by Jess Foley
No one was prepared for what happened next. One moment Mrs Savill was smiling her happiness and the next moment her face had become suddenly distorted in agony while her mouth opened in an ear-piercing scream. At the same moment a great spurt of blood shot out from between her spread thighs, spraying Sarah’s breast and shoulder crimson and spattering the chest of drawers behind her. Momentarily shocked into immobility by the sudden horror, Sarah watched open-mouthed as the woman screamed and clutched her hands to her lower belly, her eyes wide in fear. At the same time the blood kept coming, pumping out in a steady pulsing action that threatened in no time at all to drain the woman’s body of every drop within it – already it was saturating the sheets. Mrs Savill, seeming to grow paler before Sarah’s eyes, continued to cry out, while Dora and Emmie moaned and Florence turned away, the child, squalling again, clutched in her arms.
‘Oh, God, help us.’ The muttered words came from Sarah’s drawn lips as she hovered, and then a moment later she was quickly stepping forward, and while the pulsing blood drenched her arm she made her left hand into a fist and thrust it up into the woman’s body. There up inside she could feel the ruptured artery as it pumped hot against her knuckles. Then, quickly bringing her other hand to the outside of the woman’s belly, over the same spot, she pressed down.
The bleeding, or most of it, was at once stemmed. Sarah felt she could have wept with relief. Raising her head she said sharply to Dora, ‘Go and see if Dr Kelsey’s coming.’ Then, her voice breaking, she added, ‘He’s got to get here soon. He’s got to.’
Dora, her face ashen, turned and dashed out of the room, and as Sarah remained bent awkwardly over the bed she was suddenly aware that Mrs Savill’s cries had stopped and that she was lying still. ‘Emmie!’ she whispered, her heart lurching, ‘is she all right? Listen to her heart,’ and Emmie stepped to the bedside and leaned down, laying her head on the woman’s chest. ‘Yes,’ she gasped. ‘She’s all right, Sarah. I can feel ‘er ‘eart beatin’. She’ve fainted.’
Her knees suddenly weak, Sarah supported herself momentarily against the side of the bed, and as she did so she became aware that John Savill had entered the room and was standing gazing in horror at the scene. In the middle of the blood-soaked bed his wife lay with her face chalk-white and her mouth loosely open. ‘She’s fainted, sir,’ Sarah whispered. The next moment there came the sound of feet on the landing outside and then the doctor was in the room.
Robert Kelsey was a tall, lean man in his mid-thirties. He had shed his topcoat and hat in the hall below, but traces of snow still clung to his boots. Without saying a word he put down his bag and moved to the bed, as he did so taking in the position of Sarah’s hands. Watching his face as he quickly assessed the situation Sarah didn’t miss the little flash of fear that darkened his eyes. Coming to a stop he stood still for a brief moment then turned and looked into the stricken eyes of the other man. ‘Please – Mr Savill,’ he said, his voice brisk but gentle, ‘– I think it would be better if you waited outside.’
Savill nodded dully, stared down at his wife for a second then made his way from the room. Kelsey turned to Florence who was holding the crying child. ‘Is the baby all right?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s fine, sir.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘Take her outside, will you? Give me some breathing space.’ As Florence moved out of the room he turned to Dora and Emmie. ‘You girls – stand aside – but be ready in case I need your help.’
While Dora and Emmie stepped back in the room he leaned over and laid a hand on Mrs Savill’s forehead and then lifted one of her eyelids. After that he took her wrist and felt for her pulse, at the same time bending low and putting his head to her chest. ‘She fainted,’ Sarah said, ‘but at least I managed to stop the bleeding. Will she – be all right?’
Kelsey raised his head. ‘No,’ he said wearily, and then gruffly added:
‘She’s dead.’
Chapter Three
When Kelsey had broken the news to John Savill he turned his attention to the baby. After making sure she was all right he left her in Dora’s care and instructed Emmie to get the nursery ready. Emmie was up there now, making up the bed and the baby’s crib and lighting the fire. Florence was busy in the kitchen, making tea and sandwiches. James, so soon after his return from fetching the doctor, had been sent off again – this time to the village to bring back Mrs Coolidge, the under-taker’s wife.
Sarah had cleaned her dress as well as she was able for the present and now sat in the hall, waiting in case the doctor or Mr Savill should need her. At the moment they were in the bedroom. She had been sitting there for what seemed a long time, and then at last she heard the bedroom door open and a moment later the sound of Kelsey’s voice.
‘Mr Savill, there’s nothing you can do. Why don’t you get some rest.’
There was silence again, but then after a few seconds there came the sound of footsteps on the stairs and John Savill appeared, slowly making his way down. The doctor followed a few steps behind him. When Savill reached the hall he stood for a moment as if lost in a dream then moved off towards the drawing room. Sarah looked at him as he passed her by. His face was pale and drawn, his reddened eyes hollow and haunted. As he disappeared from sight the doctor moved across the hall. As he reached Sarah’s side he looked in the direction the other man had taken. He shook his head. Then, turning to Sarah he said:
‘Where’s the baby now? I must go and see her.’
‘Dora took her into the library, sir.’ She got to her feet. ‘There’s a fire there.’
He nodded, gave Sarah a sad little smile of approval. ‘Well, your work here is over. Thank you for all you’ve done.’
‘Oh – sir, I just wish I could have done more.’ She began to put on her coat.
‘You did all anyone could do – and more than most.’
Sarah gave a helpless little shrug. ‘Well …’ she said, and then: ‘I suppose I’d better get back home.’
Kelsey nodded. After a moment Sarah asked:
‘Sir – what about the baby? Will she be all right?’
He paused. ‘Poor little thing,’ he said. ‘Five weeks premature. It’s not the best beginning for her. She’s going to need the best care possible. Mr Savill will need to find a good nurse for her. But if she’s well looked after she might just be all right.’ There was no conviction in his voice. ‘She’ll need to be fed in a few hours,’ he added. He gave a rueful smile. ‘We can only hope she’ll thrive on cow’s milk or goat’s milk or gruel. To give her the best chance she needs mother’s milk, of course, but I’m afraid wet-nurses have rather gone out of fashion. In any case, how could we get one here now, in this weather?’
When she got back to the cottage Sarah found Blanche awake and hungry. Ollie was awake too and voiced his relief at her return. As she fed the baby she told Ollie of all that had happened at the house. Later when he and the baby were asleep she lay in bed, gazing into the dark. She kept thinking of the tiny, new-born Savill infant and of what the doctor had said.
Next morning, after Ollie had gone to work and the three older children had gone trudging through the falling snow to school, Sarah asked her neighbour, Esther Hewitt, to come in and stay with Agnes and the baby for an hour while she went out. A few minutes later she left the cottage and set off back up the hill to Hallowford House.
Florence opened the back door to Sarah’s ring and Sarah kicked the snow from her boots and entered. As she did so she asked how the baby was.
Florence sighed as she closed the door. ‘Poor little mite. Emmie spent the night with her in the nursery. Though I don’t think either one of ‘em got much sleep. The doctor’s due back any time now. He said he’d call and see how the baby was getting on.’
‘Would it be all right if I go up?’ Sarah asked.
‘Oh, I’m sure it would.’
Florence moved with her to the foot of the back stairs and directed her up to the nursery on the second floor. As Sarah set off up the stairs she
soon realized that she could have found her way without the cook’s directions, for the sound of the baby’s crying came floating down to her. Reaching the nursery door she knocked and entered. Emmie was sitting by the fire with the crying baby in her arms. Seeing Sarah she said quickly,
‘Oh, Sarah, thank the Lord you’ve come. I just don’t know what to do.’ She looked to be on the verge of tears.
Sarah took in the scene for another second and then proceeded to take off her coat. As she did so Emmie said over the sound of the baby’s crying: ‘Is there any sign of the doctor yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
Emmie said despairingly, ‘I wish he’d get ‘ere. We just can’t feed ‘er properly. We did what the doctor said – Dora and me. We’ve tried ordinary milk and when that didn’t work we tried ‘er with thin gruel. But she won’t ‘ave none of it. And what she do get down ‘er she brings right up again. And she just keeps crying all the time.’
‘Does Mr Savill know?’
‘Oh, yes, and he’s that worried. But ‘e’s as much at a loss as we are. ‘E don’t know nothing about babies.’
Sarah laid her coat down across a chair and stepped forward, holding out her arms. ‘Here – give her to me.’
With a heartfelt sigh of relief Emmie allowed Sarah to take the baby, and she watched as Sarah settled herself in the chair and unbuttoned her dress. In just seconds the baby’s cries had ceased and it was sucking hungrily at her breast.
After a few moments there came the sound of footsteps on the landing. Then the door was opening and Dr Kelsey was standing there. He looked at the scene. The room was silent but for the sounds from the baby’s sucking mouth. Kelsey smiled and gave Sarah a little nod. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
‘She’s got to be fed, hasn’t she, Ollie?’
‘Well, yes.’ He frowned, shaking his head. ‘But does it have to be you who does it?’
‘There’s no other wet-nurse around, and the baby needs the proper milk. She’s got to have it to have any chance at all. What else can I do?’
Leaving the new baby fed and sleeping in the nursery, Sarah had spoken to the doctor who had then gone to see Mr Savill. When Kelsey had returned to speak to Sarah she had put on her coat and come out in search of Ollie in the gardens of the house. She had found him in one of the greenhouses. Now she stood facing him. Outside beyond the glass the snowflakes swirled down out of the leaden sky. Inside, all around them in the oil-heated interior, the plants grew green and succulent, filling the warm air with their pungent scents.
‘Did Mr Savill ask you?’ Ollie said.
‘No, it was Dr Kelsey. Just now – in the nursery. I just couldn’t say no, Ollie, could I? Not after what’s happened.’ She shook her head. ‘Mr Savill ask me? No – poor man, he’s going round as if he’s in a dream. I don’t think it’s struck him yet – the reality of it all.’
Ollie said nothing for a moment, then he said, ‘That means you’ll have to stay here at the house, doesn’t it?’
‘Well, yes – because of the night feeds. But after a while I won’t be so tied to the place. Anyway, they might get another wet-nurse soon. Till then, though …’ She reached out, laid her hand on his arm. ‘Say it’s all right, Ollie, please. Say it’s all right.’
He said: ‘So you’ll have to bring Blanche up here along with you, won’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I can look after both of them here. It won’t be difficult.’
‘Maybe not – for you or the babies. But what about the rest of us? – Mary and the others – and me?’
‘I know.’ She nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m sorry, Ollie, but – well, I’ll try to make sure that you’re not put out too much. When I get back home I’ll see Esther and ask her to come in in the mornings and get you your breakfast, and see you off to work with your dinner. And I’ll get her to feed the children and get them off to school too, and keep an eye on Artie and Agnes when I can’t be there.’ She pressed his hand. ‘It won’t be that bad, you’ll see. I shall be able to get down home for short spells during the days and also when you’re coming home in the evenings. So with a bit of luck I can have your supper ready for you and see to the children a bit too – be able to spend a little time with them before I come back up here for the babies’ next feed.’ Watching his face in the cold light she thought that he looked suddenly lost. ‘Oh, Ollie, we’ll work it out all right. But I’ve got to help the baby. I can’t refuse, can I?’ She gave him a little, pleading smile. ‘Don’t worry, you won’t go hungry – neither will the children. And as I say, it won’t be for too long a time.’
‘Not for too long a time? It’ll take months till the baby’s weaned.’
‘Well – yes. But if they get another wet-nurse –’
‘They won’t get another wet-nurse. You hardly ever hear of ‘em nowadays. It’s not like years ago when they were advertising in the papers all the time. And what makes you think Esther’s going to be ready to come in and look after us while you’re up here?’
‘Well – she’ll be paid for her trouble, of course.’
‘Out of what? You won’t even be able to do the washing now.’
‘No, maybe I won’t, but – listen, I talked all this over with Dr Kelsey and he’s had a word with Mr Savill. Afterwards he said – Dr Kelsey – that I’ll be paid well enough so that I can let Esther have something for her trouble. I don’t doubt she’ll be glad of it.’
‘Ah, I daresay she will.’
‘And Mr Savill will pay me well – so the doctor says. It might help us all, Ollie.’
‘Yes, it might.’ His tone was grudging. He picked up a trowel that lay on the bench beside him. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to get back to work.’
‘Yes – and I must get back home and see to Blanche and the others.’ She looked up at him entreatingly. ‘You don’t mind too much, Ollie, do you? Please, say you don’t.’
He shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter much whether I mind or don’t mind. And seeing as Mr Savill pays my wages there’s not a lot I could do about it if I did.’
When she reached the foot of the hill Sarah didn’t go straight to the cottage but went next door to the home of the Hewitt family. Knocking on the scullery door she found Esther cleaning the floor. In the warm kitchen Blanche lay asleep in a nest of cushions and pillows while Arthur and Agnes quietly played nearby. Esther made tea. She was a small, round, agreeable woman with red cheeks and a broad smile, the wife of Jack Hewitt, a shepherd in John Savill’s employ. They had one son, David, who was Ernest’s age. An older son had died of scarlet fever some five years earlier. As the two women sat at the kitchen table Sarah, keeping her voice low, told Esther of what had transpired, ending by asking for her help in the situation. Esther readily agreed and by the time the teacups were empty the matter was settled between them.
Sarah then did her best to explain matters to Agnes and Arthur as far as they were able to understand. They protested at the news that she would be sleeping away from home for a while, but after assurances that she would be coming back to see them during the daytime they came nearer to accepting the situation. She left them then to go next door where she packed the things that she and Blanche would need. Then, returning to Esther’s cottage she wrapped Blanche warmly against the cold and, with kisses and goodbyes to the children and promises to see them soon, set off back up the hill towards the house.
That night in the nursery at Hallowford House she lay in the bed beside the crib in which Blanche and the Savill baby lay sleeping. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before they were awake and demanding to be fed.
The pillows beneath her head were softer and fuller than those at the cottage and, like the sheets that were drawn up to her throat, were without darns.
As she lay there in the silence she thought of the children at home in their own beds, and of Ollie. It was an odd feeling lying there alone. It was the first time she and Ollie had slept apart since their marriage. She missed the warmth of his body beside her and the ever pres
ent feeling of the children being in the next room. Stranger than the strange bed and the strange room was her separation from everyone.
Chapter Four
With Arthur and Agnes beside her, Sarah walked up the hill towards Hallowford House.
August had gone out, and now they were in September. On the heathland over to her right the late-flowering heather was in full bloom while the bracken was turning sere, the hawthorn berries red, and the tall, pink blossoms of the rosebay willowherb had changed almost overnight into candles of cotton-wool-like seeds that drifted away and floated on the breeze like snow. Another summer was dying. Time passed so swiftly. At the end of the previous year Britain had gone to war, fighting the Boers in the Transvaal. It had ended quickly – with Britain’s astonishing and humiliating defeat, a defeat soon followed by the granting to the Boers of ‘complete self-government’ – subject to several attached strings and Her Majesty’s suzerainty.
To Sarah and many like her some of the events happening in the world outside Hallowford might have been fiction rather than fact. Information came with the newspapers, but the events rarely touched her. There was always so much to occupy her mind and her time.
As the trio drew closer to the top of the hill Agnes skipped on ahead. Sarah looked down at Arthur as he limped along at her side. Gently she squeezed his hand. As they exchanged smiles she listened for any warning in the sound of his breathing. He had had several bad attacks over the past few weeks and this was the first time in nearly a fortnight that he had been outside.
When they reached the brow of the hill Sarah paused to look up at the sky. The sun was bright but clouds were beginning to move in from the east and the breeze was growing fresh. She gave a sigh for the vanishing summer. Eight months had passed since the birth of Mr Savill’s daughter and now here they were on the rim of autumn again. Most of the harvest was in, and over on the distant hills she could see areas of blackened earth, scorch marks left by the burning of the stubble. It made her think of the painting Ollie was working at back in the cottage scullery. The thought of Ollie brought a momentary frown of preoccupation to her brow but she thrust the thought aside and moved on. She was going to Hallowford House to bring Blanche home to the cottage.