wouldn’t listen until McBain commanded, ‘Go to bed, woman, the girl will take your place,’ then she herself had been forced to protest and had cried at him, ‘I do not need a watchdog. Anyway, Jane can sit with me.’
To this he had replied calmly, ‘Jane has been on her feet all day, she is worn out. Anyway, you need a night-attendant, a nurse, and tomorrow morning I’m sending into Hexham for one, and the doctor too. You have been too long in this state for your health.’
She had lifted her hand and dismissed Winnie from the room. Then looking at him fully for the first time in days, she had muttered from deep in her throat, ‘I will not have the girl in this room. Nor will I have her in the house once I am about.’ And he had turned his back on her as he gave her his reply, ‘She will sit in the dressing room within call. As for your whims, we will deal with them when the time comes.’
Winnie had come up before going home at nine o’clock and said soothingly, ‘I will just take a few hours, Mistress. In the meantime, if you should feel you want me call to her and she will come and fetch me.’
She had almost put her hand out and said, ‘Sleep here, Winnie,’ but had she done so it would have shown her alarm, and so she had allowed them to install the girl in the dressing room, and for well into the night she had lain and watched her. Twice she had disappeared from view and gone into the closet room. At this, she had wanted to shout, ‘Come away from that room, girl. How dare you! Go out to your midden, that is your place, the midden.’
Yet as she berated the girl in her mind she knew the situation wasn’t of her making; although she had become a party to it she would never, in the first place, have dared to approach McBain.
As another pain seized her she wondered why she was trying to hide the fact that the child was about to be born. What would it avail her now? She brought up her knees to her chest and groaned; then she cried aloud as the whole of her inside slipped into a flaming hell of pain, and now with her eyes screwed up tight, she groaned, ‘Girl! Girl!’
When the spasm eased for a second and she opened her eyes there was no-one by her side. She could not see the girl through the mirror now because her vision was blurred with sweat. Again her body was shot into pain, so excruciating this time that she lost consciousness. When she came to herself she was lying on her back, her legs wide apart, and the child’s head had thrust itself into life. When the shoulders followed she screamed a thin, high piercing scream, and to her own voice was joined another, and she knew the girl was with her. She heard her yelling, ‘Master! Master!’ There followed another pain . . . and then another . . . and then great ease.
Her eyes closed, everything was quiet. She felt that she herself had stopped breathing. In the peace she lifted her lids and saw McBain standing halfway down the bed. He had on his long nightshirt and he was staring downwards, as was the girl standing by his side. Slowly she allowed her limbs to relax, and now she lifted her head slightly and looked down along her deflated body, and there, lying between her legs on the bloodstained sheet and still attached to her, was her child – or part of her child. There was something wrong with it, something missing. She looked upwards to her husband’s face, and God in His wrath could never have looked like this. She took refuge against it in unconsciousness . . .
The turmoil in McBain’s brain was something beyond even his own understanding, for the feelings of revulsion, anger and disappointment were so deep, so desolate that they combined to a torture, and when he looked back he knew that for a space of time his brain had been turned, and that, like any madman, he might have committed a crime, except that Molly had torn his hands from his wife’s neck, then had dragged him into the dressing room, pleading with him while she repeated
To this he had replied calmly, ‘Jane has been on her feet all day, she is worn out. Anyway, you need a night-attendant, a nurse, and tomorrow morning I’m sending into Hexham for one, and the doctor too. You have been too long in this state for your health.’
She had lifted her hand and dismissed Winnie from the room. Then looking at him fully for the first time in days, she had muttered from deep in her throat, ‘I will not have the girl in this room. Nor will I have her in the house once I am about.’ And he had turned his back on her as he gave her his reply, ‘She will sit in the dressing room within call. As for your whims, we will deal with them when the time comes.’
Winnie had come up before going home at nine o’clock and said soothingly, ‘I will just take a few hours, Mistress. In the meantime, if you should feel you want me call to her and she will come and fetch me.’
She had almost put her hand out and said, ‘Sleep here, Winnie,’ but had she done so it would have shown her alarm, and so she had allowed them to install the girl in the dressing room, and for well into the night she had lain and watched her. Twice she had disappeared from view and gone into the closet room. At this, she had wanted to shout, ‘Come away from that room, girl. How dare you! Go out to your midden, that is your place, the midden.’
Yet as she berated the girl in her mind she knew the situation wasn’t of her making; although she had become a party to it she would never, in the first place, have dared to approach McBain.
As another pain seized her she wondered why she was trying to hide the fact that the child was about to be born. What would it avail her now? She brought up her knees to her chest and groaned; then she cried aloud as the whole of her inside slipped into a flaming hell of pain, and now with her eyes screwed up tight, she groaned, ‘Girl! Girl!’
When the spasm eased for a second and she opened her eyes there was no-one by her side. She could not see the girl through the mirror now because her vision was blurred with sweat. Again her body was shot into pain, so excruciating this time that she lost consciousness. When she came to herself she was lying on her back, her legs wide apart, and the child’s head had thrust itself into life. When the shoulders followed she screamed a thin, high piercing scream, and to her own voice was joined another, and she knew the girl was with her. She heard her yelling, ‘Master! Master!’ There followed another pain . . . and then another . . . and then great ease.
Her eyes closed, everything was quiet. She felt that she herself had stopped breathing. In the peace she lifted her lids and saw McBain standing halfway down the bed. He had on his long nightshirt and he was staring downwards, as was the girl standing by his side. Slowly she allowed her limbs to relax, and now she lifted her head slightly and looked down along her deflated body, and there, lying between her legs on the bloodstained sheet and still attached to her, was her child – or part of her child. There was something wrong with it, something missing. She looked upwards to her husband’s face, and God in His wrath could never have looked like this. She took refuge against it in unconsciousness . . .
The turmoil in McBain’s brain was something beyond even his own understanding, for the feelings of revulsion, anger and disappointment were so deep, so desolate that they combined to a torture, and when he looked back he knew that for a space of time his brain had been turned, and that, like any madman, he might have committed a crime, except that Molly had torn his hands from his wife’s neck, then had dragged him into the dressing room, pleading with him while she repeated
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