by Jess Foley
‘How are you feeling, Mam?’ Agnes asked.
‘Oh – well, not too good, my dear. How are you?’
‘I’m all right.’ Agnes realized that her mother’s breathing sounded restricted. The next moment Sarah turned her head on the pillow and coughed. She had coughed frequently during the night, but now the cough had a dry, hacking sound. It was the same sound that Arthur had made, Agnes realized, and she felt her heart lurch with fear.
‘Come on,’ Agnes said, ‘let’s get you a bit higher in the bed. It’ll help your chest.’ When Sarah’s position had been adjusted Agnes took the now cold brick from beneath the bedclothes and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll get you a hot one,’ she said, ‘and get us some breakfast too.’
‘Oh, no, no food for me, thank you, my dear. But you must have something.’
‘And you must eat something too. A little gruel perhaps.’
Ignoring her mother’s feeble protests Agnes went downstairs, put the brick in the oven and took the hot one out. When she had placed it in Sarah’s bed she returned to the kitchen where she cooked some oatmeal, spooned some into a bowl and added a little milk and sugar. Upstairs she wrapped a shawl about her mother’s shoulders and gave her some of the gruel. A little later she helped her from the bed onto the chamber pot. Afterwards she took the pot downstairs. In the scullery she put on her boots and, wrapping the coat more closely about her, braved the snow and the cold air to hurry outside and empty the pot into the privy. Back in the kitchen she fed the fire in the range. She felt she should take some medicine, but there was only that which the doctor had left for her mother. After a moment she went to the dresser-cupboard and took from it the precious little bottle of brandy that was always kept there. Pouring some warm milk into a cup she added a spoonful of the brandy to it. The taste of the brandy made her shudder slightly, but she took comfort from its diffusing warmth in her body. It would do her good, she was sure.
When she climbed the stairs again a couple of minutes later her limbs felt weak; it was as much as she could do to lift one foot up behind the other.
In the times between caring for her mother Agnes spent as much time as she could in bed over the next few hours, and all the while her headache grew more painful along with the feeling of increasing congestion in her nose and chest. There was no sign of the doctor.
Sarah, lying in the next bed, was unaware of Agnes’s own sickness for some time, until, taking a little of the milk and brandy that Agnes had prepared for her she looked into Agnes’s eyes and said, ‘Oh, my dear God, child, you’re ill too! Get back into bed, do.’ In answer Agnes shook her head, insisting that she was all right. After a moment or two Sarah ceased her protests and weakly lay back on the pillow again.
It began to snow again just after one o’clock. Later on Agnes got up from the bed to make up the fire. When she had finished she straightened, stretched her aching limbs and looked out at the whirling flakes that skimmed past the window. As she stood there she felt the dizziness sweep over her again, and she clutched at the iron bedstead to steady herself. The pain in her head was like a split in the lining of her skull, a wound played on by a hammer that pounded away without pause, sometimes quite lightly, but at other times so violently that it was all she could do not to hold the sides of her head and cry out. She stood there for some seconds, clutching the bedstead until the dizziness began to recede, then she moved back and sat down on the side of the bed. Pulling back the covers she lay down again. After a while she fell into a fitful sleep.
When she awoke a little less than an hour later she sat up, looked across at the other bed and saw at once that her mother was much worse.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Mam … Oh, Mam …’
Agnes threw back the bedclothes and struggled out of bed. As she put her feet onto the cold floor and stood up the familiar dizziness swept over her again so that she staggered slightly and had to brace the backs of her legs against the side of the bed. Her legs ached and her knees were weak.
Recovering after a few seconds she stepped across the small space to the other bed and leaned over her mother. Sarah had pushed back the bedclothes and lay on her back. Sweat had broken out on her forehead and ran down her face, dampening the hair at her temples. Her mouth partly open, her breath came rasping, as if torn from her lungs. And then suddenly she began to move her head wildly from side to side while from her dry, cracked lips a torrent of muttered words spilled out, staccato, disjointed, stumbling over one another. She cried out something about the Cut and then, ‘Ollie …!’ and then her words faded and she lapsed back into her stertorous breathing once more. As Agnes looked down at her Sarah began to cough. ‘Oh, Mam!’ Agnes cried out and, quickly, using all her strength, she forced her mother to sit up, and then held an old piece of a torn sheet for her to cough into. Then, gently, she helped her to lie back on the pillow again, covered her up, then turned and hurried from the room.
Her legs were so weak that she staggered slightly halfway down the stairs. She was hardly aware of it, though. She went on down into the kitchen where she put some more wood into the stove and poured a little milk into a saucepan. Skipping from one foot to the other with cold and impatience she waited for the milk to heat. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was twenty-past-three. Where was the doctor? When the milk was warm enough she poured it into a cup then carried it upstairs to the bedroom where, sitting on the side of Sarah’s bed, she got her to drink a little. Afterwards she dabbed at her mother’s sweat-damp brow with tepid water. Now she could see about her mother’s nose and mouth the faint bluish look that she had seen on Arthur just before he died. As she straightened, a sob welled up in her throat. She spun, helplessly, on the little piece of matting, turned back to gaze at her mother’s face again, and then began to snatch up her clothes.
When she had put on her dress she pulled on Arthur’s old coat again. It was much too big for her but she didn’t care. After whispering a few hurried words of comfort to her mother she went down the stairs and out into the scullery where she pulled on her boots. Then she went out into the yard. The snow was still falling but not so heavily now, and the air seemed not so bitterly cold as it had earlier. Hurrying across the narrow back yard she climbed over the low fence into the Hewitts’ yard and rapped at the scullery door. To her relief the door was opened almost immediately and Esther Hewitt stood there in her apron, holding a dish in her hand. At the sight of the expression on Agnes’s face she said, frowning:
‘Oh, Agnes, my dear, what’s the matter? Is it your mam?’
‘Yes!’ Agnes burst into tears. ‘Mrs Hewitt, please come! She’s that bad and – I’m afraid. I’ve been waiting for the doctor but he hasn’t come and I don’t know what to do anymore. Will you come and see ‘er?’
‘Yes, of course, my love.’ Esther was all quick nods as she spoke. Then, turning away, she set down the dish and took up her shawl. A few moments later she was following Agnes into the Farrars’ cottage.
Up in the bedroom Agnes stood by while Esther bent over Sarah and put the back of her hand on her brow. Esther clicked her tongue and muttered, ‘Ah, she’ve got a tempitcher all right.’ Then, listening to the harsh sound of Sarah’s obstructed breathing she shook her head. ‘I’m afraid that – well, I reckon your mam’s got the bronchopneumonia, Agnes.’
‘Oh – what can we do, Mrs Hewitt?’
‘Well – there’s not much you can do till the doctor gets ‘ere – ‘cept keep her warm, and try to help her to sleep.’
As she spoke Sarah began to mutter, lifting her head from the pillow, opening her eyes and gazing around her. Then, her eyelids fluttering, she sank back again. Esther turned and took up one of the blankets from Agnes’s bed and added it to those that covered Sarah. Agnes stood beside the bed looking down at her mother. Sarah’s breathing had grown harsher, while the dusky-red look about her mouth, nose and ears was more pronounced. Agnes’s fear grew stronger. ‘Why doesn’t the doctor get here?’ she whispered with a little cr
y. ‘Where is he? Why doesn’t he come?’ Aimlessly she moved across the room a couple of paces, then came back to Esther’s side. ‘We can’t just stand here and wait,’ she said. ‘With all those other people to see he might be all day.’ She had started to take off the coat, but then, her mind made up, she pulled it back on and began to do up the buttons. ‘Mrs Hewitt,’ she said, ‘I must go for the doctor. Will you sit here with Mam while I’m gone?’
‘Well – yes, of course, my dear, but I doubt you’ll find the doctor at ‘ome, will you? ‘E’s bound to be out somewhere, visitin’.’
‘That doesn’t matter. They’ll know where he’s gone. I’ll find him.’
‘Ah, all right, then.’ Esther watched as Agnes did up the last of the buttons. ‘That’s it – you wrap up warm. It’s very cold out.’ She frowned. ‘And you don’t look well yourself, my little wench.’ As she spoke she reached out and laid her hand on Agnes’s brow. ‘You’re very ‘ot, Agnes. You’re burnin’ up, child.’
‘No, no – I’m all right.’ Agnes was moving away from Esther’s touch, stepping towards the door. ‘I must get the doctor. I’ll be as fast as I can.’ With her final words she was moving out onto the landing and down the stairs.
In the kitchen she paused only long enough to put on her old woollen hat and muffler. Then, snatching up her mittens, she hurried from the cottage.
Agnes started off at a run towards the centre of the village. It was not quite so cold now, and the falling snow had changed to a steady drizzle of rain, softening the snow beneath her feet so that her boots sank into it. At the end of the lane she turned left into Elm Road, ran along it and, turning right at the Temperance Hall, entered Peters Lane. As she did so she slowed her pace and then came to a stop. Her heart was thudding beneath her ribs and her face felt burning hot. Her legs felt weak and rubbery. She began to cough, a dry, hacking cough, whilst in taking in the cold air she could hear a harsh sound in her chest. She spat onto the snow some rusty-brown stuff that was like the stuff that Arthur and her mother had brought up. After steadying herself for another moment against the rough stone wall she took another painful breath and started off again, hurrying on towards Bridge Street.
By the time she reached Dr Kelsey’s house on Stainer Street ten minutes later she was wet through and so out of breath that she was afraid for a moment that the little breath she had would fail altogether. At the entrance to the drive she stood holding the gate post while she painfully sucked great draughts of air down into her lungs. Then, recovered a little, she hurried up the path to the front door and rang the bell.
As she stood there she realized that she should have gone round to the back, to the door which led to the doctor’s surgery. She should also have put on her own coat, she thought. She must look a sight. Arthur’s old, patched, darned coat hung on her like a sack, the shoulders coming almost halfway down her upper arms and the cuffs hanging below her fingertips. It was too late to do anything about it now, though.
As she hitched up the coat’s sleeves the door was opened and the doctor’s young maid stood there, small and freckle-faced. Agnes, between gasps of breath, asked her if the doctor was in. The girl shook her head. No, she said, he was out visiting some of his patients. Agnes asked then when he would be back.
‘I’m sorry, I got no idea.’
‘Oh, but – I’ve got to find him,’ Agnes said. As she spoke tears sprang into her eyes. ‘It’s my mam, she’s very bad and she needs the doctor as soon as possible.’
‘Well, I’m sorry.’ The maid gave a sympathetic shrug. ‘’E’s not ‘ere. But if you wait I’ll tell Mrs Kelsey …’ She turned away then and went back into the house. A few moments later Mrs Kelsey was coming to the door. She was a tall, fair woman; pretty, in spite of her spectacles and plain dress. When Agnes had given her name Mrs Kelsey said kindly, ‘Listen, my dear, if you go on back home the doctor will be there as soon as he can. But he has so many patients to see.’ She had a piece of paper in her hand. ‘Farrar, did you say?’ She consulted the paper then gave a little shake of her head. ‘I’m sorry, but it doesn’t appear as if he’ll be getting to your house for some little while. He has a number of other patients to see first.’
‘Oh, but it’s so urgent,’ Agnes said. ‘My mam’s so bad. If I could just see him and tell him …’
Mrs Kelsey gave a sympathetic little shrug. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’ She looked back to the paper, reflected for a moment then added, ‘Listen, he hasn’t been gone long, and his first call is at Woodseaves House. Near the bottom of Lowbridge Hill, d’you know it?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Agnes nodded; she was already starting to turn away.
‘You might catch him there,’ Mrs Kelsey said after her. ‘If not he’s due then to call at the Dillons’ house in Forge Lane.’
Woodseaves House was on the very outskirts of the village, near the river. As Agnes hurried back along Bridge Street she could feel the cold rain in her eyes and chilling her neck. Putting up her mittened hands she drew her muffler closer at her throat and ran on.
Fifteen minutes later as she reached the foot of Lowbridge Hill the high stone wall and gates of Woodseaves House came in view and thankfully she slowed her pace. Outside the gates she came to a stop. She held a hand to her side. The stitch from her running was like a knife wound. She stood there for a few seconds while her heart pounded against her ribs, then entered onto the drive. As she did so the imposing façade of Woodseaves House came in view and, standing on the forecourt before the front door, a phaeton with a brown mare between the shafts. The feeling of relief brought a sob to Agnes’s throat. The phaeton must be Dr Kelsey’s; it had to be.
Moving up the length of the drive to the carriage she came to a stop at its side and stood there trying to get her breath back. All she had to do now was wait. The doctor wouldn’t be long, and she would catch him when he came out. Surely, then, when she had told him how sick her mother was he would go at once to the cottage.
As she waited beside the horse she became aware of how wet she had become. The water was running from her shapeless woollen hat and trickling down beneath her muffler. The coat, too, was wet through. She realized, to her relief, though, that the rain had stopped – although the air seemed to have grown colder. Still, the running had kept her fairly warm – in spite of the rain. Inside her mittens her fingertips were tingling.
‘You! You there …! What do you want, child, hanging about here?’
Agnes turned at the sound of the voice and saw that the front door of the house was open and a woman was standing in the doorway. Agnes went hesitantly towards her. She recognized the woman; she had seen her at the market on occasions; a tall, handsome woman, always imposingly dressed. The woman was gazing at her now with an expression of wariness and suspicion, and Agnes vaguely realized what a strange sight she must present, wearing Arthur’s old coat and with her hair coming from beneath her hat like rats’ tails. She came to a stop before the woman.
‘Well, what do you want?’ the woman asked.
‘Please, ma’am – I hope you don’t mind – I was waiting for the doctor.’ Still breathless from her running, Agnes’s words were punctuated by gasps for breath. Half turning, she gestured, indicating the phaeton. ‘This is – Dr Kelsey’s carriage, isn’t it, ma’am?’
‘Yes, it is. But this isn’t the doctor’s surgery, you know.’ The woman’s tone was imperious. ‘If you want him I suggest you go to his house like everyone else.’
‘Oh, but – ma’am, we need him and I wanted to –’
The woman broke in: ‘I told you, go to his house – as other people have to. I’m sorry you’ve got illness, but so have many others in the village. And I doubt that your need is any greater than anyone else’s.’
‘Oh, but, please, I –’
‘No.’ Then, as Agnes opened her mouth to speak again, the woman added sharply: ‘Now – be off. Be off with you.’
Agnes hesitated still, as if unable to comprehend the woman’s words, then, slowly,
she began to back away. After she had gone a few paces the woman spoke again.
‘Go on. Get away from here. I don’t want you loitering about the house.’
Turning with tears of pain and frustration welling in her eyes, Agnes walked back across the forecourt and up the drive. When she reached the gates she turned and looked back. The woman was still standing in the doorway. Quickly Agnes averted her gaze, turned back and stepped out onto the road.
She walked back up Lowbridge Hill away from the house until, when she turned back, the gates of the house were no longer in sight. She came to a stop. It didn’t matter about not being able to wait for him there, she told herself; Dr Kelsey would be leaving the house soon anyway. She panicked for a moment as the thought came to her that he might turn left at the gates and return to the village by Crop Row, but then she remembered that he was going on to Forge Lane to the Dillons. She relaxed again; if he went straight to Forge Lane then he would come back up the hill. So, she would wait for him here and catch him as he drove by; this was as good a place as any, now that she knew where he was. And perhaps, she thought, he would let her ride back with him. Her legs felt so weak that she was afraid they would not carry her much further. She coughed and spat out more of the rusty-brown stuff. It left an unpleasant taste in her mouth and she spat again, trying to rid her mouth of it. Close to the hedge were the remains of a fallen tree trunk and she moved to it, brushed off the snow and sat down, not caring about the damp coldness, only grateful for the relief it afforded. She closed her eyes and instantly inside her eyelids little shapes began to dance in ragged patterns and her head began to swim. She opened her eyes again and tried to concentrate on the things she saw. Up in the top of a nearby oak tree pigeons were sitting, plump, motionless, swelling out their feathers against the cold. A robin flew down and alighted on a twig of the hedgerow, stayed for a few moments then took off again, winging away over the cheerless fields. To help the time pass she began to count the seconds, marking them off into minutes one by one until, after six minutes had gone by she lost count and gave up. A sharp, biting wind swept down the hill towards the river and she pulled the coat more closely about her. She realized then that the air was growing colder. Inside her thin boots she could hardly feel her feet anymore. The doctor must come by soon.