by Tania Crosse
‘To me? I doesn’t understand.’
‘Would you … please could you give her this?’ Anna reached into her pocket for the envelope. ‘It’s the only way I can be sure she’ll get it. I didn’t get the chance to explain properly. Or to apologise. I can’t tell you how dreadful I feel about it all. Francesca and I had become friends, you see. This can never put things right, but I would like her to read it. Would you … would you mind?’ she asked, seeing the misgiving on Mrs Smudge’s face.
‘No. I doesn’t mind. I’ll take it, but I doesn’t know when I’ll be able fer give it to ’er. Just arter you left, I over’eard ’Er Ladyship tellin’ Sir Gilbert fer get ’is wife back to London afore ort else ’appened. I wondered what she meant, but now I reckons she were referrin’ to you. Left the very next day, they did, an’ I ’aven’t seen either on them since.’
‘Oh.’ Anna felt her heart weigh down with sadness. ‘Poor Francesca. Can you imagine how she must feel? And with her father dying as well. He … has he …?’
‘Still alive as far as I knaws, but very poorly. The doctors was right that ’e be not long fer this world.’
‘And now I’ve ruined the one thing Frankie had to hold on to.’
Mrs Smudge inclined her head, lips pursed. ‘It takes two to tango, cheel. An’ Sir Gilbert ought to ’ave knawed better than to lead an innocent young thing like you on. But there’ll be plenty fer blame you alone.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Anna scoffed bitterly, remembering the customer in Bolt’s. ‘I’ve found that already. Our next-door neighbours, even. Well, Olive’s all right, but her husband won’t speak to me now. Or the people across the road. But there are three elderly sisters who live in a house just by us, and they’ve been quite understanding.’
‘An’ ’oo’s us, then?’
‘Queenie.’ Anna smiled at the thought. ‘Lovely lady. Took me in on the day Lady Ashcroft threw me out. She has very little and the cottage is pretty primitive, but Queenie has a heart of gold. I think she was quite lonely before, and she wants me and the baby to live with her.’
‘An’ you wants fer bring this babby up in this cottage on the moor? An’ what future will it ’ave when it grows up?’ Mrs Smudge frowned dubiously.
‘Well, it’ll have plenty of fresh air and good food!’ Anna enthused. ‘Queenie grows all her own vegetables and things. And she keeps goats and hens. Said she might even get a piglet in the spring, like in the old days, she says. I’m going to have the baby in the maternity home in Tavistock, though. The midwife said the cottage isn’t really suitable.’
‘Got it all worked out, then.’
‘With Queenie’s help, yes.’
But as Anna walked home across the moor, Mrs Smudge’s words echoed in her brain. But what else could she do? For the moment, all she could think of was to bring the child safely into the world, and to provide for its earliest needs. After that, the future would have to take care of itself.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Oh, Queenie, it’s been a super Christmas Day,’ Anna commented, stretching lazily. ‘So much better than last year at the Hall.’
It was eight o’clock in the evening and they were both lounging in the old, lumpy armchairs that they had pushed up to the little range. They must have sat there for a couple of hours, chatting, knitting, Queenie reminiscing about life at the cottage when she was a child. Things hadn’t really changed much, except that she’d had all her family around her, and she related amusing tales of various larger-than-life characters, all long gone. Now Queenie had opened the firebox door and they were toasting their toes in the heat.
Anna took a deep breath, watching the mound beneath her dress lift even higher and then fall as she sighed ponderously. ‘Queenie,’ she faltered, and had to whip up her courage to continue, ‘I know we’ve been preparing for the baby, but … do you really think it’s the best thing for us to keep it? I mean, we’ll give it a good home, but is it right for it to grow up without a father? And things will always be a struggle. We’ll never be able to afford decent clothes and shoes and things for it. Don’t you think,’ she hesitated, watching the expression on Queenie’s face, ‘don’t you think it would have a better chance if it was adopted into a proper family? And if we keep it, one day it’ll have to know the truth about its father.’
She chewed on her lip, wishing she hadn’t spoken as Queenie put down her knitting.
‘An’ what about you, Anna? Does you wants to keep it or give it away?’
Anna had never seen those opal eyes so intense, and she couldn’t hold their steady stare. She bowed her head.
‘I don’t know,’ she murmured. ‘Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. I think it’s knowing who the father is. I know I loved Gilbert when … when it happened, but now I despise him, and that’s what’s making me doubt myself. I mean, if I really was widowed, it would be so much different.’
She dared to look up now, and saw Queenie’s lips had firmed to a fine line.
‘Your feelings is all over the place,’ she said pensively. ‘Near your time, you’m be, an’ that’s ’ard enough for any woman. You knows my opinion, but it’s not my decision to make. Just don’t you go doing ort you might regret later. Give it time. The babby won’t know no different till it’s much older. Now, I cas’n see to knit no more in this light, so I suggests us ’as a nice cup o’ tea afore us goes to bed.’ And so saying, she heaved herself out of the chair.
Oh, dear. The conversation hadn’t solved anything. But Queenie was right in one thing. Anna shouldn’t make a hasty decision. But she’d been thinking about it ever since she had realised she was pregnant.
She hauled herself to her feet and felt her stomach tighten with ferocious force. Dr Franfield had warned her about these practice contractions. Braxton Hicks he had called them. They got very strong towards the end, but he promised she’d know the difference when the real thing came. She couldn’t wait to be rid of the physical burden, but what next when the bump inside her had become a proper little human being?
If only her mum was still alive for her to talk to, but if she was, none of this would have happened, would it?
Anna’s eyes flew open and she caught her breath, gritting her teeth. Oh, that was really painful. It was the third time it had woken her up, and though she couldn’t see her watch in the dark, she was sure it wasn’t that long since the last one. This was it. Oh, Lord. She had prayed it would happen during the day. Now she would have to wake Queenie.
She blinked her eyes wide, clearing her thoughts as the pain subsided. She gave herself a moment’s respite, then threw the blankets aside and sat up on the edge of the bed, snuggling her feet into her slippers and pulling on her dressing gown. The January night struck cold, despite the glowing coals in the little fireplace, and Anna started shaking, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
She lit the candle, just about able to make out its shape, and the hesitant flame flickered eerily through the shadows. The room that had become her haven. The drawer she and Queenie had turned into a warm and comfortable crib for the baby. What would they do when it got bigger, she had wondered? But perhaps …
Ooo. Just as she reached the bottom of the bed, it came again, making her bend double, and she clung onto the iron bedstead with her free hand, praying she wouldn’t drop the candlestick. Oh, heck. And she took deep, controlled breaths, just as the midwife had shown her.
At last it was over. Five minutes at most since the previous one. Call by the time the contractions are half an hour between, Dr Franfield had instructed. So what was happening?
‘Queenie!’ she called in panic, but through the thick stone walls of the cottage, Queenie couldn’t hear her. She made it into the kitchen, shouting again, and as she reached the centre of the room, she felt something snap inside her. The next minute, something warm was trickling down her legs and into a puddle on the floor. She stood, too frightened to move and trembling like a leaf.
‘What is it, cheel?’
Queenie
appeared in the doorway leading from her room on the far side, looking like some guardian angel in her voluminous white nightgown, her grey hair falling over her shoulder in a long, thick plait.
‘Oh, Queenie,’ Anna squealed in a tiny voice. ‘It’s the baby. I think something awful’s happened.’
‘Oh, cheel, your waters ’ave broke, that’s all.’ Even in the candlelight, Anna saw the seamed face move into a smile. ‘You just sit down. Yere, put this towel underneath you, an’ wrap yersel’ in this yere blanket.’
She quickly opened up the vents to the range and then left Anna for a few minutes. By the time she returned fully dressed, the coals were coming to life again.
‘Right,’ she announced decisively, shoving her arms into her coat. ‘I’ll go an’ ring Dr Franfield, an’ by the time I gets back, that old kettle’ll be singing away, an’ us can ’ave us a nice cup o’ tea while we’m waiting. Now then, torch, money. I’ll be back as quick as I can. You just relax, cheel. Queenie’ll take care of you.’
Yes, I know you will, Anna reflected gratefully. But it still seemed an eternity, waiting there alone in the near dark, the hem of her nightie cold and wet. Perhaps she should change into a clean one, but she didn’t fancy stripping off. And then her stomach knotted up again, taking her breath away, and she was counting, breathing. Oh, God, did it have to hurt this much? Queenie, hurry up, please! What if the older woman had slipped over? It would be icy outside, and nobody would hear her if … Don’t think like that. It would be all right …
‘Dr Franfield’s on ’is way,’ Queenie blustered as she came back in. ‘Going to take us to the ’ospital in ’is car. ’Ow’s about that, then?’ she chuckled. ‘Queenie riding in a motor car! Now, your little case be all packed, so we’m all ready. So let’s ’ave us this cuppa.’
‘Oh, Queenie.’ Anna grasped her gnarled hand as she passed the chair, and the worn face gazed down on her with a warm smile.
‘This be it, cheel,’ she soothed. ‘This be it.’
‘There we are. As handsome a little chap as I’ve ever seen.’ Dr Franfield beamed as he placed the bundle into Anna’s arms. ‘And arrived just in time for us all to have breakfast. And I must get back home in time for morning surgery. Keep her down here for a couple of hours to get some rest, Sister, and then take her up on one of the wards.’
‘Thank you so much, Doctor,’ Anna said, wondering how her tongue managed to work when she felt so muzzy and light-headed. ‘I’m sorry to have got you up in the middle of the night when you’ve got a full day’s work ahead.’
‘Occupational hazard,’ he grinned back. ‘I’ll send Miss Witherspoon in if you feel up to it. I’m sure she’ll want to see her great-nephew.’
Queenie’s great-nephew. And her own son. Anna felt a fragile movement in her arms, and looked down.
A tiny, round, red face framed by the blue shawl the midwife had wrapped around the little head and body. The eyes were closed and screwed up, the nose like a little button. And then the rosebud mouth stretched into a gummy yawn and settled into working at the air. Anna’s hand found its own way to stroke the soft cheek, cup the forehead. The shawl slipped off his head, revealing a cap of brown curls plastered to the skull.
A new little person, whose life – whose future – depended on her. So tiny. So helpless. So innocent, and not deserving of the label of bastard. But she could protect him. He was so … perfect. She gazed down on the peaceful face, and her heart squeezed in awestruck fascination. She had never seen anything so small, so precious. She couldn’t take her rapt eyes from him, and scarcely glanced up as the figure appeared at her side.
‘Oh, Queenie, isn’t he beautiful?’ she breathed, her spellbound gaze at once drawn back to the little miracle in her arms. She sought out one of the hands, tiny as a doll’s, the nails like little pink jewels. Counted each finger and thumb.
‘Oooh.’ Queenie gave a long wondrous sigh. ‘Oh, yes. She’s an absolute angel.’
Anna’s eyes swivelled upwards. ‘It’s a boy, Queenie. A boy.’
Queenie shook her head as if bringing herself to her senses. ‘Of course,’ she murmured, ‘just a slip o’ the tongue. I be so overcome. Oh, you’m so lucky, cheel.’
‘Let me take him now,’ the midwife smiled. ‘You try and get some sleep, and then baby will be wanting his first feed.’
‘Oh.’ Anna’s voice quavered with reluctance, but she allowed the kindly woman to remove the bundle from her arms.
‘And Miss Witherspoon, I’ll tell you all about visiting hours.’
‘Queenie, you must be exhausted. Go home and get some sleep, and don’t worry about visiting. It’ll be so difficult for you.’
‘Don’t you go worrying none about me,’ Queenie answered with a stern smile. ‘You’m the one what needs rest now.’
‘She’s absolutely right. He may want a snooze now, but this little fellow will soon be demanding your attention. Try and nod off for a bit. If you need anything, just ring that bell.’
‘Yes, thank you, Sister.’
Alone in the room, Anna snuggled down in the bed. Her undercarriage was so sore, she didn’t think she’d ever recover. And as for ‘making love’ as they called it, well, she’d never be doing that again! Right off men for life, she was. Widowed. And happy to stay that way. She had that dear little bewitching wonder to care for now, and that was enough.
She was taken upstairs in the large, converted house – or two houses knocked into one, as she believed the maternity home had once been – in a wheelchair, with the infant clasped on her lap. When she had been gently woken with the ubiquitous cup of tea all waiting, she had been astounded to find that all she was interested in was holding her son again. And when she had been shown how to coax him into taking his first feed, it had filled her with enchantment to feel that she was providing life-giving sustenance for this little creature from her own body. Now she had managed some rest, she was overflowing with excitement.
There were just four beds in the ward, giving it a homely, relaxed atmosphere. Anna’s only disappointment was that the baby was once again taken from her. It must have shown on her face.
‘It’s so we can rest,’ a voice came from the next bed.
Anna looked across. A young woman was half lying on an arrangement of pillows, the starched white sheet tucked tightly across her. She looked a ghastly colour, and she had a drip going into her arm, but she managed a wan smile.
‘Caroline Cresswell,’ she introduced herself, ‘but everyone calls me Carrie. Sorry I won’t be much company today. Had a Caesarian yesterday, and I feel pretty bad.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘I’m sure I’ll feel better soon. I had a lovely little girl. What about you?’
‘A boy,’ Anna answered, amazed at the swell of pride in her breast. ‘I’m Anna, by the way. Anna Millington.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Anna. Oh, here comes lunch. Food in here’s not at all bad.’
‘Oh, good. D’you know, I’m suddenly hungry. They offered me something earlier, but I was still feeling sick from some injection Dr Franfield had given me.’
‘Oh, he’s my doctor, too. Very nice man and very respected. We’re very lucky. His son’s a doctor, too.’
‘So I believe. I’ve not met him, though.’
‘I have. He’s very nice, too. Specialises in joints and broken bones and things, apparently. Dr Franfield senior does babies and women’s problems.’
‘Lovely bedside manner he’s got, hasn’t he? I live up on the moor, which makes things a bit awkward. D’you know, he came out in his car in the middle of last night to bring me in here himself?’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ Carrie commented, hauling herself into a sitting position as the bed trolley was brought up by a portly nurse. ‘Live in Tavistock myself.’
‘Come along, ladies, stop nattering and eat up,’ the nurse reprimanded them. ‘And lots to drink, remember. You’ll have your little ones to feed again shortly.’
> Behind the woman’s well-padded back, Carrie caught Anna’s eye and pulled a face. Anna had to stifle a giggle. She sensed that Carrie Cresswell was going to be a pleasant companion for the ten days or so she was supposed to stay in hospital, and it would be really good if they became friends. Anna had to admit that, much as she loved Queenie, she missed company of her own age. With it being so awkward to see Ethel, and with Frankie, well, she didn’t know what was happening with her, it would be nice to have a good friend she could actually see once in a while, especially one who had a child of exactly the same age.
‘How you’m doing, then, cheel?’
‘Queenie! How on earth did you manage to get here?’
‘I ’ad a word wi’ Mrs Cribbett in Princetown, an’ Mr Cribbett drove me yere in ’is lorry. An’ one o’ the other Mr Cribbetts will bring me another time.’
‘Oh, how kind!’
‘That’s what living on the moor all your life does for you. Now, I wants to see this little tacker of ours again.’
The babies had been placed in their mothers’ arms ready for visiting, and Anna loosened the infant’s shawl so that Queenie could see him better. Queenie’s pale eyes misted over, and Anna felt a pang of sadness. Queenie would have made a wonderful mother if she’d had the chance.
‘Little angel,’ she whispered. ‘An’ you looks proper … serene yersel’.’
‘I’ve fed him three times,’ Anna announced proudly. ‘Had to have help the first time, but I managed it on my own after that. There’s a knack to it,’ she said knowledgeably, ‘but he’s very eager. Three minutes on each side to start.’
‘Oh, aren’t we the expert?’ Queenie laughed, her chin wobbling up and down. ‘Decided on a name yet, ’as us?’
Anna tore her eyes away from the minuscule face. ‘Well, no. Not really. I thought I’d wait. Until …’ She couldn’t finish the sentence. Until she’d decided whether or not to keep him?
‘Deserves a name, anyway,’ Queenie said softly. ‘Can I make a suggestion? ’Ow’s about Charlie?’
