I was glad I had been to see Dr Hartley; I trusted her: she would deliver my son safely when the time came. Ben teased me when I talked of the child as a ‘he’. ‘It might be a girl, lass – then what’ll you do, send it back?’
I laughed and shook my head. ‘It’s a boy, Ben – I know it is.’
Then he had a long chat with Florrie Henshaw and came back to tell me he thought it would be a boy, too. ‘Florrie says women who put it all on front are generally carrying lads, and there’s no doubt where you’re putting it, sweetheart – from back no one could tell you’re expecting. Mind, your belly only really shows when you’re undressed – but those little breasts o’ yours…’ He smiled and pulled me on to his lap.
The next day was Sunday; we sat drowsily in the parlour after lunch pretending to read as we dozed a little. Then Ben stood up and shook himself. ‘Time I made a pot of tea to wake us up.’
While he was out in the kitchen there was a rat-tat-tat at the door. ‘I’ll go, Ben.’ I pulled myself up.
Outside on the step stood Barnes, resplendent in uniform. ‘Are you at home my lady? Lady Pickering and Mr Finlay have driven over.’
‘Yes – yes, of course I am, Barnes.’
He sprang back to the Delaunay-Belleville and swung the door open, and my mother stepped gracefully out. Conan emerged quickly from the other side. ‘Hello, Hellie – we thought we’d have a run out and see if you were in.’
Ben came through from the back, struggling into his jacket. Mother extended two gloved fingertips; he seized her whole hand and shook it vigorously – her eyes narrowed. Conan slapped Ben on the shoulder. ‘Good to see you, old man – and how’s little Hellie?’ He swung round to me – and his face stilled. Then he said, in a voice that was not quite steady, ‘You’re blooming, Helena, aren’t you? Blooming.’ It was one of my good times. I saw his gaze flick down to my swelling breasts, and on to my full hips – my belly was barely curved yet, my waist still slim, but the rest of my body was ripening. He leant forward and took my hand. ‘I must give you a cousinly kiss.’ He pressed his lips to my cheek, but as he drew back they brushed my mouth – and I could scarcely stop myself from moving towards him. Conan’s blue eyes rested on mine as he said, ‘She’s just like a luscious ripe peach, eh, Aunt Ria? Ainsclough seems to suit her.’
My mother selected the best armchair and arranged herself elegantly on it before asking, ‘Are you with child, Helena?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
Her glance swung up to Ben, standing beside me; it swept over his broad shoulders and down to his hips – appraising him. Ben said quickly, ‘I were just putting kettle on – I’ll get back to it.’ He went out to the kitchen.
Conan began to chat, easily, casually – but his gaze never left me. He broke off from what he was saying and turned to Mother. ‘I can’t get over it – I haven’t seen her since she was in the nursing home, and now she seems so well. She’s looks beautiful, doesn’t she, Aunt Ria?’
My mother nodded grudgingly. ‘Some women are suited to pregnancy – like cows.’
As my face flushed Conan gave a great shout of laughter and slapped my mother’s hand – however did he dare? She only smiled at him indulgently.
Ben came back with the tray and set it in front of me; I poured while Conan and Ben talked together. I saw my mother studying Ben – she began to unbend slightly, to address the odd remark directly to him. I glanced sideways at my husband and saw what my mother saw: a man who had behaved in a most inconvenient and annoying fashion, but who had broad shoulders and a strong, virile body – for that, much could be forgiven him. Besides, Mother was a pragmatist; I was in Ainsclough and it was clear I was going to stay here.
She began to speak of Letty: ‘Immured in that nunnery of a women’s college – her fingers quite stained with chemicals – seeming to spend all her time in laboratories or libraries – I don’t understand her at all, she doesn’t seem like a daughter of mine.’ She sighed and glanced at Ben, and I thought, oh yes – she understands me though, I am a daughter of hers. The others were talking so I picked up the tea pot and went to refill it in the kitchen. As I put down the kettle I heard the latch click behind me; Conan slipped in and closed the door softly after him. We stood looking at each other. His blue eyes passed slowly over me, up and down – then up again to my swelling breasts; my body tingled. He gave a slightly unsteady laugh. ‘That blouse is too small for you, Helena.’
‘I know,’ and as I took a deep breath I felt the fine silk strain.
He moved towards me a step. ‘God, Helena – you look lovely – I’ve never seen you so beautiful – you’ve always had something about you, but now it’s…’ He moved another step forward and I felt myself sway towards him – then the door swung suddenly open and Ben loomed dark behind us.
‘Do you need any help, Helena?’
Conan said hastily, ‘I don’t think so, old man – I came out to offer myself. I’ll leave you to it.’
Ben came forward and took the full tea pot from me. ‘Button up your jacket, Helena.’
‘But it’s too hot –’
‘Do as I say.’ I buttoned my jacket, though it was too tight and hurt my breasts.
Back in the parlour Conan and Ben continued to chat together, my mother throwing in the odd word – but I sat silent, feeling the familiar sickness rise in my belly, and my head began to throb. I was glad when Mother stood up to leave – I felt quite ill now.
Ben came back in as the motor purred off down the street. ‘Not feeling too good, lass?’
‘No – I feel rather queasy.’
His heavy hand came down on my shoulder; his fingers tightened. ‘Conan couldn’t take his eyes off you.’
I dared not look up at his face. ‘Conan – Conan likes women.’
‘Aye – and he likes you more’an all the others. But you’re my wife, Helena – remember that.’ His fingers were biting so deeply into my shoulder now, they were hurting me.
My voice was no more than a whisper. ‘Yes, Ben. But – I –’ I tore myself away from his grasp and lurched as quickly as I could out into the scullery – just in time to heave my lunch into the sink. He did not come near me, though he pushed a chair forward for me to collapse on to when I had finished.
He stood watching me as I wiped my mouth, still gagging a little, then he said, ‘Aye, likely you won’t forget I’m your husband, way things are with you now – but remember, Helena, I’m a jealous man. I were looking at your ma this afternoon and I thought that if I’d been your pa I’d have put my lady across my knee and tanned the backside off her. She wouldn’t have played tricks with me again.’ He swung round and slammed the door behind him.
Alone in the scullery I began to giggle weakly at the thought of my mother’s expression if she had heard what Ben had said. But back in the front room I defended her. ‘Remember, Ben, that it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other. Papa – ’
He put down his paper and his eyes were steady, holding mine. ‘Lass, I’ve played fair with you, and I always will – will you promise to do the same with me?’
‘Yes, Ben – I will.’ My stomach lurched again.
He smiled a little. ‘“In sickness and in health” – and, poor lass, it looks as if you’re one with sickness at present. I’ll go and fetch pail.’
But as I lay beside my sleeping husband in bed that night I remembered the way Conan’s blue eyes had looked at me in the kitchen; I supposed I was glad I was not married to him, but for a moment I wished – oh, how I wished – that they had left us together in the maze that evening when we were young and innocent and carefree. Then I turned over on my side and felt the tenderness of my swollen breasts – and thought that perhaps it was as well they had not.
Guy’s letter came as usual, from Canada. He had written to me faithfully every month since he had left, although I had often failed to answer, especially last year. This time he wrote that he and Pansy were coming home, for a long leave, in the autumn.
I ran to Ben as soon as he came in from work. ‘Guy – Guy’s coming home, in October!’
He looked at my excited face, before asking, ‘Do you want to go and stay for a bit, while he’s here?’
I hesitated. ‘I don’t want to leave you, Ben – not for long.’
‘I’ll manage, with Mary coming in.’
I dropped my eyes. ‘It’s not just that, Ben – I’ll miss you.’
‘Aye – and I’ll miss you, too – but you want to see your brother. Look, I’m due for me week’s holiday in September; I were thinking about two of us going to Yorkshire, to stay at a farm – but I daresay someone’ll swap with me, then we could go to Hatton together – if you want me there, that is.’
‘Yes, yes, I do, Ben.’
‘Then that’s settled – as long as your ma says yes.’
I laughed. ‘She will – Papa does put his foot down occasionally.’
Ben grinned. ‘You could have fooled me – I’ll get me bath.’
Ben came with me the next time I went to see Dr Hartley, as he had said he would. They got on well, and she invited us both to supper one evening the following week. As we sat over our meal we talked of Germany – she had studied in Berlin before the war, and she knew Munich, too. After the maid had cleared the table its polished top was spread with maps as she and Ben thrashed out the Serbian campaigns. She brought out her box of photographs and we matched them to place and time. Several of them were of a sweet-faced Serbian officer – an older man with badges of rank on his uniform. He smiled so trustingly at the camera that I exclaimed, ‘he looks too gentle to be a soldier.’
Dr Hartley took the photo from me and held it very delicately in her large, capable hands, gazing at the pictured face. Then she said, ‘yes – he was. But he did his duty and died for it.’ As she looked up at me I flinched from the naked loss in her eyes; then she put the photograph down, saying, ‘But it’s not such a bad life, delivering other women’s babies.’ She turned back to the maps.
I dropped suddenly asleep in my chair, awakening to hear her and Ben discussing pregnancy fatigue. Ben reached out and touched my hand. ‘Why don’t you sing to the doctor, Helena – mebbe some of your German songs?’ So I sang German Lieder to an English doctor who had loved a Serbian officer and lost him to the Bulgarian guns – in that greatest of all wars. Thank God we would never have to fight such a war again.
The performance of the Messiah was coming nearer and I was still having to run very frequently out to the closet; I was rather worried but Ben told me there would be no problem, since during the fourth month my womb would rise up into my abdomen and so stop pressing on my bladder. He also insisted that my morning sickness would shortly disappear, and when it did I felt slightly piqued – after all, I was the one who was carrying the child. But I was relieved – I did so want to sing in Ainsclough again.
Madame Goldman had coached me thoroughly, so now I went along to the Methodist church to practise with the organist and choir. The choirmaster asked me if I would give some advice to the soprano soloist; her voice was a little weak for the high-galleried chapel. She came forward nervously to sing for me; she was a pretty nineteen-year-old. Her voice was pleasant but occasionally flat, and she needed help with her breathing, so I suggested she come up to Royds Street in the evenings after work. I practised with her at the piano and she was admiring and grateful; I began to feel like an elder sister.
If he was at home Ben would sit listening to us, and after she had gone one day I said, ‘Olive’s a very pretty girl, isn’t she, Ben?’
He looked at me and smiled. ‘Aye, I suppose she is – but when you’re in room I’ve not got eyes for any other woman.’
I blushed and looked down at ray thickening waistline. ‘But I’m getting fat, Ben.’
‘Aye, you are – with my child. I like looking at that too,’ he added simply.
A week before the Messiah I was lifting a steak pie out of the oven when I felt a fluttering in my belly; I stilled, crouched before the open oven door. Ben jumped up. ‘What’s matter, lass?’
As he took the dish from my hands and helped me up I whispered, ‘He’s moving – I felt him moving!’ and began to cry. Ben pulled me to him and kissed my wet cheeks, murmuring words of love.
In the front room later he got out his book. ‘You’re right on target for quickening, lass – but it don’t say anything about crying when it happens.’ He grinned at me and I hauled myself off the sofa and went to climb on his lap. Dropping the book, he put his arms round me and hugged me tight. ‘Reckon I’ll concentrate on practical side for a while.’ He unbuttoned my blouse and began to unfasten my bodice. I leant against him as his warm hands explored my body, and when he put his lips to mine I opened my mouth for him. He drew back a moment. ‘You’ll tell me when you don’t want it any more, won’t you, lass?’ In answer I began to undo his shirt buttons.
Afterwards he said, ‘We’ll soon have to think of another way of doing it – so I don’t press down on you.’ I pulled his face to mine and kissed him; his hand gently stroked my belly and I felt the fluttering again.
My womb was rising now and I had to have a dress altered for the performance. Ben walked down to the church with me and I leant on his arm, excited and rather nervous – but Olive was in the vestry, white-faced and wringing her hands, and by the time I had calmed her down I had forgotten my own fears.
As we walked out into the crowded church she whispered, ‘I’m glad you sing before I do, Lady Helena – it’ll help me to settle.’
We seated ourselves on the rostrum; the choir was already ranged behind us and the choirmaster took up his position in front, a sheen of perspiration on his face. The church was full; when I raised my eyes to the gallery the massed ranks of Ainsclough looked back, resplendent in their Sunday best. I dropped my gaze again, to look at Ben; he was in the front row with Dr Hartley beside him. Mary Grimshaw and Jim were behind, with their three elder children – I knew Betsy had wanted to come, but Mary had said it was too late – ‘She can’t be trusted to behave herself in chapel yet, that’s truth of it, but I daren’t tell her that!’ A little further back were the Inghams, while a row of well-scrubbed Henshaw faces filled an entire side pew, under the watchful eye of Florrie. I felt the warmth coming from that congregation of friends and neighbours, and relaxed in my upright chair. Olive glanced over at me, nervous again; as I smiled back the organist began to play the overture.
The tenor rose first: ‘Comfort ye, comfort ye My people, saith your God…’ He sang his opening air, then the chorus swelled out: ‘And the glory of God shall be revealed…’ It was the turn of the bass – the chorus again – and then I was standing on the platform, my own body heavy with child as I lifted up my voice and sang: ‘Behold! A Virgin shall conceive and bear a Son…’
Olive went white again during the Pastoral Symphony – I smiled across at her and gave a slight downward nod – she fixed her eyes on her score and her colour slowly returned. She stood up during the closing bars, waiting – then took that imperceptible breath as I had taught her and began: ‘There were shepherds abiding in the field…’ Her voice wavered a little, then steadied. I relaxed: she was singing well.
As ‘Rejoice’ ended I rose to my feet. ‘Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap as a hart, and the tongue of the dumb shall sing.’ And for a fleeting moment I remembered the pain of my dumbness – and now I was singing again: I thanked God for it,
I launched into the beautiful air: ‘He shall feed his flock like a shepherd’, and sang on until I came to that loving conclusion: ‘And gently lead those that are with young’. And as I repeated the phrase I rejoiced in the fullness of my own body – for I too was with young.
Olive picked up the melody, ‘Come unto Him, all ye that labour…’ and inwardly I smiled; for I would have to labour to bring forth my child, when the time had come. As she sang I looked down to the front pew, to Ben. He gazed up at me, steadfast and true. I held his eyes with mine and his mouth curved in answer – and the child in my womb fluttered in reply. He saw me give the tiny jerk I always did when it happened, and smiled more broadly.
We came to the Second Part. The chorus opened: ‘Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.’ Then I rose to sing: ‘He was despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.’ With grief. I remembered my brothers, Lance, Hugh and Gerald; my heart was bitter no longer. They had all suffered and died in those four terrible years – so that I might sing in freedom in this peaceful church in an unconquered land. And Ben, he too had suffered – but he had lived, lived to beget the child in my womb. I felt peace steal over me.
After I had sat down again I realized how tired I was – I was glad I had little more to sing. It was as well that I was not singing the soprano part – it would have been too much for me; I was heavy with child and I needed to rest.
Then it was the Third Part. Olive stood young and slim and sparkling as she sang: ‘I know that my Redeemer liveth…’ Her execution was not faultless, but she sang it with verve and conviction. I no longer had that conviction – and yet… It was with a deep thankfulness that I realized that the faith of my childhood had not wholly deserted me.
Later I rose with the tenor and our challenge rang out: ‘O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?’ The sting would never go, but my beloved brother had gone to his grave undefeated, and I would never again regret what I had done.
Olive’s voice rang out triumphantly: ‘If God be for us, who can be against us?’ And as the child alive in my womb moved again I knew that God had relented.
In the vestry I hugged Olive. ‘You sang beautifully, my dear – beautifully.’
She whispered, ‘And so did you, Lady Helena – and thank you, thank you so much.’
Ben thrust his way through the crowd of choristers. ‘Come on, lass – I can see you’re tired out. Doctor came to hear you and she’s got car outside – she said she’d run you home.’
I sat back on the leather seat. ‘Thank you, Dr Hartley – my legs do feel rather tired. Didn’t Olive sing well? And she’s so young and had so little training.’
Ben’s voice behind me said, ‘Aye, she did – but she’ll never sing as well as you do, lass. You’ve got summat special.’
I laughed. ‘You’re prejudiced, Ben.’
‘Aye, happen I am – but there’s others saying it beside me. They were all congratulating me while you were in vestry and there were a lot of folk said they were in tears during “Man of Sorrows”.’
Dr Hartley spoke briskly. ‘He’s right, my dear – but you’re not performing again before January.’
Ben half-carried me out of the car, and did carry me upstairs. He helped me undress and lifted me into bed. ‘You can wash in morning, sweetheart. There’s only me as’ll notice, and I’m not telling.’ He bent over me and the last words I heard as I drifted into sleep were, ‘I love you, Helena, I love you.’