AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She was very helpful,” said my mother. She looked tired, but content.
“Thank you, Mama.”
She nodded and sipped her wine.
“Was it very exciting?” asked Lydia.
“You should not speak of such things at table,” said Mary.
“Why not?”
“Nanny says we should only speak of polite topics at table,” said Thomas.
“Nanny is correct,” added my father. “Thank you, Mary, Thomas.” He nodded at each child as he said their name, then changed the subject. “Now, I believe I saw Kitty reading to Henry and Robin earlier. What story was it, my dear?”
“Oh, I know! I know!” Jack always wished to answer, even when he did not know.
Henry stabbed at his food sullenly. “Jack always gets to tell.”
“Now boys, no need to squabble. You can each tell half, how does that sound?” My father was clearly delighted with this solution, my brothers less so.
My mother sighed and looked to the ceiling. She did not like having so many small children at the table, but my father insisted that once each week, no matter what, everyone who was well and present would sit down together. The boys were too young to manage themselves, so Nanny joined us those evenings, along with Mrs. March, our governess. She had joined us when my mother was expecting Jack. Mama had planned on educating us herself and saving the expense of a governess, but having a babe every other year had quickly put paid to that idea.
Nanny sat between Robin and Henry, twins not quite four years old and the youngest of the Bennet brood, and helped them hold their forks and resist the urge to throw their food. Thomas was nearly seven and insisted he needed no assistance, though I saw Jane discreetly cutting his meat for him. Jack sat beside me and at five and a half years old, I thought he might be the prettiest of all the Bennets, and definitely the most changeable. Nothing ailed him, I had seen to that, but he could go from cheerful to cantankerous in the space of a minute, especially when he did not get what he wanted. We all hoped he would grow out of it.
Mrs. March sat between Kitty and Lydia, attempting to curb their excitement and get them to eat their dinner like little ladies.
It was all quite hectic and amusing if one wished to see it that way. My mother sat at the foot of the table alternately sighing and shaking her head, and my father sat at the head smiling broadly at his family, his enjoyment of them all the sweeter for its short duration.
After my experience with Mrs. Turner and her twins, I began to wonder about childbirth. I had heard my mother’s friends discussing who had had a terrible time, who would be unable to have more children, who had died bringing a babe into the world. The more I thought about it, the more frightening it seemed. Not for me personally—I was never ill and never injured—but for all the other women I knew. For my sisters. For my beloved aunt Gardiner who was even now expecting a child.
My mother understood my distress better than anyone. After all, she had been present at the Turners, she herself had nearly died giving birth to Lydia and the doctor had told her she could not have any more children, and she had subsequently experienced safer births with me in the next room. And of course she was the only one who knew my secret.
So when I began showing interest in the midwife’s work, Mama allowed me to accompany her as long as I told no one what I was about. I told Mrs. Allums I only wished to help and as she was in terrible need of assistance, she said I could accompany her on calls near my home.
Mama procured a simple girl’s dress—I have no idea how—and when I heard the midwife’s cart rolling up to the back of the house, I would quickly change and slip out the side door. I was the same size and coloring as Hill’s niece who lived with us, so anyone who saw me likely thought I was her.
It did not take Mrs. Allums long to realize I was more than I appeared, but she was not one to question a gift thrown into her lap. She watched me warily for a time—I imagine she was trying to ensure I was not a witch or worse—but eventually she accepted my oddness and began to use it to advantage as my mother had been doing for years.
I held sickly babes, placed my hands on women who were bleeding overmuch, and sang like a bird in the oddest places. Mrs. Allums did not want me to stand out, so she made me sing as quietly as possible, but there was often so much commotion in a birthing room that nobody noticed the midwife’s assistant humming as she worked. Mrs. Allums told anyone who did notice that it was a nervous habit, but as it seemed to calm the travailing mothers, she did not try to curb it. As every birth we attended together ended with a healthy mother and babe, no one questioned her.
All went along swimmingly for two years, until when I was sixteen, disaster struck.
I was with Mrs. Allums and we had just left a difficult lying in. She was bringing me home to Longbourn when we heard shouts behind us where the drive met the road. The sun was nearly gone over the horizon and we could not see well, but a wagon passed us with several men on it and a great deal of noise.
My father rushed out of Longbourn and Mr. Jones, the local apothecary, arrived on his horse just as I climbed down from the cart.
“What happened?” cried my father.
“It’s Joseph, sir,” said the wagon driver. “He fell through a weak spot in the floor. We think his leg is broken.”
Purvis Lodge was being reopened and my father had granted a footman and groom leave to assist with the work. They would enjoy the extra wages and my father wished for goodwill with whomever the new owner was.
Clearly, that had not gone as planned.
Poor Joseph—a groom I had known since I was a child of five and he was a stable boy—lay on a pallet in the bed of the wagon, his face pale and shiny and his breathing labored.
“We must get him inside and out of the cold,” said Mr. Jones. “Careful now, we don’t want to jar his leg.”
