‘Not yet. But I shall have invitations over the festive season. The town matrons hold soirées in town – musicians and singers, card tables and suppers. I am a presentable bachelor and with my own carriage I am sure I shall be popular with the well-off daughters in my parish. I plan to be wed within the year.’
‘Let’s sit by the fire and drink to that.’
Beth returned to her chamber and heaved her bloated body onto the high bed. It was November and there was a good fire. She had been moved to a large bedchamber next to Edgar’s in readiness for the birth. Although he never stayed more than a couple of nights at High Fell, she was relieved that he had not insisted on his marital rights in deference to the child. But did all women grow so large? Dear heaven, her child must be ready now, and surely only a male child would grow so big. Mrs Roberts had to wait on her and she did so most ungraciously but nonetheless competently. The housekeeper came in and set down an armful of linen on the chest.
‘Leave my undergarments out,’ Beth said. ‘We have a visitor and I should like to dress and come downstairs for dinner.’
‘The mistress won’t have it, you being such a sight. I’ll bring you a tray.’
Probably with poison in it, Beth thought. Mrs Roberts blamed Beth for everything that went wrong with her life including being too ill to see her husband buried as though it were Beth’s fault the bridge had collapsed.
Beth did not argue and kept calm for the sake of her unborn baby. The days passed, and every day she willed him to appear. He squirmed and kicked so frequently she thought he must have eight legs. But she loved him already and knew he was sure to be a blessing for all of them. She looked forward to and welcomed motherhood. Her marriage was not happy but an infant would give her the fulfilment she needed to survive her life at High Fell Farm. The months of waiting would soon be over and she allowed her excitement to bubble as she listed the names she might choose for her child.
She heard the distant sound of shotguns on the fell. Edgar was staying at Fellwick Hall with other visiting gentry, to stalk deer. He would be back soon though for the birth if not for her sake. Knowing how much he needed an heir gave her the confidence to ignore the rudeness of the other women she lived with. Motherhood was her future and she grew excited at the prospect. Beth acknowledged that she would never be able to love her husband, not even as the father of her child. She had no respect for him so it was impossible. She realised, though, that she did not care because she would have her children. Yes, children. She would have more. A few minutes of Edgar’s brutishness could give her a lifetime of love from a child. Do hurry up, she whispered to the mound under the bedclothes in front of her.
A few days later, she watched through the bedchamber window as Edgar arrived with Milo and the Redfern surgeon, Dr Melville, in Milo’s carriage. Edgar brought the medical man into her bedchamber. He was elderly and dressed in old-fashioned breeches and powdered wig. He had a serious face and brisk manner.
‘Good afternoon, ma’am.’ He bowed his head briefly and turned to her husband. ‘Forgive my intrusion, sir, but when labour starts I should like a day bed put up in this room so I may be with your wife at all times. I trust you do have your own bedchamber?’
‘I do.’
‘Excellent. You may continue relations as normal before the birth.’
There was a pause of a few seconds while Edgar realised what the doctor meant.
‘But I have not lain with her for months. She said it was for the baby’s safety.’
‘There is no need for that, sir. You will not harm the child. Indeed you may bring on his birth and by the size of her it is time.’
‘Is that so? It will hurry him along?’
Dr Melville nodded seriously. ‘I advise it, sir. It is a tried and tested method.’
Beth despaired of this advice. ‘Is there no other way, sir?’
The doctor’s offended expression told her he was not used to his wisdom being questioned.
Edgar glowered at her and she glared back. He grimaced as though the idea was as distasteful to him as it was to her. ‘We’ll do it after dinner,’ he said and opened the door to leave, adding, ‘Be ready for me.’
When he had closed the door behind him she pleaded with the doctor. ‘Surely such activity must harm my unborn child?’
‘I sincerely hope you are not going to be a difficult mother. You are under my orders now and I know what is best. Now, call your maid so I may examine you.’
Beth threw back her bedcovers and attempted to swing her legs out of bed. ‘I do not have a maid but I am not an invalid. I’ll fetch Mrs Roberts.’
The doctor looked about the chamber. ‘No maid and no bell. I shall speak to your husband. Stay where you are.’ He went out leaving Beth to contemplate nervously how he would examine her. She would have preferred a village midwife, a mature woman who had borne children herself and understood how she felt. But, she supposed she should be grateful that his lordship’s lawyers had seen fit to send his personal surgeon for her benefit.
She was relieved that he didn’t return before dinner. Through the door she heard voices and laughter from the hall below and guessed Dr Melville was dining with Edgar and Milo. Mrs Roberts brought her some soup which she placed on a side table without a word. Beth called a ‘thank you’ but clearly the housekeeper was far too harassed by visitors to acknowledge her. She lay awake listening to the deep tones of the gentlemen’s voices below, then boots on the stairs and landing until, finally, Edgar entered the chamber.
She was prepared for him. ‘Surely you can’t want to do this, Edgar. See how large I am? I cannot seem at all pretty for you.’
He turned down the corners of his mouth and frowned. ‘You’ve not even tried. Look at you! Your hair is tied off your face and not curled, and that nightgown—’
‘It is the only one large enough, dearest. Why not wait until after the birth?’
‘Because Lord Redfern’s surgeon has advised me otherwise and he knows what is best. It is time my son was born.’
‘My baby will come when he is ready. I – I –’ Her voice dropped for she knew she would be disobeying her husband. ‘Truly, Edgar, I should prefer you to wait.’
‘Oh would you? Why should I listen to you?’
‘Because I don’t want you to do it,’ she replied quietly.
‘How dare you insult me? You are my wife. It is your duty to want what I want and do as I wish.’
‘Please understand, Edgar. My body is uncomfortable and I am weary. You are – well, a large gentleman and too heavy.’
‘Oh, cease your whining and untie your hair.’
He was already taking off his boots and trousers. He stood at the side of the bed in his shirt with a distasteful expression on his face. Her hopes rallied. Perhaps she was too ugly for him and he did not want her. He whipped back the covers. ‘Lift your nightgown.’
She gathered the material until it bunched around her bosom to fully expose the curve of blue-veined belly. Surely he would change his mind when he saw her? ‘See how large I have become.’
He grimaced. ‘Good God, you’re grotesque. How would any man want to – well, you’ll have to get me going somehow. Give us a smile and start playing.’
Playing? Her eyes widened but she pasted an artificial grin on her face until he grabbed at her hands and shoved them under his shirt. ‘Go on, then.’
Beth had no idea what to do with this squashy collection of male parts that landed in her palms. The feel of his cold saggy skin made her shrivel inside and her hands jumped away. ‘Useless,’ he rebuked, looking around. ‘Where’s the fly swat.’
Beth had no idea and, alarmed that he might beat her with it, offered no suggestions. But he produced it from a cupboard by the hearth, pushed it into her hands and ordered, ‘Use this.’ He took off the rest of his clothes and lay face down on the bed. ‘Don’t you know anything? On my backside,’ he seethed into the pillow. ‘Good God, I suppose I should be grateful that this shows you were never a
whore.’
But she felt like one, like a woman used for someone else’s pleasure. When her uncertainty had receded she realised what she had to do and she relished it. She whipped his bare backside with the swat making him yelp and whine with pain. She whipped him as hard as she was able from her position reclining on pillows, and she hurt him, half expecting him to return the beating. Instead, he muttered something and she tilted her head to hear. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, I’m sorry,’ he whimpered.
Dear heaven! What went on inside her husband’s head?
Suddenly he reared up and grabbed the swat from her, flinging it across the room.
‘Turn over,’ he snapped.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Turn over,’ he repeated.
Her eyes widened but she obeyed awkwardly, uneasy about his intentions. Was she now to suffer as he had? She lay on her side so as not to squash her stomach.
‘On your front, girl,’ he persisted. ‘Hurry up.’
‘I can’t, it hurts my back.’
He pushed her from behind. ‘You’ve seen the tupping, haven’t you? Get yourself on your hands and knees. I’ll take you from behind.’
She had little option other than to obey him but she felt no better than one of his breeding ewes as she crouched there with her forehead on her hands and waited. She heard a growling chuckle and winced as he slapped each of her buttocks in turn. The weight of her bulge dragged on her spine making it difficult to keep her back straight and tears welled in her eyes. She felt his roughened hands caress her exposed buttocks and then his fingers pushed apart her flesh and probed her private area. The room was silent except for his noisy breathing – a sort of rasping pant that developed into a hoarse growl as he invaded her. Her back hurt and saliva gathered in her mouth. He went on and on, sweating and grunting, and she grew tired of holding herself in the same position. If her back sagged he yelled an obscenity, shoved one of his arms under her belly and heaved her up again. She lifted her head and braced herself against the wooden bed head as he thrust inside her. She felt so utterly degraded by his lack of thought for her comfort at this critical time.
She had no more worth in this house than one of the farmyard animals and wondered, children notwithstanding, how she was going to survive a lifetime of such humiliation. She wondered if she could – somehow – get away. When her child was born, find a way out of this place and somehow disappear from Edgar’s life! If her child was a girl he wouldn’t mind if she went. She felt she would have to go rather than face another attack on her body by her husband.
He had her dowry; was that not enough? With a sickening realisation she knew it was not; not now Edgar had been accepted as heir to Redfern Abbey. If she had a boy and ran away with him, they would hunt her down for him and she could not give up her child. Whatever happened she was trapped. It seemed that her baby, whom she so looked forward to cherishing, had trapped her in a life with Edgar for ever.
Her head cracked against the solid wooden headboard as he reared up, cried out like a stuck pig and fell against her. Thank heaven, he had finished. The bed creaked and shuddered as he flopped on his back lying diagonally across the mattress. She held onto the headboard and glanced at him under her arm. His hair was awry and his face was an angry red. The clean white shirt was crumpled in a heap on the bed. She watched him pick up a section of fabric and wipe around his flaccid private parts. The way she felt at the moment, if she had had a knife to hand she would have cut them off. She wanted to vomit and had to swallow the saliva collecting in her mouth. His eyes closed and within minutes he was snoring.
Awkwardly in the small space he had left her, she turned herself to sitting on the pillows with her back against the headboard. Her feet touched his still body. He grunted and shoved her legs away roughly, settling back quickly into his slumber. She had never hated him as much as now. And she hated his mother just the same. She even hated Mrs Roberts. The only decent person at High Fell Farm was Abel, the shepherd, and he stayed well away from the farmhouse and any contact with her.
Her baby started kicking again and in spite of her discomfort she smiled. Soon she would have someone she could love without reservation and her optimism revived. Perhaps too, when her child was born and she was nursing him at her breast, her husband and his mother would treat her with more respect.
Chapter 7
Dr Melville examined Beth in her bedchamber after luncheon the following day with Mrs Collins in attendance. He listened to and felt around her swollen stomach and examined her in the most intimate and embarrassing way.
Surrounded by pillows and lace, Beth listened with interest as they conversed above her head.
‘Well?’ demanded Mrs Collins.
‘She is close to confinement, ma’am.’ He frowned and glanced around the room. ‘Where is the day bed? And the crib? See to it immediately.’
Beth had never seen anyone speak to Mrs Collins like that in her own home. But she seemed to accept it and said, ‘Very well.’
The surgeon looked affronted and replied, ‘Immediately.’ Mrs Collins left the chamber and Beth heard her call for Mrs Roberts from the landing.
Beth enjoyed the exchange. She turned back her bed covers. ‘I should like to sit by the window.’
The surgeon glared at her. ‘You will do exactly as I say and stay where you are. Save your strength. The birth will be long and difficult.’
‘Is something amiss, sir?’
‘You must do exactly as I say, madam, and leave everything to me.’
Beth shrank back into the feather mattress as Dr Melville imprisoned her in between covers tucked in so tightly she could barely move.
Glowing lamps were gathered around the foot of her bed as she writhed and yelled in the middle of the night. But the pains and the pushing, the sweating and the slime counted for nothing when her firstborn slid from her to the waiting hands of the doctor. ‘A boy, my lady,’ he said. Beth heard him cry and she thanked the Lord for answering her prayers; a boy, an heir, she had done her duty well and wished there was someone – anyone – who loved her enough to share her joy.
‘Let me hold him.’
‘I shall take him to his father first.’
She wanted to hold him herself but her baby was carried away by Mrs Roberts to be cleaned and wrapped.
‘Is it over? Dear Lord, it doesn’t feel like it.’ Beth gazed down at her still-bulging belly. ‘Why am I so swollen?’
The doctor took his ear trumpet to listen to her belly, probed gently around her swelling with his fingers and murmured, ‘Very high, as I thought. You have not run to fat, madam. I only ever saw a belly this big when—’ He hesitated. ‘You have another babe in there.’
Beth laughed. It had not occurred to her that she was so big because she was carrying two babies. But her second infant, it seemed, was in no hurry to be born and she became anxious, even more so when she noticed the surgeon frowning.
‘Why isn’t he coming? Has he died?’
‘His heart beats but he – or she – is – is not ready yet.’
‘Why not? He is a twin. Why isn’t he coming? Something must be wrong!’
The surgeon did not respond to her anxiety. ‘Your husband needs to hear of this immediately. I’ll send in Mrs Roberts to clean you up.’
‘But my other baby may start coming.’
‘Pray that he does, ma’am, for everyone’s sake.’
‘What do you mean?’ she cried. ‘Is he going to die?’ But she was calling to an empty room and a closed door.
She calmed after a while and reflected on the reason why she had grown so large. Two babies in one go! She had heard of such a thing, of course, and had once seen two sisters as like as two peas in a pod. Edgar and even sour old Mrs Collins would surely be pleased that she had produced two heirs in one go! Two babies at once! Dear heaven, she hoped her second child would be healthy.
She smoothed her hands over her bump and said softly, ‘Hurry up my little one. It’s time to follow your
tiny brother.’
But as she lay there basking in her happiness, preparing herself for more pains, intrusive dark thoughts flitted through her mind taking away her euphoria. Why was this baby not moving? Had he died in her womb? Her heart thumped in fear. She heard the sounds of voices and laughter and celebration from beneath her. Her firstborn was something to celebrate but were they being hasty in toasting a second child?
Yet, even as she contemplated her worst fear, she knew it was not true. Her second baby was alive. She would have known if he had died inside her. He simply was not ready for the world and, as though to reassure her that he thrived, she felt him stir. Her hand darted to where she felt the kick. It was high in her belly and she held her breath waiting for another movement. Sure enough, he obliged and the thumping in her heart receded.
She inhaled deeply and lay back contentedly. ‘Take your time, my little one. There is no hurry.’
Mrs Roberts seemed unusually smug when she brought in hot water and cleared away the soiled linen. She kept glancing at Beth and at one point Beth was sure she had sneered. Was she envious of Beth? The Redfern succession was secured within a year of their marriage. Even Mrs Collins would be obliged to recognise that she had done her duty. Beth nestled in the pillows and closed her eyes. The next sound she heard was the clock on the landing chiming the hour. Six o’clock and her second child had not moved. How much longer, she sighed. Dawn was breaking and her chamber was empty except for the surgeon who had returned and fallen asleep in the day bed. She clambered out of her bed to use the chamber pot in the commode and was grateful to climb back to the comfort of the pillows.
The surgeon grunted and stirred, then roused himself quickly and looked at his pocket watch. ‘Any pains, ma’am?’
She shook her head.
He frowned. ‘It is too long already.’ He placed his ear trumpet over the mound of her stomach. ‘But he lives.’
His worried expression seemed permanent and Beth asked anxiously, ‘Then why does he not move?’
The Lost And Found Girl Page 7
