| |
MY HEART IS SO FULL of grief and my body so burdened by pain that I find it hard to write of the events of the past few days. But I must try.
The day that was to change my life began with no hint of what was to occur. I rose late after another fitful night and dressed reluctantly in my newly acquired widow’s weeds. The black made my skin appear even paler than normal and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the bedroom mirror, I drew back in shock at the change in my appearance. Not quite nineteen, I looked, and felt, like an old crone. I forced myself to walk down to the bustling market to buy provisions; the stalls of winter vegetables, meat and fish providing splashes of colour against the granite walls. I caught pitying looks from those who would normally have nodded or spoken a greeting. It seemed young widows were objects of pity, to be shunned rather than embraced and consoled. Not lingering over my shopping, as once I would have done, I dragged myself back up Horn Street and into Hauteville, keeping my eyes averted from passers-by. There was only so much pity a person could stand.
My luncheon was meagre; bread and cheese and an apple. I ate only for my child’s sake, not mine. The house was colder than it was outside as I had not the strength to replenish the fires in the kitchen and parlour. The view of the white-capped waves crashing onto the shore of Havelet Bay was an added torment and I trailed upstairs to our – my – bedroom and huddled under the blankets for warmth and comfort. After a short rest I felt somewhat stronger and decided a walk might warm my body and offer sustenance to my heavy heart. Wrapping an extra shawl around me I ventured out to take what had been my favourite walk to Fermain Bay. The joy I used to feel on striding out was replaced by an unutterable sadness as I considered how I was to survive without my beloved husband.
I had not walked far when a vicious pain rippled through my body, causing me to double over and cry out. It was nothing like any pain I had experienced before but I knew with dreadful certainty what was happening. As I leaned against a tree to stop myself falling to my knees I became aware of an open carriage pulling to a stop and a woman calling to me.
‘M’dame, are you hurt? Can we help?’
Through eyes blurred with tears, I took in the familiar figure of M’dame Juliette Drouet approaching me, followed by her companion and lover, M’sieur Hugo. Oh, how unfortunate! To have my predicament witnessed by these of all people. They were not likely to know me, but all of Guernsey knew them. More tears fell. I hastily brushed them away with my gloved hand as she drew close.
‘My dear, you are enceinte? Is something wrong?’ Her voice was kind and she touched my arm with the gentlest of gestures.
‘Yes, I...I fear I am losing my baby, m’dame. The pain...’ I gasped as another pain, like the squeeze of a vice, swept through my abdomen and across my back. Something sticky slid down my thighs. She held on tighter and called to M’sieur Hugo for help.
‘Mon cher, we must take this poor lady to my house at once. She is in need of a doctor. Can you help me get her in the carriage?’
I glanced up to see the great man staring at me, wide-eyed and white as if with shock.
‘Léopoldine! Can it be you? Risen from the dead?’ He stood as if transfixed and I wondered which one of us had lost their senses. M’dame Drouet, still supporting me with her hands, gave me a keen look and gasped.
‘I hadn’t noticed before, but you’re right. She is indeed the image of your poor daughter. But I have seen this lady before and she is a neighbour of ours and in sore need of help. Come, let us go directly to La Fallue and send for Dr Corbin.’
M’sieur Hugo seemed to recover his composure and, each taking one arm, between them I was conveyed to the carriage and helped aboard. The driver flicked his whip over the horse and within minutes we arrived at the house of M’dame Drouet in Hauteville, a little up the road from my own home and one I had passed many times as I walked along to Fermain. As I was about to descend from the carriage I must have succumbed to a faint as the next thing I remember is waking up in a bed with M’dame Drouet on one side and a woman I recognised as her maid on the other.
‘The doctor’s on his way, but I fear you may be losing your child, as you suspected. You have lost a lot of blood and we’ve had to remove your outer garments.’ M’dame Drouet brushed my hair back from my face with a gentle touch, her care-worn face creased in concern. ‘I’m afraid I do not know your name, M’dame, even though I have seen you about. And you are now in mourning, I see. Surely not your husband?’
I nodded, clenching my teeth against another spasm tearing at my innards.
‘My name...Eugénie Sarchet. My...my husband, Arnaud, a captain...merchant navy, drowned...collision at sea ten days ago. Died trying...save...sailor. Telegraph.’ Between each spasm of pain Arnaud’s face floated into my mind causing more tears. The maid silently passed me a linen handkerchief.
‘You poor, poor child! Do you have anyone here who can care for you? You shouldn’t be alone at such a time,’ M’dame Drouet said, squeezing my hand.
‘No. I...I am quite alone. I am a Frenchwoman. My maid left...her mother is sick.’ I noticed the women glance at each other and the maid nodded.
‘Then you must stay here until you recover. Ah, here is Doctor Corbin. I will leave you for a moment.’
A middle-aged man with a kind expression and a beard even bushier than M’sieur Hugo’s approached me as M’dame Drouet left, leaving her maid in attendance.
‘Now, M’dame, let us see if I can help.’
No man had touched me since my marriage to Arnaud and I flinched when his hands rested on my swollen belly, straining against my linen petticoat. I told him I was about seven months pregnant and had suffered cramping pain and loss of blood all afternoon. He looked grave as he examined me and as he turned back to speak I already knew what he was going to say.
‘I fear your child has died in your womb, M’dame, and it’s now most urgent you expel the infant as quickly as possible before you lose more blood. You must be strong and allow me to help if you are not to die also.’
At that moment, with my body and mind in torment, I would gladly have died and joined Arnaud and my unborn child in heaven. But God – or whoever – had other plans for me.