Connie’s Courage (38 page)

Ellie was reaching for her hand and Connie held it tightly whilst they each, without needing to say anything, took hold of one of their father s.

His flesh felt cold, and his eyes were starting to close. Ellie bent her head to brush her lips against his forehead. When she raised it again, one of her tears lay against his skin.

His breathing had slowed.

‘He looks so peaceful, Ellie whispered shakily.

Connie felt for his pulse, her fingers tightening anxiously on his frail wrist. It had slowed, and was slowing still further. She looked toward Iris who, unlike her, seemed oblivious to the signs of death taking him from them.

‘I shall put the rest of the dose over here, Connie,' she announced. ‘How is he doing?

‘He is sleeping, Ellie told her.

No, he is dying, Connie wanted to say, but the words refused to be said.

An hour passed, dragging second by leaden second, and yet at the same time flying by on the fleetest of wings.

Some urge that had to be obeyed, sent Connie toward the window to tug it open, and as she did so Iris gave her a long, wise look. And then said gently, ‘Perhaps your stepmother should be here, now?' and then went to the door to summon her.

Connie had seen death many times and in many
forms, but this was different, this was her father, the father who had given her life; the mortal flesh that had created her and Ellie as sisters.

At the bedside Maggie was sobbing noisily and uncontrollably. The frail chest lifted and stilled and then slowly fell. Maggie screamed and would have flung herself across the bed, if Iris had not had the presence of mind to take hold of her and say firmly, ‘Let him breathe, Maggie.'

Breathe! He is dead. Anyone can see that!' Maggie screamed back at her, but she still allowed Iris to hold her back.

Ellie had caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and Connie went to her and took hold of her hand in her own.

Goodbye, Father.'

Connie heard herself saying the words, saw the familiar, last gasping breath being taken; heard the unmistakeable death rattle; felt the long, agonising, impossible wait before it was exhaled, as though somehow she was not a part of it, nor a part of her own pain.

Iris had gone, taking Maggie with her, and it was left to Connie and Ellie together to do those final things for him: washing and then laying out his body. It was a shared task, but with their roles reversed, so that it was Connie who was the more senior, and not her older sister.

When all was finally done, Connie started to tidy up, tensing as she picked up the remainder of his drug dose. The fluid stood still and clear – no
powder in it; no crystals; no morphine? Her heart started to thump heavily.

Ellie had gone downstairs and Iris had come back into the room. Connie looked toward her. ‘You gave him the full dose!

‘I gave him the medication I deemed necessary as a doctor,' Iris corrected her firmly, and then added softly, ‘I did what I would want someone to have done for me, Connie. I did what I could do as a doctor, and you could not as a loving daughter.

Connie's tears came then, spilling down her cheeks. Tears of relief and release – and acceptance.

There was one thing for sure, Connie decided emotionally, she would never cease to be grateful to Gideon for his insistence, against their Aunt Gibson's ice cold wishes and Maggie's noisily wept protests, that their father was buried with their mother.

Connie looked out of the window of the Winckley Square house to where the funeral cortege had stood only a fortnight earlier. She had a nagging stitch in her side which had been there all morning and Ellie, coming into the room and seeing her rubbing it, hurried over to her immediately. ‘It cannot be much longer now, Connie. You must tell me the minute you feel anything.

‘I am a nurse, she had reminded her sister drily.

The minute she felt anything? A bitter bubble of pain rose up inside her. She felt everything: anger, loathing, hatred, resentment …

Oh, I can't wait to have another baby in the house. I am so excited, Connie. A wonderful new life … and you know that Gideon and I want you to consider this house to be your home from now on. After all, where else should you go? You are my sister, and this baby will be as close to me as any of my own children.'

Restlessly Connie pulled away from her. Iris promised me that she would take me and show me round the hospital.'

Ellie frowned. Why on earth would you want to do a thing like that, and in your condition?'

Ellie, I am a nurse,' she repeated, although in a different tone. Of course, I want to!'

You were a nurse, Connie, now you are to be a mother!' Ellie reminded her.

Connie closed her eyes, in frustration and bitterness. Ellie didn't understand. How could she? Why should she?

But it was more than her wards that she missed, Connie admitted miserably. What she missed was her independence; her pride in managing for herself. When he had taken her body, the Captain had taken those from her as well, and in their place he had left her this … this burden in her from which she felt she could never be free.

‘I do not want to be a mother,' she told her sister emphatically. I do not want this child … I hate this child!'

Ellie stared at her. Connie, you don't know what you are saying.'

Yes I do,' Connie assured her bleakly.

‘But the baby's father. The man you loved …'

Connie started to laugh savagely. ‘Love him? No, I loathe and hate the very thought of him; and I loathe and hate even more the seed he forced into my body.'

‘Forced?'

Connie looked at her sister.

I wanted to tell you when, when you had told me about Mr Parkes, but John arrived with the news of our father. Oh, Ellie, why are there such men? Wicked, wicked men. I knew that I had angered him by interfering in his seduction of one of the junior nurses, but I never imagined that he would take such revenge. If I had -'

Forced, Connie?' Ellie stopped her. You mean you were raped, that this child you are carrying is the result of that attack? Oh, Connie, why have you not said? Why?'

I did not think you would believe me.'

They looked at one another in mutual pain.

And the accident, when Iris's car …' Ellie began hollowly, Connie, you were not trying … You did not deliberately?'

No!' Connie stopped her. Although I did wish many times that I might be brave enough to take my own life. No, I was so filled with despair and misery that I simply did not see the car until it was almost upon me!'

It was almost a miracle,' Ellie whispered. God recognised your need and your innocence, Connie, and gave you back to us!'

A solitary tear rolled down Connie's pale face followed by another.

‘You believe me then, Ellie? she asked painfully.

‘Of course I do! How could you doubt it! I know you, Connie. I know that were this a child of love, you would be proud to acknowledge that love, with or without any marriage ties!

Connie gave a small gasp.

‘What is it? Connie what's wrong? Ellie asked anxiously.

‘My waters have broken,' Connie told her calmly.

Now she knew why they called it labour. It went on and on relentlessly, this hard physical business of giving birth, pain upon pain engulfing her, possessing her, and refusing to let her go.

The sky darkened whilst she toiled.

Ellie dampened her forehead and smiled, her hair as wet with sweat as Connie's own, as though she had laboured with her. ‘Not much longer now, Connie.

It was Iris who was attending her and not some mere midwife, her hands were bloody and slick with mucus as she urged Connie to push.

Did Iris think she wasn't already doing so? There was nothing Connie wanted more than to rid her body of its loathed burden, to be free of its possession of her! Gritting her teeth she tried to push harder, whilst the night drew on.

‘And again, Connie.

‘I can t, she sobbed. ‘I can't bloody push any more.

‘Yes you can, Connie. That was Ellie, her voice firm and big sisterish, and automatically Connie responded to it.

‘That's it, Connie. Push. Nearly there …

The warmth of the early August night filled the room, and all of them were sticky with it and with the travail of the birth, but no one more so than Connie as she yelled her resentment and loathing into the thick, stifling air, her body surging into a savage desire to be rid of its burden.

‘Connie, yes! Oh, good girl … Good girl.'

She could hear Iris sobbing and laughing, in a totally un-Iris-like explosion of emotion, whilst she lay panting for breath, exhausted. And then she heard it, a thin, sharp sound that pierced her insides.

Ellie was beaming down at her, tears running down her face, as she told her, ‘Connie, you have a little girl, a beautiful, beautiful daughter. Oh, Connie, look!

Deliberately Connie turned her face away, refusing to look at the swaddled bundle Ellie was holding out to her. She looked instead to where dawn was paling the sky beyond the bedroom window.

She had given the wretched thing life, hadn't she? It had no right to expect anything more of her.

‘Connie, Ellie was protesting.

‘Take it away!' she told her fiercely. ‘I don't want it.'

It was lunchtime and the sun was well up, and the thing Ellie had insisted on placing in a crib beside her bed – after they had made her comfortable after its birth in the early hours of the morning – was making a high-pitched wailing sound that was piercing her whole body.

Angrily Connie got out of the bed, ignoring the ache of pain seizing her. Without looking into the crib she gathered up its tightly-wrapped contents, stiffening when immediately she felt its unwanted warmth. With surprising strength it tried to squirm closer to her body seeking nourishment, but Connie held it at arm's length as she walked across the bedroom and opened the door.

Connie!'

Grimly she looked at Ellie who had suddenly appeared from her own bedroom. ‘What are you doing?'

Putting this somewhere I can't hear it,' she told Ellie flatly.

Give her to me!' Ellie demanded, her face softening as Connie handed her the small bundle.

Oh, Connie, look at her. She is so gorgeous. Connie!' she protested as Connie turned round and started to walk back to her room.

I don't want it, Ellie. If you want it, then you keep it.'

What are you going to call her, Connie? She can't be “Baby” for ever!'

Connie stiffened, refusing to look at Ellie who was seated, lovingly cradling the baby in her arms. It was November and three months since she had given birth.

Call her whatever you wish, Ellie,' she answered her curtly. I don't care.'

Between them Ellie and Iris might have been able to virtually force her to feed the wretched child, but she had no interest whatsoever in naming it. She loathed everything about it, especially that feeling that pierced her when she felt it tugging avidly on her nipple.

‘Well, if you refuse to suckle her then I shall find a wet nurse who will,' Ellie had told her determinedly, when Connie had said the baby could starve to death for all she cared.

Find one then,' she had answered her sister sharply.

But, in the end, nature itself had conspired
against her, giving her an abundance of milk that flowed from her breasts every time the wretched child cried. Since it was hungry constantly, Connie had been forced to give in, if only to ensure that she had some peace.

‘Connie, believe me I can understand how you feel,' Ellie told her gently. ‘But it is not this poor baby's fault that you, that her father … She is not to blame, Connie!

‘No? It is her existence that has condemned me to a life of fabrication and dependency on others, Ellie. It is because of her that I am no longer Sister Pride. It is because of her that I have had to lay claim to a husband who never existed. John Smith!' She pulled a face. ‘Couldn't Gideon have been a little more imaginative?

‘He chose the name because there were so many John Smiths amongst those who have fallen, Connie,' Ellie chided her quietly. ‘With such a name, Baby will easily pass anonymously.

Baby!

‘If she must be named, then name her as Lydia Harriet!

Connie didn't know which of them was the more astonished by her sudden outburst, Ellie or herself.

‘Lydia Harriet! Oh, Connie, how pretty. And Lydia for Mama! she approved.

Connie could feel her face beginning to burn, as she waited for her sister to ask her what had made her choose Harriet as the baby's second name, but
Ellie seemed to be unaware of her self-conscious discomfort, prattling excitedly instead about christening bonnets and gowns.

Later, when she was alone with the wretched thing suckling eagerly and unwantedly at her breast, Connie asked herself what on earth had made her name her for Harry. She was not his child after all! His child! Had she, his wife – his widow – named her child for him as well?

The baby wailed as Connie pushed her away from her breast and put her down, to get up and pace the room in anguished pain. How different things would have been were this child Harry's. Angrily, she went over to the baby and looked down at her.

A pair of intensely blue eyes focused on her, their gaze open and innocent – trusting – untouched by the darkness of Connie's emotions. A pain, a feeling, a sense of her heart turning over slowly inside her chest gripped her.

Shakily, Connie crouched down and looked, really looked, at her child for the first time.

She has the Barclay looks, Connie,' Ellie had told her happily. More so than any of the other babies of our generation. Aunt Gibson might claim that Cecily's Charlotte is going to be the beauty of the family, but our little one here will outmatch her!'

Connie had ignored Ellie's prediction, but now
she could see what her sister had meant. The dark cap of hair had already begun to curl; the delphinium blue eyes were beautifully shaped and set between thick, dark lashes. The little nose already showed signs of elegance.