The Fleethaven Trilogy (18 page)

When it came to the point in the service where the vicar addressed the parents of the child, Esther felt Matthew make an involuntary movement as if he were about to respond. Now it was her turn to grab his arm and hiss at him, ‘Oh no, ya don’t. Ya sit where you are.’

He shot her an angry, hate-filled glance, but did as she bid.

Just you wait, Matthew Hilton, she thought savagely, till this is all over.

By the time they were half-way along the lane towards home, Matthew did indeed begin to wish he had never thought of attending his son’s baptism uninvited. His wife castigated him, her voice rising shrilly, echoing across the fields until he felt the whole parish must hear her.

‘How dare you, Matthew Hilton? Ya knew, didn’t ya, that it was his christening today? Didn’t ya?’ she insisted until he admitted grudgingly that he had overheard the men talking in the pub and had learnt that Beth Eland’s son was to be christened that Sunday after morning service.

‘I almost changed me mind this morning, when you gave me that watch. But you,’ he added, trying as ever to lay the blame on her, ‘insisted on us going – if you remember.’

‘Whatever possessed you to do such a stupid thing? How could you think you’d be welcome there? Ya’ve made a fool of all of us.’

He stopped and turned to face her. She stopped too and they stood either side of the narrow lane, the wind whipping loose sand from the dunes around them, the sound of the sea in their ears, and the gulls screeching above as if the wheeling, diving birds were joining in their heated quarrel.

‘What d’ya mean?’ he argued belligerently. ‘Ah’ve a right to be there. Daniel’s my son.’

He uttered the name he had heard the boy given with pride in his voice and his tone was not lost on Esther. But it served only to fuel her outrage.

‘Aye, ya bastard son!’ Her country dialect became even more pronounced in her blazing anger. ‘Ya’ve made a fool of ya sen, and me! An’ if that dun’t mean nothing, did ya stop to think what Beth must feel to see ya there? And what about Robert Eland – what must that poor feller be feelin’?’

‘Beth? Why would Beth mind?’ He touched his nose as if remembering Eland’s punch. ‘And Ah dun’t care what
he
thinks! He’s leaving me out of the lifeboat crew now on purpose,’ he added in an aggrieved tone.

Esther cast her eyes to the scudding clouds above them. ‘Are ya so stupid? Can’t ya see?’ She leant towards him, trying to make him understand. ‘Everybody
knows
he’s your child,
you’ve
made sure of that! But you shamed her and she had to marry another to give her bastard a name . . .’

‘If that’s anybody’s fault, it’s
yours
, Esther. You knew before you got me to marry you . . .’

‘I didn’t
get
you to marry me, an’ well you know it. You asked me and I said yes, that’s all.’

‘Only because you held out on me, because you wouldn’t . . .’

‘Aye, but Beth would and did,’ Esther said quietly now. ‘And look where it left her. I was always honest with you, Matthew. I always telled you I wouldn’t bring
a bastard into the world, and I meant it.’ She paused a moment and then added softly, ‘But I’m carrying your child now, Matthew. Your child conceived and born in holy wedlock!’

He stared at her, but his face was expressionless.

‘So,’ he said slowly. ‘Ah’ll have sired two calves in a year, eh?’ A smile twisted his mouth, but it was a sardonic cynical smile, with no pleasure at her news showing in his eyes. ‘Quite the young bull, ain’t I?’

I
T
was not the way Esther had imagined giving her X husband the news, but it was done now and over the days and weeks that followed Matthew made no mention to Esther about their coming child. He made no enquiries after her health, nor any deference to her condition by trying to help ease her workload. Not that Esther expected anything different. She had seen her aunt work in the fields until a few hours before the birth of a child. She had been brought up to regard such a condition as perfectly natural and not an illness or an excuse for idleness.

Matthew was right about being left out of the lifeboat crew deliberately by the coxswain, Robert Eland. Privately, Esther could well understand why and yet Matthew was a good crew member; whenever the maroons went up throughout that following summer, she would see him start forward as if to race down to the boat-house for the launch. Then angrily he would return to his work but it would unsettle him. He would be watching the lane to see the men return, to catch someone to ask what the shout had been, and had it been successful, and more importantly, had they had a full crew? But no request ever came for Matthew to join them again; no sound of Ernie Harris’s flying feet across their yard to pound on the door shouting for ‘the mester’.

In the evening following a shout, Matthew would go down to the Seagull to try to join in the chatter and the talk of the rescue. But he was on the fringe now, not welcome amongst the crew members. On such nights he would come reeling home drunk, shouting and singing, only serving to exclude himself further from their number.

At harvest time, their neighbours came to Brumbys’ Farm once more to help. Mrs Harris and her brood of children, and workers from Rookery Farm, all came.

This year Robert Eland stayed away.

‘He goes out in his little boat cod-fishing more and more now, missus,’ Ernie Harris told Esther. ‘Mester Eland reckons the land’s not for him. His life’s the sea, he ses.’

Ernie now helped out frequently at Brumbys’ Farm. As Esther’s time approached, he would slip in quietly to have the milking done before she came out in the morning. He would arrive again in the evening, often milking the cows out in the field before she came to herd them to the farmyard. Esther smiled to herself. If her own husband had no thought for her welfare, it seemed that the young boy was doing his best to help her.

Ernie was a thin, wiry lad of fifteen now. His brown hair flopped forward over his eyes and he had the habit of flicking his head back and grinning at Esther from under the unruly lock of hair. His face was thin, almost gaunt, but his hazel eyes were bright and he was a quick, ever-cheerful lad. Esther, as her belly swelled, came to rely on Ernie’s help more and more. At the end of each week she would pay him for the hours she knew he had worked and then she would add a little for good measure, for the boy never asked for payment, and she was for ever finding jobs that had been done when she knew Matthew could not possibly have done them.

‘He’s a good lad, our Ernie,’ his mother agreed readily when Esther praised Ernie’s kindly actions. ‘Ah dun’t know what Ah’d do wi’out him sometimes. He keeps an eye on the younger ones. Anyway, enough about my brood. How are you feeling, lass? Ya can’t have long to go now. Want me to tek a look at ya some time?’

‘I’m hoping I can hang on till harvest’s safely in.’

Mrs Harris laughed. ‘Only if young ’un decides to let ya, lass. They have a will o’ their own. They’ll come when they’m ready and there’s nowt ya can do about it.’

‘It’s been so wet this year – it’s going to be a difficult one. Some of the fields are flooded.’ Esther wrinkled her forehead worriedly. ‘I’m sure we’re going to lose some of the crops.’

‘Aye, Ah’ve seen it happen here afore. Some years back Sam had to take his oats over to one of Tom Willoughby’s fields – one of them way over yonder’ – the older woman waved her hand westward – ‘to spread it all out to dry afore we could stack it.’ She glanced again at Esther and said as if warning Esther not to be too hopeful, ‘Late we was, that year, gettin’ it all in.’

Esther’s child decided to wait, however, and when the last sheaf was stacked after a very difficult harvest, Esther heaved a great sigh of relief.

Now nothing could spoil the birth of her child.

*

It was another two weeks, well beyond the time that Mrs Harris had predicted, before Esther felt the tell-tale pain low down in her groin. She carried on milking Clover, murmuring soothingly to the cow as she always did. The pain subsided and died, and Esther pulled steadily on the beast’s udders, never slowing, never losing her easy rhythm. She stood up slowly and eased her back. Then she covered the two pails of milk with the wooden lids and picked them up.

She had begun to walk across the yard towards the house, when a second pain struck suddenly and with such intensity that she gasped aloud and doubled over, the bottom rims of the pails catching on the floor and tippling forwards. She gave a cry and tried to pull them upright, but the lids toppled forwards and the milk gushed out on to the yard.

‘Oh, no!’ Esther cried aloud. The pain was receding now, leaving her vexed and angry with herself for spilling the milk. Half the contents of each bucket was lost and, pursing her mouth, she picked up the two pails and went quickly into the house. If they were to keep up the supply to their regular customers, her own household would have to go short for a day or so. She stroked her swollen belly and glanced down at it.

‘But there’ll be enough of my milk for you, little one,’ she murmured. Already her breasts were tender with ready ripeness for the birth of her child. ‘I’ll see you never go short – not of anything – if I can help it,’ she promised softly.

She left the milk in the dairy. She would have to ask Mrs Harris if one of her girls, maybe Enid, would come and do the dairy work for a few days. And of course Mrs Harris herself would attend her at the birth. She went out again into the yard. The September day, which already had the hint of autumn gentleness about it, was warm and sultry.

‘Huh,’ Esther said aloud. ‘Never anyone here when ya wants ’em.’ The yard was silent save for the occasional stamping of a hoof from the cowshed. Esther gave a click of exasperation at herself. She had quite forgotten that she had not yet turned the cows back out into the field after the morning milking. As she opened the byre door, she was forced to lean against the wall as another pain, beginning low down, gripped her in its vice-like severity. As the wave passed she loosed the cows from the cowshed and drove them across the yard and into the lane where they idled along the verges, tearing at the grass and beginning the whole process of milk production once more.

Again Esther looked about her and chewed at her bottom lip with uncertainty. She did not want to have to go to the Point herself. Ma Harris’s cottage was overlooked by the Elands’ boat and the last person Esther wanted to meet at this moment was Beth Eland.

She was still hesitating, debating whether to go into the house and upstairs and prepare the bed for herself, trusting to luck that Matthew would come home before . . .

Another pain clenched her abdomen, more strongly than ever and she could not prevent a low grunt escaping her startled lips. The pain was so swift and intense, like nothing she had ever before experienced. She found herself doubling over and squatting down on to the verge panting until the pain began to ebb away. Sweat trickled down between her breasts and for a moment she closed her eyes as the heat of the day danced and swam before her eyes.

In the distance she heard a shrill whistle and the faint rattle of cart wheels coming closer and blissfully closer. Esther licked her dry lips and made as if to pull herself upright, but another pain was already beginning, swelling and pulsating, so that she gasped again and toppled forwards on to her knees.

Will Benson’s cart appeared round the bend in the lane and drew to a halt. She heard, rather than saw, for her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut against the pain, Will scrambling down from his seat and running with uneven footsteps towards her.

‘Aw, lass, what is it? Is it the bairn? Ya shouldn’t be out here on yar own. Where’s that husband of yours? Where’s Matthew?’

Esther almost laughed – if the pain had not been so bad, she would have done – at the flurry of anxious questions.

‘Stay there, lass. I’ll go on to the Point right away and fetch Ma Harris. Now, don’t you move, lass.’

She wasn’t planning on going anywhere, she would have said, but she just nodded and bent over her throbbing belly, hugging it with her arms. Will hobbled back to his cart and pulled himself up, catching the reins and flicking them to urge his horses forward. The cart trundled past with Will’s anxious eyes upon her as he went by. The pain had subsided a little now and she was able to look up and give him a weak smile. Heartened, he slapped the reins again and drove on.

By the time Ma Harris was puffing up the lane towards the farm, Esther had managed, between the pains, to get back to the house. She paid a visit to the privy next to the wash-house and was at the back door about to go in, when she heard Mrs Harris’s voice.

‘Here I am, lass, and not afore time, by the look on ya.’

Esther thought she had never been so pleased to see Ma Harris’s toothless grin as she was at that moment. She could feel the sweat glistening on her face now, and her hands and legs seemed to be shaking. She felt Ma Harris’s firm, comforting grasp upon her arm and thankfully she leant against the older woman.

‘There, there, now, ya’ll be fine. Just do as Ah tell you, and everything’ll be fine.’

It was. The most difficult part, Esther thought afterwards, had been heaving herself up the stairs, with Ma Harris lending a helping hand from behind.

Once she was lying on the bed, propped against pillows, with the older woman taking complete charge and issuing orders, all of which Esther did her best to obey, the birth was surprisingly quick and easy.

‘Ya doing wonderful. Child-bearing hips ya’ve got, me lass. By, but you’m lucky. Push, lass, now a deep breath and push. There – good lass – that’s the head.’ Esther heard a little whimper and Ma Harris’s raucous laugh. ‘Aye, that’s it, young ‘un, let us know ya coming. Now, Esther lass, wait a bit – wait a bit – now push, lass, push.’

Esther gave a little cry as her belly emptied and her child thrust its way into the world.

‘Eh, Esther lass, it’s a lovely little girl.’ Ma Harris’s capable hands wrapped the baby in a shawl. ‘No need to slap this one,’ she laughed above the now squalling infant. ‘She means showing ya she’s a good pair o’ lungs.’