by Emily Gunnis
When we are alone she whispers to me that the doctors meant for her to die in childbirth, but because she survived she is convinced they are now plotting an alternative way to get rid of her. In a way, I do not blame her for thinking they did nothing to try and alleviate her suffering. I didn’t know being in such pain, without dying, was possible. Within two hours of her pains starting, Cecilia was unable to cope. Every contraction made her sick, and it was a constant battle to stop her fainting from the pain. After being telephoned twice, the midwife finally arrived on her bicycle, gave my lady a pubic shave, a bath and an enema and offered her a mild sedative of chloral hydrate. But this didn’t seem to touch the pain at all and just left Mrs Barton feeling even more woozy and unwell.
I felt early on that something was very wrong and went to telephone the doctor, but Mr Barton was in London, as the baby had come early, so his uncaring sisters were in charge. They intervened and said I was making a fuss and that Cecilia needed to learn to toughen up. It was a rite of passage, they said, which would help her become a woman. After that, they wouldn’t let me into the room with her. I heard Cecilia calling for me time and time again as I sat outside her bedroom while day turned into night. Only when they at last grew bored and tired of the noise was I allowed to go in. As they walked out they told me – in all their childless wisdom – that my lady was not of strong character and that her weakness shouldn’t be encouraged by me.
The room was dark as I rushed in and my lady was in the corner of the room, thrashing about on the floor and begging me for help. The sight of her brought tears to my eyes and, when she looked at me, her haunted eyes made me think of an animal caught in a trap. There was nothing I could do and the helplessness of the situation only grew greater as the hours went on.
In truth, I felt ashamed at myself for not overruling the sisters sooner and fetching the doctor. All my tireless preparations in the end did nothing to alleviate her suffering. I had read every book and guide I could lay my hands on, and in the weeks before the birth distracted myself from my deep-rooted fear for my lady by making nightgowns, baby flannels, nappies, maternity pads and maternal nightgowns. I ventured into town and bought Lysol and glycerine and Vaseline. I filled lemonade bottles with cooled boiled water and found an old sheet for the birth, which I padded with a thick layer of newsprint and baked in a warm oven to kill any bugs. I spent my evenings knitting, making the clothes I have so longed to make all my life: little bootees, dresses and cardigans – for I was convinced it was a girl.
But for all my hard work, when it came to it I let her suffer dreadfully for nearly two days before I acted. Finally, I could not bear to see my lady suffer any longer and asked the head butler to drive me to the hospital in Mr Barton’s Daimler to fetch the doctor. By the time we returned the sisters were nowhere to be seen and Mrs Barton was begging the midwife for one of her husband’s guns so that she could shoot herself. The doctor very quickly concluded that she was suffering from an obstructed labour. Mrs Barton is very narrow in her hips and her pelvis was too small for the baby to pass through so the birth had become blocked. She was delirious with pain as the contractions overworked in an effort to push the baby out. Within minutes, the doctor had knocked my lady out with chloroform and, using forceps, grasped the infant and, putting his leg on the bed to steady himself, tore the baby from her. I think it will be a month before Mrs Barton is able to walk again, and she has a rubber ring to sit on as she had a great many stitches. The baby has a very pointed head because of the forceps used by the doctor to pull her out. Cecilia woke several hours later to find out that she had a little girl, whom she has barely let out of her sight since, though Mr Barton has yet to return to meet her.
Mrs Barton has also struggled terribly with feeding. The nurse who tended to my lady straight after the birth was very strict. A baby born in the morning, she said to Cecilia as she lay barely conscious on the bed, is entitled to two feeds on its first day in the world. Her beautiful baby, however, came into the world in the afternoon and was, therefore, only to be fed once before morning. Babies, as I understand it, are limited to five feeds, spaced four-hourly, with nothing overnight. The last feed should be at 9 p.m. so the mother can be in bed by 10 p.m.
But I began to worry almost immediately that the baby was not feeding well. She is a peaceful soul who sleeps a great deal, and yet when she is offered the breast she screams mercilessly. If she does latch on, it is for a very short time, and she immediately falls asleep again when her stomach is still empty.
When the nurse weighed her yesterday, she said she wasn’t gaining weight, and I asked if it was possible to give the baby some formula. Knowing that Cecilia was in poor health, I have been buying and storing formula milk for months now. The nurse wasn’t best pleased, but I know that Cecilia is extremely weak and whatever the baby needs it will take from her. So, I have started giving the baby a bottle in the morning and at night to help alleviate her hunger. She gobbles it down. Her little hand rests on mine as I rock her backwards and forwards in front of the window and she gets most annoyed if I talk. She likes it quiet, just she and I.
Another frantic knocking on the door brought Harriet back to the moment. ‘I’m sorry to bother you again, Mrs Waterhouse. I have the milk here. Louise just came to find me in the kitchen. Madam is very distressed, and the baby is inconsolable. She’s asking please can you come.’
‘I’m coming now, Violet,’ said Harriet, slamming her diary shut and pushing it under the mattress. She checked her swollen eyes in the small mirror on the dressing table, dabbing them quickly with cold water, then unlocked her bedroom door and opened it to see Violet standing there, as white as a ghost. ‘Thank you, Violet. I’ll go to them now.’
The long corridor felt oppressive as the servants scuttled past her, each one of them knowing about the scene with Jacob and trying not to stare at her face which was swollen from crying. She could hear the baby’s cries growing stronger and fiercer as she reached Cecilia’s bedroom door. She took a deep breath, knocked and then opened it.
Cecilia was standing near the open window holding her baby. One of the younger servants stood on the other side of the room, looking utterly terrified. Cecilia was dressed in a long white nightie, her blonde, wavy hair falling in front of her green eyes, her high cheekbones and collar bone jutting out from her emaciated frame.
‘Harriet! Where have you been?! I was so worried about you and Jacob. What’s happened? Why have they taken him away?’ Cecilia’s eyes were red from crying and she stared at Harriet like a deer in the road about to be mowed down and killed.
‘I’m sorry I was delayed, Cecilia. Would you like me to take the baby and feed her?’ Harriet walked over to Cecilia, who was holding her daughter in a vice-like grip.
Cecilia backed away, clutching her baby to her, walking towards the balcony window, which was letting in the harsh January air. ‘But I saw the ambulance – what happened?’ said Cecilia. ‘What did Jacob say to you when he walked past? I saw him say something. What was it?’
Harriet looked over at the young servant girl cowering in the corner. ‘You can go now, Louise. Please don’t speak of this to anyone, or you’ll have me to answer to,’ she said quietly.
‘Yes, Mrs Waterhouse,’ said the girl, shooting from the room like a hunted fox.
Harriet turned to Cecilia, who was moving closer to the window. ‘Jacob was taken away by ambulance this morning. He has suffered terribly since he came home from fighting in Normandy, but he is in the best place for the moment. I apologize for all the disturbance.’
Harriet looked at Cecilia as she stood by the balcony, clutching her crying baby and shaking her head. ‘Did he tell you? Is that why you can’t look at me, Harriet?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Harriet, but before she’d finished saying it, realization started to dawn. Goosebumps prickled up her arm as she stood by the fire and the cold room suddenly became unbearably hot again. All the clues over the weeks began to present themselves n
eatly in a row in her head as she watched Cecilia’s face and struggled to keep her composure. It was all there, plain to see: Jacob and Cecilia’s closeness, his hatred of Harriet visiting him, Cecilia’s inability to have a child then suddenly conceiving, Jacob and Cecilia’s friendship coming to an abrupt end. Jacob coming unravelled four days after the birth of Cecilia’s child. ‘I’m sorry, Harriet, for what I’ve done.’ The first kind words he had spoken to her in over a year.
Harriet tried to block out Cecilia, who had backed out onto the balcony now, and focused on the tiny baby crying out for her feed. ‘I have her milk here, Cecilia. I’ll sit down on the chair and you can hand her to me, like you always do.’ Harriet walked slowly away from where Cecilia stood and sat herself in the rocking chair by the fire. Her whole body was shaking. Please let it not be true. Please God.
‘I don’t trust anyone but you, Harriet.’ Cecilia went on, ‘You were the only one who helped me when I was giving birth to her. They all wanted me to die. But you saved me and I know why.’
‘Please don’t say any more, Cecilia. The baby is terribly hungry, let’s just focus on feeding her.’ Harriet tried to smile at Cecilia, desperate to calm the dark mood in the room as Cecilia pressed the baby into her so tightly it seemed the child was struggling to breathe.
‘It wasn’t his fault,’ Cecilia said.
‘Mrs Barton, please give me the child so I can feed her. I’m worried you’re hurting her arm, holding her so tight.’ Harriet heard her voice falter.
Cecilia stood on the balcony, her eyes locked on Harriet’s. To Harriet, she seemed beyond reach, with the same haunted look Jacob had had that morning when they took him away. Harriet fought back tears as she tried to push away the thought of how much the baby looked like Jacob when she was first born. How she had noticed something familiar about her, but pushed it into the back of her mind. I’m sorry for what I have done. His words kept repeating themselves in her head.
Though Harriet tried to stop her from saying more, it was impossible. She could sense Cecilia’s relief at finally being able to share this immense burden she had been carrying for nine months. ‘I didn’t know that could happen, that he could do that to me.’ Cecilia paused for a moment, struggling to go on. The baby had stopped crying so hard now, and was just whimpering in Cecilia’s arms.
‘Have you ever had somebody grab your wrist, Harriet, and hold on just a little too tightly? And for a moment you realize that you’re not strong enough to pull it away? Imagine that feeling over your whole body. Once I realized there was nothing I could do, I just lay there and waited. And when it was finally over, and he freed me, my body wasn’t mine any more, it was contaminated, destroyed.’
Harriet looked at the baby’s pale arm hanging from Cecilia’s grip, completely still now, having given up the fight to be released. Harriet sat, too scared to move in case Cecilia did something to hurt her. ‘I just wanted a little bit of attention because Charles hadn’t paid me any for weeks.’ Cecilia started to cry. ‘I know I’m owed no sympathy but the worst pain has nothing to do with the bruises and the cuts and the blood or the threats Jacob made to my life when it happened. The pain is in the fact that I can’t trust the world any more. I can’t trust my judgement. I can’t tell any more who is good or bad. Except you. You are the only person I can trust, Harriet.’
Harriet hung her head and Cecilia began moving across the room towards her. Slowly Harriet held out her arms and, after a long while, Cecilia lowered the baby into them.
As soon as Harriet gave the little girl her milk, she took it. The only sound in the room was the baby gently and contentedly sucking on her much-needed bottle. A calm came over Harriet as she held the warm bundle in her arms, the baby’s skin touching hers, her eyes fixing on her gratefully. She felt her body relax into the chair as she ran her fingers over the child’s soft arms.
‘Harriet, do you think Charles knows?’ Cecilia asked quietly.
Harriet felt a sickness in her stomach again and pulled the baby to her to give her strength, focusing on her contented breathing. In, out; in, out.
‘Jacob told everyone what he did, didn’t he? That’s why they took him away?’ said Cecilia.
‘No, Cecilia, nobody knows. We have to keep this secret. For your sake, and the baby’s. Please.’
‘No. It’s too late, Harriet. Charles knows,’ said Cecilia, her green eyes fixed on Harriet’s. ‘Everyone knows that Rebecca is Jacob’s child.’
Chapter Nineteen
Rebecca
Friday, 14 November 2014
Rebecca glanced down at her daughter’s bump and resisted the urge to reached out and place her hand on it. Instead she took her daughter’s hand. ‘I’ll try to remember and tell you all I can about what happened when you were born, darling, but can you promise me one thing?’
Jessie shrugged, but didn’t pull her hand away.
‘Please, just hear me out. I may be wrong, but I feel that whenever things get tough with us, you tend to want to shut me out. Could you just promise to stay this time? This is going to be painful, but you’re asking me to do it, and I want to, but in return I need you not to leave.’
Jessie said nothing, but Rebecca took it as a yes. She suddenly felt very hot and stood up to open a window. She took a few deep gulps of air then turned back to her daughter, whose green eyes were fixed on her.
‘Until the night my parents died, I loved Seaview, but my mother was determined I would do something with my life. Not be trapped as she was, in a life of servitude, with no choices, and married to a man I hated. I worked so hard at school, focused all my energy on doing the best I could so that I could go to university. And it was never a hardship, it came naturally to me, school had always been an escape. I remember, on my first day, I stood outside the little wooden building with my satchel over my back and a desperate desire to get into the classroom, where there were books, and maths puzzles, and an orange story chair. There was a little boy in the playground with red hair sobbing, clinging to a pillar, while his mother tried to peel him off, and I remember wondering, why would anyone be frightened of school? What could be more frightening than home?’
‘And why did you want to do medicine? Why was that so important to you?’
‘Well, what I said to anyone who interviewed me for university or any of my placements was that it plays to all my strengths. And of course, that I wanted to help people.’
‘And the real answer?’
Rebecca shut her eyes before she spoke. ‘Because when I lie awake in the dark, I can still hear my mother’s screams and picture her eyes when I got to her. She was still alive, but she was bleeding to death and I couldn’t do anything to save her. He beat her until he broke her jaw, and stamped on her beautiful face until her teeth came loose. When I got there, she was barely breathing. I watched the blood pour from her ears, her eyes, her mouth onto the living room rug. The blood coming out of her pulsed, like her heart was bleeding out of her. She had this look of resignation, like a broken animal. She wasn’t crying out in pain. I think she was trying to be brave for me. But we both knew her unhappy life was over. It was probably too late, but in that moment I decided that had I known what to do, I could have saved her.’
Jessie finally spoke. ‘Why did he do it to her?’
‘He was traumatized from his time serving in the Second World War. And I believe he was jealous of the bond that my mother and Harvey’s dad had formed while he was in the psychiatric hospital.’ Rebecca hesitated before going on. ‘I’ve never told anyone this before, but my mother was holding a necklace when she died.’
Rebecca looked at Jessie for a long time, then stood and crossed the room. She opened a drawer and pulled out a small box from the back, then returned with the small gold locket.
Jessie looked at it. ‘It’s beautiful. Who do you think gave it to her?’
Rebecca handed it to her. ‘I think Ted Roberts gave it to her, and I think Father found it that night and that’s why he flew into such a rag
e. I hope he knew. And I hope it haunted him as he died. I think about my mother’s diary sometimes.’ Rebecca added, ‘I would give anything to read it.’
‘How do know you can’t?’
Rebecca frowned at Jessie. ‘Because I have no idea where it is. She used to go down to the bomb shelter when he was drunk and I suspect it may have been down there but I’ve never been back to Seaview since that night. There’s no chance it would still be there now.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Rebacca looked up at Jessie.
‘We could go back there together and look?’
‘It’s someone else’s property, Jessie, and has been for years.’
‘So,’ I think Liz mentioned once that you could still get down there. Rebecca tried not to bristle at the bait which never failed to reel her in. Liz claiming to know more about Seaview, about Jessie, about everything, than she did. Liz was gone now, so why did she continue to get jealous about the hold she had over Jessie? She was the lucky one, Jessie was with her now, she still had time.
‘Why didn’t your mother leave him?’ said Jessie.
‘Women didn’t then. It’s hard enough now, but back then then it was almost impossible. She had no money and nowhere to go. And her husband had fought in the war – it would have been unthinkable to abandon him. A lot of women felt the same when their husbands came home. Everything had changed. They had to cope with so much while the men were away – run the country, essentially – and afterwards they were expected to go back to their role as submissive housewives.’ Rebecca’s mind wandered back to barefoot walks on the beach with her mother, when Rebecca had encouraged her outside into the fresh air to escape her father’s dark moods. As the tide danced over their feet, Harriet had shared all her great ambitions for her daughter until it was time to force themselves to return to the tensions within the four walls of Seaview Cottage.