Sixteen

Chad arrived home from school flushed with the success of his second term of exams. A pity he didn’t have Richard to share it with, Livia thought. It fell on herself and Doctor Elliot to lavish praise on him after he proudly showed off his report.

Denton telephoned to congratulate him one evening, and they had a short, mostly one-sided conversation, with Chad chattering about school, cricket teams and other manly pursuits. Their parents would have been proud of him  . . . but then, Chad couldn’t remember a time when he had parents, and now the male influence of Richard had gone it looked as though Denton would be the one to bear the brunt of his youthful exuberance.

‘When are you coming home, Doctor Denton?’ Chad said at last, and his glance turned her way. ‘Yes, Livia is here. Did you want to speak to her?’

Indeed she was there, hovering by the telephone and impatient to hear his voice.

He sounded far away, and rather remote when he said, ‘Livia, how are you keeping?’

‘Apart from feeling rather fat, I’m well. You?’

A low chuckle reached her ear. ‘Well, but rushed off my feet  . . . in fact, I’ve only got a few minutes before I’m due to go to the theatre.’

‘I won’t keep you then. Thank you for remembering Chad. I appreciate it, and I know he does.’

‘I’m proud of him and the progress he’s making, and I’m sure Richard would have been. Chad is certainly proving his worth in our sponsorship of him. I’m surprised to hear that you moved back into the cottage, though. I thought you and Richard wanted the baby to be born in Foxglove House.’

So he hadn’t heard about the challenge to Richard’s will. She didn’t want to burden him with her troubles. ‘Richard wanted it more than I did. He said the Sinclair heir should be born there. Personally, I like living in Nutting Cottage, and so do the children. It feels more like home to us.’

‘Whereas Richard always regarded Foxglove House as his home.’

‘Yes  . . . he did, and he was used to having space around him, and servants. Coming up from the ranks of those servants, I didn’t feel all that comfortable being elevated to mistress.’

‘You wouldn’t have known it.’ There was a short pause, then he lowered his voice and said, ‘Honestly now  . . . are you looking after yourself, my love.’

‘I’m doing my best to get used to being  . . . alone.’

‘I wish I could be there for you.’

There was a woman’s voice in the background. It sounded like Bernice. ‘What are you doing, Denton? Do hurry up.’

‘I’m talking to Mrs Sangster and her brother.’

‘Oh that’s too bad of you when we’re already late, darling. Give Livia my best wishes, and don’t let her keep you too long, else we’ll be late for curtain up and the opening act.’

Livia had assumed he’d meant the hospital theatre. She felt sick at heart, even though she knew she had no right to be, ‘I have to take Bertie for a walk while it’s still light. I hope you enjoy the play, Denton.’

‘Don’t go, my sweet, it’s so lovely to talk to you and a few minutes more won’t make any difference.’

They would. They would lull her into thinking he’d be as forgiving and generous about the baby’s parentage as Richard had been. Even if she could lie well enough to fool Denton, and even if the birth of her child fell within a credible range, she didn’t want to deceive him. He’d never forgive her if he found out, and once this baby was born it wouldn’t take him long to realize that all was not as she’d have him believe. And she wouldn’t have Richard to defend the lie.

‘I must go Denton  . . . and so must you. Will you hang the receiver up first, or shall I?’

‘I will.’

There was silence and she whispered into it, ‘Denton, are you still there?’

He laughed. ‘I’m always here for you my pheasant-feathered friend. I just wanted to listen to you breathe. Now I am going to hang up.’

A giggle escaped from her just before a definite click told her he’d gone.

Bernice sighed as Denton hung up. ‘It was unforgivable to keep the Harrisons waiting.’

He pulled on his gloves. ‘Don’t be silly, Bernie. Some things take precedence.’

‘Especially good-looking young widows called Livia Sangster. Good grief, where’s your sense of decency? Her husband is barely cold in his grave, and she’s expecting a baby at any minute.’

‘Hardly. The child is two months away.’

Bernice snorted. ‘Earlier, I’d say. She was showing signs at the end of June.’

‘I didn’t notice.’

‘You’re a man, you wouldn’t have.’

‘My father said the baby is due around the end of November or early December. Livia has only been married since March,’ he pointed out. ‘She’s had a rough time of it lately. Richard was my best friend. He’d expect me to take care of her.’

Bernice snorted. ‘But not in the way you want to take care of her.’

He sighed. ‘Are you going to be disagreeable all evening?’

‘What do you expect? A woman likes her escort to pay her attention, not spend the evening wearing his heart on his sleeve for another woman.’

He didn’t bother to deny it. ‘Yes, I suppose she does. May I point out that we only exchanged a few words on the telephone.’

‘Oh, don’t sound so stuffy. You and I have an understanding, and I’ll hold you to that.’

‘An understanding?’

‘Why else would we be going out together for all this time? My parents want to know when I’m getting married, or at least engaged.’

He supposed he might have given her the impression that they had an understanding, and he’d certainly taken advantage of what she’d freely made available. But she’d known her way about a man, and hadn’t been an innocent. He couldn’t remember indicating that they might marry. He’d never even met her parents. He’d started going out with her when he’d learned that Richard and Livia had married.

He thought about that now, remembering his shock at hearing the news of the marriage, and the sense of betrayal he’d experienced. That had quickly become anger. He hadn’t expected his best friend to steal Livia from under his nose.

The marriage had happened fast. Too fast. Not even the staff had known a wedding was going to take place until it happened. The event was out of place with Richard’s character, because he’d always loved being the centre of attention. At first Denton had wondered if Richard’s money had attracted Livia, but he’d dismissed that as an unworthy thought. Seeing them together, there was no doubt in his mind that Richard and Livia had adored each other.

She’d provided Richard with an heir for the Sinclair legacy. That had surprised him. He remembered Richard’s injuries. The chance of his friend fathering a child had been very slim, yet he had managed it!

Worse had been the conviction that Livia had cared for him, then the discovery that she didn’t. His eyes narrowed. Damn it, she did care for him. He knew it.

Bernice slid an arm through his and kissed his cheek. ‘You’re gathering wool, darling. Come on, slow coach. I’m sorry I was cross. We needn’t go to the theatre if you don’t want to.’ Her voice was placating, but the impatience not very far from the surface.

‘Of course I want to go.’ The alternative was to spend the evening in Bernice’s exclusive company, which wasn’t very appealing when she was in a fractious mood.

The same could not be said for Livia. He’d crawl a hundred miles to spend an evening in solitude with her, whatever her mood. But it was much too soon to make an approach. She wouldn’t be over Richard’s death yet, and had the birth of her baby to adjust to.

He’d need to straighten Bernice out about their relationship, and conceded that she had a right to know where she stood. But she didn’t have the right to take marriage for granted. It was something he didn’t want to think about now. He wanted to relive in his mind the short conversation he’d had with Livia.

‘Denton, are you still there?’ she’d said, as cautious as a mouse emerging from its hole. And she’d given a delightful giggle when he’d answered. He smiled.

Bernice broke into his thoughts like an abrasive shriek of chalk on a blackboard. ‘Well, are we damned well going or not? Really, Denton, you’re so annoying at times. You’re standing there like a wooden donkey nailed to the floor.’

Ah  . . . love. The fool it made of a man, he thought.

When he patted her hand and he-hawed in reply, Bernice laughed, like he knew she would. ‘Come on, let’s go. We still have time to get there before curtain up, if we hurry.’

Chad went back to school and autumn came with its riot of glorious colours and flying leaves. The climate was mild and Livia mostly sat in the sitting room, looking out over the garden and making clothes for the baby.

Her layette had grown, and it seemed impossible that a child could be so small as to fit into the miniature garments.

Mrs Anstruther looked in on her every other day, and Matthew Bugg did the same on alternate days.

While the world turned its efforts towards winter production, Matthew Bugg did wonderful things in the garden. The shoots of winter vegetables began to spear through the earth, while the boughs of apple, pear and plum trees were weighed down. The fruit was taken away and reappeared as bottled preserves. They filled the pantry shelves in orderly coloured rows, wearing labels and frilly hats. If she ran out of money she and Esmé would still be able to eat.

Livia’s stomach ballooned and she became lethargic. She missed her clinic appointment and Dr Elliot came to check on her.

‘I forgot about it.’

He checked her over and listened to the baby’s heartbeat through a cold metal horn placed on her stomach. ‘The baby’s head has engaged and it could put in an appearance at any time over the next six weeks. I’ll tell the midwife to expect the baby sooner rather than later. It’s not a big baby, so you shouldn’t have any trouble giving birth.’

She didn’t bother looking for an excuse, just said, ‘Thank you, Doctor Elliot. Whatever you think is best.’

‘Have you got everything ready for the birthing?’

She smiled at him. ‘Yes  . . . the midwife gave me a list.’

He took her hands in his. ‘You’ve been through a great deal lately, Livia. Are you able to cope, do you think?’

Tears pricked her eyes. ‘I feel sad, I think. It’s as if the world has revolved too fast and my happiness has spun off into the sky like Fairy Floss.’

‘It sounds as though you need some company.’

‘I have Esmé. And Mrs Anstruther visits me every other day.’

‘Esmé is a dear girl, and Mrs Anstruther is a very nice woman. The child will bring some joy back into your life, I promise.’

She doubted it, and felt guilty at being so negative. ‘Would you like some tea?’

‘I haven’t time for one. A cool drink would be welcomed.’

‘I have some lemon barley water in the larder. Mrs Anstruther made it. Richard used to like lemon barley. He told me it would be good for the baby if I drank a glass a day.’

‘He was right. You mustn’t dwell on Richard, m’dear. It won’t bring him back.’

‘I know, and I mustn’t bother you with my troubles either, you’re busy enough as it is.’ She managed a strained smile as they went into the kitchen together. ‘Have you heard from Denton lately?’

‘Yesterday. He sent his best wishes, and hopes to get down for a weekend before too long. I imagine he’ll bring Bernice with him. She seems to have become a permanent fixture in his life. We’ve never known him to attach himself to one woman for such a long time. Helen thinks they might be engaged by Christmas.’

Livia’s heart turned to ice at such a prospect.

The birth date grew nearer, and the baby filled her with roundness, so she waddled rather than walked.

The last of the golden harvest had all been gathered in and the fields were as stubbled as an old man’s chin. Then the stubble was tilled into brown ridges of earth, and early morning spread them with frost.

At the beginning of October her heart warmed again when Bertie did his usual dance at the front door and she opened it to find Beamish on the doorstep. Connie Starling was with him. She carried a suitcase.

Beamish had a box in his arms, and shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘We  . . . that is, Connie and I don’t feel right leaving you here to cope all by yourself. We reckoned you might need somebody to look after you until you’re over the birth, and Connie said it was going to be her.’

The cook was wearing a hat with a bluebird nesting on it. ‘Just say if you want us to go away,’ she said.

Livia began to weep; she couldn’t help it.

Connie took charge. ‘There, that’s what I thought. I said so to Florence. She’ll be moping all by herself, and her with no husband to turn to. Put that in the kitchen and go and fetch the other box of groceries, Beamish, while I mop up her tears.

‘There, there,’ Connie said, taking her in a hug. ‘Don’t you worry about anything. I’ll look after you.’

Esmé was pleased to see the cook and gave her a hug, too. ‘You can sleep in Chad’s room for now if you like,’ she offered.

‘Just for the time being. You never know what you’ll find lurking in boys’ rooms, and he’ll need it when he comes home. I thought I’d sort the junk room out. It’s about time somebody did. You can help me if you like. The village usually has a bonfire on Guy Fawkes Night. If we put everything not worth saving out it will be picked up.’

Much to Livia’s relief, Connie soon had them organized, and her company kept her mind from her own predicament.

The infant decided to help her in her quest to deceive, by conveniently arriving two weeks late.

She and Connie had spent the morning picking the last of the blackberries from the bramble bush at the end of the garden. They were to make some jam to help see them through winter.

‘Now you watch where you step. I don’t want you to fall on your belly in the middle of the bramble patch, else I’ll never get you up,’ Connie had warned.

October had brought sudden flurries of chilly breath with it, which set the multicoloured leaves swirling into the sky. Spotted red toadstools grew amongst the damp mosses in the roots of trees, and the hawthorn was hung with flaming berries.

The babe had been quiet inside her for the past few days. The delay had taken it well past its proper birth date, which had been two weeks earlier. Livia had a niggling worry that it might not be alive. She telephoned the midwife.

‘Quite normal,’ the midwife said cheerfully. ‘It’s just having a rest. Usually it means that the birth is imminent  . . . but you still have a while to go before it’s due, don’t you? Don’t worry, Mrs Sangster, it’s just being lazy  . . . though the doctor thinks it’s going to be an early birth.’

Connie made the jam and the cottage was filled with the smell of boiling blackberries.

Backache niggled at Livia all the next day, and she was glad to get to bed. She fell asleep immediately.

Pain woke her. It gathered force in her back and surged strongly into her stomach. She groaned.

A few minutes later, Connie appeared at her door. ‘Started, has it?’

Livia nodded.

‘I’ll go and ring the midwife, then I’ll dress and we’ll get both you and the bed ready. First babies take ages  . . . or so I’ve been told.’

Esmé appeared, her hair tousled. ‘Why are all the lights on?’

‘The baby’s coming,’ Livia told her.

‘At two o’clock in the morning?’ Esmé groaned, but the sleep in her eyes had been replaced by excitement at the news. ‘Can I help? I won’t be able to sleep.’

‘You can make sure the dog and cat are kept out of the way, if you would, Es. I don’t want anyone tripping over them.’ She swung her legs out of bed and cautiously stood, cradling the bulk of the baby with her hands. Odd to think that in a few short hours this troublesome little creature would be born, and she’d be a mother.

Another pain wracked her and she doubled up, groaning. Her waters broke and she could feel the baby pushing. The next pain came almost on top and she felt herself stretch. This was nothing like the maternity clinic had described. There had been no gradual onset of contractions  . . . no long drawn-out, agonizing labour. She remembered her backache of the previous day, and wondered.

Connie came back up. ‘The midwife is out seeing to another birth. Her husband said he’ll tell her when she returns. It’s not urgent, seeing you have only just started.’

‘It is urgent! I can feel myself stretching. Esmé, go and ring Doctor Elliot. Unlock the front door and turn the lights up so he can let himself in. Tell him the birth is imminent, and we can’t get hold of the midwife. Connie, throw a sheet and some towels on the floor over that wet patch. It feels as though the baby is going to arrive at any moment and I’m going to soil the mattress if I get back in bed.’

Connie was wringing her hands by the time Esmé returned. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

Esmé calmly took over. ‘I do. Don’t sit there trying to hold it in, Livia. Get on the towels and I’ll catch the baby when it comes out.’

Livia was shivering, but whether from cold or shock she couldn’t say. She lowered herself to the floor and stayed on her hands and knees, it seemed more comfortable and natural that way. The next contraction made her shriek, but she couldn’t stop herself from straining as the contractions pushed the baby’s head through.

‘Don’t push now  . . . the baby has to turn and I have to check that the cord’s not wound around its neck. Oh, I haven’t got time to look  . . . there it goes.’ That event was followed almost immediately by a gush of liquid as the body slithered out of her like a floppy octopus into Esmé’s waiting hands.

There came a warbling screech of complaint from under her body, like an opera singer who’d sat on a drawing pin.

‘Oh, my God, that was close!’ The release of pressure was enormous, and Livia’s laughter was almost hysterical.

Esmé was laughing, too. ‘Wasn’t that the most wonderful experience!’

Connie looked pale. ‘It was lucky that she wasn’t in the privy. Now  . . . what should we do?’

‘Wrap the baby up in this towel so it doesn’t get cold,’ Esmé said, and Livia marvelled at her sister’s practicality. ‘Move forward a bit, Livia. There’s something coming out of you. The afterbirth, I expect. I remember reading about it in those leaflets you brought home. Ugh! It looks like liver.’

‘I’m glad somebody read the leaflets.’

‘They didn’t say what a gory business giving birth actually is. The baby is attached to the afterbirth. I don’t know how to cut the cord, so I’ll wrap it up with the baby and the doctor can see to it.’ Esmé giggled. ‘Can you get on to your back now? You don’t look very elegant in that position.’

They could already hear Dr Elliot’s car bumping along the road at speed. When it screeched to a halt, with some relief, Connie said, ‘I’ll go and make some tea.’

‘We’ll need some water to clean Livia up with, and the baby as well. ’

Connie stopped in the doorway and looked back at them. ‘What was it, did anyone look?’

The three of them gazed sheepishly at each other, and Esmé grinned over the din the infant was making. ‘I forgot.’

Connie laughed. ‘I think its Scottish blood is coming out; it’s got bagpipes for lungs.’ She folded back the towel and took a look. ‘You have a daughter. Good. Florence owes me half-a-crown.’

Esmé placed the baby in her arms. ‘There you are, Livia. One daughter.’

Livia took one look at the infant and fell helplessly in love.

‘It’s a small baby, about six pounds,’ Dr Elliot said a little later, after he’d shown Esmé how to cut the umbilical cord. ‘You can’t expect much fat on them when they arrive early. She’ll soon put on weight when she starts feeding. A good clean birth and no stitches needed. Well done, Mother.’

Nice of him to lie, she thought, and kissed the sparse dark cap of hair on the baby’s head. The child nuzzled against her breast, making little mewing noises, with the odd demanding yelp thrown in.

The midwife arrived, admonishing her for being inconveniently early, and taking over. The baby set up a clamour when her warm body was laid on a cold metal scale, like a plucked chicken at the butcher’s shop. She was weighed, and measured for length and head size. Her fingers and toes were counted, her heart listened to. The midwife smiled. ‘Everything is perfect, especially for a prem.’

Livia’s newly discovered motherly instinct came to the fore. ‘She’s getting cold.’

The midwife wrapped the baby tightly in a flannel sheet and placed her back in Livia’s arms with a smile. ‘There you are, dear.’

The doctor aimed his smile at Esmé. ‘I understand you were the heroine of the hour.’

‘I’m going to be a nurse when I grow up. Then when Chad becomes a doctor I can work for him.’

‘It’s a jolly good idea to keep it in the family, Poppet. For one so young you seem to have an instinct for nursing, because you did everything right. Now  . . . I’m going to have to fill out the paperwork, and at this time of the morning I do it best with a cup of tea, so I’ll go down to the kitchen. Why don’t you help your sister put the child to the breast while I do that? Babies need to learn to suckle as soon as possible. Does she have a name yet?’

It was a spur of the moment decision, because deep in her heart she’d never seriously considered that the child might be a girl. ‘I might call her Margaret, after Richard’s mother, and Eloise, after mine.’

‘Margaret Eloise Sangster  . . . a very pretty name.’

Margaret Eloise took to the breast like a duck to water and was soon making contented sucking noises.

Esmé put her arms round Livia’s shoulders and kissed her cheek before gazing down at her niece. ‘Did I feed like that from our mother?’

Esmé didn’t often mention their mother, and her voice had adopted a wistful tone. ‘You did  . . . only she had Chad to feed as well.’

‘I wish I could remember it.’

‘Babies don’t remember such things, but somewhere inside you is a hidden memory of all the love she felt for you  . . . because she did love you, Es. So did our father. To be loved gives any child a good start in life.’

‘I love our baby already. She’s so sweet and pretty, and she looks like you. She’s going to have your dark hair and eyes.’

‘You have the same hair and eyes, so she’ll look like you, as well.’

Esmé gave a faint smile at that. ‘It will be nice to be an auntie. Looking after her will help to take our minds off Richard. I miss him so much. I cried and so did Chad, though he told me not to tell anyone. He said a chap has to be brave when he loses a chum, like Doctor Denton is.’

She had not considered that Esmé and Chad might be grieving for Richard, or that the death of his friend would have been felt keenly by Denton. Thinking about it now, her sister and brother would feel the uncertainty that came with his loss more than anyone. Their lives had been unsettled since the day they’d been orphaned. And this little girl she’d brought into the world would also grow up without a father in her life.

‘The baby looks a little bit like Richard, doesn’t she?’

Because Major Henry had fathered both of them, and Richard was the infant’s half-brother, she thought – a rather shocking thought now it was no longer an abstract one. Thank goodness the resemblance was slight. But there was no way she could charge the major with this crime against her, not even as a last resort. It would mean ruin for all of them.

The midwife said to Esmé, ‘You’d better go back to bed, young lady, else you’ll be asleep at your desk in the morning. And your sister needs to rest.’

‘I’m too excited to sleep.’

‘Believe me, you’ll be begging for sleep once this little one gets you both trained to her way of doing things. You did a good job and kept your wits about you by all accounts, so well done. But even we nurses need to sleep.’

Livia was the recipient of a hug. Esmé kissed the infant. ‘Goodnight, Meggie. Welcome to the family.’

So, it was to be Meggie, was it? Livia gave a faint smile as her sister left. She didn’t mind. It was a pretty nickname for any child to have.