The Four Streets Saga

by Nadine Dorries

  ‘I need to examine you, Kitty, but when I am done sorting you out, I am putting you in the car and taking you home. Your time here is over.’

  Rosie had thought she would drive Kitty straight to Ballymara, to Maeve Deane and her husband Liam, Kathleen’s middle son and Jerry’s younger brother.

  Kitty sobbed loudly, almost screaming and thanking God that she was no longer alone. It was difficult to distinguish her cries of pain from those of relief. Before Kitty had entered the Abbey, she had spent time at Maeve’s farmhouse, becoming very close to her and Liam. Now, as Rosie looked down at her chalk-white face, she wasn’t so sure Kitty was well enough to travel even that far.

  Kitty’s cries were heart-wrenching, rising in a crescendo and bringing Rosie, an experienced midwife to the verge of tears herself.

  ‘It hurts, the pain, oh God, the pain,’ Kitty yelled again.

  Rosie began to palpate Kitty’s abdomen and did not like what she felt. It was rigid and hard, resistant to her touch. She pressed her fingers flat against Kitty’s uterus and as she did so, Kitty let out a terrifying scream. It was as much as Rosie needed to know. She lifted up Kitty’s knees to examine her, but it took every ounce of her willpower not to allow the disgust to register on her face.

  In her twenty-five years as a midwife, she had never seen lacerations so bad. What was worse, they looked seriously infected. However, Rosie knew that the external appearance of an infection was only part of the story. She quickly took Kitty’s temperature. It was 104. Rosie was very used to dealing with girls from the tenements, who arrived at the hospital in a similar state, but in Dublin she worked in a controlled environment, with professional colleagues, doctors and midwives. She had never seen a girl in such a post-delivery state, even one who had been brought into the hospital from the country.

  ‘Mother of God, who has been looking after you?’ she asked as her own eyes now began to fill with tears. Wasn’t this girl going through enough, after all that had happened to her?

  ‘Aideen and Agnes,’ Kitty sobbed, holding tightly onto Rosie’s hand, as though terrified to let go, lest Rosie disappeared.

  And then, as if by magic, as if summoned by angels, the two girls who had delivered Kitty’s baby, and done their best to help her, slipped in quietly through the door. Rosie recognized them as the girls she had seen trying to attract her attention when she arrived.

  ‘Thank God you are here,’ said Aideen to Rosie, without the ceremony of introduction. ‘I’m Aideen, I delivered baby John. The fucking midwife went away on Christmas Eve and she hasn’t returned yet. She said Kitty was nothing to do with her and she wasn’t coming back just to see to her. There’s no baby anywhere near due for another month so we haven’t had sight nor sound of her since.’

  Rosie was no stranger to bad language. She had heard some of the finest ladies in Dublin use exactly the same words, and worse, when in the middle of a contraction.

  ‘Aideen, can you help me,’ she said, with an edge of desperation to her voice. ‘Kitty is in a very bad way and I must stitch her before I can move her. Can you fetch me a bowl of hot soapy water from the sink, please?’

  Agnes looked alarmed. ‘It’s not allowed,’ she hissed, almost in a whisper. ‘The Reverend Mother will go crazy mad, so she will, if you stitch her. She says the rips are put there by God to teach us what we have done wrong and no woman should try to rectify God’s own handiwork.’

  Rosie felt as if it was now her turn to swear. However, with a great deal of effort, she retained her cool, taking the Spencer Wells forceps and catgut out of the autoclaved pack she had brought from the hospital.

  ‘She is held together by blood clots, Agnes. I cannot move her in this state. Here, can you help and get this tablet down her, and maybe some water to follow? I’m going to give her an injection, to help with the pain, but it may make her feel sick and we can do without that, on a car journey.’

  Rosie could tell Agnes was the more nervous and gentle of the two. Life had been harder on Aideen, that much was obvious.

  Rosie quickly drew up a vial of pethidine and within seconds had injected a large dose into Kitty’s thigh. Rosie noted that Kitty was in so much pain she didn’t even flinch.

  ‘We aren’t allowed to have painkillers either,’ whispered Agnes, who was now in awe of this strong and defiant midwife.

  ‘This is not God’s doing, Agnes, but it is the work of the devil himself to leave a poor girl in this state. I will be no part of that,’ Rosie replied.

  Pouring her antiseptic wash into the bowl of warm water, which Aideen had set on the trolley, she began to swab Kitty.

  It took her almost an hour to rectify the damage. Kitty had torn down into her perineum and backwards deeply into her rectum. She bled profusely, as Rosie worked to ease away the huge clots and crusts of blood, which were by now over two days old. As they reliquefied, they filled the room with a sickening metallic smell. At times, both Aideen and Agnes looked pale and nauseous but, dutifully, they held Kitty’s hands and remained upright.

  While Rosie worked, the girls whispered soft soothing sounds. Aideen had placed a folded rag between Kitty’s teeth, just as she did when she was in labour, in fear of her moans attracting the nuns. Like dancing moths drawn to a flame, the sisters always fluttered to the sound of pain.

  As Rosie worked, Agnes prayed over Kitty, who had become quiet and drowsy. The pethidine was working at last. She had injected Kitty with one of only four doses of the emergency drug she had popped into her bag as she left the hospital. As the full effect of analgesia worked its magic, Rosie wondered, would Kitty feel safe enough to let go? To relax and sleep?

  ‘Will you girls land yourselves in trouble for being here?’ Rosie asked, gently stroking Kitty’s hair away from her damp and clammy brow.

  Aideen replied with a hint of fear, ‘If we wasn’t with you, midwife, we would be fucking whipped for coming here, and kept without food for days, but the witches daren’t do that because we are with you. They are scared of you, I know that because I heard one of the postulants say so, I did.’

  ‘Yes, but I will be gone soon,’ said Rosie, her voice loaded with concern. And then she had an idea. ‘I will tell them, when I leave, that I am returning with the money and that when I bring it I have promised to look in on you both, to let you know how, er, Cissy is doing. That should buy you some safety.’

  For a split second, Rosie had almost forgotten Kitty’s secret name.

  Aideen and Agnes looked at each other and smiled. Then, together, they both reached down the front of their calico skirts into their knickers and handed Rosie two warm letters.

  ‘Would you post these for us, please, midwife?’ whispered Aideen. By far, the bolder of the two, she had made the decision that Rosie could be trusted. ‘You know, we aren’t allowed any post in or out and have no contact with the outside world. I need to know, is me mammy coming with the money to get me out of this hell-hole soon, or do I have to escape?’

  ‘Escape?’ said Rosie. ‘That sounds so desperate.’

  ‘It is fucking desperate. Poor Agnes, she was sent straight here from an orphanage, because the fucking authorities didn’t know what else to do with her. That’s not fucking right.’

  Rosie nodded. She still wasn’t shocked. She had once overheard a politician’s wife say the word ‘fucking’ more than three times in thirty seconds when she gave birth, more noisily than at any time before or since.

  As Rosie bandaged Kitty’s breasts, Agnes gently mopped Kitty’s face and washed her hands with a fresh bowl of warm water, drawn from the long shallow sink. Apart from the bed and the trolley, it was the only piece of furniture in the room.

  Rosie packed her bag and stowed away the letters. Then she scribbled down her home address and the number of the hospital office on a piece of paper and handed it to Aideen.

  ‘Here,’ she whispered. ‘Keep this somewhere safe and away from prying eyes. If it reaches the point where you have to escape, contact me and I will help.�
�

  Aideen grabbed hold of Rosie’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said, displaying the first sign of gentleness, and her eyes filled with tears.

  Rosie watched as Aideen ripped away the surplus paper, leaving only the area on which Rosie had written, and then rolled it between her finger and thumb, over and over, until it was a tight cylinder. She tucked the almost needle-thin paper roll through the stitches in the hem of her baggy calico knickers.

  Aideen grinned to Agnes. ‘The bitches won’t find it there, will they?’ The light of hope sprang gleefully into both girls’ eyes. ‘We do all the laundry, so they will never find it.’

  Rosie felt overwhelmed with tenderness towards both girls. Aideen might be a farm girl with little education, rough around the edges, but she had heart and humanity enough to risk angering Sister Assumpta by caring for Kitty, as best she knew how.

  ‘If it comes to that and you do escape,’ Rosie’s whisper was barely audible so the girls leant in close to catch her words, ‘make sure you leave my address behind, for anyone else who may need it. I have a good kitchen maid at my hospital, Besmina. She has told me a great deal about what goes on here and I want to help, if I can.’

  ‘Besmina!’ Both Aideen and Agnes looked at one another in shocked surprise.

  ‘That’s right. I think she worked in the kitchens here, before her grandmother brought her to me to give her work at the hospital. When I was a district midwife, I delivered Besmina at her grandmother’s house in Dublin.’

  Aideen smiled, knowingly.

  ‘Yes, that’s right, miss. She worked in the kitchens,’ said Aideen slowly.

  The three women now began to help Kitty to her feet. Dehydrated and with a dangerously high temperature, she was mumbling incoherently as though delirious. Rosie knew Kitty could have a febrile fit at any moment. God only knew how she would cope with that, here in this godforsaken place.

  Rosie was eager to get Kitty to hospital. Out in the country, in the rural farms and on the bogs, she had seen girls develop serious infections after giving birth. By the time Rosie reached them, peritonitis had often fatally set in. She would do everything in her power to ensure that did not happen to this child.

  Moving as softly as they could, Aideen and Agnes helped Kitty down the stairs. When they reached the bottom step, Agnes suddenly froze.

  A ghostlike shadow upon the wall announced that the imposing form of Sister Assumpta was gliding silently towards them, the Persian silk runner absorbing the sound of her inescapable approach.

  They were trapped. Motionless, they stood as if turned to stone whilst her shadow turned the corner and enveloped them.

  Her mouth dry with fear and her knees turning to jelly, Agnes clung onto Kitty’s arm, holding her upright in the process.

  She had felt bold, sneaking away to see the midwife, passing on the details of the birth and helping the poor girl. They had guessed by her accent, she must have come from Liverpool and that for some reason she had told no one her story. They had all guessed that Kitty held a secret.

  ‘God knows, don’t we all have our own,’ Aideen had said to Agnes.

  But now, with the wrath of Sister Assumpta bearing down upon them, their boldness fled.

  Jeez, we are mad, thought Aideen. What had seemed like a brave idea only an hour ago now appeared reckless and foolish. They had broken every rule in the Abbey, including having spoken to Rosie and each other. Agnes felt as though she would wet herself in fear at the consequences.

  Sister Assumpta stood before them, not speaking a word, staring first at Rosie and then at both girls.

  ‘And what, may I ask, are you both doing in the main house at this time of day? Why are you not in the laundry?’

  Rigid with terror, neither girl could utter a word of response. Aideen tried, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth in dread.

  ‘Speak!’ Even the mice shook at the sound of Sister Assumpta’s anger.

  Neither girl could have responded even if her life had depended upon it. Agnes began to shake.

  ‘Sister Celia!’

  Sister Assumpta’s voice boomed out again, although her lips appeared not to move, nor her glare to leave the girls. However, she needn’t have wasted her breath because Sister Celia almost immediately waddled into view, carrying the leather holdall Kitty had brought with her on the day she had arrived. It contained her own clothes, which had not been seen in months.

  ‘Take these girls into my room immediately and search them, please, Sister.’

  With no grace and even less kindness, Sister Celia dropped Kitty’s holdall on the floor. Grabbing Aideen and Agnes each by the arm, she marched them both away down the corridor. As Kitty began to slip to the floor, unsupported, Rosie had to move swiftly, placing her arm under her shoulders and round her back.

  Sister Assumpta said to Rosie, ‘I told them on the day they brought this – this girl,’ she almost spat out the words; she had wanted to use a very different term but she had eighty pounds owing to her, and was not going to put the payment in jeopardy, ‘that many of the girls here are penitents, placed here into my care by the government. I have a job to do here, midwife, and, as I told you, I would prefer you not to speak to the girls for any reason at all.’

  Rosie was not easily intimidated, and she had no intention of apologizing, but right now she just wanted to be out of the Abbey and on the road to Dublin. Stooping to pick up the holdall she shuffled Kitty towards the door.

  Sensing the sister’s hot breath on her neck, Rosie gave way to rising panic. When she finally managed to open the door, she took a deep breath of the chilled, rejuvenating air. She was nearly there.

  ‘Thank you, Reverend Mother. The girls have been very helpful. I am sure I will have messages of thanks to deliver to them, from the family, when I return with the payment. I hope to see them again.’

  As she walked out, she knew that Sister Assumpta still stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot, observing her every step.

  And she also knew that she would not be allowed to see Aideen and Agnes ever again.

  With an effort, she laid Kitty down on the back seat of her Hillman Hunter. As she closed the car door on her and placed her holdall into the boot, she heard the sound of stifled cries. Rosie felt sick at the thought of the girls being beaten, only a few yards away, but right now she had a sick girl only forty-eight hours post-partum with a temperature of 104, lying on the back seat of her car. She prayed that her contact details were not found in the hem of Aideen’s calico knickers, and quickly checked that the letters were safely in her handbag before placing it on the passenger seat beside her.

  The sky was darkening rapidly as Rosie left the Abbey. When she pulled away, she was aware that her retreating car lights were being followed: from behind the twitching, heavy curtains by disapproving nuns’ eyes downstairs, and by grateful waves from unknown girls through the cold, uncurtained windows of the top floor and the laundry.

  As she looked across the vast lawn towards the trees, in the bright moonlight she noticed a gravestone. Rosie shuddered. Each one of those girls in the graveyard would have died terrified, screaming in agony, feeling unloved and alone. Rosie crossed herself as she pulled out of the gate and sped, as fast as the icy road would allow her, on to Dublin.

  In less than ten minutes, she realized she would never make it. An abandoned bus completely blocked the road. Rosie left her car and shouted up into the driver’s cab, but there was no one inside. The door was locked and footsteps leading away, lightly covered by fresh snowfall, told her that the driver and passengers had long since left.

  Kitty slept fitfully on the back seat with Rosie’s spare sheepskin jacket laid over her and an Aran picnic blanket rolled up under her head for a pillow. There had been no tea or cake for Kitty. Rosie knew she was weak and in danger. The Kitty she had known before the delivery had been a bright girl. Now she was without the energy even to cry. The only words she had spoken, as the car had pulled away from the Abbey, were, ‘Rosie, fetch
the baby, fetch John,’ before sleep possessed her.

  Rosie made a decision there and then. She would drive as quickly as possible – in the opposite direction, to Maeve and Liam’s farmhouse on the Ballymara Road.

  She would pass the doctor’s house on the way and would collect some antibiotics and ask him to put up a drip that Rosie could look after whilst she nursed Kitty at Maeve’s. The doctor would trust her. She could provide him with an entirely false name for Kitty and, if he pushed, she would make him aware that no further information would be forthcoming. Not even a doctor would push for information regarding a young girl, with no baby to show for her pains.

  The drive to Bangornevin was tortuous. With the coming of night, the temperature had plummeted and what had earlier been the soft snow, during the day, had frozen into solid ice along the narrow country lanes. The road, which was not easy to drive on at the best of times, now felt to Rosie as unyielding as iron.

  She knew the route well, but the fog and mist that had rolled down and onto the fields confused her. Every few yards or so, a cow in search of warmth loomed up from the mist in the dim yellow headlights as a ghostly spectre, causing Rosie to yelp with fright.

  The moon was full, and the sky ahead appeared to go on forever, an inky-black carpet of glittering stars, interspersed with heavy clouds full of snow. Rosie gave thanks, more than once, for the ethereal, sparkling light, which reflected from the ice, transforming the road into a frosted satin ribbon, winding its way along the riverbank, leading them on.

  The moon kept with her all the way, reflected in the fast-flowing river beside her, watching and guiding her. Even in her gloves, Rosie’s hands were near frozen and the heater struggled to make any difference whatsoever to the temperature inside the car.

  On a number of bends, Rosie missed the road entirely when the car jolted frighteningly against the roadside scrub and stones. At one point, she had to get out of the car and push the tyres out of a shallow dip. By the time she was back in the driver’s seat, wet and chilled to the bone, she had to scrape the ice from the inside of the windscreen before she could safely continue on her journey.