In the hall, Lillian and Harry sat on the stairs. They heard everything Jim said. Harry hugged his knees; his legs poking out of his short trousers looked like white sticks, and his wrinkled socks had worked their way down into his oversized boots, the tops too wide for his thin legs. Harry sniffed, and periodically wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jumper.
Ellen’s wails became louder, waking Owain who’d been asleep in the kitchen. Brushing tears away, Anwen went to settle him again, and a few minutes later George followed her
‘Don’t cry, Harry,’ Lillian whispered, putting her arm around her little brother’s shoulders.
‘What’s suicide?’ Harry sniffed, his eyes red in his small wizened face.
Silently the two children descended to the bottom step. They waited a few minutes and then took George and Anwen’s place in the doorway to the sitting room.
In three strides Jim was across the room. He hugged Lillian and Harry to him, and then with a backward glance, he led them into the garden. Amy acknowledged his look with a nod.
Gradually Ellen’s pitiful weeping relented. Subdued and exhausted she allowed Amy to lead her upstairs and help her into bed. It was Amy’s turn now to listen to her mother cry herself to sleep, instead of the other way around, as it had been months earlier.
Mill Lodge’s inhabitants isolated themselves within their own grief. No service had been held for John, buried now in unhallowed ground outside St Martin’s churchyard in Woodbury. Only Jim had stood beside the shallow grave, murmuring prayers and shedding tears for them all.
George buried himself in his work at the bakery, making any excuse to work longer hours. Anwen’s time was taken up looking after the three children, along with all the cooking and cleaning. Amy helped as much as her condition would allow, but tired easily. Jim had stayed for a week, but then returned to Woodbury and to work.
Lillian and Harry stayed out of the grownups way as much as possible, finding comfort in each other and the memories they shared of their father. They kept their mother company in her room, taking her titbits they’d sneaked from Anwen’s kitchen. Riddled with guilt, Ellen never made eye contact but shrank deeper into her chair, distancing herself from them. After a while they stopped trying to comfort their mother and left her to wallow in her grief.
Any attempt to include Ellen in the preparation for the baby’s forthcoming arrival was met with more tears. Anwen worried how she’d cope with the birth, without her sister-in-law’s help. As Amy’s confinement drew nearer Ellen retreated even further into herself, while Anwen marked time. Then, on a cold blustery morning two weeks after her father’s death, Amy’s waters broke. Anwen was ready and as expected took complete control.
Anwen started by remaking her and George’s bed, ready for Amy. A patchwork eiderdown, an heirloom from Anwen’s grandmother, was taken off and put in an oak chest at the end of the bed. Anwen stripped off sheets and blankets and placed them on top of the chest. Old newspapers saved over the last few months were unfolded and placed over the mattress for protection. Over the newspapers Anwen spread out one of the blankets and over it a clean flannelette sheet which she secured tightly to each corner of the mattress. She replaced the other blankets, rolling them down to the end of the bed. Anwen pumped up the pillows and helped her niece into bed, then after covering Amy with another flannel sheet she rolled the blankets back up to keep Amy warm. On top of a chest of drawers Anwen placed everything they would need for the delivery, including the linens she’d already sorted. She pulled out one of the drawers and carried it into another bedroom, tipping the contents out onto a bed, and then she took the empty drawer back and lined it with a soft flannel sheet, ready for the new arrival.
Ellen wondered what all the commotion was about. She stood watching the goings-on but deciding she was in the way, a hindrance, she settled down in a small upholstered nursing chair in a corner of the bedroom. Part of her wanted to help, be part of the birth of her first grandchild, but lacking any enthusiasm she remained where she was and watched Anwen rush around.
‘Come on, Ellen, rouse yourself, there’s no time to be sitting down now,’ Anwen chided, when Amy groaned with the start of her labour.
It distressed Ellen to watch her child suffer. The intense ache in her heart was unbearable, and tears trickled down her face unheeded. Amy clenched her teeth as the persistent ache gripped her again and then gasped in relief when the painful wave subsided.
‘Mum,’ Amy cried out, needing her mother more now than ever.
The howling wind outside blew itself out as dawn broke. The light chatter of birds changed into a full blown chorus and joined in with the ultimate onslaught. Amy’s agonized screams suddenly jolted Ellen. In a moment of clarity she pushed Anwen out of the way and examined her daughter quickly. The birth was imminent.
‘Do we have plenty of boiling water ready?’ she asked Anwen, who stood by the side of the bed, exhausted.
‘Of course,’ Anwen answered sharply. ‘George’s seen to it, everything’s ready.’ Perspiration soaked through Anwen’s bodice, her armpits were stained with sweat. Her usual bouncing ringlets were limp and clung like washed-up seaweed to her cheeks and neck.
Ellen noticed and felt ashamed, realising how selfish she’d been. Attempting to make amends, she said, ‘I’ll take over now. See to Owain and rest for a bit.’
‘I’ll bring up the water first,’ Anwen said quietly.
‘Thank you, Ellen answered gratefully, adding, ‘And not just for the water Anwen.’ Then turning to Amy she clasped her hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Now then Amy, we’ve got work to do.’
‘I love you, Mum,’ Amy whispered.
Ellen gulped. ‘We’ll get through this together, you and me, so don’t worry. Stay brave, love.’ Amy’s grip tightened but Ellen disentangled her hand quickly. Her hands had important work to do.
At last the new life decided to greet the world and from its gutsy cries they all drew relief. Anwen was back, and together Ellen and her sister-in-law did what was necessary and then made sure the baby was comfortable. Leaving Anwen to see to the baby, Ellen began attending to Amy again and wiping her brow she spoke soothingly to her.
‘You have a baby girl.’ Ellen smiled at her daughter. ‘Nearly all over now and then you’ll be able to hold her.’
Amy was tired. She looked at her mother’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear the words. She was so relieved the baby was born at last. A drumming noise in her head pounded a steady beat and Amy felt herself falling.
Ellen watched her daughter’s eyes close and roused her. ‘It’s not over yet, love, still more to do before you can rest.’ Ellen spoke in barely a whisper, not wanting to disturb her daughter but knowing she had to.
Suddenly Amy’s eyes flew open. She stared at her mother and cried out again as another surge of pain began racking her already exhausted body. With soothing words, Ellen examined Amy again, expecting to see the afterbirth. She watched in disbelief as another baby’s head appeared. Almost without effort now, and automatically, Ellen dealt with the second birth and placed the baby, another girl, into the drawer with her sister.
Anwen gasped. She looked from one to the other and then at Amy. ‘Twins, she said.’
Ellen never answered. Two more Deverell bastards to sully the world, she thought bitterly. But Ellen didn’t have time to ponder on that now. Amy was losing too much blood and weakening by the minute.
***
Lillian knew they’d been sent outside to play because Mum and aunt Anwen wanted them out of the way. It was a cold day and Lillian didn’t feel much like playing, and even with Amy’s coat on over her own, she still shivered. The wind tugged her curls out from under her hat and when it threatened to spin off, as Harry’s cap had done a few minutes earlier, she held onto it with frozen fingers. Standing inside the fence a little away from the gate, Lillian watched Jim bring Bella and the cart round to the front of the house, ready for their journey home. There was something uncertain in his actions, which was strange considering the number of times Jim had driven the cart. Lillian wondered if he was tired, if he had lain awake for the last few nights listening to the new-born baby crying, as she had done. Probably lack of sleep was why his face was unusually pale and why he’d refused to answer her probing.
Jim, on his way back into the house, patted her head affectionately as he passed, but Lillian only glared at him. How could he have fobbed her off, saying she’d heard a barn owl? Lillian had seen enough pregnant women in Woodbury to recognise the signs, so hadn’t needed anyone to tell her Amy was pregnant. Obviously she’d now given birth, but why were they all lying about it? Lillian felt left out, and she couldn’t understand why she was being kept in the dark and not allowed to help, or to see her sister.
Anwen appeared at the front door. She smiled and waved at Lillian. ‘It won’t be long now, love, you’ll soon be on your way.’ Then seeing Harry squatting by the fence she called out to him, ‘Keep out of the mud, Harry; you’ll spoil your clean clothes.’
‘I’m not in any hurry to leave you,’ Lillian said, taking a step towards her aunt, hoping Anwen might tell her what was going on.
Just then Jim appeared behind Anwen, and she stepped out onto the path to make room for him to pass. He carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket, which he hugged to him so Lillian couldn’t see what it was. Without a word to Anwen, Jim carried the bundle to the cart. Ellen followed Jim. She too carried a bundle wrapped in a blanket.
Harry was fed up having to play on his own. Fingering the soft cloth in his pocket he walked around to the rear of the house, into the back garden. After checking Lillian hadn’t followed him and that no one was watching, he pulled out the small bundle of treasure he’d found hidden behind the fender at home in Primrose Cottage. He knew he should have given the treasure to his Dad, before he went away to the place called heaven, but he hadn’t and now it was too late. Harry wondered how long the stuff had been hidden there; years possibly he thought, turning the gold ring inlaid with gems over in his hand. He slipped the ring onto his finger and picked up the yellow-gold watch and ran his fingers over the smooth case. ‘Finders keepers,’ he whispered, slipping the ring and watch back inside the cloth and into his pocket.
Harry began looking for a stone. He’d already found three in the front garden and then another by the gate. He needed a fifth to make his game complete and not any old stone would do. It had to be small and smooth, the same size as the others. He washed the four stones in the tub outside the back door and admired the marble streaks in them. Harry put the stones back in his pocket and wiped his hands on the back of his trousers. ‘I need five stones to play Jacks,’ he mumbled, and crouching outside the back door, he began to rummage in the dirt and gravel. Being so close to the door, Harry unwittingly heard his aunt and uncle talking.
‘I know Amy is insisting on going back to Woodbury now, but she’s in no condition to travel, George. It’s too soon, and I don’t like it.’
‘Don’t interfere, Anwen. Ellen knows what she’s doing,’ George said quietly.
‘Oh, I might have known. You always take your sister’s side, you do. Never listen to a word I say. Oh no, I’m just a fuss pot, I am. I’m surprised you think she’s capable of anything now, after the state she’s been in since John’s death. Can’t you see, she’s ill herself?’
‘Ellen’s not ill. She delivered those babies without any problem and …’ The expression on Anwen’s face stopped George mid-sentence and he quickly added, ‘I know it’s tragic that baby Alice passed away straight after birth, but Ellen did her best. Of course, she couldn’t have managed without your help, dearest.’
Anwen ignored his flattery and carried on. ‘Ellen’s not ill physically maybe, I grant you, but her nerves are shot to pieces. Mark my words, George, and remember them if anything should happen to Amy. The girl won’t make it back to Woodbury.’
George looked at his wife aghast. ‘Amy’s not that poorly, is she?’
‘Yes and getting worse by the minute. She’s in pain and losing a lot of blood. She won’t eat, no matter how much I tempt her with my shepherd’s pie. I made jam tarts especially but she won’t touch them.’ Anwen pointed to the plates covered with tea towels on her sideboard, her agitation obvious. With much emotion she added, ‘Amy won’t let go of Alice. Ellen had to pry her fingers from the baby to put it in the cart ready for the journey home. And Amy has no milk to feed Grace. She is so weak, George, and how will she get her strength back if she won’t eat? After all’s said and done, the girl is a still a child herself. Have a word with Ellen, please, George.’
‘I’ll try, but if Amy wants to go home with her mother, there isn’t much we can do about it. But it won’t do any harm to voice our concerns,’ George said and then asked, ‘Do you think Ellen will manage to pass Grace off as her own?’
Anwen shook her curls. ‘We’ll have to see. I wonder what kind of life the little one will have, especially if she inherits the Deverell red hair. Tongues are bound to wag then.’
Harry’s eyes widened as he listened. Quietly he stepped away from the door and returned to the front of the house. He stood by Lillian and looking up at his sister he said solemnly, ‘I know a secret.’
Lillian took Harry’s hand and replied, ‘I do too.’
***
It had been decided months ago that after giving birth, Amy would stay with her aunt and uncle. Everyone had agreed that it was the most practical thing to do. But now, Amy longed to be back in Woodbury and at home in Primrose Cottage. The loss of baby Alice had left Amy distraught. She felt tired and listless, and any movement was an effort. Amy worried what would become of her back in Woodbury, but as much as her aunt and uncle tried to persuade her to stay at Mill Lodge, Amy was adamant, she wanted to go home.
Amy managed to clamber out of bed and slowly began to dress; slipping on a frock Anwen had given her as a present. Amy had never owned anything so pretty. The rose-coloured fabric wasn’t at all practical and the pretty lace, edging the empire style bodice and cuffs, wouldn’t stay cream for long, but what did it matter, she mused. Amy slipped on her old boots and stood admiring herself in the cracked mirror propped up against the wall. She glanced out of the window and saw Lillian and Harry hovering near the cart, eager to be on their way. Amy watched the bags being loaded then saw Jim and her mother take the babies out and put them in the cart. Having been fed and made comfortable, Grace was blissfully asleep. Alice, in her eternal sleep, was at peace. ‘Twins, who would have thought, and yet I’m not really surprised,’ Amy murmured.