees again and push.

  “It’s coming,” Ann exclaimed. “The head is crowning.”

  Thank goodness Ann had gone to an old gypsy woman, who for a couple of pennies had instructed her on delivering a baby.

  “Push again. As hard as you can.”

  Melanie pushed with all her might, gasping and groaning with effort. Perspiration poured down her face, soaked into her nightgown. Her chest was so constricted she couldn’t breathe properly. The pain was excruciating, like a red hot knife paring her apart.

  A sudden whoosh and the pain was gone. The loud wailing cry of a baby filled the room.

  “It’s a girl.” Ann cut the umbilical cord, tied it up, wrapped the baby in a towel and handed her to Melanie.

  “She’s beautiful.” Melanie gazed into the pink wrinkled face and fell in love. “Thank you. I’ll never forget what you did for me and little Ann Roberta.”

  Ann’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m honored that you named her after me. But Roberta?”

  “For Robbie.” Melanie choked back the sobs. If Robbie hadn’t been involved in the Eureka Stockade rebellion, she would be home in Ballarat. This baby would have been his. Tears burned her eyes but she blinked them back. This little girl would ease the pain of losing him. Give her someone to love again. “No matter what I have to do, my darling, you’ll never want for anything,” Melanie whispered. “I’d make a pact with the foulest creature on earth if I had to. No sacrifice would be too great.”

  “You lost a lot of blood, but the bleeding seems to be easing up,” Ann soothed.

  “If something happens to me, you swore on Geoffrey’s grave to look after little Ann for me.”

  “Nothing will happen. Everything went exactly as the old gypsy predicted. But she’d always be safe with me, Melanie. I’d love her as my own. In fact,” Ann gave a sad little smile. “I feel as if, she is sort of mine.”

  “Little Ann,” Melanie crooned. “You’re a lucky girl, with two mothers to love you.”

  “Put her on your breast,” Ann instructed, her voice wavering with emotion. “Let her suckle, that’s what the gypsy said to do. Helps your milk come in.”

  Melanie eased the little rosebud mouth on to her nipple. The pain and fear of moments ago was worth it once she felt the baby’s first sucking motion.

  For the next few days Melanie rested and fed the baby. Ann did everything. Morning and night she trudged out to the barn and milked the cow. She got even less milk out of the cantankerous creature than Melanie had. Returning to the cottage, rain drops glistened on her hair, her face and lips had turned blue with cold. Her hacking cough became so bad sometimes she would be doubled over, gasping for breath, yet she never once complained. Unstintingly she gave of herself even though she was so ill.

  I have to get out of bed and help her, Melanie fretted. It’s too soon, but I can’t let her struggle on like this.

  Continually going out into the ferocious cold worsened Ann’s condition. An idea had been germinating in her mind over the last few days. Ann’s bedroom had direct access to the verandah, which they had piled up with firewood, so they only needed to plod through the snow and slush to milk the cow.

  The weather worsened, as did Ann’s cough. Until she was well enough to get to the barn, they had only one option. Ann would move in with her and the baby, and let the cow have her room.

  It was a filthy idea, revolting, but better than dying. Jesus had shared a stable with animals, so they could do the same.

  “No!” Ann yelled when Melanie suggested it. “Never.”

  “It’s better than going out in the cold all the time. You’ll end up with consumption. You’ll die, then what happens to little Ann and me?” She played what she hoped was an ace. “The poor house?”

  “But it’s indecent.”

  “Who will know? Just for a couple of weeks until I get stronger. We’re desperate. We can’t go on like this. I couldn’t make it over to the barn now, I’m too weak. If I get sick what happens to the baby? We’ve got no choice.”

  “Living with a cow!”

  “Baby Jesus did it. Move your things in with me. We can clean the room up afterwards. What’s a bit of cow dung anyway? We can fling the mess out the back door. It’s so cold it won’t stink too much.”

  “I’m reduced to sharing a cottage with a cow.” Ann stomped up and down the room. “Peter, I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me. To us.”

  Melanie laughed at the look of sheer horror on Ann’s face. If she didn’t try to find humor in the situation she would go into screaming hysterics.

  Things are desperate she kept telling herself as she sat propped up in bed feeding little Ann. What a beautiful sensation, feeling your baby suckling your breast, giving contented little snuffles.

  The back door banged open, followed by a loud moo. Their guest had obviously arrived. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, it would have been comical.

  “You horrible beast, get inside,” Ann hollered. The clip clop of hooves on the cobbled floor echoed through the cottage, the mooing intensified. Obviously their guest wasn’t happy about the new accommodation.

  Better in here than a drafty old barn, Melanie felt like yelling. “Oh baby.” She stroked her daughter’s brown silky hair. “I hope we’re doing the right thing, but it’s madness for Ann to keep going out into the cold when she’s got such a hacking cough.”

  For three weeks the cow lived with them. After two weeks Melanie was able to get out of bed and totter around. An all-prevailing weakness invaded her limbs, her breasts felt swollen and painful. The weather was the wors
t she had ever experienced. Gusts of icy wind blew under the doors and they crammed towels against the cracks so they wouldn’t freeze to death.

  The wind howled and screamed, snow and sleet fell without respite. Had they wanted to walk into the village they would not have been able to. One slip on the path and they would end up buried in deep snow drifts.

  They were at their lowest point, their wood almost exhausted, their food supplies dwindling. Ann was so ill now she didn’t have the strength to get out of bed. They slept together for warmth. In all the weeks, with all the dreadful weather, not one person came to check if they lived or died. No one cared. Not even Peter. It was soul destroying.

  In the beginning, the stench from the cow in Ann’s room wasn’t as bad as she had first feared. Before she became so ill, Ann had religiously cleaned up the cow dung minutes after it splattered to the floor. She would toss it out the back door, along with their waste. It had built up over the last few days, but thank goodness the coldness reduced the smell so it was bearable. What a mess to clean up when the snow melted.

  They were in survival mode, having been reduced to living like animals. With an animal.

  Melanie mixed the last of their flour into a damper and buried it in the coals, as the bushmen did in Australia. She would never return to Ballarat. She had resigned herself to this. Even if she could by some miracle raise the fare home, she couldn’t leave Ann behind. Even if Ann’s aunt was wealthy enough and generous enough to loan her the money, she couldn’t take the baby away. Ann loved her as her own, had looked after them and sold her precious jewelry so they could all survive. The debt was too great. She could repay it only one way, and that was to let her friend share in little Ann’s life.

  The rain stopped, but the wind still blew in bitter gusts. Dare she risk going out to gather a few logs? Or would she be blown away? Swaddled in blankets, the baby slept soundly in Ann’s small travelling trunk. Ann slept also. Melanie blew them both a kiss. She wound a scarf around her neck, put on the knitted hat and gloves, and with a blanket folded in half and tied around her shoulders, scuttled over to the barn. Grabbing an armful of small logs she staggered back to the cottage. Her limbs trembled with cold, every step was an effort, but she forced herself back outside. Her breath lingered in little puffs on the icy air before vanishing. She found a large tree branch and dragged it through the snow. Panting with the effort she heaved it up on to the verandah and rolled it into the cow’s bedroom. The animal mooed its displeasure at being disturbed.

  She chopped the wood in the kitchen. Warm and hungry they could survive. Cold and hungry they would die. She allowed herself the luxury of putting on a couple of extra logs so the fire would burn more brightly, give out more heat.

  The last of their salted beef she dropped into a pot of water then added a handful of potatoes. She would save the broth. Turn it into soup tomorrow, if she could struggle to the village and buy a few vegetables.

  Neither Ann nor the baby had woken up during her absence, but now, Ann wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, pale and listless. “I thought I heard someone outside.”

  “You did. Me.”

  “What!”

  “I had to bring in more wood.”

  “Oh Melanie you didn’t. You could injure yourself.”

  “I was careful. Move closer to the fire. At least it’s a decent one now.”

  As Ann held her hands out to the warmth, Melanie was shocked at their claw-like state. The skin was white, almost transparent, revealing the blue veins.

  “I made a couple of trips,” Melanie said. “All the small logs are gone, but I managed to drag up a couple of large branches, and I’ll chop them up tomorrow. The weather looks to be clearing, which is good. We’re just about out of food.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got the strength to walk into the village.” Ann slumped in a chair.

  “I know. Anyway, you need to stay inside where it’s warm. I’ll go.”

  “Melanie, you can’t. Not on your own.”

  “We’ve got no choice, I’ll feed the baby then you can mind her.”

  Mid morning the next day, Melanie set off to the village, trudging along the water logged pathway. At the bridge she paused for a moment. The gentle stream had turned into a raging torrent. Foam formed as the water smashed against the stony banks.

  Gingerly, she stepped on to the bridge. One foot at a time, she edged her way across.

  Made it! She gave a relieved giggle that bordered on the hysterical.

  Another day or two if the weather continued to improve and the cow could return to the barn. The creature had settled in quite well after the first couple of days. In fact it seemed quite at home now. Imagine being reduced to living with a cow? In her wildest fantasies she would never have believed such a thing was possible.

  Melanie was puffing slightly as she arrived at the shop.

  “Good morning, Mrs. O’Dea,” Mr. Richards greeted her.

  Had he emphasized the Mrs.? She returned his greeting. It was a rotten morning but she didn’t dare say so. This man held their lives in his hand. If he wouldn’t give her money for Ann’s emerald brooch, they would be destitute.

  “I’d like to order our supplies.” She put in her order, similar to what they had previously bought. “Could I possibly have it delivered today?” She hated the fawning ingratiating manner she had to adopt. “I don’t have any money.”

  His eyebrows shot up to form peaks.

  “I thought you might be interested in buying this.” She withdrew the brooch from her pocket and he snatched it out of her hand.

  He held it up to the light, turning it around, scrutinizing it. His eyes lit up, greedy, calculating.

  “I’ll give you five pounds plus your order, and I’ll have your purchases delivered by this afternoon.”

  Daylight robbery, criminal even, but she had no choice and they both knew it. In a small village like this no one else bought second-hand jewelry.

  “You have had your child?”

  “Yes, a little girl. I would have liked a boy so I could have named him after my dear departed husband.” Melanie dredged up a dramatic sigh, wondering whether to try and squeeze out a few tears.

  “Your cousin is keeping good health?”

  “No, as a matter of fact she isn’t. I wanted to ask you whether there was a doctor in this village.”

  “The nearest doctor is in Ainsworth, five miles along the road.”

  “What do people do when they get really sick?”

  “Put up with it if they can’t get to the doctor. An old widow woman living near the crossroads dispenses herbs. She might help.”

  Despair weighed her down. It was an effort to drag one foot after the other, yet she left the shop with her head held high, dignity intact. Her chest felt so tight she gasped for breath as she struggled along. This was nothing compared to her anguish and despair. What would become of them once they had no more jewelry left to sell? What if Ann didn’t get well?

  Chapter Twelve

  8th September 1855

  A strong wind blew dust into Captain Michael Guilford’s eyes. He silently cursed this further assault on the Redan, as he waited in a ditch for the order to advance on the Russian defenses. If this battle proved successful, Sebastopol would belong to the English.

  The poor management of the Headquarters’ staff in sending mere boys up here evoked his wrath. He wasn’t a coward, but there was no point in throwing one’s life away on some useless forage. Two months on the Crimean battlefield had certainly alerted him to the stupidity and gross inefficiency of officialdom. If any of his swell London friends could see him now, dirty, unshaven, his uniform hanging in tatters, they would not recognize him.

  He wiped the blade of his sword down the leg of his trousers to bring back the shine, wondering why he bothered. The waiting was the worst part. After this battle he would apply for a medical board and be invalided out of the army. He had done his bit for queen and country, and should, as his father predi
cted, be granted a knighthood.

  The influence of Isabella, his wife, coupled with her money certainly added weight to his claim. He married her on one day and left for the Crimean War the next, without an iota of regret.

  His thoughts strayed to Melanie. He had been an absolute bastard treating her so shamefully. She was sweet. Her youthful idolatry had inflamed his passion for years.

  Major Douglas had helped him orchestrate her escape from the authorities. Once he found out Robbie’s hiding place and passed on the information, Melanie had been handed to him on a platter. He was able to claim all of her sweet innocence for himself. It was not as if she belonged to the gentry, he salved his conscience with this thought. Had it not been for the fact he needed Isabella’s money and influence to get him out of debt, and fund his extravagant lifestyle, he might well have married Melanie and to hell with his parents’ objections about her lack of breeding. Yes, he had always been fond of sweet Melanie.

  When he saw her at the Countess’ ball on the night of his betrothal, he had been shocked. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought her capable of following him to England. Once she got there, the chance of tasting her passion again proved irresistible.

  When the order came to advance, he urged his men up the escarpment where the noise became horrific. Soldiers on either side of him dropped to the ground, felled by Russian grape shot.

  The screams of the wounded curdled his blood. Some of the men crawling or staggering along were caught in a vertical crossfire directed by the Russian guns. A young officer, newly graduated from Sandhurst, whose tent had been next to his own, suddenly screamed in agony, clutching at the air before slumping to the ground. His blood shooting out like a fountain from a gaping chest wound sprayed all over Michael.

  “The Russians are coming.” Some of the soldiers dashing back from whence they came took up the call as they did so.

  “Bloody cowards.” Enraged, Michael stood up to induce them to stand and fight. He barely felt the shot thudding into his leg, even though it catapulted him back into a ditch.