The Wet Nurse's Tale (22 page)

“Like Goliath, is he?” said the man.

“Yes,” I said, willing him to speed the horses just a bit.

“Well,” said he, smiling, “a man like Goliath will do well with a big girl like you, then.”

I looked at him to see if he was up to something, but he was giving his thought to driving the horses up to the storehouse door and I could not well see his face. When the horses had stopped, he jumped down from the cart and unlocked the door with a key from his pocket.

“There are but a dozen bundles,” said he, “and if you will not mind waiting, I shall have them loaded in a moment.”

I waited while he brought the bundles out, one by one, where I could have carried two at one time. But he was such a jolly fellow, he did not think to do it. After the third load, I thought that I would have to help him or else we should be parked outside that storehouse forever. I jumped down and walked into the door of the storehouse, and he came at me and knocked me down.

I am not easy to knock down. But he was a big man himself, and I was not prepared for him wanting what he wanted which was what was between my legs. I fought him, but he had got on top of me and was holding me down with his knees on my stomach. I could not breathe nor roll over nor move much at all.

I hollered in his ear and I spat and I tried to kick him but he would not let me go. I tried to reach up with my mouth and bite him but I could not. He had me firm but yet he could not do what he wanted, though he had his thing out of his pants. He kept trying to move my skirts with his one knee and push the other up between my legs to part them, but he could not both hold me down and do all he wanted to do. We both cursed and fought at each other but he would not get off and I would not give in.

“Damn you, girl,” he said finally, “give it to me or forget about your ride.”

I stopped my struggling. “Be quick about it then,” I said to him, “and forget about the shilling.”

Very quick he was. When he finished, he did not help me up but instead smiled, did up his breeches and took up the next bundle of brooms. I cleaned myself a little and then got up to help him.

He did it to me once more before he left me in Longbourne Village but it was worth it to me because between times, I made him whip the horses so they would go as fast as they could and he did so. He wanted to do it to me more than that, but I did not want him to stop the cart, so I gave him what he wanted but in another way. Freddie had taught me how to do it when it was my monthly so that we should be tidy together and thus I knew the trick of it. After he saw that he could get what he wanted from me, he was as pleasant as a spring day. He chatted away and sang songs and laughed very much. He told me his name was Jim and asked me mine, but I would not give it to him. When I refused him my name, which was all I had refused him after all, he looked at me like a dog who had its feelings hurt. He was ridiculous.

I know it is not a pretty thing to hear—that I gave in to him in this way—but I cannot help that. I was desperate and could not stop to care about what seemed coarse and what seemed fine. After I understood how to make him do as I wished, it mattered to me not at all to do as he wished. It cost me but little.

Toward the afternoon of the day, I could not keep my mind from thoughts of my little baby, my Davey, and my bosom became right soaked. He looked down at me and saw the stain and his eyes popped.

“Why, missy, your shirt is all over drenched.”

“It’s me leaking,” said I to him, just so he’d close his mouth.

He wrinkled his brow and then understood “You have a babe, then?” said he. “Is it dead?”

“No,” I said and then I began to cry. “He is not dead. He was took right away from me and I’m on my way to get him back. Can you not hurry your horses, dammit?”

“Who took him then?”

“A woman took him.” I was weary of him.

“I shall speed them, then,” said he, and he whipped them up so they ran faster than before. “A little babe belongs with its mother, don’t it,” I heard him mumble, “not with no stranger.”

We reached Longbourne Village while the sun was still high.

“We’ve made right good time,” said he all smiles, “and ain’t it been a enjoyment!” He helped me down like I was a fine lady and showed me into the inn, where he sat me right down and found me an ale and a pasty. As I ate, he inquired about the night coach. He came back from the bursar very pleased with himself.

“Well, missy, and this will suit you very well!” said Jim, sitting himself down on the bench next to me. “The coach for London will leave in one hour and as the man’s my cousin, I’ll get you a good rate!”

I gave him the money he asked for and off he went again. I used the outhouse and tried to ease myself of some of the milk in my dugs, as I knew the coach ride would not allow for such. But I felt too wild and nervous for the milk to come down and thus it was not successful. I was quite dazed with lack of sleep and with sorrow: I thought to myself that if only God would look after me, though I was a bad girl, then I would keep my milk and not come on with the milk fever like I did at the Holcombs’ in Aubrey that once. I feared milk fever very much, for the pain of it, and the trouble.

Jim waited for me to get on the coach. “Good-bye, missy,” said he. “I hope you find your baby.” I left him standing on the road, waving to me like I might have been his old granny, on my way home after a lovely visit. I was fagged almost to death. I did not wave back.

And then I had a piece of the most lovely luck in the world. Reader: you will not be surprised that I was overjoyed at my situation. For there in the carriage with me sat a woman with two little babies! Two of them! One was a little lad of about a year, sweet and plump, and the other a tiny mite of a squally thing, just born. The woman’s only help was a small girl, of perhaps four years old, who made to hold the older of the babes as the mother rocked the smaller. The single other passenger was an old parson, who looked like a scare-the-crow in a field. He seemed quite deaf, which was a lucky thing for him, as the babies were quite restless and uncomfortable.

I wasted no time.

“Missus,” said I, “do let me hold the little one, for I can see that the bigger one needs you now.”

“That would be most kind,” said the lady, who looked as tired as I felt myself to be, “for little Mary here must sleep herself, mustn’t you, dear.” She smiled at the little girl, who gave her the bigger baby and I took the smaller.

“Are you bound for London as I am?” said I.

“Yeth,” said the little girl, answering for her mother, “we are going to thee Papa. He hath a houthe for us there and I am to have thugar candy every day.”

Her mother and I laughed together. I felt my milk come in just to hold the small baby, whose own cries had begun to strengthen. The mother had already undone her shift to nurse the older babe, who was eyeing the smaller one at the noise it was making. “Oh,” said the mother, “look how he looks at his little sister. He’s a selfish one, this one is, and resents to share me. But you must, you know, Samuel,” she said, talking to the baby at her breast, who looked up at her into her eyes as he suckled away, “because your sister needs me too.”

“Ma’am,” said I, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt, “I can help you and you can help me.” She looked alarmed, so I hurried up a bit. “I have a baby not six weeks old, only as you see, he is not with me now. But I am full to the brim and would ask you please if I might feed this little one here.” She opened her eyes a bit wide.

“Do not fear,” said I. “I am quite clean and healthy and indeed, wet nursing is my trade. But as you would be doing me a favor, a big favor, I would not think to charge you. That is not why I ask. I ask only because I fear that I will dry up before I get to my baby again, and then I will have nothing for him. That is all.” I thought I must tell her the whole story quick, before she wondered what sort of witchcraft I was up to.

“Well,” she said, considering, and at that moment the little girl squalled as if I’d stuck a pin in her which Lord knows I did not. Her cry woke the parson, who sat up and looked at the babies with pursed lips.

“Harrumph,” the man said loudly, “should you not be in your own homes, women, with these babies? What does it mean that you cart them about? It cannot be good for them, surely.” He thrust his head back as he looked at the both of us, down his nose, and didn’t it make me angry. Men believe that it is they who are the passionate, they who are above the beasts and above women too, but I have never yet seen a man who could both juggle a baby and get on with whatever needs doing. My father certainly could not. The few times my mother asked him to pick up a baby and jiggle it a bit to keep it happy, he could neither walk nor speak nor even find the door; holding the mite took all he had. And I believe all men are such. The minute I find a man who can at once hold a baby and hand round the bread and cheese, that’s the man I’ll fall in love with.

“No, sir,” said I before I thought what I was doing, “babies are much happier cooped up in coaches, did you not know it? We had the choice, sir, of staying home with our own kith and kin or sitting in this little shaking box with its smell like old men and their farts, but reason with her as I might, my sister here would not agree. She would drag the babies onto the coach and no two ways about it!”

Well, of course he glared at me and I glared right back, and at that moment, the little lad laid a giant shite into his nappie and then grinned as wide as a cheese. Twas really funny and between us women laughing at that, and the old man huffing, and the small baby squalling, the mother looked at me and nodded that I should nurse and so I did. Aah, the relief of it was tremendous, and I nursed that baby til she was drunk with it all. I nursed her three times more before our ride was over and I swear if it didn’t save me my milk.

MRS. CANTY’S REASON

I have practiced medicine since 1821 and I may say that my record of cure is as good as any surgeon’s in Aubrey. Indeed, my knowledge of my trade came from my apprenticeship to Mr. Callum in Durham, who, as you may know, has a most sterling reputation and who did not scrimp in the knowledge that he passed along to me. It has been a satisfactory living for me and my family and I have been mostly kept interested. Had I more elegant custom, I am sure that my house would be larger and my carriage better, but I believe that I would have soon tired of treating the gout and dyspepsia that seemed to afflict the better classes. My wife understood me well and has been my constant friend and advisor during my years as a medical man.

Indeed, it is due to that good lady, my wife, Mrs. Drake, that the tale I wish to relate here reached a happy conclusion.

Twas the middle of the night (as it is so often) when I was shaken awake by Mrs. Drake to attend to a pounding on our door. I opened it to find a small boy shivering on the doorstep. He told me that his mother was suffering much in the childbed and that the midwife could do no more for her. He begged that I come immediately. I am used to such midnight calls and quickly donned the breeches that Mrs. Drake had for me. I noticed that she had dressed herself and when I wondered at it, she said, “Mr. Drake, I will attend you this night for I believe I know of the woman you will treat.”

As I whipped up the horses, she told me that she knew Mrs. Canty as a seamstress who had six children already who could ill afford to lose their mother. “I know of no child who can, my dear,” said I and she agreed.

The night was a long one. Mrs. Canty suffered as much as any woman I had seen who yet lived. I feared for the worst. Her labor had lasted more than a day already and the midwife, a crone with hands not altogether clean, had done her best. Twas a breech, just as I feared. The midwife had been able to turn the baby, but this had exhausted Mrs. Canty beyond what was necessary for the work yet to be done. That lady lay in a pale faint and could do little more than groan at each contraction.

My wife surveyed the situation—the poor woman on her back, the blood already spilt, the miserable husband and children huddled in the front room—and rolled up her sleeves. “Mr. Drake,” she said, “I was raised on a farm and have seen many a cow and a horse give birth and have always wondered why it is that we, who are no less God’s creatures than they, choose to do it on our backs. Help me lift her.”