The Winter Baby Read online

  Tears coursed down Kathleen’s pale cheeks, but she didn’t sob. Jessie went to reassure her. ‘Put our plates in the warming oven, Sam,’ she said. ‘Danny, yes, bread and milk – now why didn’t I think of that? And Sam, you help me get Kathleen upstairs. She can sleep in my room so I can keep an eye on her. The spare bed’s made up. Danny, you can bring the bowl up when it’s ready. And she’ll need the stone hot-water bottle . . .’

  ‘Hold tight as we go up the stairs,’ Sam said gruffly to Kathleen.

  She turned her face, avoiding contact with his beard.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘A beard gives me some protection as I work outside in all weathers. Here we are. Mother, open the door. I’ll put her on the bed, then you can see to things.’

  Kathleen couldn’t speak. Was she dreaming – would she wake up and find herself still struggling through the snow?

  Jessie sat down next to her on the bed. ‘I would like to give your hair a good brush if you can sit up. You’ll need to anyway when your sop arrives . . .’

  ‘Sop?’ Kathleen asked, her voice just a whisper.

  ‘Bread and milk, my dear. It was often the only thing I could eat when I was expecting my babies. You’ll feel better once you get that down you.’

  ‘You know?’ the girl faltered, as Jessie gently dealt with the tangles in her hair.

  ‘I do indeed, but I also saw that you had been beaten. Was it . . .’ she paused, ‘the man concerned?’

  There was no response.

  ‘Have you anyone to go to in times of trouble?’

  The words spilled forth this time. ‘No. I thought the Pilgrims’ Way would absolve me.’ She couldn’t tell Jessie any more, it was all too painful and raw. She had managed to blot out the most recent and terrifying events, but she feared what might happen if they resurfaced.

  ‘My dear, I’m sure you are absolved already.’ Instinctively Jessie knew that was the right thing to say. She imagined the girl was a Catholic.

  Danny delivered the bowl of bread and milk, and the hot-water bottle swathed in a small hand towel. ‘I hope you will sleep well tonight,’ he said, smiling encouragingly at Kathleen as Jessie propped her up in bed with a pillow.

  He turned to his mother at the bedroom door and said quietly, ‘Doc Wiseman is coming to check the foal over tomorrow morning – would you like him to see her?’

  ‘Danny, he’s a horse doctor!’

  ‘Maybe now, but he was once a doctor in a hospital, in the country where he was born, before he came here as a refugee. He won’t charge you for advice.’

  ‘I don’t know how long she will be with us. Perhaps, though, this is her journey’s end. Only she can decide that. It would be good to have another woman in the house.’

  When Jessie turned back to the bed, she saw that the bowl was empty and the girl was asleep, the spoon still in her hand. She tucked the bedclothes round her and sighed. Her daughter had slept in that bed during her final illness, and now she had another young girl to look after.

  Downstairs, Danny told Sam, ‘I’ll take the dog out as usual.’

  ‘It’s still snowing, don’t go too far,’ Sam said. He grinned at his brother. ‘Though I don’t suppose the weather will cool your ardour. Marion, no doubt, is waiting for you to knock on her door, eh?’

  ‘Don’t marry me off just yet,’ Danny retorted. ‘But at least I’m not in love with bricks, like you!’ He dodged the cushion Sam aimed at him.

  After Danny had gone out of the front door with the collie following to heel, spade in hand in case he stumbled into a snowdrift, Sam stoked the fire and gathered up the newspaper that had been under the tub. An item on the inside pages caught his attention:

  MISSING GIRL

  Police were called to an altercation at a large house in Croydon. Neighbours reported seeing a young woman they knew as Kitty, a servant in the house, running off down the street, with a man in pursuit. The man, who was rumoured to be her employer’s long-time companion, returned alone more than an hour later. He told police he was only trying to help her, but she had eluded him. Later, a woman’s body was removed from the house. Her identity and cause of death have not yet been established.

  The date on the newspaper was five days ago. The newsagent kindly supplied them with unsold papers, which were useful for many purposes.

  Sam would never know why he acted then as he did, tearing out the damp page, screwing it up and putting it on the fire. He watched as it blazed up, then dwindled into ash.

  TWO

  Doc Wiseman straightened up, rubbing the small of his back. Jessie pulled the covers over Kathleen’s exposed body. Doc asked why she’d wanted him to call, rather than the village doctor. ‘I only prescribe medicine for animals,’ he said.

  ‘It seemed a good idea,’ she told him. ‘Danny told me you were once a people’s doctor before you took to the horses.’

  ‘Ah . . . it is true, I qualified in medicine many years ago. This was in eastern Europe in the 1870s when many like me were persecuted – I am a Jew, as you may know. I took the first job I was offered when I came to England.’

  Kathleen closed her eyes and turned her head away from their gaze. She hadn’t answered any of Doc’s queries. He was a short, stocky man of indeterminate age and he had a swarthy complexion and dark brown eyes. His hair, neat beard and bushy eyebrows were iron grey.

  Doc cleared his throat and motioned Jessie to follow him out on to the landing and to close the bedroom door behind them.

  ‘Well, Doc?’ she prompted him.

  ‘What do you know?’ he asked her.

  ‘Not much – only that she came here by the Pilgrims’ Way. I saw the injuries when I bathed her last night, and her . . . delicate condition, of course. I think she comes from Ireland.’

  ‘It is possible,’ Doc said slowly. ‘She also suffered blows to the head, which seem to have affected her memory. The body heals more quickly than the mind. As for her pregnancy, I estimate that she has about a month to go. Whether the stress of recent events will result in a premature birth, I cannot say. She needs complete rest, good nourishment and care. Are you prepared to do this for a stranger?’

  Jessie didn’t hesitate. ‘Of course, Doc. Do you have any idea how old she is?’

  ‘It’s hard to say – maybe seventeen or eighteen years old. Her youthfulness will aid her recovery.’ Mary would have been the same age, Jessie thought.

  Doc began to descend the stairs and Jessie followed. ‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.

  ‘I am returning to the stables; Danny said I should come here first.’

  ‘Tell me what I owe you, Doc.’

  ‘I too can do a kindness, Jessie, remembering what others did for me. Let me know if your visitor has any further problems and I will come.’ He donned his hat and overcoat and ventured out to his conveyance.

  ‘If you don’t need me, Mother,’ Sam said, emerging from the living room, ‘I’ll go down to the brickworks. Things to do.’

  ‘Not outside, I hope? It’s going to snow again, I think.’

  ‘Well, I need to bring you back some of the wood I sawed up. I want to start tidying the big barn where Uncle lived while he was building his house. He got as far as digging the foundations and I owe it to him to finish it. I will work here as usual, I promise, and I’ll go there when we are not so busy.’

  ‘I am glad of that, Sam, but you’ll also need to get the brickworks going again,’ Jessie reminded him. ‘You’ll need a great many bricks to build your house.’

  *

  After several days in bed, Kathleen felt strong enough to come downstairs. She washed herself in the bowl on the washstand and then determined to dress without Jessie’s help. Earlier, Jessie had put a pile of clothes on a chair without comment. The garments had obviously been kept in a chest with camphor.

  Jessie had also brought a large parcel containing baby clothes, which had been stowed away after she suffered a late miscarriage when her daughter was si
x years old. They had hoped for a sister for Mary. There were three little nightgowns in soft cream flannel, which she had hand-sewn herself; a crocheted woollen shawl used by both boys as well as Mary; and other useful items, including a dozen new terry-towel napkins, neatly hemmed. She put this parcel in the top drawer of the bedroom chest. Better to be prepared, she thought. Doc’s predicted two weeks after Christmas, but I’m not so sure . . .

  Kathleen took her time dressing. Mary must have been sturdily built, as the clothes were roomy. Like the cape the minister’s wife had given her, which covered a multitude of sins . . .

  She had a short rest after donning drawers, chemise and warm woollen stockings. Then she pulled over her head a flannel petticoat, followed by a thick serge skirt and a hand-knitted jumper in white wool with a cable pattern. She felt under the bed and found the carpet slippers Jessie had placed there. It helped that the slippers were large, because of her bandaged feet.

  Now for her hair. Her bundle was in the washstand cupboard. Jessie had not presumed to look within it, any more than Kathleen would pry into the chest of drawers. She untied the string and uncovered the treasures inside. Fragments of memory were stirred by a framed picture of her parents, a prayer book, a rosary, and her birth and her parents’ marriage certificates in a brown envelope, though she merely glanced at these, finding it difficult to take it all in. She kept looking and found her mother’s wedding ring from her first marriage on a silver chain, a small packet of love letters with a red silk rose written by her father to her mother in their courting days, and a rag doll that Kathleen had taken everywhere with her when she was young. She wrapped most of these things up securely again, except for the doll, whose name she couldn’t recall, which she placed on her pillow, and the silver chain with the ring, which she fastened around her neck. Finally she pulled out a leather pouch containing her mother’s silver and blue enamel-backed brush and comb.

  She was sitting brushing out her long hair, wondering how she would manage to descend the stairs, when Jessie came to see how she was getting on.

  ‘Shall I braid your hair for you?’ she asked, and then ventured, ‘Could you get in touch with your mother?’

  Kathleen shook her head.

  ‘Or your father?’

  Again Kathleen said nothing, but there were tears in her eyes.

  Jessie bit her lip to stop herself crying too. She realised that Kathleen couldn’t bring herself to talk about the trauma she had obviously endured; what this young girl needed now was care and reassurance. Jessie, being warm and maternal, instantly decided she would provide that. ‘Time to make lunch. Danny will be hungry as usual! I’ll take you downstairs.’

  ‘Sam?’ the girl asked unexpectedly. ‘They argue . . .’

  ‘Oh, they are great pals really! Sam’s at the brickyard. He’ll be back soon, I hope, with more kindling. He owns a small wood. Not a place I’d like to live on my own!’ Jessie chatted on as they went slowly downstairs and into the living room.

  ‘It’s a day for stoking the fire and existing on what we have harvested and stored especially for weather like this.’

  ‘What kind of farm is this? Is it arable or a dairy farm?’ Kathleen asked.

  Jessie replied instantly, pleased by her interest and wondering whether Kathleen herself came from a farming background. ‘Well, there’s the apple orchard, where we have Cox’s Orange Pippin, Charles Ross, which you can eat as well as cook, and Blenheim Orange. We also grow strawberries, and vegetables such as peas, beans and potatoes. The fruit all goes to Covent Garden, but we sell vegetables locally and use a lot ourselves, of course. As for animals, we buy young lambs to fatten up, and our milk comes from a couple of goats – did you notice that it tastes different from cow’s milk? I make butter and cheese from it too. Then there are the hens; of course they’re not laying in this cold weather, but I have eggs in isinglass in the pantry.’ She paused for breath, hoping she was not talking too much, but Kathleen was obviously listening.

  ‘Am I a burden?’ Kathleen asked, her lips quivering.

  ‘My dear, of course not, I’m happy to see you recovering.’ Kathleen smiled, so Jessie continued, ‘Do you recall anything more about why you wanted to, as you said, absolve yourself? Or about where you came from?’

  Kathleen’s smile vanished; she frowned and shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought you might be ready to confide in me.’ Jessie bit her lip. ‘Join old Bob on the sofa, he’s taken a fancy to you; he growls if he doesn’t like someone. I’ll heat the soup and lay the table, eh?’

  After Jessie had gone to the kitchen, Danny appeared. He removed his boots before coming into the living room to check the fire was going well. Kathleen lay asleep on the sofa, the dog curled up at her feet. She didn’t stir as, on a sudden impulse, Danny leaned over her and kissed the top of her head.

  As he straightened up, her eyes opened and she demanded, ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘I couldn’t resist it,’ he smiled. ‘I thought of Sleeping Beauty and how she was woken by a kiss. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  She sat up and said, ‘Don’t do it again.’

  Rebuffed, he went out of the room without another word. Upstairs, he sat on his bed, head in his hands. Whatever was I thinking of? he asked himself. What would Marion say if she knew I was attracted to another girl – one I know nothing about? Sam was right when he said I might be full of desire for Marion but I shouldn’t contemplate marriage at my age. I shouldn’t have got angry with him and told him to mind his own business . . .

  Downstairs, Kathleen was trembling. The dog licked her hand, sensing her distress. She sighed. ‘I do like him, I do . . .’

  *

  Jessie escorted Kathleen upstairs after supper that evening and helped her into bed.

  ‘I was born here, you might like to know,’ she said impulsively. ‘You have only seen this side of our home. As our family grew larger, so did the house – you can even see the join on the roof! The kitchen has been enlarged too. The parlour is over the way, but it isn’t used except on special occasions, and upstairs are five bedrooms, including one in the attic. It’s not possible to heat them all, but they’ll be in use again in the spring.

  ‘My father and uncle built this place – we were a houseful then: my parents, my uncle, my two sisters and two brothers. I was the youngest; the others married and moved away. When I wed Wilf, he joined the workforce as well as the family. The farm was left to us because we built up the business, but the others shared the money, so we had to work even harder. Sadly Wilf passed away not long before Mary, but I was thankful he didn’t know she would be following him. I still have the boys, of course, and Danny has promised that when he marries he will bring his bride here. Sam . . . well, he is a difficult one to fathom. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you are welcome to stay here until the baby comes, and after, if you wish . . .’

  ‘Tell Danny,’ Kathleen said suddenly, ‘that I can help with the horses.’

  Jessie smiled at her acceptance. ‘You should do so yourself, Kathleen, and perhaps you might say sorry for hurting his feelings earlier?’

  Kathleen looked down, thinking to herself, does he tell his mother everything?

  *

  Christmas was almost upon them before they knew it, and they were busy with the preparations. Kathleen wasn’t able to help much for it was obvious that the baby would soon put in an appearance. She managed to assist Jessie with the baking, sitting at the kitchen table, which Jessie had scrubbed clean for pastry rolling.

  ‘You know how to cook, I see,’ Jessie said as Kathleen mixed the dough. She passed her the jar of mincemeat. ‘Made with windfall apples, of course. Nothing is wasted here.’

  ‘Could I bake some soda bread?’ Kathleen said unexpectedly.

  ‘Of course you can! Oh dear, I really must ice the Christmas cake soon . . .’

  Sam came in through the front door, stamping his snow-clogged boots on the m
at. ‘Mother,’ he called, ‘come and see what I’ve brought – had to drag it here on the old sled on top of the logs.’

  Jessie went to see. The door was still wide open, letting in blasts of cold air; outside was a Christmas tree blocking the path.

  ‘I saw Danny on my way up and he said he’ll be back in ten minutes to help me carry it into the hall. I’ll fetch the big pot from the outhouse. How about a cup of something – I wouldn’t mind a dash of whisky in it!’

  ‘I’ll ask Kathleen to make a pot of tea. Are you finished for the day?’

  ‘At the brickworks, yes. Plenty to do here, though; tomorrow is Christmas Eve, after all.’

  As Sam went out to join Danny, Jessie said to Kathleen, ‘I made another two cakes besides the Christmas cake, because both the boys have birthdays in January: Sam will be twenty-three on the third, and Danny nineteen on the fifth – how time flies, eh?’

  ‘My birthday is on the fifth too,’ Kathleen said suddenly.

  ‘Ah . . . how old will you be then, my dear?’ Jessie mentally crossed her fingers, worried that she was stepping over the boundary.

  ‘Eighteen,’ Kathleen revealed. She looked sad. Turning seventeen had been a nightmare that still haunted her; had she really lost her memory, or was she deceiving herself? she wondered.

  Jessie put her arms round her and hugged her close. ‘You will be a young mother by then, Kathleen. I will help you all I can, I promise.’

  THREE

  Christmas Eve was on a Thursday. It remained very cold, and although snowfall was intermittent, there were treacherous icy patches along the lane and the strawberry fields were hidden under a frosty coat. The only splash of colour came from the scarlet berries on the holly tree near the back door, and there were birds continually quarrelling over this bounty.

  It was traditional to decorate the tree the day before Christmas, and Kathleen was given an old box of decorations to sort through.

  ‘I did this on the farm,’ she mentioned.

  So that’s why she thinks of this as her home, Jessie thought. ‘You have an artistic bent,’ she said. ‘Mary was the same . . .’ Jessie bustled about making cocoa, calling out to Sam and Danny, who were outside bringing in more logs for the fire. ‘Nice hot drink in here for you, boys!’ Then, to Kathleen, ‘Why not take your cup up to bed with you? You look very weary.’