by Jane Jackson
Sensing this was no time for soothing platitudes – comfort and reassurance required confident actions –Kerenza snatched up the book again and read swiftly. She turned the page, and turned it back in disbelief. That was all? Wanting to scream with frustration, instead she clamped her jaws together. Why should there be more? After all, it was not doctors who attended and supervised confinements, but midwives. And midwives learnt by apprenticeship and practice, not from books. She would just have to manage on the little information there was.
She read it again to imprint it on her memory. Then a soft tap on the door announced the arrival of Broad with a blanket, three clean but badly frayed shirts, and a wooden bucket. Behind him stood Toy with a lantern and a large jug of steaming water.
Putting blanket and shirts on the top cot, standing the jug in the bucket then wedging it in a corner to ensure it wouldn’t topple or spill, Kerenza lit the lantern. The additional light was welcome. Being able to see more clearly would make everything if not easier, at least a little less difficult. Hanging it from a hook on the bulkhead, Kerenza knelt beside Judith.
‘May I get a sheet and towel from your trunk?’
‘My dear girl.’ Judith smiled weakly. ‘You don’t need to ask. Take whatever you want. I have some clean shifts in there somewhere. Cut them up if you need to. They will provide a soft wrapping for the baby.’
Lifting the lid, Kerenza took out what she needed, plus a clean nightdress and the little nightshirt Judith had been embroidering. It was not quite finished. She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the tell-tale change in Judith’s breathing. Crossing the small space once more, she crouched, holding one of Judith’s hands in hers while with the other she smoothed back the hair from Judith’s sweat-dampened forehead.
‘You are so good and attentive,’ Judith gasped when she could speak again. ‘But I fear that if you leave what you’re doing each time I have a pain, then nothing will be ready.’
She wasn’t alone in that fear. Kerenza could tell the pains were coming faster. ‘All right, but the moment you want me to stop and be with you, please say so.’
Folding the old blanket into a thick pad about two and a half feet square, she covered it with the remains of her torn sheet, then laid the oldest and most ragged of the shirts on top. Next, she found her scissors and began to cut up the remaining shirts into napkins and pads. She was still apprehensive. But having things to do made it easier to set her nervousness aside. Lastly, she cut up two cambric shifts, taking narrow strips from one as binders for the baby’s cord.
Minutes ticked into hours, and the strength and frequency of the contractions increased. But, growing visibly more exhausted, Judith sank into apathy. She no longer made any attempt to talk or even to respond during the brief respite between pains.
Anxiety coiled in Kerenza’s stomach, forming a tight knot. Was this what marriage and motherhood were about? When she had overheard whispers, seen eyes rolled heavenward, she had suspected exaggeration in order to win admiration or sympathy. No longer was she surprised that married women never spoke of such things in detail. For surely if girls were told the truth of what they might expect, the reality rather than the nebulous rosy dream, how many would opt to remain single? One would need to love very deeply to be willing to bear such pain. Yet what other life was there for a woman when her status depended upon marriage?
Perhaps if one were loved enough, or ambitious enough, then all this agony was a price worth paying. But how many knew when they walked down the aisle that this would be the result? How many, even if they were told, would truly believe it?
Eventually, after once again wiping Judith’s face and throat with a damp cloth, she made a decision. ‘I’m going to fetch my box from the trunk.’ Surely there was something in it that might afford a little relief?
Her chest heaving, Judith didn’t respond. Kerenza wondered if she had even heard. Plum-coloured shadows had developed beneath her eyes.
Climbing stiffly to her feet, Kerenza wiped her hands on her dress and quietly opened the door. As she emerged, blinking, she was astonished to see the grey light of dawn filtering down the companionway. The night over, it was a new day. From the Woodrows’ cabin the snores continued unabated. Hearing a sound, she turned to see Broad appear in the saloon doorway, rubbing his face. ‘Any news, miss?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Can I get you anything?’ He staggered toward her down the angled passage.
‘Have you been there all night?’
‘Seemed best, miss. In case you wanted something.’
‘That is kind. Some more hot water, please. I’ll fetch the jug.’
‘Be long will it, do you think?’
She spread her hands, worried, helpless. ‘I hope not, for Lady’s Russell’s sake.’ Ducking into the cabin, she returned with the jug and the half-full bucket.
‘You’ll have ’em both back in two shakes,’ he promised. ‘I kept the fire in all night.’
As he disappeared into the saloon again, Kerenza started toward the companionway. Nick’s former cabin was on the right at the bottom, opposite her father’s. The light was briefly blocked and, as she heard footsteps on the brass stairs, her heart gave its now familiar semi-painful leap. But it was Maggot who turned toward her.
‘Baby is here?’
Kerenza shook her head. ‘I wish it were. I don’t know how long – She’s so terribly tired,’ she blurted. ‘And the pains are so severe –’
‘She need kif,’ Maggot announced.
‘What’s that?’
‘Is from a plant. You can smoke or chew. But for Lady Russell I make a drink. Is very good, take pain away for short time.’
It sounded wonderful. But Kerenza was wary. ‘I’m not sure if –’
Maggot stepped very close, his gaze level with her own, and suddenly as hard as Cornish granite. ‘You think I harm her?’ he demanded softly.
‘No.’ Kerenza felt her tension lift, knowing it was the truth. ‘Thank you. Please bring it as soon as you can.’ Turning, she went back into the cabin.
Judith was able to swallow only a few mouthfuls of the brown liquid, and shuddered violently at the taste. But its effect was swift, softening and smoothing out the creases of agony. The contractions were almost continuous, separated only by a few seconds. Kerenza took a last look at the book then knelt beside the cot.
‘I think it’s time to get you ready.’
Nodding briefly, Judith clasped Kerenza’s arm and leant forward so the pillows could be propped up. Then she tried to help by raising her body so Kerenza could slide the thick pad beneath her.
Pouring fresh hot water into the basin, Kerenza bathed Judith’s lower body, briefly shy at performing such an intimate task, yet deeply moved by Judith’s trust and acceptance. As she wiped her dry with a rag, saving the towel for the baby, Kerenza was startled by the board-like rigidity of Judith’s abdomen as the contraction took hold.
Replacing the sheet and blanket over Judith’s hips, she emptied the water into the chamber pot – she had another use for the bucket – poured a little more into the basin and, with Lizzie Gendall’s advice echoing in her ears, carefully washed the scissors.
Faster and harder the contractions came. Judith’s lips were beginning to crack and the lamplight gleamed on the perspiration that dewed her face and darkened the hair at her temples.
‘Kerenza,’ she gasped suddenly. ‘It’s – I have to –’ She curved forward, straining, panting, then straining some more.
Throwing back the sheet, Kerenza saw a gush of fluid, a bulge, and then the baby’s head appeared.
‘Wait! Wait!’ she cried in terrified urgency, using her little finger to clear the baby’s mouth.
‘I can’t –’ Judith gasped, grunting with effort as the next contraction pushed out first one shoulder, then the other. Then, in a slippery rush, the rest of the baby slithered out into Kerenza’s waiting hands, still tethered to Judith’s body by a spiralled silver-bl
ue cord.
‘Oh Judith.’ Choked with awe and elation, Kerenza could barely speak.
Judith heaved herself up on her elbows, her voice cracking. ‘What –?’
‘A little girl.’ Tears were streaming down Kerenza’s cheeks and she had to force the words past a lump in her throat so big it threatened to choke her. ‘You have a beautiful baby girl. She’s perfect, absolutely perfect.’
Now she understood. This moment, this wonderful, incredible moment was worth all the hours of effort and pain. But her delight was briefly eclipsed by the memory of Nick’s face as he had walked past her in Falmouth’s main street. The sense of loss was crippling.
With infinite care she lifted the tiny, twitching body, marvelling at its warmth, its aliveness, and laid it on Judith’s stomach so she could see and touch and be reassured. The baby gave a thin “wa-aa-aa” and waved her arms.
‘Listen to her.’ Judith laughed. ‘She sounds like an angry kitten. Why not, my darling,’ she crooned, stroking her daughter. Then she gave a sharp cry as another contraction wrenched her.
Kerenza tore her gaze from the baby as the dark mass of the afterbirth appeared. She must concentrate, for though the worst was now over, there was still much to do. While Judith talked softly to her daughter, her exhaustion banished by euphoria, Kerenza tied the cord a hand-span from the baby’s body, and again a further inch beyond. Then, swallowing, fearful it must surely cause pain, she picked up the scissors and, gritting her teeth, cut it. The baby seemed oblivious.
Pouring more clean water into the basin, she set it on the tilted floor beside the cot so Judith could see. ‘As soon as she is washed and swaddled you will be able to hold her properly.’
‘She is beautiful, isn’t she?’ Judith lay back, her head turned sideways on the pillows, watching with tired. hungry eyes as Kerenza lifted the flailing baby and lowered her into the water.
‘She is utterly gorgeous.’ Kerenza had never felt anything like the emotion that gripped her now. The weight of that little head against the inside of her forearm filled her with an overpowering need to protect this tiny scrap of humanity from anything that might harm her.
‘She’s so strong,’ she marvelled, washing the little body and kicking legs with Judith’s soap, relieved that the lilac hue of the baby’s skin was beginning to turn deep rosy pink. ‘Have you thought of a name for her?’
‘I’d like to call her Georgiana, for my husband, and her second name will be Kerenza, for you,’ Judith replied through chattering teeth.
Kerenza looked up quickly. ‘You husband might have other ideas.’
‘Perhaps, but he will quickly adapt them,’ Judith said. ‘Especially once he learns how much we both owe you.’
Lifting the baby out and laying her on a clean piece of soft shirt, Kerenza dried her with Judith’s towel. Then, after binding her abdomen with a strip of cambric, she wound a clean piece of shirt around her for a napkin, dressed her in the tiny nightshirt that was too big, and wrapped her in pieces of Judith’s shifts. Finally, she untied the shawl from her shoulders, re-folded it, and lay the baby on its soft warmth.
‘I shall put her in my cot just for a moment while I make you comfortable.’
‘I’d give anything for a cup of sweet tea,’ Judith murmured, racked by violent shivers.
‘You’ll have one, I promise,’ Kerenza smiled. Quickly bundling up the afterbirth in the rag on which it lay, she dropped it in the bucket. Then she washed Judith, placed a wad of soft rags between her legs, removed the soaked blanket, and helped her into the clean nightdress. As she drew up the covers, Judith caught her hand.
‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Never. If you hadn’t been here –’
‘It was my privilege,’ Kerenza said with simple truth, grasping Judith’s hand in return. ‘It was the most moving, amazing –’ Her throat closed and she shook her head, then followed Judith’s gaze as she looked up.
Running feet thudded overhead, then came the familiar sound of the blocks as ropes were loosed and hauled in. Kerenza grabbed the cot edge as the angle of the deck altered then levelled out. Looking at each other, they spoke simultaneously.
‘The wind’s changed!’
‘We may reach Gibraltar before nightfall,’ Judith said.
‘It will certainly be a very special homecoming for you.’ Kerenza tried to smile, aware of how much she would miss Judith’s warmth, humour, and common sense.
‘One my husband will certainly not forget in a hurry. And in the meantime, I think I should try to feed my daughter.’ Judith held out her arms as Kerenza placed the still-crying baby in them. ‘Before she wakes the entire ship.’
‘I’ll go and fetch that cup of tea.’ Kerenza doubted Judith had even heard.
She opened the door and looked toward the companionway. It was full daylight. The smells of frying pork and hot coffee told her breakfast was being prepared. It had been a long night. But, despite all that might have gone wrong, nothing had. Mother and baby were fine. So why did she feel so deflated, so bereft? She was tired, that was all. As she knocked on the captain’s door, it was wrenched open and she jumped.
‘It’s over? Is everything all right?’ Freshly shaved, his thick hair still wet and bearing the furrows of a comb, Nick was wearing his best uniform.
Kerenza nodded, suddenly all too aware of her own dishevelled appearance. ‘Lady Russell gave birth to a beautiful daughter about an hour ago. Mother and baby are both well. I’m about to take her a cup of tea but I thought I should tell you first.’
‘Thank you. I’ll note it in the log.’ His brows gathered. ‘You look very tired.’
Shrugging, she crossed her arms in instinctive self-protection. Without the shawl she was cold. ‘I’m sure I look a total wreck. But –’
‘No!’ he was gruff, abrupt. ‘I didn’t intend – What I should have – What I meant was that you have just endured a long and worrying night, and that on top of a time of great strain.’
She wished he hadn’t explained. The tenderness in his voice was more than she could handle. Helpless to stop the sudden scalding tears, she covered her face with her hands.
‘Kerenza?’ His voice was raw, and thick with pent-up emotion.
She lifted her head, inhaling deeply as she wiped her wet face with her fingers. ‘I’m sorry. It’s – as you say, it’s been a long night, and I am indeed very tired. Will you excuse me? I must –’
‘Why do you not rest now? Surely Broad, or Toy could –’
‘No, not yet. I don’t think Lady Russell would wish to see or be seen by anyone just at the moment.’
The corners of his mouth flickered. His expression, half shyness, half shame, wrapped itself around her heart. ‘No, of course not. Please.’ He gestured toward the saloon and she had no choice but to lead the way. But she’d only taken two steps when she remembered the honey and stopped so suddenly he cannoned into her, catching her arms to steady her as she stumbled back.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, breathless. ‘I just – I have to fetch –’ Blindly, she reached for the door handle.
He waited outside, holding the door open to allow light in while she threw back the lid of her trunk, trying to ignore the smell of his soap, his clothes , of him, that permeated the small cabin.
Clutching the jar of honey, her face on fire, Kerenza heard voices as she passed the Woodrows’ door and hoped she would be safely back in the cabin with Judith before Betsy emerged.
‘Sit down,’ Nick said. Too tired to argue, Kerenza slid into the nearest bench as Broad emerged from the small galley, his expression both anxious and expectant.
‘Everything all right, miss?’
‘Indeed it is, Broad. Lady Russell has a beautiful baby daughter.’
‘Well, now,’ he beamed. ‘That’s good news, that is. Both all right, are they?’
‘They are both doing fine. Lady Russell would love a cup of tea.’
‘Could do with one yourself, I shouldn’t wonder. Won’t be no more
’n a couple of shakes. I’ve had the kettle on this past two hours.’ He turned away, then turned back. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I got to say it. Done a bleddy handsome job, you have.’
‘Thank you.’ Feeling her eyes prickle again, she bent her head, rubbing the back of her neck where all the tendons were as tight as mast stays.
Then, to Kerenza’s horror, Betsy Woodrow’s voice suddenly increased in volume as her cabin door opened. A moment later she sailed into the saloon.
‘Good morning, Mr Pen –’ As she caught sight of Kerenza, horror replaced her frosty smile. ‘Good heavens, Miss Vyvyan. What on earth has happened to you?’
‘Nothing, Mrs Woodrow. I am –’
‘Then what on earth has possessed you to appear in public looking like what I can only describe as –’
‘Someone who has just passed an exhausting and anxious night helping a fellow passenger to give birth,’ Nick interrupted.
‘Mr Penrose!’ Betsy cried in affront, her hand flying protectively to her bosom. ‘Such language –’ Then, as she registered what he had said, her face become suddenly shapeless, like melting wax, before she was able to reassert control.
‘Lady Russell has had her baby?’ the minister said from behind his wife.
‘She has, sir,’ Nick confirmed. ‘Just over an hour ago. Isn’t that right, Miss Vyvyan?’
Kerenza nodded.
Feeling for the table, Betsy sat down. ‘But why wasn’t I called?’
‘For what purpose, Mrs Woodrow?’ Nick enquired coolly. ‘Was it not your self-confessed lack of experience that prevented you helping when the captain was injured?’
Kerenza looked at him, wondering how he knew, for he had not been present. Then realised immediately that indignation would have ensured either Broad or Toy told him. Betsy bridled, her colour deepening. ‘That was different.’
‘I think not. In any case, Lady Russell had all the help she could need in the person of Miss Vyvyan.’
‘But – But Miss Vyvyan is unmarried. It is quite wrong that she should –’
