But at four o’clock that afternoon she announced that she was going to attempt to turn the baby.
‘Can it not come out bottom first?’ Kitty asked.
‘They do sometimes, but it can be very hard on the mother,’ Mrs Byrne said. She had stopped pretending to Wai some time ago that nothing was wrong. ‘Or the cord can wrap around the wee thing’s neck and suffocate it. It’s better if we try and turn it.’
‘Will it hurt her?’ Kitty asked, glancing at Wai, who was breathing shallowly, her eyes closed.
‘Not really—certainly no more than she’s hurting now,’ Mrs Byrne said. ‘A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss.’
While Kitty poured hot water into the pot, Mrs Byrne settled herself on the edge of the bed and raised her eyebrows at Haunui, who was holding Wai’s hand.
‘Perhaps you’d like to wait outside?’
‘No,’ Haunui said. ‘I will not leave her.’
‘Do you mind, love?’ Mrs Byrne asked Wai.
‘I want him here,’ Wai said without opening her eyes.
‘Well, if you’re not bothered, neither am I,’ Mrs Byrne said as she folded Wai’s nightdress back and began to run her hands gently but firmly over Wai’s naked belly. ‘Here’s his wee face,’ she said, her hand just below Wai’s breasts.
Haunui’s face lit up. ‘A boy?’
‘I don’t know actually,’ Mrs Byrne said, ‘but I’m sick of calling it an it. And he probably is, given the way she’s been carrying.’
Haunui smiled and squeezed Wai’s hand. ‘A new warrior for the whanau, eh? Good girl.’
Wai squeezed back.
Mrs Byrne began to palpate Wai’s belly, pressing down quite hard in places and shoving firmly in others. Kitty poured cups of tea for everyone but left them on the table, coming over for a look. The mound beneath Wai’s brown skin seemed to be moving of its own accord—it really was the strangest thing to watch. But every time Mrs Byrne took her hands off Wai’s stomach, the baby moved back to where it had been before the manipulation started.
‘Stubborn little tyke,’ Mrs Byrne said.
It was dark outside now. Kitty brought the other oil lamp through from the bedroom, set it on the table, and lit some extra candles. She dipped a facecloth in a bowl of warm water, squeezed the excess out and laid it across Wai’s pale, sweating forehead. Poor Wai. There were dark, swollen shadows beneath her eyes, and a vein had broken in her left eyeball from the strain of pushing. Still the baby had not turned itself around, and Wai was getting weaker and weaker, not even pushing now when the contractions came: just lying there, holding Haunui’s hand and grimacing with every fresh wave of pain.
Mrs Byrne was very worried. ‘I think we’re in trouble here,’ she said to Kitty under her breath.
Kitty nodded. She was worried sick herself, fussing about with towels and hot water and cups of tea and pillows—anything to push away the deep, icy dread that had taken root in her belly. She knew Haunui was frightened, too. His face was grim and he kept muttering to himself in Maori—praying, she thought.
‘Well, what do we do about it?’ Kitty asked.
‘Cross our fingers and hope.’
Kitty looked at Mrs Byrne, appalled. Crossing your fingers was what you did when you were hoping for something in particular for dinner
—roast beef, say, instead of boring old mutton—not when your best friend was in danger of dying, and her baby with her.
‘Is that all?’ she asked, astounded.
‘Well, I’m sorry, dear, but these things happen. You must know that.’
‘So are you just going to give up and let her…let her
go
? Both of them?’ Kitty whispered furiously.
‘No, of course not. I’m just saying we should hope for the best, but that we might not get it.’
Kitty sat down heavily, then stood up again when a knock came at the door.
It was Rian, his face unshaven and his expression grave. He had something wrapped in a tea-towel—fresh bread rolls, from the smell
—which he handed to her. Kitty burst into tears.
He stepped over the threshold into the hallway and closed the door.
‘Those are from Pierre,’ he said. ‘Are things not good?’
Kitty shook her head, unable to speak.
Rian lifted a hand to touch her cheek, then dropped it again. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
‘Christ Almighty!’ Mrs Byrne exclaimed.
Kitty pushed past Rian but stopped in horror as she saw what had happened; a pool of thick, dark blood was forming on the sheets between Wai’s legs.
She spun around and clutched the front of his jacket. ‘Do something, Rian! Help her, for God’s sake!’
Mopping at the blood with a wadded towel, Mrs Byrne said, ‘She needs a proper doctor, but I don’t know where you’ll get one at this time of night.’
Checking that his pistol was tucked safely out of sight in his belt, Rian rang the bell at the side of the door. He stepped back, eyeing the beautifully cut sandstone blocks of the house’s walls and the gracious lines of the verandah that extended out an extravagant ten feet beyond them.
The door opened. ‘Good evening?’ a girl in a smart maid’s uniform said.
‘Evening,’ Rian said, touching the brim of his hat. ‘I’d like a word with Doctor Ffitch.’
‘I don’t think so,’ the girl said. ‘He’s entertaining.’
‘His services are required urgently.’
‘By you?’ the girl said, looking Rian up and down doubtfully.
‘No, not by me, by someone in much worse shape than I am. A girl possibly even younger than you, having a very bad time giving birth to her first child.’
‘Oh. Is she one of his patients?’
‘No.’
‘Then I don’t think—’
‘Look,’ Rian said reasonably, ‘how much do you get paid?’
‘Eh?’
‘How much do you get paid to work here?’
‘Twelve pounds six a year. Why?’
‘So you’re not paid enough to skivvy
and
think, then, are you?’
‘Not really.’
‘So don’t. Just go and get him for me, eh?’
The girl considered this for a moment. ‘All right,’ she said, and shut the door in his face.
He waited, increasingly impatient now, until she came back.
‘He said he’ll see you in the waiting room, but only for a minute. It’s this way,’ she said, stepping back to let him in.
She showed him into a room off the foyer; there were some quite nice paintings on the walls, Rian noted, and a small marble bust of someone undoubtedly noteworthy.
‘He won’t be long,’ the girl said, and left him to it.
Rian moved over to the window and looked out into the darkness of the night. From up here, on the ridge above The Rocks, he could see the glimmer of a few lights burning in the windows of the warehouses down by the docks, and the occasional flicker of a lamp on a small boat being rowed across the harbour, but little else. The cloud cover was heavy tonight, which he thought was probably not a bad thing. He knew that what he was about to do was very risky, but Wai needed help. And so did Kitty; it tore at his heart to see her so upset.
He turned as someone entered the room.
‘Doctor Ffitch,’ he said.
‘Yes. Who might you be?’ Doctor Ffitch said. He was obviously in the middle of a meal—a table napkin was stuffed into his trouser pocket.
‘Captain Rian Farrell. An acquaintance of mine is needing medical treatment and I’d like you to attend her, please.’
‘I hardly think so,’ Doctor Ffitch said. ‘I’m entertaining guests. Is she a patient of mine?’
‘No, but you’re the closest medical man,’ Rian said.
Doctor Ffitch sighed. ‘Perhaps she could come for a consultation in the morning. What’s her problem?’
‘She’s giving birth, and has been since yesterday morning. Apparently the baby is breech.’
Doctor Ffitch said, ‘Well, I can give you the name of a good midwife—’
‘It’s too late for that. We need a doctor.’
Doctor Ffitch turned towards the door. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that but it won’t be me, I’m rather busy at the moment.’
Rian withdrew the pistol from beneath his jacket and pointed it at Doctor Ffitch’s face.
‘I think it will be you, Doctor. Now, if we could go? I believe we’re running out of time.’
Doctor Ffitch opened his mouth, then closed it again and swallowed. ‘Let me just get my hat,’ he said.
‘You won’t need a hat.’ Rian gestured with the pistol towards the door. As Doctor Ffitch dithered, Rian moved closer and gently prodded him in the back with the barrel. ‘Come on, Doctor, we haven’t got all night. Where’s your bag?’
‘In a cupboard, in the foyer,’ the doctor replied.
The foyer was empty, and it was easy for Rian to retrieve the doctor’s medical bag then gently encourage him through the front door and out onto the street. To his credit, he didn’t yell or kick up a fuss, merely sighed and straightened the lapels of his evening suit.
‘Is this the woman’s first child?’ he asked as he started walking.
‘She’s not a woman—she’s only sixteen,’ Rian said. ‘And yes, it is her first.’
Doctor Ffitch glanced disapprovingly at Rian.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Rian said. ‘It’s not mine.’
The doctor hmmphed, then asked, ‘How far are we going? These evening shoes are new.’
‘Oh, far enough to ruin them, I’d say,’ Rian said. ‘Caraher’s Lane? I expect you don’t know it.’
‘That’s just down there, isn’t it? The Rocks?’
‘That’s right.’
‘No, I don’t know it intimately. Most of my patients…don’t come from The Rocks.’
Rian hadn’t for a moment assumed that they would, even though Ffitch lived little more than a furlong away.
They walked in silence until they neared the turn into Cribb’s Lane.
‘Turn here,’ Rian said, giving Doctor Ffitch a gentle prod in the kidneys with the pistol. He doubted the man would run away now, but it wouldn’t do any harm to keep him on the toes of his shiny new evening shoes.
They passed the doorway of the Baker’s Arms; two men lounging outside gave them an odd look, and Rian decided it was probably time to conceal the pistol.
At the intersection of Cribb’s Lane and Caraher’s Lane, Doctor Ffitch exclaimed, ‘Good God, what is that smell?’
Rian sniffed. ‘Either the slaughteryard or the tallow works.’
‘My God, how do people tolerate it?’ the doctor said, slipping in some muck and clutching at Rian to maintain his balance. He looked ruefully down at his shoes.
‘People tolerate all manner of things if the rent’s cheap enough,’ Rian replied.
Avoiding a large oily puddle, Doctor Ffitch asked, ‘How much further?’
‘We’re here,’ Rian said, coming to a halt. He knocked on the door and opened it. ‘Kitty?’
She came to the door and he could see that she’d been crying again.
‘This is Doctor Ffitch, who has very kindly come to help,’ Rian said.
‘Oh, I’m so pleased. Thank you so much for coming!’ Kitty said, gripping the doctor’s hand.
‘Er, yes,’ Doctor Ffitch responded.
‘She’s in here. Connie Byrne’s with her, the midwife,’ Kitty said, dragging the doctor into the front room. Rian remained in the hallway, sitting down on the steps that led to the tenement upstairs.
Bent over Wai, Mrs Byrne straightened up and gave the doctor’s evening dress a curious glance. ‘Evening, sir. This is Wai.’
Doctor Ffitch nodded curtly. ‘What’s the problem here?’
‘The baby’s breech. I’ve tried manipulating him but he’s not budged. She’s ready, but just under an hour ago she started to bleed, heavily.’
‘Has that stopped?’ Doctor Ffitch asked, peering down at Wai.
‘Slowed, not stopped altogether.’
Doctor Ffitch glanced nervously over his shoulder, saw Rian sitting on the steps, then removed his evening coat and rolled up his sleeves.
‘Hot water and soap, thank you, Mrs Byrne. Who’s this?’ he asked, nodding at Haunui.
‘Wai is my niece,’ Haunui said. ‘Please do your best.’
‘Well, I can only try,’ the doctor said. ‘You’re probably not familiar with this type of situation, but—’
‘I am familiar with the death of family,’ Haunui said quietly. ‘I do not want to carry the memory of yet another loss in my heart.’
‘Er, quite.’ The doctor soaped his hands and dried them on a towel. They’d run out some time ago, but Mrs Doyle had obligingly brought over a stack of fresh ones and some clean rags.
Wai whimpered as another fruitless contraction shuddered through her. Doctor Ffitch moved quickly, laying his hands on her belly and then her lower abdomen, concentrating as the muscles tightened and then eased again.
‘The baby’s definitely in the birth canal,’ he said to Mrs Byrne. ‘Have you had a look lately?’
She shook her head. ‘Too much blood.’
Doctor Ffitch took a towel to blot some of the still seeping blood, then bent his head and looked.
‘Ah, a footling,’ he announced.
‘Is he? I thought so, but I couldn’t be sure,’ Mrs Byrne said.
Kitty exchanged glances with Haunui. ‘What’s a footling?’ she asked.
‘It’s a baby that comes out feet first,’ Mrs Byrne replied. ‘Sometimes it’s the bum and sometimes it’s the feet.’
‘But there’s not enough to pull on yet,’ Doctor Ffitch added.
‘Won’t that hurt him?’ Kitty said uneasily. ‘Won’t it hurt both of them?’
The doctor looked at her. ‘What’s the alternative? It can’t stay in there, they’d both…well, it wouldn’t do,’ he finished.
He began to massage Wai’s belly, pushing quite aggressively and using his elbow at one point to encourage the baby inside her to move. When she groaned at another contraction, he stopped and had another look between her legs.
‘The other foot’s through,’ he said after a moment. ‘Mrs Byrne, see if you can get hold of the legs. I don’t think my hands are going to fit.’
Mrs Byrne gathered up her skirts and climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Wai’s upraised knees.
Kitty looked at Haunui. He had paled but was concentrating on stroking Wai’s hair, over and over, as though she were some especially favoured little animal. ‘Hold on, brave girl,’ he whispered in Maori. ‘Hold on.’
Mrs Byrne slid a hand inside Wai, grasped the baby’s feet and pulled. Wai screamed piercingly, just once.
‘He’s coming,’ Mrs Byrne said. ‘I can feel him.’
There was an audible squelch, and the infant’s feet emerged.