‘Thank you.’
‘Will you go to bell-ringing practice tonight?’
‘Yes, and I’d better make haste – they’ll be waiting for me.’
‘Is there someone to keep an eye on Kit and Sue?’
‘Our tenant, Mrs Fairweather – she rents the attic. She’s a widow, and her two children died in the food shortage four years ago.’
‘I remember.’
‘Not that they’re any trouble. They’ll go to bed after supper and sleep until morning.’
It was hardly surprising, Elsie thought, after they had worked for fourteen hours. All the same, Jarge was taking good care of thosetwo youngsters, neither of whom was his child: Kit was his stepson and Sue his niece. He was a good man at heart.
She and Spade left. As they walked back to the town centre, Spade said: ‘I learned something about Hornbeam’s past, last time I was in London. He was orphaned at a young age and had to make his own way in the world. He got a job with a cloth merchant as a messenger, then learned the trade and worked his way up.’
‘You’d think he’d have more feeling for the poor.’
‘Sometimes it works the opposite way. I think he’s terrified of falling back into the poverty of his childhood. It’s not rational, it’s probably a feeling he can’t shake. No amount of money will ever be enough to make him feel safe.’
‘Are you saying you feel sorry for him?’
Spade smiled. ‘No. At the end of the day, he’s still a spiteful bastard.’
They parted company in the market square. When Elsie entered the palace she felt immediately that something was going on. The house was strangely quiet. No one was talking, or clattering saucepans, or sweeping or scrubbing. Then she heard a cry from upstairs that sounded like a woman in pain.
Was her mother giving birth? It was only November – she had said December. But perhaps she had miscalculated.
Or she might have lied.
Elsie raced up the stairs and burst into Arabella’s bedroom. Mason, the maid, was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a white towel. Arabella lay in bed, covered only by a sheet, her legs spread wide with her knees pointing up at the ceiling. Her face was red with effort and wet with tears or sweat or both. Mason wiped her cheeks tenderly with the towel and said: ‘Not long now, Mrs Mackintosh.’
Mason had been with Arabella when Elsie herself was born, she knew. She remembered Mason taking care of her when she was very small. She recalled her astonishment on discovering that Mason had another name – Linda. Mason had also helped at the birth of Elsie’sown child, Stevie, and she would attend the delivery of the child Elsie was now carrying. Her presence was a comfort.
Arabella seemed to experience a moment of relief. ‘Hello, Elsie, I’m glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘For the love of Christ don’t tell me to push.’ Then another spasm gripped her, and she cried out. Elsie took her hand, and Arabella grasped it so hard that Elsie thought her bones would break. Mason passed Elsie the towel, and Elsie took it with her free hand and mopped her mother’s face.
Mason lifted the sheet. ‘I can see the baby’s head,’ she said. ‘It’s almost over.’
Except it’s only just beginning, Elsie thought. Another human being is struggling to start the journey of life, heading for love and laughter and bloodshed and tears.
Arabella’s grip eased and her face relaxed but she did not open her eyes. She said: ‘It’s a good thing fucking is so great, otherwise women would never subject themselves to this.’
Elsie was shocked to hear her mother talk that way.
Mason said apologetically: ‘Women say strange things in the pain of childbirth.’
Then Arabella tensed again.
Mason, still looking under the sheet, said: ‘This could be the last one.’
Arabella made a sound that was part grunt of effort, part scream of agony. Mason threw back the sheet and reached between Arabella’s thighs. Elsie saw the baby’s head emerge, and heard Arabella groan. Mason said: ‘There, little one, come to Auntie Mason, oh, what a dear beautiful little thing you are.’ The baby was covered in mucus and blood, with a cord still attaching it to its mother, and its face was set in a grimace of discomfort but, even so, Elsie agreed that it was beautiful.
‘A boy,’ said Mason. She turned the baby over, easily holding him in her left hand, and smacked his bottom. He opened his mouth, took his first breath, and let out a howl of protest.
Elsie realized she had tears streaming down her cheeks.
Mason put the baby down on his back and went to the bedside table, where there was a folded shawl, a pair of scissors and two lengths of cotton. She tied two knots around the cord then cut between the knots. She wrapped the baby in the shawl and handed him to Elsie.
