therefore could not be rescued, only encouraged to survive until she found herself. That he cared passionately for the many she did not doubt, that his ideas were far-sighted and humane she truly believed; but it seemed to her, in her simplicity, that it was best to begin at home before looking for problems abroad, to help a few loved people rather than rave over the wrongs of a multitude. Thus she proved herself to be merely a woman, caught up in personal concerns, rather than a man of wider views and greater intellect. So it was satisfying to engage in this venerable act of creation, and know that nothing was expected of her but to deliver a healthy infant, and be praised for doing so.
The birth was slow and hard, alleviated by drops of laudanum and constant attendance. She was aware of Mrs Coates’s identity, though towards the end, as morning came, and pain and the hour were dark upon her, she confused both name and place. And thought she was at Kit’s Hill; and called upon Betty Ackroyd — dead these six years — and Betty answered her, and gave her water, and told her not to fret, though Charlotte was terrified lest she burst open like ripe fruit and the sensation was unbearable.
‘There’s the head,’ said Mrs Coates briskly. ‘Hold back now, loveday! Don’t go with it no more. Two or three more pains and we’re through, sweetheart. Hold hard, now.’
Charlotte held as hard as she could, and then screamed aloud, and with the scream the child sprang forth, wailing at the loss of his warm lodging. And soon after, muddled with laudanum and exhaustion, his mother fell asleep.
It was bright day when she woke, to find the room at peace and the midwife sitting over the fire, dipping sippets of toast into her mulled ale and eating them with relish. The broad short back spelled strength, the round red arms comfort; and in the round red face now turning towards her, whose eyes were black cracks, whose smile gaped with lost teeth, past and present fused into one image. By her side, clucking and snuffling in his cradle, making good headway in a hard world, was Charlotte’s son, whom the midwife now placed in her arms.
‘You have been so good to me,’ said Charlotte, smiling her thanks over the baby’s cotton cap. ‘I thought you were Betty, from home. She would have befriended me as you did, but she has been dead these many years. Oh, where is my husband, and my brother William, and how have they been?’
‘Mr Longe’s been a nuisance,’ said Mrs Coates plainly, ‘but then, they all are. A-rattling on the door knob, and a-calling on the landing, when a body has enough to do! But he’s creeped in and see’d you and the baby. You’ve been sound off, sweetheart, with the laudanum. And now you’ve come to I’ll go my ways. Babies comes in batches,’ she remarked philosophically, ‘so I lives betwixt and between, as you might say, never knowing when I’ll get my washing done, but I’ll be round tomorrow, all being well.’
‘We were to have had Dr Southwell,’ said Charlotte, uncertain of medical etiquette, ‘but he was otherwise engaged. Should we not ask him to call in?’
‘Leave him be,’ said Mrs Coates, packing a great number of small articles into a large bag. ‘He’s best left. With gin at a penny a pint, why trouble him?’
‘He was recommended by one of my husband’s customers,’ said Charlotte, and then drooped wearily, for all their arrangements seemed to be doomed.
‘A respectable pig wouldn’t recommend him to sleep in the sty,’ said Mrs Coates sarcastically, ‘for fear of breathing the fumes. You tell him to be off — if he does remember to come! that is, if he can stand on his legs!’
‘But you will come again, if you please, will you not?’ Charlotte begged, afraid to lose this strange new ally.
‘Ah, to be sure I shall. Now let me tuck Master Longe in his cradle — the which I found halfway down the bottom stairs to the kitching, and full of old books. And
The birth was slow and hard, alleviated by drops of laudanum and constant attendance. She was aware of Mrs Coates’s identity, though towards the end, as morning came, and pain and the hour were dark upon her, she confused both name and place. And thought she was at Kit’s Hill; and called upon Betty Ackroyd — dead these six years — and Betty answered her, and gave her water, and told her not to fret, though Charlotte was terrified lest she burst open like ripe fruit and the sensation was unbearable.
‘There’s the head,’ said Mrs Coates briskly. ‘Hold back now, loveday! Don’t go with it no more. Two or three more pains and we’re through, sweetheart. Hold hard, now.’
Charlotte held as hard as she could, and then screamed aloud, and with the scream the child sprang forth, wailing at the loss of his warm lodging. And soon after, muddled with laudanum and exhaustion, his mother fell asleep.
It was bright day when she woke, to find the room at peace and the midwife sitting over the fire, dipping sippets of toast into her mulled ale and eating them with relish. The broad short back spelled strength, the round red arms comfort; and in the round red face now turning towards her, whose eyes were black cracks, whose smile gaped with lost teeth, past and present fused into one image. By her side, clucking and snuffling in his cradle, making good headway in a hard world, was Charlotte’s son, whom the midwife now placed in her arms.
‘You have been so good to me,’ said Charlotte, smiling her thanks over the baby’s cotton cap. ‘I thought you were Betty, from home. She would have befriended me as you did, but she has been dead these many years. Oh, where is my husband, and my brother William, and how have they been?’
‘Mr Longe’s been a nuisance,’ said Mrs Coates plainly, ‘but then, they all are. A-rattling on the door knob, and a-calling on the landing, when a body has enough to do! But he’s creeped in and see’d you and the baby. You’ve been sound off, sweetheart, with the laudanum. And now you’ve come to I’ll go my ways. Babies comes in batches,’ she remarked philosophically, ‘so I lives betwixt and between, as you might say, never knowing when I’ll get my washing done, but I’ll be round tomorrow, all being well.’
‘We were to have had Dr Southwell,’ said Charlotte, uncertain of medical etiquette, ‘but he was otherwise engaged. Should we not ask him to call in?’
‘Leave him be,’ said Mrs Coates, packing a great number of small articles into a large bag. ‘He’s best left. With gin at a penny a pint, why trouble him?’
‘He was recommended by one of my husband’s customers,’ said Charlotte, and then drooped wearily, for all their arrangements seemed to be doomed.
‘A respectable pig wouldn’t recommend him to sleep in the sty,’ said Mrs Coates sarcastically, ‘for fear of breathing the fumes. You tell him to be off — if he does remember to come! that is, if he can stand on his legs!’
‘But you will come again, if you please, will you not?’ Charlotte begged, afraid to lose this strange new ally.
‘Ah, to be sure I shall. Now let me tuck Master Longe in his cradle — the which I found halfway down the bottom stairs to the kitching, and full of old books. And
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