I drew as if there were a team of men waiting to fulfil my plan. I know now that I drew plants that could never possibly live in the soil of Bristol, which was full of lime, and I drew plants that needed shade where there was none. Diner was as ignorant as I was, and the plan pleased us both.
‘Draw in as much detail as you can, Lizzie. Next year you shall have your garden. Spring is the best time for planting.’
He touched my heart then, because he wanted to think of our future and not the precarious day-to-day we were living now. If no one bought the houses … It made me sick to think of it. I could go back and live in rooms easily enough, but not Diner. There could be no more public humiliation than for a man to begin a magnificent terrace and be forced to abandon it, or sell the houses at a knockdown price to anyone who would have them. That was not going to happen to him.
I walked home through the sunshine, thinking of green things overhanging the walls and how I would push the plants into the soil. There would be nobody to see me grubbing in the dirt, except Philo, who would be happy to do the same. She liked to be outdoors far more than she liked to be in the house. I supposed that the taste came from her bird-scaring days. She had worn a sack over her shoulders against the rain, she said, and once she got over her fear of the birds she had been happy, running, flapping her arms and shouting as loud as she wanted.
It was late in the evening when we heard a banging on the door. Philo was in bed, so Diner went to open it. The rain was streaming down and there was a boy of about ten, out of breath with running. He took off his cap and handed me a much-folded note which had been tucked into it to keep dry.
‘Dear Lizzie, Your mother finds herself very much indisposed this evening. Yr Affte Friend, Hannah Rougemont.’
I ran back into the hall to find my cloak.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To my mother. Ask the boy to wait while I get my boots. He can go back with me.’
‘Lizzie, calm yourself. Your mother is having her baby, that’s all.’
It was early, surely? It was barely six months since she had told me she was pregnant. Could it really be the baby already?
‘If she is indisposed, isn’t that the obvious cause? But it’s no reason for you to rush to her bedside. It’s late, Lizzie. You must break this habit of roaming out in the dark and rain.’
‘Hannah would not have sent this boy if she hadn’t wanted me to come.’
‘Hannah is an old maid. Tomorrow will do very well.’
Diner gave the boy a penny and was about to send him on his way when I slipped past to the door.
‘I will come back straight away if there’s no need of me.’
‘I have need of you, Lizzie. You are my wife.’
The boy twisted his cap in his hand and looked at neither of us.
‘Come with me then,’ I said to Diner.
‘I will not.’ He folded his arms and stared at me angrily, but did not put out his hand to prevent me. I pulled open the door, letting in a gust of night, and was gone before he could call me back.
At my mother’s lodgings, all was darkness and confusion. Shadows swarmed on the walls as I lifted my candle. The wind blew the flame flat: the wind had got into the house behind me. There was my mother on the dark bed. I saw her face, white and glistening. I lifted the candle high and came close and I saw it was sweat that made her skin shine. Behind me the door banged.
‘The door to the street was left open!’ shouted someone behind me.
A woman pushed past me. The midwife Hannah had got. She had her cuffs rolled to her elbows and she was carrying a dish.
‘Mammie?’ I said. ‘It’s me. It’s Lizzie,’ and I was glad I had come.
Her head turned on the pillow as I set my candle down on the little table by the bed. I could not see her eyes. They ought to have more candles. As I thought this, in came Hannah with a candlestick in either hand. The flames blew sideways as she carried them to the mantelpiece and planted one on each end.
‘I shall need more than that,’ said the midwife, who was crouched at the end of the bed, looking under my mother’s skirts. My mother moaned and thrashed from side to side as if she were trying to get away from the probing hands. Hannah went out and the door slammed again, shaking everything.
‘You’re doing nicely, my dear,’ said the midwife, sitting back and showing her teeth.
My mother looked at me but did not see me.
‘Mammie!’
‘Don’t be bothering her,’ said the midwife. ‘If the Pope of Rome came in the room now she wouldn’t look at him.’
The pain washed away. My mother lay limp on the bed and I took her hand.
‘It’s not so bad,’ she muttered.
‘You’re going strong, my lover,’ said the midwife loudly, as if my mother were deaf. I waited for the smile that ought to have curled my mother’s lips but it did not come. She lay there like someone drowned at the bottom of a pool. A spasm went over her and she clutched my hand and then pushed it away.
‘Get Hannah,’ she said and her head snapped from side to side on the pillow.
‘It’s a rough old night out there, I dare say,’ said the midwife, and she went to the window, lifted the curtain and peered out as if what was happening in the street interested her more than what was happening in the bed. Mammie could not be so bad, for the midwife to turn her back on her like this.
‘Yes, it’s raining hard,’ I answered. My mother twisted herself and then reared up as if she too wanted to get as far as she could from that bed. The midwife glanced round and hurried to her.
‘Go down now,’ she said. ‘Get yourself down and rest, my girl, you need your strength.’
‘It’s coming again,’ said my mother and she sounded wild, but the midwife took no notice except to press her down.
‘I’ll get Hannah,’ I said. I was suddenly afraid like a child and glad of a reason to leave the room.
Hannah was hanging out the baby clothes we had made on a rack before the fire. There was a dress, a cap and wrappings. There was a clean nightdress of my mother’s too. The fire was built up high and the flames blew from the wind dancing down the chimney.
‘She wants you,’ I said, and Hannah got up from her knees. At the same time a noise came from the bedroom. A cry, quickly smothered, and then a groan.
‘She’s hurt herself!’ I said before I could help it. I wanted to run to her and drag away whatever was hurting her.
‘No,’ said Hannah, unfolding the baby’s shawl and lifting it to her cheek to feel for damp. ‘It’s not so bad. She’ll be like this until the morning, and then it will be over. That’s how it was with you.’
Hannah had no child. What did she know? But she had been with my mother then and all had been well. After I was born my mother was as strong as ever. It would be the same again.
‘Where’s Augustus?’
‘He went out. Now, Lizzie, boil up more water and we’ll have tea.’
It seemed incredible to me that Hannah could even think of tea, and that she could be so leisurely about going in to my mother, but it comforted me too, just as the midwife stepping to the window and looking out at the weather had done. Things were not so bad. The midwife expected it to be like this and so did Hannah. They were not frightened.
Now Hannah was gone and I filled the kettle and swung it out over the fire. There was a faint smell of crisping cotton. Perhaps Hannah had put the rack too close. I moved it away a little and the cap fell to the floor. I snatched it up and examined it, but there wasn’t a speck of dirt on it. It was so small. It would not be worn until that battle in the next room was over. There was a towel, folded, on the chair. Hannah had got everything ready. On the other side of the fireplace there was the cradle on its stand, and the bedding was spread out too. Outside the wind was punching at the walls and I heard rain spatter hard on the glass. I had put my cloak on the back of the door to dry. I heard my mother’s groans, rapid, protesting, mounting, and then they fell away. Sh
e did not cry out this time. I lifted the kettle from the fire and splashed water on to the tea-leaves.
I don’t know how many times I set the kettle to boil as the night went on just as Hannah and the midwife said it would. I had never guessed it would take so long. Hour after hour and still the midwife seemed satisfied when she came out to take a cup of tea or visit the privy in the yard.
‘She’s doing nicely,’ was all she said, and Hannah cut slices from the loaf and gave her bread and cheese to keep her strength up. She munched and swallowed and even asked if we had such a thing as a pickled onion, while Hannah sat with my mother. We had not, but I rummaged at the back of the cupboard and found a jar of Hannah’s preserved plums. The midwife ate heartily, and then she wiped her hands on her apron and went back into my mother’s room.
Hannah gave me bands of flannel to hem, because she said we could never have enough of them, and so I sat by the fire and worked. We were reckless with candles. I sewed flannel after flannel, made tea, cooked gruel for my mother – ‘to keep her strength up,’ the midwife said – but she took a couple of spoonfuls and then vomited it. Even with the fire burning I was cold. I found myself yawning, but I was pitched to every sound that came from my mother’s room. She did not want me to go in, Hannah said. She poked at the fire, rearranged the baby clothes, spread the bedding for the cradle closer to the fire. Suddenly I saw that the candle flames were growing paler. Light was seeping around the curtains.
‘It’s morning, Hannah!’
It was morning. Grey and rainy, but the storm was gone. Leaves were dashed down all over the pavement and I saw a boy dart down the street with his coat over his head. I knew him: it was the boy from last night. It seemed a hundred years ago, and I wondered who he was and where he was going now. Perhaps it was another message about another birth? I pulled back the curtains and then went from candle to candle, blowing them out.
‘Your mother wants you,’ said the midwife, appearing at the door.
My mother was sitting bolt upright in bed. Her eyes were bright and her face flushed. ‘It isn’t hurting now, my darling, that’s all over, he’ll be here soon.’ Her voice was hoarse and rapid but she looked well, I thought, better than she had looked all night. ‘And you’ve been here all night, Lizzie, and now it’s morning. You must eat something. Mustn’t she eat something?’
‘Be quiet now,’ said the midwife. ‘Don’t be exciting yourself or she’ll have to go out again. Let me take a look at you.’ Without warning she whipped up the sheet and my mother’s nightdress. ‘Lift your legs for me. That’s right.’
I saw the white edge of my mother’s thigh and the hand of the midwife grasping, her bent head between my mother’s legs. I looked away.
‘You’re almost there. You’re nearly there now, my darling.’
My mother’s face contorted. She seized hold of my hand and squeezed it. ‘Go away now, Lizzie,’ she said, gripping me so tight I could not move.
‘Don’t push,’ shouted the midwife. ‘Hold on now. In a minute now you can push. I’ll tell yer when.’
My mother heaved herself up, dragging on me. I put my arms around her shoulders to support her but she flung me off. I stepped back and the midwife jerked her head towards the door.
‘You don’t want to be here now,’ she said. ‘Get that other one.’
Hannah brushed past me and shut the door on me. I went over to the fire and tried to warm myself. My legs were shaking. I put my hands up over my ears and pressed them hard so that I heard my own blood sing. The little baby clothes must be as dry as bones by now. I thought: She believes it’s a boy. I had never thought of it being anything but a girl. Surely this could not go on any longer? I pressed hard on my ears. ‘Come on now,’ I said. ‘Come on now come on now come on now,’ over and over although I could only hear the words inside my head. But they blocked out everything.
The door opened and Hannah rushed into the room with something in her arms which made a thin, pulsing cry. She seized a warm flannel square from the rack and wrapped up the baby before I could see it, then she thrust it into my arms and rushed back into the bedroom.
Its face was tight as a ball, streaked with blood and white grease. Its mouth opened and the pulse of its cry filled my ears and the whole room. I gripped the bundle and sat on the stool close to the fire to keep it warm. I got my arms around it more comfortably and held it closer, rocking it. The sound dwindled. On the next shriek the baby gave a convulsive yawn. Its eyes closed. It was asleep.
I found that I was smiling. Such a strange little thing. Even asleep it looked fierce, as if it had set its mind on that one thing only. I touched the skin of its cheek with my lips. Yes, it was warm. It was so light in my arms. It had streaks of dark hair too. No eyelashes. Little tight-shut eyes. A quiver went over its face and I rocked it again until it settled.
Time passed. There was nothing to be frightened of now, I told myself. The night was over. The baby was born.
9
The door from the stairway opened and there was Augustus, rumpled and pale from lack of sleep. His legs scissored across the floor towards me.
‘Well? How is Julia?’
It might have been fear which made him speak so loudly. ‘Hush,’ I said. ‘The baby’s asleep. Hannah and Mrs Rowe are with my mother.’
‘All’s well?’
‘I think so.’ I wanted to shake his complacency, but could not find the words. ‘It took all night. The baby has only just been born.’
‘The baby,’ he said, and came close. He stared down at the bud of a face and put out a finger tentatively, as if to touch it, but his hand fell to his side. ‘And Julia is well?’
‘I think so.’
‘I meant to have come back earlier. The pot-boy woke me, sweeping around my legs. I stayed awake until three but I must have fallen asleep over the fire. A good boy. He found me a new loaf and a slice of cold bacon.’ He told me this artlessly, as if I ought to be interested. I thought of my mother and what her night had been.
‘So you stayed awake until three,’ I said. ‘Did you play cards to pass the time?’
‘A little. Dr Stamps kept me company until two in the morning. Is it a boy?’
I realised I did not know. I had not even thought about it. The baby had been thrust into my arms and I had held it almost as long as it had been alive. I tucked the flannel in more closely around it and breathed in the baby’s smell. It smelled of bread, and faintly of blood. Was it warm enough? Should I dress it in the clothes Hannah had draped over the clothes horse? The baby stirred in my arms and uttered a wheezing sigh.
‘Hannah will tell us,’ I said. I thought suddenly: It is his child.
‘Do you want to hold the baby, Augustus?’ I asked, hoping that he would not, and he seemed not to hear. He went to the door and stood irresolute. All was quiet, as if my mother’s cries and groans had never been. They would be washing her, I thought, and straightening the bed so that she could sleep in peace after her labour. I was as stunned as if I had been walking through a storm all night. It was calm now, but everything was changed. Here was this little creature in my arms, who had come into the house without passing through any door except the gateway of my mother’s body. Its small face was shut tight, as if it did not want to be in the world yet.
But Augustus was no longer thinking about the baby.
‘I shall go in to her,’ he murmured. It was his right; I knew that. He turned the door-handle noiselessly, listened again, and crossed the narrow corridor to my mother’s room. I heard her door open, Hannah’s voice raised, and then he was back in the kitchen, paler than ever. He looked very ill. He stumbled to a chair, sat down and planted his head in his hands.
‘Augustus?’
‘I am sorry, Lizzie,’ came his muffled voice, ‘I have never been able to endure the sight of blood.’
‘Blood!’
‘Hannah sent me away.’
She won’t send me away, I thought, as I went to the door.
The
re was a heap of blood-soaked linen on the floor and there was Hannah, kneeling at the foot of the bed. For a moment I thought she was praying and a pang of terror went through me. Hannah never prayed. But then I saw she had books in her hands. And there was Mrs Rowe, hard at it too, her bare forearms bulging as she heaved at the bedstead to lift it. I dared to look at my mother. Her eyes were closed and her body jerked as the bed moved. It looked as if they were torturing her.
Hannah turned and saw me. ‘Quick, help us with this. Put the child down.’
I laid the baby down where it could not roll and heaved alongside the midwife until the end of the bed was lifted from the floor. Hannah crawled between us and laid books under the bedposts. We lowered the bed again and the bed-end was raised so that my mother’s head lay lower than her feet. They had taken away her pillows. Mrs Rowe went to her and felt the pulse at the side of her neck. What she found seemed to satisfy her, for she stepped back.
‘She’s lost a fair deal of blood, but she’s doing bravely now.’
Hannah bundled together the stained linen with clumsy hands, her lips trembling like an old woman’s. To see Hannah overset like this frightened me more than ever. I could not move to take my mother’s hand or comfort her. Even the air of the room seemed shaken, as if some dreadful act of violence had been committed.
‘The child came easy enough,’ said Mrs Rowe. ‘A fine boy. The afterbirth was where the trouble lay, but it’s come out clean now.’ And to me, with a cool stare as if to gauge what I would be good for, ‘You’ll need to burn this mattress, once she’s fit to be moved.’
I saw Hannah’s blue-ware basin by the side of the bed. There was something large and meaty in it, like a great piece of liver. The midwife bent over it, examining it closely, and then she covered it with a cloth. ‘We shall have to watch her,’ she said, ‘but I’d stake my life there’ll be no further trouble.’
Birdcage Walk Page 10
