Authors: Tania Anne Crosse
‘What does I do with her now?’ Fanny asked innocently, looking up at her beloved sister who always knew the answer.
Ling heard Elliott chuckle. ‘Oh, she’ll soon let you know! There. All finished for the time being. Now, you get some sleep, Fanny. You’ll be needed soon enough. Baby will need her first feed before too long.’
Fanny obediently relinquished her child into Ling’s waiting arms. And when, a few moments later, Elliott came up behind her, Ling was sobbing silently as she studied the sleeping infant, and she instinctively leaned against the man who had saved this little miracle and possibly its mother as well.
‘Laura Heather May,’ Ling whispered to the tiny girl who had finally fallen asleep in her arms. ‘Aren’t you beautiful?’
‘She certainly is.’ Elliott smiled over her shoulder. ‘But do you think Fanny will be able to cope?’
‘Oh, yes. Look how well she fed her just now. That’s one thing about Fanny,’ Ling told him as she settled little Laura into the drawer Mrs Hilson had produced as a makeshift cot. ‘She does listen and do as she’s told.’
‘Which is probably how she got into trouble in the first place,’ Elliott suggested, not unkindly.
Ling breathed out on a sigh. ‘Yes, probably. But, you know, I’m glad she did. Just look at this lovely little mite. Oh, there’ll be malicious tongues, but they’ll get short shrift from me. And woe betide anyone who makes trouble for either of them!’
Her voice became harsh with determination, and Elliott chuckled in that soft, knowing way she found so attractive. She turned to face him, the flash of obstinacy melting from her heart. But then the lines on his face moved into an entirely different expression.
‘I take it you have no children of your own?’ he asked hesitantly.
The angry heartache Ling kept buried raised its ugly head and she sank down into the old armchair. And there was Elliott, his face creased with compassion, as she related to him everything that had happened since the day they had met at the opening of the Princetown Railway. Everything apart from the one secret no one, especially Elliott himself, must ever know. That she had fallen in love with him eight years ago and, she realized now, had loved him ever since. Quite ridiculous, of course, since she hardly knew him. Yet here she was, opening up the very core of her soul to him.
‘Life can be cruel,’ Elliott murmured back, sinking on his haunches before her. ‘But you cannot blame yourself for the death of your parents, either of them. Quarrying’s a dangerous occupation. These things happen. And as for losing your child, the miscarriages, often it’s nature’s way if there’s something not quite right with the pregnancy.’
‘But . . . four times?’ she choked.
Elliott’s eyebrows arched with sympathy. ‘Yes, I understand your concerns. But I’d say the stillbirth was unrelated to the miscarriages. Did you have a proper internal examination when things had settled down afterwards?’
Ling’s flush of embarrassment subsided in an instant. It seemed so easy to talk to Elliott about these personal matters. ‘No,’ she answered steadily. ‘We sent for the prison doctor when I had the stillbirth, but only at the time, not afterwards. He arrived too late anyway. With the miscarriages, well, once it was over, there didn’t seem much point. And, to be honest, we couldn’t really afford it.’
‘Well, as we’re friends – we are, aren’t we? – I shouldn’t really examine you, but I could arrange for Dr Greenwood to. But tell me, what’s your monthly cycle like?’
Ling found herself answering without hesitation. ‘Light and always irregular.’
‘Well, it could well be that your body simply doesn’t produce enough of the chemicals we believe are needed to sustain a pregnancy. Quite often that can right itself. So –’ he smiled in that encouraging way – ‘my advice to you is to eat well and don’t worry about it. And as soon as you think you might be pregnant again, see a doctor and get plenty of rest. Particularly around the three month point. I had a patient in London with a similar history. In the end she took herself off to bed between the eleventh and fifteenth week, and that way ended up having three children in quick succession!’
Ling felt a little burst of joy. ‘So you think there’s still hope?’
‘I don’t have a crystal ball, Ling, but if Dr Greenwood finds nothing wrong, then there’s always a chance.’
Ling leaned back in the chair. A child of her own. Barney’s child. Perhaps she could find contentment after all.
‘Do you have any clothes for the new baby?’
‘Oh, yes. At home,’ Ling replied, recovering from her daydream. ‘I didn’t bring them because I thought, if we had them with us, they’d say at the workhouse that Fanny wasn’t destitute and they wouldn’t take her in.’
‘Well, if everything’s all right here in the morning, I thought I’d try to walk back to Princetown. See if my services as MO at the prison are required. And then, if the telegraph wires aren’t down, send a message to Dr Greenwood. On the way back, I could call in to see your husband to let him know you’re safe and collect some of Laura’s things then.’
Ling frowned. Perhaps it would be best if Barney didn’t know that Elliott was back. After all, what
had
happened to that piece of paper?
‘Oh, that’s so kind of you, Elliott, but I’ll go myself. I’d like to see Barney.’
‘Of course. We can go together most of the way though. Then I can make sure you’re safe.’
‘Yes, I’d like that.’ But would it not make the pain even deeper, more unbearable? No matter. The desire to be in Elliott’s company for as long as possible was a force against which she was powerless.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
Ling stopped dead as she entered the cottage. She had been brought up short not so much by the state of the room as by the accusing scowl on Barney’s face as he descended the stairs, a bucket full of snow in each hand. The blizzard had caused devastation to the buildings around the quarry. Roofs had collapsed, and everywhere there were windows boarded up, slates missing and debris of all kinds scattered across the snow. The roofs of the stables and weighbridge house had completely disappeared, and the masons’ shed roof was a tangled and twisted wreck of corrugated iron some distance away. People were busy trying to repair the damage, but everyone had asked how she and Fanny were, relieved that they were safe. And yet here was Barney – her husband – apparently concerned only with his own problems.
‘I’d have come yesterday,’ she answered curtly. ‘Only, the wind was getting up again, and I wasn’t going to risk getting caught in another blizzard.’
It was perfectly true. Thursday morning had begun calm, but soon things were looking decidedly dubious once more, and Ling and Elliott had decided against their planned expedition, since that was what the tramp across the snowfields of the moor would be. And so they had finally set out together this morning, Friday.
Farmer Hilson had reported that convict work parties were clearing the drifts that blocked the Yelverton to Princetown road. But Elliott had refused to let Ling brave the treacherous wastes to the quarries alone, and so had gone with her on the longer trek. Fortunately, it had not proved too hazardous, and Ling would be able to return to the farm alone. They had parted by the Royal Oak sidings, and if anyone had asked Ling who the man was with her, she would answer quite truthfully that it was another passenger who had been marooned on the train.
‘Well, I could’ve done with you yere,’ Barney growled. ‘Had to sort my father’s place out, I has, as well as our own. Windows all blown in on that side o’ the square, and the house full o’ snow inside. And
we
had a bloody great hole in the roof where the slates lifted off. Mended it, I has, but the loft’s full o’ snow, and where ’tis melted, ’tis coming through the ceiling. So I be crawling round up there trying to empty it out afore it gets any worse. ’Tis a right mess up there an’ my wife should’ve been yere instead o’ gallivanting—’
‘And I suppose you care nothing that Fanny and I were stranded on the train for thirty-six hours?’ Ling couldn’t stop herself retorting. ‘And that when we were rescued we were half dead, and then Fanny went into labour at the farm where we were taken in? Oh, no! All you’re worried about is yourself!’
She watched, scarlet flaring into her cheeks, as Barney’s mouth twisted in remorse. ‘Well, how were I to know? I thought as you was safely down in Tavistock.’
‘Didn’t bother to ask, though, did you?’ Her lips had clamped into a hard line as she pulled off her coat and rolled up the sleeves of her dress. Yes, Barney would be exhausted, and she had no doubt that he would have been obliged to do everything to put his father’s cottage back together. But Elliott had endured those two dreadful nights on the train, had seen Fanny through her labour when everyone else had been catching up on their sleep, and had been up and down with the new mother and child the following two nights as well. And there had been not a word of complaint from him, though he’d looked dead on his feet. The blizzard might have wreaked havoc everywhere, but it was no use moaning about it. There could well be others far worse off than they were!
‘What did she have then?’ Barney asked churlishly as he disappeared upstairs.
Ling glanced up at his footfall on the floor above, just as a trickle of water began to drip through the crack between the floorboards. There was no lath and plaster ceiling to spoil since the planks were simply laid across the beams that supported the upper storey. Ling quickly placed a bowl beneath it and, making sure Fanny’s mattress was safely away from the dripping water, dashed up the stairs with the few old newspapers they possessed and an armful of thread-worn towels to soak up whatever she could.
‘A girl,’ she called at Barney’s legs, which were retreating into the loft above. Ling paused to survey the scene before she set to work. The plaster ceiling in the upstairs room was stained with greying patches that she knew would turn a dirty yellow when they finally dried. The air was rank with mustiness and everything – bedclothes, mattress, even their clothes – was damp and would have to be aired by the fire downstairs. Some, Widow Rodgers next door perhaps, might have wept, but Ling set to. It was no use crying over spilt milk. The most urgent task was clearly to remove the snow from the loft. So Ling ran downstairs to retrieve her largest saucepans.
‘Use these while I empty the buckets,’ she instructed, standing on the chair Barney was using to clamber up into the loft. He grunted as they did the exchange. The buckets were heavy and although Ling’s wrist was still supported by the bandage, it was soon hurting so much she could no longer use it and so could only carry one bucket or saucepan at a time, running up and down the stairs until she was breathless.
‘Since you ask,’ she said scathingly as she heaved another bucket down from the loft, ‘Fanny’s fine.’ And when Barney scarcely acknowledged her words, she threw caution to the wind. ‘Could have been a difficult birth. But you were right. There’s no proper doctor at the prison, but the locum from Tavistock happened to be on the train, and he delivered the baby.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Barney murmured uninterestedly as he disappeared into the gloom once again.
Ling felt the resentment rise in her gullet. Barney was concentrating on not putting his foot through the ceiling, but did he really
care
that much? She felt piqued at his lack of interest, driven by her bitterness to approach the next subject as if she was lashing out in retaliation. Or perhaps
because
she knew Barney was only half listening.
‘I told him about my problems, the miscarriages and everything,’ she went on, her pulse accelerating at her own truculence. ‘He’s arranging an examination for me.’
‘Huh! And how much is he going to make out of that?’ Barney grumbled as he poked his head through the hatch again.
‘Not much,’ Ling snapped back. ‘How are you doing up there?’
‘I’ve dug out as much as I can. The rest’ll have to be left to dry out.’
‘Well, I’ll light the range so we can start airing bedclothes at least. Why did you let it go out in this weather?’ she asked accusingly.
‘No coal. Which you’d already know if you’d been yere. Coal merchant’s run out an’ all, with no deliveries in this weather and everyone wanting it. Even the leat were blocked with snow so we had no water for two days.’
‘Oh.’ Ling bit her lip. Yes, she had been so engrossed in Fanny and the new baby that she supposed she hadn’t considered just how widespread the disruption and suffering caused by the blizzard had been.
‘Seems it covered the whole of the south-west,’ Elliott told her as they sat in the Hilson’s cosy sitting-room that evening. ‘I managed to get a copy of the
Tavistock Gazette
in Princetown. There was a limited number delivered on horseback as there aren’t any trains running yet. Printed on pink paper as they hadn’t been able to have their usual delivery of white. But read it. There’s something in there that’ll make you smile.’
Ling took the paper and turned her attention to the headline:
Terrific gale and heavy snowstorm in the West.
Tavistock, it seemed, had been as buried in snow and battered by the hurricane as the moor. Had they reached it, walking in the town would have been perilous, with slates being blown from roofs and chimneys collapsing in every street.
‘Good Lord!’ Ling sat bolt upright. ‘It says here the chimney of the Workhouse Infirmary crashed through into the building. Thank God we never got there! It’s a mercy no one was hurt.’
‘People were hurt elsewhere, though, so I expect William and the other doctors have been quite busy. We’ve escaped quite lightly, it seems.’
‘Yes, I think we have. Trees down in their thousands, it says here. Mount Tavy was badly hit,’ Ling said, and then gasped. ‘Oh, I hope Mrs Penrith’s all right.’
‘Mrs Penrith?’
‘Someone I know there. Lovely lady. And we weren’t the only train that got stuck, though none for as long as we were. Oh, look! There’s a really long report about what happened to us. They must have interviewed Private Hancock or Mr Palk, I reckon. Oh, and the Walkham Valley. It says Lady Bertha Mine is flooding because the leat that supplies the pumping machinery is blocked with snow. Barney said the leat at Foggintor was blocked so they were without water for two days. Oh, Elliott, I really don’t see what I’m supposed to find amusing.’