Molly felt a slow rage gathering inside her. Why did this fool have to come bothering William at such a time?
'No, I don't,' she replied curtly, 'but you're supposed to be in charge. Has this happened before?'
'Yes, lots o' times.'
She almost screamed at him. 'Then do what you normally do, can't you. Don't come pestering Mr Gough at a time like this. He's got more important things to worry about than a few blisters on a damned cow's udders!'
'But – but – '
'Oh, go away, and don't be so useless!'
She went back into the kitchen. William had eaten all the bread and cheese, and when she asked him if he wanted more, mutely shook his head.
Molly made up the fire, throwing on more logs, and set the kettle to boil again. Goodness knows what they had done with all the hot water she'd already carried up, but they were sure to want more. She was exhausted, but she couldn't go to bed, leaving William alone.
It was several hours later, and the first rosy streaks of dawn were appearing over the top of Brown Clee hill when Mrs Wellings came quietly into the kitchen. William, who had appeared to be asleep, head on his arms, sprang up and grasped her arm.
'Is Elizabeth all right?'
'Don't get excited, William. Of course she's all right. You can go up and see her for a few moments, but then she must sleep. It's been a long labour.'
He was out of the door and she called after him. 'William, you have a daughter.'
*
CHAPTER 4
Elizabeth slept all day. William, despite not having been to bed, went about his work with a beaming smile, whistling loudly. Molly drooped with weariness, while Mrs Wellings, saying she was too tired to walk home and wished, in any case, to be there to help Elizabeth over the first few days, ordered Molly to make up a bed for her in the spare room.
Luckily Fanny, who had slept through it all in her attic room, volunteered to look after Will. 'He'll fret you. He's a right pickle,' she said, laughing as the child began to take logs from the pile stored in the alcove beside the kitchen fire, and try to build a house with them.
Molly glared at the dust the logs had left on the kitchen floor, and bit back the angry rebuke. She sighed. 'Thanks, Fanny. I'll lose my temper with him if he gets under my feet, I'm that tired.'
In between cooking and all the other jobs Molly managed to snatch a few minutes every so often to sit down at the kitchen table and rest her head on her arms. When Martha walked into the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon, found her asleep, and woke her by shaking her arm, Molly groaned.
'You lazy slut,' Martha said. 'What will Aunt say when she 'ears you're sleepin' instead of looking after Elizabeth?'
'Your aunt's able to sleep in a feather bed,' Molly snapped. 'I was up all night too.'
Martha ignored this. 'I met Fanny and she told me. No one else bothered to send us a message. Where's the baby? Upstairs? I'll go up and see 'em,' she said, walking towards the stairs.
Molly grabbed her arm. 'No, don't! Elizabeth had a bad time, and she needs to sleep. You mustn't disturb her.'
'You mean she's up there on her own? What if she needs anything?'
'I look in every half hour,' Molly said wearily. 'Martha, go and look, but don't wake her.'
'But the baby, it'll need feeding. She's got to wake up. If she has kids, she ought to look after 'em,' she added, and Molly could detect the jealousy behind the self-righteous words.
'Time enough when the baby asks to be fed,' Molly said, sitting down on the stool again.
'Have you broth ready for Elizabeth?' Martha demanded. 'Or 'ave you been taking advantage of being on yer own to skimp the work?'
'Just go up quietly,' Molly said, too weary to defend herself. A kettle of chicken broth was simmering on the trivet, there was newly-baked bread, and an apple flummery, using some of the stored apples from last year, sat on a shelf in the cold pantry.
Martha smirked at her and trod up the stairs. A few minutes later she returned with her mother.
'I'm ravenous,' Mrs Wellings said. 'I was too tired to eat this morning. Molly, what is there?'
Molly got to het feet and went across to the fire. 'Chicken broth, and I made a pie. And there's plenty of bread and cheese, with the chutney Elizabeth made.'
The others watched her as she laid the table and brought across the food. By this time Molly herself was feeling nauseous, but she hadn't been able to eat all day. As she ladled out the broth into two bowls William came in from the farmyard and beamed round at them.
'Food. That smells good. It's bitter cold outside. How is Elizabeth? I'll go up and see them before I eat.'
'She's still asleep,' Mrs Wellings said. 'Don't wake her. When I've eaten I'll be off home. I've a family to look after. But I'll be back in the morning to see to Elizabeth.'
*
William opened the bedroom door quietly, tiptoed in, and stood looking down at his wife in the big bed and his baby daughter in the cradle he'd made for Will. The baby wasn't red and wrinkled as Will had been, but had skin like the peaches he'd seen growing in the hot houses of the mansions in Corvedale, and dark curly hair. He rested his little finger against her cheek, marvelling at the warmth and softness.
He sighed deeply, and Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
'William? You have your daughter,' she whispered.
'I wasn't supposed to wake you,' he said guiltily. 'I didn't think I'd made a noise.'
'You didn't, I was awake, I've been lying here feeling so thankful it's all over, and so happy we have our daughter.'
He bent to kiss her, and she caught hold of his hand and pressed it against her lips. 'Your mother and Martha said you were still asleep.'
'I'm grateful to Ma,' she said, looking adorably confused, 'but she fusses so! And Martha is always complaining about something. I couldn't endure having to listen to her telling me all about some injury she thinks someone's done her.'
He laughed. 'I'll keep them away. They're having something to eat, and I'll see to it they go home afterwards. Are you hungry?'
She shook her head. 'Thirsty. There's a jug of ale somewhere, I think. Help me to sit up and give me some.'
He did, and she lay back with a sigh of contentment.
'You must eat,' he said. 'Molly has some broth. What about little Ann? We are going to call her Ann? Does she need to be fed yet?'
'I'll feed her when they've gone. I don't want them fussing round. Where's Will? Does he know he has a sister?'
'Fanny's taken him out somewhere, so that Molly could have some peace. She didn't go to bed at all, she must be exhausted.'
Elizabeth smiled. 'She's such a help. I'm so glad you persuaded me to have her here.'
William nodded and went quietly downstairs. Mrs Wellings and Martha were putting on shawls and he waited impatiently until they had gone, Mrs Wellings's instructions to Molly floating back over her shoulder.
Then he looked closely at Molly. 'You're exhausted,' he said. He gestured to the food on the table. 'It looks as though you've been working all day. And you were up all night. Did you get any sleep?'
Molly shook her head. 'A few minutes,' she said. 'How's Elizabeth?'
'Awake, but she didn't want her mother to know.'
Molly laughed. 'She's good-hearted, but not restful to have around. Shall I take Elizabeth something to eat?'
William sat down at the table. 'Will you? And then go to bed yourself. I'll see to Will when Fanny brings him home.'
*
Two days later, though rested, Molly was becoming worried. Elizabeth had no milk, and the baby cried weakly until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Molly did her best, soaking a clean rag in warm milk and trying to get the baby to suck, but it clearly didn't satisfy the child.
Elizabeth had no strength, and Molly often found her huddled under the blankets and weeping. The first time Will had been allowed to go and see her and his sister he had clambered onto the bed and thrown himself against Elizabeth to h
ug her tightly, asking why was she in bed, he wanted to play with her.
Molly saw Elizabeth wince and try to ease him away from her swollen, sore breasts. She lifted him up high and swung him round, pointing to the baby in the cradle.
'Look, Will, your little sister. Isn't she pretty? You'll love having her to play with when she's older.'
'Don't want sister!' Will howled, struggling to free himself, and just at that moment Mrs Wellings came into the room.
'Don't be a naughty boy!' she chided. 'Molly, he's upsetting Elizabeth. Take him away.'
Molly carried him, kicking and screaming, downstairs and out into the farmyard. 'Let's see if there are any eggs in the barn,' she said.
Will normally took great pride in searching for the eggs, and carrying each one he found carefully to Molly, who put them in the basket which he then carried into the kitchen. It was a ritual they had developed during the past few months, but today he didn't want to cooperate. William, who was working near the barn, heard his screams and came to see what was the matter.
'Come, laddie, I'm going to look at the sheep. There are some new lambs. I'll bring him back in a while,' he added to Molly, and she went thankfully back into the house.
Mrs Wellings was in the kitchen, trying to pacify the baby, who was wailing pitifully. 'Molly, this can't go on. I'm taking the little one to a woman who's just lost her own child. Marjorie Ellis in Munslow has suckled half a dozen children, she always has ample milk, and she can do with the money. On the way I'll make arrangements with the rector for Ann to be baptised right away.'
Molly nodded reluctantly. She knew Elizabeth would hate it, but there was little alternative if the baby was to have a chance. She'd asked her own mother, and Dinah Green, if there was anything they could do to help encourage Elizabeth's milk, but they had shaken their heads.
'Elizabeth has a fever,' Molly's mother had said. 'It dries up the milk.'
She had taught Molly how to try and feed the baby, but it clearly wouldn't be possible to go on like that.
Mrs Wellings wrapped the baby in a shawl and with a brisk nod to Molly, carried her out of the house.
'What about William?' Molly asked, running after her when she realised Mrs Wellings was not going to tell him what she planned to do.
'He's a man, he wouldn't know what was best. Look after Elizabeth, bathe her with cold cloths and try to bring the fever down.'
*
Elizabeth was too ill to go to her daughter's baptism in Diddlebury church, at the beginning of March, though she managed to come downstairs for an hour to join in the small party with a few neighbours and relations.
When the infant began to cry, and turn towards Elizabeth's breast in search of food, she felt her eyes fill with tears. She blinked hard.
'Marjorie,' she whispered, swallowing her tears, and Marjorie Ellis, buxom and rosy-cheeked, came quickly across the room to her from where she had been sitting quietly in a corner.
'Let me take the little 'un.'
'Take her up to our bedroom,' Elizabeth said quietly. She could not bear to see her beloved daughter suckle from another woman.
Then she scolded herself. Marjorie was a good woman, and it was fortunate for Ann that she had been able to take her. She brought the baby to see her every day when the weather was fine.
She looked down into her lap, fighting back weak tears, as Marjorie left the room, and suddenly found Molly beside her.
'You've had enough, it's time you went back to your bed,' Molly said quietly. 'Come on, I'll help you. Martha can look after handing round the food.'
Elizabeth nodded, and rose to her feet. The visitors were talking heatedly about the weather, and the best time to sow the crops, and didn't notice her departure.
'Marjorie's in our room,' she said as Molly helped her up the stairs. 'I – I can't – '
'You don't need to see her. I told her to use the spare room. It's all right, I lit a fire in there earlier, they won't be cold.'
Elizabeth gave her a grateful look. For so young a girl she was remarkably perceptive.
'Ask Marjorie to bring her to say goodbye, will you?'
'She will. I'll let her know you're back in bed.'
Molly tucked her in and then left the room, and Elizabeth indulged in a bout of tears. She'd revelled in looking after Will, but she felt her new baby was not hers any more. And because she needed so much rest Will was forbidden her room apart from brief visits twice a day. He was growing up, and away from her, and William was always busy about the farm. He even slept in the spare room, so as not to disturb her, he said, but she knew it was because of her restlessness which kept him awake. He had to have his rest, he worked so hard, but suddenly she felt terribly alone. When would her life return to normal?
*
Exactly a month later Elizabeth died. She had seemed to be recovering, then one day had been feverish and unable to get out of bed. Molly, terrified, had sent Fanny running to fetch William, and an hour later Elizabeth had died in his arms.
During the days following William, with blank eyes and a stony face, went about the work without speaking. He ignored Will, who grizzled endlessly, clung to Molly, and stretched her patience. When Elizabeth had been ill he had been allowed into her room to see his mother for a few minutes each day, and Molly had begun to think he was becoming used to her not being around. Now, the sadness in the house seemed to have affected him too.
Mrs Pearce offered to look after the boy so that Molly and Fanny could go to the funeral. William spoke to no one, leaving it to Mrs Wellings to talk to the mourners and thank the Rector. As soon as the gravediggers began to shovel earth over the coffin he turned away and strode quickly across the fields. Molly and Fanny followed more slowly, and when they reached the farm they found William sitting at the table, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Silently Molly busied herself setting the table and putting food on it. Fanny, after one look, vanished upstairs. Ten minutes later she reappeared carrying a large bag.
'I'm off,' she whispered, nodded to Molly and walked across to the door.
Molly frowned. 'What do you mean? Off where?' she asked, moving towards Fanny.
Fanny pulled her outside, where they stood shivering. 'I'm getting another job,' she said. 'I won't stay in a house where there's no mistress, just a man. You'd be wise ter go too.'
'But – we can't leave Mr Gough and little Will all alone! How would they manage?'
'That's not our problem. Yer knows how people gossip. Even if there's nothing to it, they'd think there was. Mrs Pearce warned me, she said she'd 'elp me, and she's found me another job at Culmington.'
'She's said nought to me.'
'Well, yer can go back home, can't yer? I ain't got no family.'
Molly stood and watched her walk away. She was torn. It hadn't occurred to her before, but of course there would be gossip. There always was, even though William was a dozen years older than she was. She'd regarded him as she would have done a young uncle. Elizabeth had been much closer to her own age, and they had been like sisters, but she'd always been a little in awe of William, pleasant though he was. Yet if she deserted him now, how would he manage? More importantly, how would little Will do without his mother?
She ought to fetch Will from the Pearce's. He didn't know them well, just as neighbours, and if he'd been crying and kicking in the way he'd been the past few weeks Mrs Pearce would be in danger of losing her temper with him, even though she'd seemed sympathetic when she'd said it was to be expected in a child suddenly losing his mother.
She went to fetch her shawl and walked to the Pearce's farm. Will was sleeping on a rug in front of the kitchen fire, having exhausted himself with his tantrums. Mrs Pearce looked thankful to see Molly.
'How's William?' she asked.
'He's weeping, back in the kitchen. He didn't speak to anyone at the funeral, but it's hit him now.'
Mrs Pearce nodded. 'I don't know if he was showing a brave front, or simply couldn't believe it. My fir
st husband was a bit like that when his mother died.'
Molly picked up the sleeping Will and carried him home. William had gone upstairs, and as she carried Will to bed she heard him sobbing behind the door of the spare bedroom. Best for him, she thought. That stiff, cold calm had been unnatural. If he let out his grief it would help him get used to it.
*
For the next few weeks William moved about the farm like a sleepwalker. He never left his own land, never went to the Sun tavern, or spoke more than a few words to his labourers or friends who came to see how he did. Some of them tried to jolly him out of his misery, but he simply stared at them before turning and walking away.
Molly wondered whether he would have bothered to eat or drink had she not been there to put food on the table. During the evenings he sat in the old rocking chair by the kitchen fire, staring at the flames. When she told him it was time for bed he would rouse himself and climb up the stairs to where he slept in the spare room. He had never entered the room he'd shared with Elizabeth from the day she died.
Throughout the nights, whenever she was awake, she could hear him pacing about. He must have slept sometimes, but his face became haggard and his eyes bloodshot.
She herself was exhausted. Without Fanny and Elizabeth she had all the work of the house to do as well as caring for Will, who was lost and bewildered at the changes affecting him.
Two months later, when there was a lull in the haymaking, Molly decided William had mourned for long enough. As he was eating his supper she stood opposite him.
'William, this has got ter stop. Poor Will's missing his Ma, and you barely speak to him. You refused to see little Ann when Marjorie Ellis brought her here. Is this how Elizabeth would have wanted you to treat her children?'
He raised his head slowly. 'Don't you dare tell me how to behave! You don't know how I feel!'
'No,' Molly admitted, 'but other people have lost their wives. You're not the only widower. My sister died not so long ago, and I didn't have a chance to say goodbye to her. I've suffered too.'
'A sister! If you'd lost a husband I'd believe you could understand.'
With difficulty Molly kept her temper. 'You haven't seen little Ann since Elizabeth died. When Marjorie brought her here you told her to go away, and you refused to look at the baby. It's not her fault Elizabeth died.'
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