Authors: Margaret Dickinson
But as she lifted her eyes and looked at the man coming towards her, her heart leapt with thankfulness. It was as if her prayers of the last few hours had been miraculously answered. Striding
towards her was Robert.
‘Jeannie – are you all right. I didn’t hit you, did I?’
‘No, no.’ She managed to smile tremorously. Without consciously thinking what she was doing, she reached out with both her hands towards him and he took hold of them in his.
‘What is it?’ he said at once. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’
‘It’s Grace. She’s been in labour half the night and – and the baby’s the wrong way round. The midwife’s away and so’s our doctor. Oh Mr Robert . .
.’ Unaccustomed tears threatened to overwhelm her. She was exhausted and frightened.
‘I’ll find you a doctor.’
As Jeannie opened her mouth to protest, Robert said quickly, ‘Please, at least let me do this. I can find one for you much quicker in the motor. And besides, it is my nephew or niece
who’s about to be born, you know.’
Jeannie closed her mouth and nodded swiftly. ‘Thank you. That would be kind of you.’
For a brief moment they stared at each other and then he was running back towards his car.
So, thought Jeannie, as she stood watching as Robert steered the car away from the pavement and sped down the road, at least one member of the Hayes-Gorton family is willing to acknowledge that
the child is Francis’s.
It was while she was still bending over poor Grace, mopping the beads of sweat from the girl’s forehead, noticing how the girl’s face was now grey with fatigue, how
the dark shadows beneath her eyes deepened to black rings, that Jeannie felt the first pain low in her groin.
‘Oh not now, please, not now.’
She said nothing to anyone else and the pains, whilst persisting, were only at half-hourly intervals. For the moment her whole attention was upon Grace. The girl, weak with exhaustion, could no
longer help Aggie and the doctor – the Gorton family’s own – bring her child into the world.
‘There’s nothing else for it,’ Jeannie heard the doctor mutter. ‘She’s slipping away from us.’
Dimly, she was aware that the doctor had flung his instruments aside, rolled up his sleeve and – though she couldn’t quite be sure afterwards – seemed to delve into Grace and
pull the infant from her with his bare hand. The young mother, now almost unconscious, gave only the faintest of gasps, though Jeannie imagined that the pain must have torn her apart.
In contrast, four hours later, in Nell’s bed, Jeannie gave birth to a fine, lusty squalling boy who slipped into the world with the minimum of fuss and trouble. The
doctor, returning on Robert’s insistence, examined her and pronounced Jeannie ‘as strong as an ox’ before shaking his head sadly and returning to the other bedroom that was
strangely and ominously silent. There was not even the sound of a newborn baby’s wails.
As Jeannie put her son to her breast for the first time, Aggie, standing watching, said, ‘It’s a good thing you’ve plenty of milk already, Jeannie. I’m very much afraid .
. .’ her voice broke as she added, ‘that you’re going to have to feed two now.’
Tired and triumphant, but certainly not exhausted, Jeannie looked up at her noticing, for the first time, that Aggie’s face was distraught.
‘What is it?’ Jeannie whispered, suddenly afraid. ‘Tell me?’
‘It’s Grace . . .’ The older woman’s face crumpled and tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. ‘She’s gone, my dear. Too weak to fight any
more. And I don’t think she had the will.’
Jeannie closed her eyes and bent her head over her tiny son, who, oblivious to his mother’s tears falling on to his downy head, sucked noisily at her breast. Then Jeannie raised her head
and said, ‘Bring the child to me. Bring me Grace’s son.’
A smile flickered briefly on Aggie’s face. ‘I knew you’d do it. I told Nell, you would. Salt of the earth, I told her. Jeannie’ll cope with the two of them.’
‘You’ve spoken to Nell?’ Jeannie asked in surprise. ‘How is she? Is she – all right?’
Aggie lifted her shoulders. ‘I’ve tried to talk to her, but she won’t speak to me. Won’t leave that net on the wall to look at the babies.’ Harshly, she added,
‘Who knows what Nell Lawrence is thinking. She’s a hard woman.’
But Jeannie was shaking her head. ‘No, no. It’s just her way of coping.’ And privately she thought, once Aggie was gone, out of the house, Nell would come up the stairs to see
her two grandsons.
But Nell did not mount the stairs, did not even come to see if there was anything Jeannie needed. She did not even come to see her still and silent daughter.
Tom did not arrive home in time for his sister’s funeral though Jeannie waited as long as she could before arranging the ceremony. Robert came with the news. ‘The
North Star
has put into a small fishing port on the Scottish coast for urgent repairs. They’re all safe,’ he added hastily, reaching out in his concern to touch Nell’s
hand, ‘I promise you, but they’re landing their catch there so they’ll be going straight back to sea. We have an agent in that area who’s arranging everything, so Tom
won’t be home for a while. Although I could . . .’ he appeared to be thinking quickly, ‘send word for him to come home by train.’
Quickly Nell shook her head. ‘No, no, sir. You’ve been very kind, but it would leave the crew short.’ Even amidst her own troubles, a small smile touched her lips. ‘And I
know what trouble that causes. My – my George used to tell me that if they could stand, they had to be on deck.’ It was the first time Nell had spoken in the two days since
Grace’s death.
Robert smiled gently down at the woman who, over the past few months, had had so much tragedy to bear.
And Jeannie. His Jeannie, as he thought of her within the secrecy of his own mind. She was still so young and yet womanhood had been thrust upon her. His glance went to her now as she bent over
the two cradles, her beautiful hair falling around her face as she tucked the coverlet gently around her sleeping son. As she straightened up, her gaze met his and she gestured towards the other
crib.
‘Would – would you like to see him?’ she asked quietly and Robert knew she was pointing to the child that was his brother’s son.
Robert nodded and moved forward to look down upon the tiny sleeping form. ‘Is he all right?’ he murmured. ‘I mean – I know the birth was very difficult and in the
circumstances . . .’ His voice trailed away as he felt himself on delicate ground.
‘He’s fine. A little small, especially considering he was overdue, but poor Grace had been . . .’ She sighed. ‘Well, she didn’t look after herself properly. She was
thin and ill even before the birth.’
‘I am so sorry.’
Gently, she said, ‘It’s no’ your fault, nor ours either. We – her mother and me . . .’ Deliberately, she glanced at Nell not wanting the older woman to be excluded,
trying to convey to her that she bore no grudge towards her mother-in-law for what had passed in this house on the day of Grace’s death or during all the months preceding it. She could
understand how Nell had felt even though she did not condone her behaviour towards Grace. ‘We did all we could,’ Jeannie said, firmly including Nell and deliberately sharing in whatever
emotions Nell must now be feeling. ‘But we both feel guilty for all that . . .’ She left the words hanging in the air. As Aggie had said, the poor girl had not had the will to go on
living, not even for the sake of her child.
Robert bent over the cradle and reached out with a gentle finger to touch the baby’s head. Wordlessly, he straightened up but stood looking down at the tiny scrap of humanity for a long
time. Then he cleared his throat, turned to Jeannie and asked, ‘May – may I see your son?’
‘Of course.’ She gestured towards the other cradle where the infant also lay sleeping. Robert felt a moment’s surprise. Despite the fact that they had been born on the same
day, this child looked much bigger than the other one. The fair, downy hair that covered his scalp already had a touch of ginger in it. Robert felt a fond smile twitch his mouth in spite of the
sadness that was in this house. Already, he could tell which was Jeannie’s child.
How he wished with all his heart that this child were his. He glanced back at the other cradle. But he did have a connection now to this family. A genuine reason for involving himself in their
welfare. From his pocket, he took out two small silver coins and placed one on each pillow beside the sleeping baby boys.
‘Thank you,’ he heard Jeannie whisper, and knew that the gratitude in her eyes was more than for the money itself. He knew it was a Scottish custom and guessed that it was one
Jeannie would hold dear.
He turned to face both women and said, ‘I hope you will allow me to – to see my nephew from time to time and I hope also that if there is anything – anything at all you need
– you will let me know. I can only once more express my sorrow that my family has treated yours so – so shabbily.’
There was nothing more to be said, nothing more he could say, but he would have been gratified if he had heard the conversation in the kitchen after his departure.
‘He’s a kind young man,’ Nell said, speaking to Jeannie directly for the first time since her stony-faced rage at Aggie Turnbull being asked into her home.
‘Yes,’ Jeannie said slowly. ‘I think, perhaps, in the past, I have misjudged him.’
‘Sit you down, hen. I’ll get us a bite of dinner. You must rest, y’ken, if you’re to feed both bairns.’
Jeannie, with a small smile on her mouth, did as Nell said. It had taken Robert Hayes-Gorton’s visit to melt the ice around Nell’s heart and Jeannie was more than ever grateful to
him for his visit.
‘And what, pray, is the attraction in Baldock Street?’ Louise asked and Robert looked up to see his wife’s lip curl with distaste on the last two words of her
question.
They were seated at the Hathersage family breakfast table and it seemed to Robert that if Louise wanted to pick a quarrel – as indeed she so often did these days – she always chose a
time when she had the support of her doting papa. And meal times were an ideal opportunity.
Robert felt the muscles in the back of his neck tighten with tension as he decided prevarication was not the answer. Boldly, and without even glancing towards his father-in-law yet knowing both
Louise’s parents were listening intently, Robert said, ‘It’s where the Lawrence family live and – as you may recall . . .’ he bit back the sarcasm that threatened to
line his words, ‘they’ve had more than their fair share of trouble just lately.’
Louise cut her bacon and slanted her glance across the table as she did so. ‘Most of it brought on by themselves, I don’t doubt. But, if what I hear is true, I understand you are not
entirely blameless.’
Robert swallowed. Surely Mr Hathersage had not betrayed his confidence and told his daughter? he thought, but at her next words it was obvious that was exactly the case, particularly as
Hathersage himself began to bluster. ‘Now, now, my dear, this is hardly the sort of talk for the breakfast table and in front of your mother too.’
Louise’s blue eyes flashed towards her father and her lips pouted petulantly. ‘If what you said to me last night is true, then it’s all my mother’s fault that my husband
seeks his comfort elsewhere.’
To Robert’s consternation, tears brimmed her eyes. He leant across the table towards her and started to say quietly, ‘Louise, we should talk about this in private—’ but
he was interrupted by Mrs Hathersage’s voice from the other end of the table rising shrilly. ‘What? Henry, what on earth have you been saying?’
Now, even her father cast a half-despairing, half-exasperated glance at Louise. He rose from the table, leaving his half-eaten breakfast, flinging his morning paper to the floor.
‘I’m going to the office. I won’t be in for lunch and probably not dinner either. I, too . . .’ Now he wagged his forefinger down the length of the table towards his wife.
‘I, too, will find my
comforts
elsewhere, though I make no secret of the fact.’
‘Well, really,’ Mrs Hathersage said as the door slammed behind her husband. ‘What is the world coming to when a man speaks like that to his wife.’ With delicate
fastidiousness, she pressed her napkin to her lips.
Robert stood up. ‘I must go. I have a funeral to attend this morning.’
‘In Baldock Street, I take it?’ was Louise’s parting shot.
There were two people who stood apart from the family members at Grace’s funeral, though they did not stand together. A little way off, but in no way trying to hide his
presence there, stood Robert. Beneath the trees and deliberately trying to keep herself from being seen was Aggie Turnbull.
But Jeannie spotted her. Jeannie saw them both, though she hoped that Nell had not seen Aggie. It was a pathetically small gathering around the grave side, Jeannie thought. Just Nell and herself
and one or two neighbours. It seemed so few for a young girl whose loss should have been mourned by many.
As the committal ended and the mourners moved away, leaving only Nell and Jeannie looking down into the grave to take their last sight of the coffin, Robert moved forward.
‘Mrs Lawrence,’ he said softly. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Nell, her arm tightly through Jeannie’s and leaning against her, looked up at him. Her face was drawn, pinched with sorrow, but her eyes behind her steel-rimmed spectacles were dry. It
seemed, however, that she could not speak, for she just nodded in answer to his condolence and Jeannie felt her arm squeezed even more fiercely.
‘Would you allow me to take you home in the car—’ he began but Jeannie cut in sharply.
‘No . . .’ Then realizing her brusqueness she added, ‘No, thank you. It’s kind of you, but it’s not far and . . .’ She glanced around at the neighbours who
were still lingering in the churchyard, still watching.
‘I understand,’ Robert said at once. ‘I’ll be going then, but I just thought you might like to know,’ his brown eyes were full of sympathy as they turned back to
Nell, ‘we’ve had word that your son’s ship is at sea again and all is well, but – I am sorry – it’s as I thought. They’re going back to the fishing grounds
again before they come home.’