Read Online The Shadow and the Star by Laura Kinsale - Free Book Online
Authors: Laura Kinsale
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little comfort while Leda had to listen to the terrible sounds of effort and pain the girl was making.
"It's a-comin'," she panted. "Oh, no—it's going to come!"
"That's all right," Leda said, wanting only to soothe the panic in the girl. "Everything is all right. What is your name, dear?"
"Pammy—Hodgkins. Oh, ma'am—is you the midwife?"
"No. But I will stay right here with you."
"Is the midwife a-comin'?"
"Yes. Sergeant MacDonald went for help."
"But he said—t'other man said—he sent 'im off somewheres else."
"The midwife is coming," Leda said firmly, refusing to believe anything else. "Only think of how nice it will be to hold your baby in your arms."
Pammy's throat arched. She lifted her knees and rolled from side to side. "It hurts, it hurts so!" She took a deep breath and exploded it through her lips. "Oh, I'd kill that Jamie could I lay hands on 'im. I want to die!"
The wicker door clanged open. Leda looked up and murmured, "Thank heaven."
Two women descended upon them. "I am Mrs. Layton, the maternity nurse. This is Mrs. Fullerton-Smith of the Ladies' Sanitary Association. How frequent are the pains?"
This question was addressed with piercing abruptness at Leda. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said helplessly, "I really don't know. A considerable amount of water has come."
"See to the kettle," the nurse said to Leda. "Mrs. Fullerton-Smith, would you be so kind as to spread the hygienic sheet here on the floor for me?"
The two women set to work with an alacrity and competence that relieved Leda enormously. The nurse, brisk and zealous, had no patience with Pammy's whimpers, but began to insist that she "Bear down—and no nonsense, my girl," while Mrs. Fullerton-Smith thrust a sheaf of pamphlets into Leda's hand. "Familiarize yourself with those, if you please. She must not return to any employment for four weeks at the earliest. We implore you to encourage her to feed the baby at the breast. You may refer to the tract entitled
The Evils of Bottle-Feeding
. Also, opiates such as Godfrey's Cordial, poppy tea, or quieteners are to be eschewed. Cleanliness is paramount—all food should be covered, cow's milk boiled, hands washed after any visit to the privy, bodily waste removed promptly. Where do you live?"
"I live at Mrs. Dawkins', ma'am, but Pammy—"
"We will arrange for post-parturation visits. What is her name?"
"Pammy Hodgkins, but—"
"Just allow me to make a note. The Ladies' Sanitary Association is here to help and educate."
Pammy screamed, and Mrs. Fullerton-Smith turned, moving into the cell. Leda sat down on the bench outside, the tracts on
How to Manage a Baby, Health of Mothers, Measles
, and
How to Rear Healthy Children
clutched in her hands.
It must have taken several hours, but it seemed to be forever that Pammy cried and groaned and made animal noises of effort. The gaslight poured down in a circle over the empty podium, while the cell lay in shadows, the source of echoing pants and firm instructions. Pammy gave a harsh shriek and subsided. For a minute the silence seemed to grow and grow as Leda peered at the huddle of figures, and then suddenly the nurse sat up and said, "Boy," in a matter-of-fact tone as she lifted a pale shape and dangled it.
A thin sound, like the long-drawn squeal of a rat, reverberated from the cell.
"Direct a light here, if you please," the nurse demanded.
Leda jumped up and lit the policeman's coal-oil lantern, opening the door and shining it into the cell. The nurse was mopping at a terrible tiny limp rag of a shape, her white apron covered with blood. Pammy muttered and heaved again. Mrs. Fullerton-Smith said, "That's done it," and attended to Pammy, clearing away the soiled sheet and placing clean padding beneath the feeble girl.
The squealing began to rise to a series of infantile wails, bouncing off the walls. Outside, men's voices echoed in the street, and the wicket door flew open. The inspector held it for his supervisor, who
"It's a-comin'," she panted. "Oh, no—it's going to come!"
"That's all right," Leda said, wanting only to soothe the panic in the girl. "Everything is all right. What is your name, dear?"
"Pammy—Hodgkins. Oh, ma'am—is you the midwife?"
"No. But I will stay right here with you."
"Is the midwife a-comin'?"
"Yes. Sergeant MacDonald went for help."
"But he said—t'other man said—he sent 'im off somewheres else."
"The midwife is coming," Leda said firmly, refusing to believe anything else. "Only think of how nice it will be to hold your baby in your arms."
Pammy's throat arched. She lifted her knees and rolled from side to side. "It hurts, it hurts so!" She took a deep breath and exploded it through her lips. "Oh, I'd kill that Jamie could I lay hands on 'im. I want to die!"
The wicker door clanged open. Leda looked up and murmured, "Thank heaven."
Two women descended upon them. "I am Mrs. Layton, the maternity nurse. This is Mrs. Fullerton-Smith of the Ladies' Sanitary Association. How frequent are the pains?"
This question was addressed with piercing abruptness at Leda. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said helplessly, "I really don't know. A considerable amount of water has come."
"See to the kettle," the nurse said to Leda. "Mrs. Fullerton-Smith, would you be so kind as to spread the hygienic sheet here on the floor for me?"
The two women set to work with an alacrity and competence that relieved Leda enormously. The nurse, brisk and zealous, had no patience with Pammy's whimpers, but began to insist that she "Bear down—and no nonsense, my girl," while Mrs. Fullerton-Smith thrust a sheaf of pamphlets into Leda's hand. "Familiarize yourself with those, if you please. She must not return to any employment for four weeks at the earliest. We implore you to encourage her to feed the baby at the breast. You may refer to the tract entitled
The Evils of Bottle-Feeding
. Also, opiates such as Godfrey's Cordial, poppy tea, or quieteners are to be eschewed. Cleanliness is paramount—all food should be covered, cow's milk boiled, hands washed after any visit to the privy, bodily waste removed promptly. Where do you live?"
"I live at Mrs. Dawkins', ma'am, but Pammy—"
"We will arrange for post-parturation visits. What is her name?"
"Pammy Hodgkins, but—"
"Just allow me to make a note. The Ladies' Sanitary Association is here to help and educate."
Pammy screamed, and Mrs. Fullerton-Smith turned, moving into the cell. Leda sat down on the bench outside, the tracts on
How to Manage a Baby, Health of Mothers, Measles
, and
How to Rear Healthy Children
clutched in her hands.
It must have taken several hours, but it seemed to be forever that Pammy cried and groaned and made animal noises of effort. The gaslight poured down in a circle over the empty podium, while the cell lay in shadows, the source of echoing pants and firm instructions. Pammy gave a harsh shriek and subsided. For a minute the silence seemed to grow and grow as Leda peered at the huddle of figures, and then suddenly the nurse sat up and said, "Boy," in a matter-of-fact tone as she lifted a pale shape and dangled it.
A thin sound, like the long-drawn squeal of a rat, reverberated from the cell.
"Direct a light here, if you please," the nurse demanded.
Leda jumped up and lit the policeman's coal-oil lantern, opening the door and shining it into the cell. The nurse was mopping at a terrible tiny limp rag of a shape, her white apron covered with blood. Pammy muttered and heaved again. Mrs. Fullerton-Smith said, "That's done it," and attended to Pammy, clearing away the soiled sheet and placing clean padding beneath the feeble girl.
The squealing began to rise to a series of infantile wails, bouncing off the walls. Outside, men's voices echoed in the street, and the wicket door flew open. The inspector held it for his supervisor, who
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