Break of Dawn

by Rita Bradshaw

  Their first night in the middle of July was to a full house and was enthusiastically received by audience and local press alike. Originally Sophy had thought she would like to take the lead female role when they had first begun work renovating the theatre, but over the last two or three months she’d felt increasingly that she wouldn’t be able to do it justice. She had thrown herself into the cleaning and hard physical work as vigorously as anyone else, wanting the women to see her as part of the team and not as a remote figurehead they couldn’t talk to. She was the first one to arrive in the morning and the last to leave at night, and once she got home she often had further work to see to – checking accounts, making lists of materials and items still to buy, settling bills, sorting out the women’s weekly wages, answering letters, writing letters – the list was endless.

  She had lost weight and she knew Kane was worried about her, as she was tired all the time and very emotional, but she kept reassuring him that things would settle down once the theatre was ready and the show under way. They had known the first few months would be sheer hard work, she told him. It would all be fine in the end. Nevertheless, she hired another actress for the lead female role and was glad she had done so on the opening night. Kane had insisted she sit with him in one of the boxes and watch the show from the auditorium rather than clucking like an anxious hen with one chick in the wings. She sat, in an exhausted stupor, unable to judge whether the show was a success or not, and when it ended and the audience rose to their feet cheering and clapping, she stood automatically, feeling very strange. And then she fainted clean away.

  ‘Well, my dear.’ The doctor friend of William’s whom Kane had had brought to the house the next morning was very kind and thorough, and his voice was gentle as he looked at her after his examination which had seemed to go on for ever. ‘Your husband tells me you’ve been working very hard over the last few months.’

  Sophy gripped Kane’s hand tighter and nodded. Now the show was up and running and she could begin to relax a little, she had admitted to herself what her body had been trying to tell her for weeks. She felt unwell. Unwell and so exhausted she hadn’t argued with Kane when he had made her stay in bed. Terrified now that something was seriously wrong, she didn’t dare ask what was the matter.

  ‘Forgive the intrusion but I need to know,’ the man went on. ‘Your monthly cycle – has it been normal?’

  Blushing furiously, she stammered, ‘Not-not really, Doctor. But I’ve been so busy . . . I – I think it’s been three months since – since I—’

  ‘Yes, that would be about right. You are expecting a baby, Mrs Gregory. Have you noticed any changes in your abdomen?’

  A baby. Now it was Kane’s hand that squeezed hers until it hurt. ‘Changes?’ Sophy repeated vacantly, unable to take in the news. ‘I suppose it’s a little swollen but I put it down to not eating properly, flatulence . . .’

  ‘Well, I think this little piece of flatulence will be born some time in December.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Kane’s voice was thick with emotion.

  Dr Palmer smiled. He liked giving good news. ‘Quite sure, Mr Gregory. I definitely felt a baby in there.’

  ‘Oh, my love.’ As Kane crushed her to him Sophy’s eyes widened. A baby. A baby. A flood of protective joy caused her to put her hands to the swell of her stomach, but almost immediately, she said apprehensively, ‘But I haven’t felt sick, Doctor. Just tired and generally unwell. Are you sure?’

  Not at all annoyed at being asked to repeat himself, Dr Palmer’s smile spread. ‘Quite sure. Now I’ll make an appointment for you with a colleague of mine who is a specialist in this area.’ He didn’t add. ‘There is something I would like him to check’, because he didn’t want to worry them.

  Kane saw the doctor out and then dashed back to the bedroom as fast as he could, his stick clattering on the stairs. Sophy was waiting for him with shining eyes. Taking her in his arms, he said huskily, ‘To think of all you’ve been doing.’

  ‘I know, I know. And I should have thought, when my monthlies stopped, but I put it down to all the hard work and tearing about. And I’ve lost weight, not gained it.’

  ‘There were days when you didn’t bother to eat, you were so busy, now weren’t there? And other times when you were so tired you came home and just picked at your meal.’ He shook his head. ‘I blame myself. But now, young lady, you are going to do what I say, and behave. If you won’t look after yourself, I will do the job.’

  ‘Oh, Kane.’ She looked radiant. ‘A baby. Our baby.’

  Everyone was thrilled at the news. Patience and William, who had been worried to death when Kane had gone to see them that morning asking William to recommend a good GP, arrived with chocolates and flowers. Sadie cried. Harriet and Ralph beamed, and the women at the theatre let out a cheer when they heard which could have been heard in Gateshead.

  Sophy rested at home for a few days and slept a lot, but then she was itching to get back to the theatre. Because Kane had been so concerned about her, she agreed to wait until they had seen the specialist Dr Palmer had spoken of. This occurred one week after Dr Palmer had been to the house and this time they saw the consultant at the Sunderland Infirmary. They left somewhat stunned. In the consultant’s opinion Sophy was between four and five months’ pregnant but from his very thorough examination he was sure there was not one baby but two. And in the next few weeks, he warned, her stomach would begin to expand rapidly as they grew.

  ‘That settles it.’ As Ralph drove them home in the sweltering heat of a July heatwave, Kane was adamant. ‘We’re going to have to get extra help for you.’

  ‘But I’ve told you, I’ll manage. Harriet and Sadie will help and I can take the baby – babies – into work with me when necessary.’

  ‘Sadie is the cook, not a nursemaid, and Harriet has enough to do, and whether you take the babies with you to the theatre or not, you will need another pair of hands. You know I felt this way when we thought there was only one baby, but now twins are confirmed there is no way you can manage. The theatre will still take a great deal of your time, Sophy. Be realistic. Without a sound, capable nursemaid to take some of the burden, you will make yourself ill, and how will that help you, me or the babies?’

  Sophy stared at him miserably. She knew he was right but she didn’t want a stranger coming into her home and living with them, and that was what it would mean. Furthermore, she wanted to look after her children, but at the same time she didn’t want to let the theatre go, not now, not after the wonderful women she’d found who relied on her. Her hand rested on the mound of her stomach wherein her children lay. She nodded. ‘All right, but I’ll write the advertisement in my own way. Agreed?’

  Kane eyed her suspiciously. ‘What are you going to say?’

  Sophy giggled at the look on his face. ‘Nothing untoward, I promise. You can read it if you like. But I don’t want one of those officious types of nannies for my babies, someone who thinks they know better than me.’

  Kane smiled. ‘I’m sure you’d put her right immediately, but do as you see fit.’ He put out his hand and stroked the side of her face, his eyes soft. He just wanted the best for her. He hadn’t thought he could love her any more than he did, but since he had known she was carrying his child – children, he corrected himself silently with a surge of inexpressible joy – he’d felt so protective, all he wanted to do was to wrap her up in cotton wool until the confinement. But Sophy was the last person to agree to that. Which was partly why he so adored her. He knew better than anyone how her beginnings had affected her, but she had fought back every inch of the way. She was a strong woman, but strangely, he knew, she didn’t see herself in that way. He also knew that although she was enough for him in every way, there was still something in her, a sadness, an aloneness, something, which afflicted her at times and which his love had not been able to banish.

  She said now, ‘Two babies, Kane,’ with a gurgle of laughter. ‘Patience and David are twins, you know, so perhaps
this has stemmed from my side.’

  ‘Are you pleased?’

  ‘That it’s twins?’ She smiled serenely. ‘Double the blessing.’

  ‘And double the crying, the feeding, the changing, the sleepless nights . . .’

  She pushed into him with her shoulder. ‘And of course you, as a man, have to worry about all that,’ she said with gentle sarcasm.

  Suddenly serious, he turned her face to his, his fingers holding her chin as he murmured, ‘I don’t want to be a distant father, Sophy. As youngsters we, my brothers and I, were left to the nanny and the nursemaids. We had an hour each evening before bedtime when we were brought to the drawing room to see our parents, but more often than not it was only our mother who was there. We were lucky if our father joined us for ten minutes. It was the way it was with many families such as mine, I suppose. And then there was prep school, followed by other boarding schools, and as often as not when we returned home for the holidays our parents were elsewhere – in Scotland for the shooting or taking the waters at Bath or holidaying on the continent.’

  ‘We won’t be like that.’ She kissed him, cradling his face between her hands. It hadn’t taken her long to realise, even before their marriage – while they’d still been engaged – that his reserved, enigmatic air was a front he’d erected to hide behind. The real Kane, the Kane she knew, was warm and spontaneous and endearingly vulnerable, with a heart as big as the ocean. ‘And you’ll be a wonderful father.’

  By the end of September Sophy was feeling as big as a house. Her appetite had returned shortly after she had found out she was expecting twins, and with the theatre up and running and doing very nicely, the latter part of the summer had been enjoyable. At the beginning of October she placed an advertisement in the Sunderland Echo and the Newcastle Journal, as well as contacting three agencies in the north-east. Her advertisement did not follow the pattern of most such notices, but she was satisfied with it:

  Wanted. A capable and friendly nursemaid to assist in the care of newborn twins. An affinity and liking for children as important as experience. Generous remuneration for the right applicant.

  Her advertisement in the papers brought fifteen replies. From these she chose five, and on interviewing them deemed none of the women to be what she had in mind. The two Sunderland agencies she’d visited sent her seven interviewees between them but it was the same story. One stiff-faced matron told her straight out that she worked on the principle of ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’; another was a fluffy-haired girl who giggled a lot and whom Sophy was sure wouldn’t know one end of a baby from the other; yet another lady, well past middle-age, smelled strongly of stout at eleven o’clock in the morning, and so it continued.

  By the end of the month, the evening before she was due to see the Newcastle agency’s offerings, Kane asked her – kindly – if she was perhaps being a teensy-weensy bit too particular. Sophy, tired from an unproductive day and feeling huge and unattractive, promptly burst into tears. The babies had kept her awake most of the night for the last week with their gymnastics, but as it was the start of a new play at the theatre she had insisted on going in each day, which meant most evenings she had been dealing with office work at home.

  The Newcastle agency were sending her four women they thought might be suitable and that was all she knew, she told Kane through her sobs, but if they were like the others she would not, would not be pressurised into taking someone about whom she wasn’t a hundred per cent confident.

  Kane drew her out of the study where she had been sitting going over the theatre accounts and into the drawing room, where he made her put her swollen feet up on the sofa as he chafed her cold hands.

  ‘New rules,’ he told her gently but firmly. ‘From now on until the babies are born I take over the business side of the theatre. I know you want to do it yourself, but it’s too much at the moment and after all, I have been doing this kind of work most of my adult life. Your baby will be in good hands, and these babies’ – he touched her stomach tenderly – ‘need a rested mother. All right? You can visit the theatre with me as often as you wish, but no more work. I mean it, Sophy. Dr Palmer was worried about the swelling in your legs and feet last week and it’s got worse, not better.’

  She lay back against the cushions of the sofa, too tired to argue with him.

  ‘Regarding the nursemaid, I have no intention of forcing you to make a choice that doesn’t suit. We will manage. Somehow. And now you are going up to bed and I will bring you a dinner tray later.’

  ‘But it’s only seven o’clock!’

  ‘Bed, Sophy.’

  He was worried, really worried, she could see it in his face, and it was this that made her nod and let him help her to her feet. They were crossing the hall, Kane holding her arm, when the doorbell rang. Harriet came hurrying out of the passageway which led to the kitchen, and on seeing her, Kane said, ‘I’m taking Sophy up to bed, she’s exhausted. Get rid of whoever it is and then warm some milk and bring it upstairs, would you.’

  They were halfway up the stairs when Harriet opened the door. They heard her say, ‘Can I help you?’ and then a woman spoke in reply. They couldn’t hear what she said but as Sophy stopped dead, Kane glanced at her in surprise. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Harriet was saying, ‘I’m sorry, but Mrs Gregory is indisposed. You’ll have to come back another time,’ as Sophy turned round and descended, Kane still holding her arm.

  ‘Bridget?’ Sophy’s voice was a whisper, and then as she reached the hall, she said more strongly, ‘Bridget? Is that you?’

  Harriet stood to one side, clearly bemused, as the woman at the door pushed past her, saying, ‘Sophy? Sophy, lass! Aw, Sophy.’

  In spite of her bulk Sophy flew across the hall and into Bridget’s arms. The women hung on to each other, both making unintelligible sounds which made their listeners wrinkle their faces against the mixed pain and joy they contained. It was a full minute before they drew back to look into each other’s faces and both had tears streaming down their cheeks. ‘Oh, me bairn, me bairn, look at you.’ Bridget was smiling through her tears. ‘I knew you’d be as bonny as a summer’s day.’

  Sophy couldn’t talk. Here was her Bridget and hardly any different to what she remembered. The same bright brown eyes and curly light brown hair and not a trace of grey, although Bridget must be fifty-five, fifty-six now.

  Such was the look on Sophy’s face that Bridget said, ‘Now come on, lass, don’t take on so, not in your condition. Ee, I couldn’t believe it when Miss Patience told me. Twins, she said. Look, come an’ sit down.’ Bridget glanced helplessly at Kane who now stepped forward, taking Sophy’s arm once more as he escorted her into the drawing room with Bridget following and Harriet making up the rear.

  When Sophy sat down she held out her hand to Bridget who came and sat beside her. Sophy hung on tight. She had the feeling that if she let go of Bridget’s hand, it would all turn out to be a dream. Looking up at Kane, she whispered, ‘This is Bridget, you remember I told you about her?’

  ‘I do.’ Kane smiled. ‘And you’re very welcome, Bridget. Harriet, I think we could all do with a cup of tea, don’t you?’

  ‘I never thought I’d see you again.’ Sophy squeezed Bridget’s hand and then, remembering her manners, she said, ‘Oh take off your hat and coat. You can have dinner with us, can’t you? Where are you staying? Are you living in Sunderland? Where’s Kitty and Patrick?’

  Bridget smiled. When Miss Patience had told her that Sophy was a famous actress married to a wealthy man and living in a great big house, she’d wondered if her lass might have changed – got a bit uppity – but she needn’t have worried. ‘I only heard you were living in these parts today, lass,’ she said quietly. ‘The last I heard, you’d gone off somewhere but no one knew where.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘Years back, just before I went across the water with my mam an’ da.’

  ‘You went back to Ireland?’

  Kitty nod
ded. ‘But I’d asked about you before then. I went knocking at the door of the vicarage one day about a year or so after your aunt had thrown us out, and she threatened to have the police on me. Vicious, she was.’

  ‘She’s dead now, my uncle too.’

  ‘Aye, I know, lass. Miss Patience told me.’

  ‘Bridget, why don’t you start at the beginning and tell us the full story,’ Kane suggested, as Harriet came in with the tea tray.

  ‘Well, there’s not a lot to tell, sir. When your aunt,’ she turned to Sophy again, ‘got rid of us, we hung about these parts for a bit. I didn’t want to move too far afield because of you. But then we got the offer of work from a farmer at one of the hirings. The pay wasn’t much but it was Silksworth way so still close. The cottage he let us have was no more than a pigsty of a place, holes in the roof, all sorts, but we stuck it for a while. Then on me half-day off one Sunday I went to the vicarage. I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you, lass. That I hadn’t gone far. Your aunt was there. She said you’d been sent away and you weren’t coming back, and if I came again she’d have me locked up for stealing. Well, I’ve never stolen anything in me life, as you well know.’

  Sophy nodded. ‘She was a hateful woman, Bridget.’

  ‘Then me mam got poorly, the cottage was so damp and cold, terrible it was, and then as luck would have it, we got set on at a big house in Newcastle.’

  ‘Newcastle? Oh, Bridget, I was at school in Newcastle! We might have met.’

  ‘You were? Well, I never. Well, me mam never really got better, not like she’d once been anyway, and she’d always had a hankering to go back to Ireland to see her sisters an’ that, and in the end she got right poorly and me and Da knew if we didn’t go soon, that’d be that. But I came back to the vicarage before we went, just in case. This little maid answered the door and when I asked after you she said there’d been a big row and you’d gone and no one knew where, but you weren’t coming back. I gave a letter to her to give to you on the off-chance.’