by Evie Grace
Catherine stood shivering in front of the fire in the kitchen as he held the candle in the flames until it flickered alight.
‘How is she?’ She removed her cloak and struggled to unlace her boots as Stephen choked back a sob.
Her heart missed a beat. ‘I’m not too late?’
He shook his head.
‘What’s wrong? Have you had the doctor?’
‘Dr Whebley has called, but he isn’t hopeful. Catherine, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Lead me to her,’ she said, and she followed him up the narrow stairs to the bedroom, where Emily was lying on the bed on her back with her arms tucked beneath the coverlet. Stephen placed the candle on the bedside table where the dancing flame illuminated his wife’s face – she looked more beautiful than ever, her complexion pale and her cheeks a delicate pink. Her breathing was quick and shallow.
‘She’s asleep at last,’ Stephen whispered as a baby let out a wail from the crib beneath the window.
‘You have another child?’ Catherine whispered in awe as the cry tore at her heartstrings, bringing back bittersweet memories of Agnes. She bit back tears. This was no time to be breaking down. Emily needed her.
‘She took to her bed the day after she gave birth to our son.’ Stephen reached out and touched his wife’s hand. ‘She has a fever.’
‘What medicines has she had?’
‘Laudanum and something to purge the impurities from her body.’
‘Has she taken any food or water, a little light gruel?’
‘Nothing. She refuses everything.’
‘The baby? Has he fed?’ Catherine moved over to the crib.
‘Emily is too weak. I gave him a little cow’s milk.’
Catherine moved across to the patient and touched her cheek. Her skin was on fire.
‘Emily, I’m here now,’ she said softly.
Emily moaned in response.
The atmosphere in the sickroom reminded Catherine of nursing John after his accident, how the hot, stuffy air tainted with smoke and bodily odour seemed to worsen the patient’s condition. She drew the curtains and opened the window just a fraction.
‘Dr Whebley said to keep her warm,’ Stephen said.
‘Warm, but not roasting like a rabbit,’ Catherine said lightly, looking at the fire raging in the grate. ‘Have you got any help in at the moment?’
‘One of the village girls helps out from time to time.’
‘We’ll require her services in the morning. In the meantime, I need hot water, bread and tea.’ She had an idea that cow’s milk wasn’t good for infants. ‘Do you know anyone who has a goat so that we might have milk for the child?’
‘I do. I reckon I know everyone’s business around here.’
‘Where is Mrs Millichip? Hasn’t she called upon her daughter?’
‘Emily’s hardly spoken to her mother since our wedding day. They aren’t on good terms. Catherine, I know what you’re thinking – you’re too kind and soft-hearted for your own good. There’s no hope of a reconciliation between the two of them.’ He left the room and fetched the items that she’d requested. He also brought cooled boiled water and cloths, and stood hovering over her as she encouraged the baby to drink a little liquid before returning him to the crib.
‘Go and get some sleep while you can,’ she said. ‘I’m here now.’
‘How can I sleep?’ he said, beating his brow with his fist.
‘Emily needs you to be well. Please … I’ll call you if there’s any change.’
‘You promise?’
She nodded.
Stephen moved to his wife’s bedside and planted several kisses on her forehead.
‘Remember that I love you,’ he whispered. ‘Always and for ever, my darling.’
Catherine thought that she saw the faintest smile on Emily’s lips.
Always and for ever. That was what Matty had said to her when she had last seen him. Her love for him still burned brightly in her breast, but she couldn’t help wondering if he still felt the same. Had the experience of living under duress in a strange land changed him as her trials of living in the Union and becoming a mother had altered her? If he did come back, would they have the same understanding, or would they hardly know each other from before?
She stripped the coverlet from the bed and loosened the ties of the gown at Emily’s throat. She sponged her face and arms gently with water and ran her fingers through her tangled curls. This wasn’t how life had been meant to be. They were supposed to have remained friends, married to two brothers, bringing up their children in Overshill, yet Catherine’s desire for honesty and truth had driven them apart, and now it looked as if Emily would be snatched away before they had a chance to fully reconcile.
Emily continued to sleep peacefully overnight and through the morning, when there was a constant stream of visitors to the sickroom. Daniel arrived first with mud and chalk on his trousers, and a bottle of fresh milk.
‘I had to catch the goat and milk it myself,’ he said, smiling. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Mr Giles is bringing a daily supply until further notice.’ He turned to show a young girl into the sickroom. She was about sixteen years old. She had braids of strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes and freckles, and wore a clean but faded dress with worn cuffs and a cloak.
‘This is Maud who’s come to help with the children,’ he said. ‘Maud, this is Miss Rook. She’ll give you instructions as to what to do.’
‘Good morning, ma’am,’ she said, giving a stiff curtsey.
‘There’s no need to be scared.’ Catherine smiled gently. She wondered what was being said about her in the village. Was she still the infamous woman who had given birth to a convicted murderer’s child out of wedlock, or had time begun to forget? ‘You’ll get the children up and dressed, and give them breakfast. You’ll scrub the pots and pans, go to the bakery for bread and obtain some meat. You can cook?’
‘A little,’ she said.
‘That will do. I’ll supervise.’ The girl continued to stare at her. ‘You may go down to the kitchen now.’
Catherine picked the baby up from the crib. His grey-blue eyes were open and he was sucking on his fist. She sat in the chair beside the crib and fed him with spoonfuls of warm goats’ milk, wiping away the few drops that spilled from his mouth with the corner of a muslin square.
‘Poor darling, you were starving.’ She rocked him gently against her shoulder and patted his back. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that she was holding Agnes in her arms. Reluctantly, she put him down, swaddled him in a knitted blanket and placed him back in his crib.
At the same time, she heard footsteps stamping up the stairs.
Doctor Whebley entered the sickroom. He took off his hat and placed it on the bedside chest.
‘Good morning, Mrs …?’ he said, as if he half remembered her.
‘Miss Rook,’ she said.
‘We’ve met before.’ He frowned. ‘At Wanstall Farm, when your brother broke his head.’
‘Yes.’ She bit her lip.
‘Where is Mr Carter? I prefer to speak with him.’
‘I believe he is at work in the forge. You have his permission to relay your opinion through me. You may go and check with him, if you wish.’
‘I’ll speak with him after I’ve spoken to the patient,’ Doctor Whebley said. ‘Please, close that window.’
Catherine refused, no longer afraid to confront anyone who was in a position of authority.
‘Are you a doctor? Have you spent years studying the art of medicine?’ His bloodshot eyes bulged, making him look as if he was in need of medical help himself. ‘No, I thought not. It would behove you not to interfere with decisions that don’t concern you. I remember now. You have some fanciful ideas which have no scientific basis whatsoever. Close the window immediately.’
Doctor Whebley might be above her in both social standing and intellect, yet her intuition told her that he was wrong.
‘Your
friend is suffering from childbed fever. It is not caused by foul air, but by the weight of the petticoats and skirts, and the infant growing in the womb in the early months of pregnancy. Instead of letting the poisons descend from the body in the normal way, they trap them so they enter the circulation where they cause putridity. You will obey my orders, madam, or I will have you banned from the sickroom and advise Mr Carter to take on a new nurse without delay.’
The patient stirred. A low moan escaped her lips, followed by the words, ‘Catherine? Is that you?’
‘It is I.’ Catherine moved quickly to Emily’s side. ‘Oh, Emily, what a relief. You’ve given us all quite a scare.’
‘I will be well for the sake of my husband and children.’ She tried to sit up, but Catherine stayed her with a hand on her shoulder.
‘Keep still. You need to rest.’
‘At least we are agreed on that,’ Doctor Whebley observed.
Catherine decided to close the window, not wanting any upset to disturb what she prayed would be the start of Emily’s recovery.
‘That’s better,’ the doctor crowed. ‘Put a blanket across the doorway and a cloth into the keyhole. The body must be encouraged to sweat to remove the excrementitious matter, or the patient will die.’ He gave Emily a perfunctory examination and glanced at the baby.
‘I’d like to get up,’ Emily said.
‘There cannot be any reason why a woman should get up in less than a fortnight after their confinement,’ the doctor said, and Catherine thought of how she had been on her feet within days. ‘The period of after-repose is particularly required even at the second or third confinement. The mother’s mind should be kept free from excitement and anxiety.
‘I prescribe a glass of porter or ale once a day as a restorative, and forbid you to wear the patient out with excessive and unnecessary conversation,’ he added. ‘I’ll let Mr Carter know the good news, and be back tomorrow morning.’
When he’d gone, Catherine turned back to Emily.
‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘I came as soon as I heard.’ She gave her a few sips of water.
‘Where is my baby?’ Emily asked, looking around the room.
‘He’s sleeping. I’ll bring him to you when he wakes. Don’t worry – he’s quite well.’
‘Has he fed?’
‘Daniel brought goats’ milk for him. Maybe you’ll be able to put him to the breast when you’re up and about again.’
‘I’d like to see Jessie and Matthew.’
‘They are your other children?’
Emily nodded.
‘They’re with Maud. Stephen sent for her to attend to them and the house so you don’t have to do anything except concentrate on getting better. Are you warm enough?’
‘I’m too hot.’ Emily pushed the bedsheet away. ‘My head hurts. The light pains my eyes.’
Catherine moved to the window and opened it again. The view caught her eye: the Kentish landscape rising beyond the cottage garden. Some of the trees were laden with blossom and the hazels were dripping with catkins. She took a deep breath of the crisp scent of her childhood before closing the curtains and turning back to Emily.
‘Let me wash your face and hands. You might find it soothing.’
‘Ta,’ she said weakly.
When she had finished, Catherine emptied the bowl out of the window and hung the cloth over the fireguard.
‘What’s happening?’ Stephen strode into the sickroom, bringing the scent of musk, horse and burned sulphur on his work clothes. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come straight here. The doctor’s mare had cast a shoe. I had to fit a new one so he could ride home.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and placed a clutch of windflowers in Emily’s lap. Her eyes lit up.
Tendrils of envy wrapped themselves around Catherine’s heart as she watched Stephen stroke his wife’s face with his fingertips and plant a kiss on her lips. It was a painful reminder that she would never love again, nor marry, nor bear more children.
‘I’ll be back as soon as I can, my love,’ Stephen said, reluctantly tearing himself away. ‘I’ll bring the children to see you later.’
‘Don’t be long,’ Emily said.
Catherine pulled up the chair so she could sit with her.
‘Often I dream that we are walking back home from Old Faggy’s,’ Emily began. ‘Do you remember the day when Matty stole my bonnet and dropped it into the pond?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘I wish we had never been parted. We have wasted so much time.’ She smiled. ‘I was so glad when Stephen told me he had found you in Faversham. I wish you’d come back before, but maybe you have your reasons …’ She reached her hand across the sheet. ‘Stephen said … Oh dear, perhaps I shouldn’t say anything.’
‘You’re asking about my daughter, Agnes. Yes, it’s true. I had to give her up.’
‘Have you seen her since?’
Catherine shook her head and gazed down at the coverlet.
‘It was for the best,’ she said quickly. She believed that fervently now that time had passed. If she had refused to give Agnes up for adoption, they would both have been stuck living in the workhouse among the sick and dying, and a couple more years down the line Agnes would have been sold into work outside the Union, and who knows where she would have ended up, or what suffering she would have had to endure. ‘She’ll be brought up as a lady. She’ll have a jewellery casket filled with gold, and more bonnets than she can count. She’ll drink chocolate every day if she wishes, but most importantly to me, she’ll have respect and marry a suitable husband. I was assured that she would be loved and I have to believe it, or I should die.’
Catherine got up, stoked the ashes and put another log on the fire.
When she turned back, a pink spot had appeared in the centre of Emily’s cheek. Her eyes seemed to grow larger in her face as she sank back into the pillows.
‘Listen to me going on. You are exhausted.’
‘I’m fine,’ Emily insisted. ‘I should like to hold the baby now. His presence will cheer me.’
Catherine fetched him and placed him in her arms.
‘You’re a darling boy,’ Emily murmured, her voice thick with pride, as he gazed into his mother’s eyes. ‘You look so much like your brother. You are like peas in a pod.’ Emily looked across at Catherine. ‘I really do feel much better. I can hear my children laughing and playing outside.’
Catherine frowned and called downstairs for Maud to fetch some stew from the pot. She couldn’t hear the children, just the sound of the hammering of metal from the forge, and a blackbird’s alarm call.
‘I’m not hungry,’ Emily said when she tried to persuade her to drink a little stock. She suggested some scrambled egg instead, but she ate no more than a mouthful. Her eyes glittered and her skin flared hot again, making Catherine uneasy. Was this the calm before the storm?
News of Emily’s condition had reached the Millichips, for the sound of a disagreement floated up the stairs.
‘We have to see our daughter. You cannot stop us.’
‘This is my house,’ Stephen said. ‘It’s up to me who comes and goes.’
There was the scuffle of feet and Mrs Millichip turned up in the room, closely followed by her husband and Stephen.
‘Let me see her,’ Emily’s ma said, reaching the bedside. Emily flinched.
‘I’d have come sooner if I’d known. I’m your mother, yet I’ve had to glean the news second-hand through the likes of George Carter.’ She caught sight of Catherine with a flash of recognition. ‘Miss Rook? What are you doing here? I’m surprised you dare show your face.’ She looked at Stephen. ‘Why are you letting a woman of ill repute remain in the presence of your wife?’
‘I invited her here. Her reputation is one that others have created for her. I believe her to be one of the sweetest, most generous and honourable people in the world, second only to my darling Emily.’
‘She must leave forthwith,’ Mrs Millichip said, the co
lour high in her cheeks.
‘Stay,’ Emily said as Catherine stepped towards the door. ‘I will not have you insulted. Ma, you will apologise to my friend.’
‘I will not,’ she said.
‘Then you must leave. In fact, I desire you to remove yourself from my home straight away.’
‘You can’t do that. I’m your mother.’
‘You are no ma of mine.’ Emily began to cry.
‘Please go, Mrs Millichip,’ Stephen cut in. ‘You’ve done more than enough harm. Emily has told me everything: how you used to keep a strap hanging behind the door to beat her with; how you locked her in the bakehouse when she was only six years old. When I married her, I promised to keep her safe. I won’t let her down now.’
‘It’s in the Bible. He that spareth his rod hates his son: but he that loveth him chastens him betimes,’ Mrs Millichip maintained. ‘I did nothing wrong. Emily, you will back your ma on this. You were a lazy, clumsy lump of a child. If I hadn’t dragged you up, you would have come to nothing.’
‘Get out,’ Stephen snapped. ‘It is Emily’s wish that you leave forthwith.’
‘I shall take my grandchildren with me. They’ll stay at the mill until my daughter is well again.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Stephen said. ‘They don’t know you. You’re a stranger to them.’
Catherine noticed the muscle in his cheek tensing with anger at Emily’s ma’s effrontery.
‘Come, Mrs Millichip,’ her husband said. When she hesitated, he added, ‘There’s flour to be milled and bread to be baked. Your entreaties, unsurprisingly, are falling on deaf ears. I told you that I should have come alone.’ He grasped his wife roughly by the hand and prised her from the sickroom. She opened her mouth as though she had more to say, but he gave her a look and she stayed silent. ‘Promise me that you’ll look after my daughter.’
‘Of course, sir,’ Stephen said.
‘I should have done the same,’ Mr Millichip said. ‘For my failure to protect her, I am sorely ashamed. Good day.’
