The Prudential Light, page 11
part #1 of Cry Havoc Series
She spoke to Mr Chen again and there was some vigorous back and forth. Mr Chen turned to me with a slight bow. “Mrs Li said you have good luck. No bones break. No bleed inside. You will get good soon, but you must rest. She come back tomorrow.”
“But…” I was going to explain that I had no idea where I would be tomorrow, but Mr Chen forestalled me.
“You stay here. There is bed. It is not the best, but it is safe.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” I said weakly.
Mr Chen waved this away. “Only one rule to keep safe.”
“What rule?”
“Stay inside, stay quiet. If anyone but me and Mrs Li come here, hide.”
“Why hide?”
“Best no one know you be here. Yes?”
I tried to frown but winced instead. He was probably right. My husband had left me in a difficult situation. Debts had to be paid. I was beaten up in Chinatown, where no English lady should set foot at night on her own. I might have somehow injured those men who attacked me, so their friends would want to find me, too. And I had endangered Mr Chen by being here. Would anyone understand that a Chinese man had offered to help me? That his intentions were honourable?
“You are right,” I replied. “It is best to keep my being here secret for now.”
Mr Chen indicated the bed. “Best you sleep. Feel better in morning.”
There was a sheet and a thin blanket, but the room was hot and stuffy, so I lay on top of them. A window above let in a whisper of breeze. Even the robe felt too hot on my skin. I allowed myself to relax; everything hurt more now that I was calm and safe.
Mr Chen spoke some Chinese words and then took the candle and blew it out, leaving me alone in the darkness. Outside my makeshift room, he and Mrs Li spoke some more, and then they made their way down the stairs and it grew quiet.
It was hard to sleep. I ached. The heat was unbearable. My life was a shambles. I cried for James, wondering how he was and whether his father was taking care of him. Why had Charles taken James? He had barely paid the boy any attention.
Something in the tea was making me feel drowsy, I thought. I found if I did not move, I could bear the heat well enough. A dog barked and voices echoed somewhere outside. Eventually, I must have drifted off to sleep.
You must think it odd that I would go off with a stranger, particularly one who was so different from me. But I had no friends. The only acquaintances I had only met that day. No one I could trust, and even if I had, how could I have borne the shame of what had happened to me? It was better this way, because I was anonymous. It was also freeing, because the normal strictures of society did not apply. It was just me, Mr Chen and Mrs Li, dealing with an unusual situation.
Chapter 9
My notion that Jemima was in labour was correct. In the early hours of the morning, Edward knocked on my door to alert me that the midwife had been sent for. “I shall attend on her.”
When I arrived, Jemima was complaining loudly and the midwife was being abusive.
“Now, Mrs Huntington. Less yelling if you please.”
I sent the woman a glare. “What Mrs Groot means, dear, is that you need to conserve your energy.”
Jemima gritted her teeth through a particularly bad pang. “What do you know, you have never had a baby!”
With exaggerated patience, I replied, “I have been present at a few births.” I took her hand and she squeezed it. Watching her suffer was not easy and her pains appeared particularly strong. A few hours of intense contractions and nothing seemed to be moving. I checked my watch at it was already ten in the morning.
The midwife examined her and shook her head. “It will be a while longer.”
“How far along is she?” I asked.
“Not very far,” she replied.
I took a cloth and wiped Jemima’s forehead. I was concerned. By my reckoning, Jemima had been in labour sixteen hours.
“Perhaps, she should move around the room,” I said to Mrs Groot.
The snooty midwife ignored me. “Everything is under control. I can manage without you, Mrs Wainwright.”
My smile was meant to smite her.
Jemima was prone on the bed, as was the custom, but I sensed that this position was not helping the baby move.
“You should get up, Jemima, and walk around,” I urged when the midwife left the room to gather more towels.
Jemima glared at me. Then her jaw clenched as another contraction hit. “I cannot possibly walk. I can barely lie down.”
I put my hand on her head, stroked her hair and spoke soothingly. “It will help. If you move, the baby might, too.”
“I don’t want to.” Jemima’s tone was petulant.
I sat on the edge of her bed and took her hand in mine. “Trust me. Please.”
To my relief, she squeezed my fingers and nodded. I assisted her to stand. A pain came then, and she buckled, but I held her upright and urged her to walk. We walked a few circuits of the room as her pain eased. With her hands supporting her belly, she let go of me and walked by herself.
“I think you should give birth standing up,” I said.
Jemima flung her head back. “What? Are you out of your mind?”
I could not suppress a smile. Jemima certainly had spirit. “Impertinent girl. I know what I am talking about.” How to tell her that I knew this from personal experience? I thought of some way to explain myself that would make sense to Jemima’s logical mind. Only my sisters knew of my marriage to Charles. Edward would not have remembered as he had just been born. And as James was taken from me, none of my other relatives knew about him. “Other cultures do things differently. I think your baby is quite big, and using gravity might help it to be born faster.”
The midwife returned, but stopped in her tracks when she saw Jemima up and walking. “What on earth are you doing, ma’am? Mrs Huntington, you should be in bed.” She turned to me. “This is your doing. You are interfering. I must ask you to leave.”
Jemima turned to her. “Wait. This is helping.”
The midwife sneered. “I am a professional. I have birthed many a wee babe.”
“That may be,” I replied. “But everyone is different. If it is helping Jemima and you can find no medical reason not to let her walk, then…” I left that open to her interpretation.
“I must insist you leave the room, Mrs Wainwright.”
“Only if Jemima wills it.”
Keeping quiet, I waited for Jemima to decide. If she wanted me gone, I would go without argument. But Jemima kept walking, and she did appear less distressed.
“I wish you to stay, Aunt,” she said.
I kept a tight rein on my pleasure at this statement so as not to raise the ire of the midwife. Despite my experience I was no expert, and no matter how irritating the woman was, I did not want to risk her walking out. If anything went wrong, we might need her.
The midwife looked between us, her expression mutinous. “Well, Mrs Huntington,” she said finally, “if walking is helping to ease your pain, you may continue. However, in my experience the mother must rest in bed in a darkened room, with no visitors, no stimulation at all.”
The labour progressed much more quickly after that. Soon, the midwife was urging Jemima to take to the bed. “Your time is near. You are trying to push.” She had her arms around Jemima.
Jemima untangled herself. “No, I wish to remain standing.”
“What?” the midwife replied. “You do not have the strength for that and I cannot support you.”
“What should I do, Aunt?” Jemima asked.
“Perhaps find something to lean on, to support you,” I said quietly.
With a nod, Jemima wrapped her hands around the bedpost. When another pain hit, she squatted, holding on and making a guttural sound. I lifted her nightdress so the baby could arrive unhindered. With a dark glare at me, the midwife scrambled onto her knees and hurriedly grabbed a towel. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “I can see the head. It’s coming fast.”
I sat on the bed next to Jemima, soothing her and giving encouragement. “Not long now, Jemima. You can do this.”
The midwife looked up at us. “Push hard with the next contraction, Mrs Huntington.”
To Jemima I said, “You can do anything. Breathe.”
Jemima continued, gripping the bedpost like her life depended on it. I continued to rub her lower back and speak soothing words.
“Now push, Mrs Huntington. Push.”
Jemima pushed and screamed and pushed again, and suddenly the babe was crying in the midwife’s arms.
“’Tis a boy, Mrs Huntington.”
Jemima sagged and I held her up as she wept. “I need to kneel, I think,” she said, and I helped her to the floor.
The midwife was examining the child. “He is fine and healthy, Mrs Huntington.”
Jemima looked over at the red, squalling creature. “Trust a man to give one such trouble.”
The midwife cut the cord and bundled the baby in swaddling, then placed him in the cradle so as to attend to the afterbirth and cleaning. The baby cried in protest, and it was a strong cry.
Jemima suffered the rest of the ministrations without much complaint, and then allowed herself to be tucked into bed.
“There you are, Mrs Huntington. All done now. You must rest, unless Mrs Wainwright objects?”
I met the midwife’s combative look and smiled. “Of course, I do not object. Rest is the best medicine.”
While I helped make Jemima comfortable, the midwife fetched the baby. “Here you are,” she said, and laid the boy in Jemima’s arms. I checked my watch and the baby had arrived at ten minutes to five in the afternoon.
My stomach rumbled. I hoped for a good dinner as I was famished.
Jemima gazed down at her son, touching his forehead and nose and then his chin as if considering whose likeness he had. She sighed and leaned in to kiss the baby’s head. Then she looked over to me. “Will you fetch Edward, now, Aunt Prudence?” she asked calmly. “We are ready to receive him.”
“Of course, my dear. He is likely wearing a hole in the hall carpet.”
Jemima nodded and then grabbed my hand. “Wait. I want to say I am sorry for my cross words. You were helpful. I do not think I could have done this without you.”
Tears threatened, but I held them in. With a smile and a nod, I went to fetch the new father.
On opening the door, I paused. Standing in the hall was Milly.
“Is she all right?” Milly’s eyes were wide.
I gave her a hug. “Indeed, hale and hearty.” Milly looked pale. “Are you feeling out of sorts yourself?”
“I am fine. I was just concerned. I told her she would scream as much as me. It cannot have been easy for her.”
“As you know, there is suffering but, in the end, when the babe arrives safe, it is all forgot. Where is Edward?” I looked around. “I thought he would be here waiting.”
“He is in the library with Ambrose. He could not bear Jemima’s cries. I think Ambrose has him half drunk.” Milly slid her arm through mine, and we walked together down the hall.
It was new to us all, seeing Jemima in pain. “Typical,” I replied. “Men like to cause pain but are rarely around to witness suffering. It is a woman’s lot in life to bear it all.”
Milly raised an eyebrow. “That sounds a bit harsh, Aunt. Are these musings due to assisting Jemima give birth or from pondering your life for your memoir?”
I gave a little chuckle. “A bit of both, I think. You stay here while I go down to fetch my nephew.”
Edward was very merry when I found him in the library. Fulton held his port wine better than my nephew.
“Edward my dear, congratulations, you have a fine son. He is waiting to meet you, and your wife deserves love and gratitude for all her suffering.” I sent him one of my disapproving stares.
Edward stood up, swaying a bit. “Is she feeling better?”
I repressed the desire to roll my eyes. He was a good lad but a tad lacking in nous. “She just pushed your son into this world after a long labour, so I think she is feeling much better, yes.”
“Right then,” he said, and ambled towards the door. Catching Fulton’s eye, I shook my head. A walk in the cool evening air would have been better than getting Edward drunk. What use was he like that?
Following Edward upstairs, I was able to witness his reunion with his wife and his introduction to their son. Edward was gentle and sweet and Jemima too exhausted to notice that her husband was in his cups. Or if she did notice, she did not mention it.
“What shall we call him?” Jemima asked.
I knew they had a few names picked out, only they had not decided yet.
“Louis Theodore Wilbur Hardcastle Huntington. What about that? I think we have covered everyone,” said Edward.
Jemima smiled lovingly at him and then at her baby beside her on the bed. “I like the name Louis. Yes, Louis it is. And thank you for Wilbur; I think my father would have liked that.”
Louis was a name we all liked. I thought if I consulted my family tree, I would find a Louis or two in there. Theodore for Edward’s father. Wilbur for Jemima’s and, well, that old Hardcastle name was not going to die out. The whole thing was a mouthful but would look impressive on Louis’ stationary when he grew to be a fine young gentleman.
Patiently I waited for my own opportunity to hold the baby. Milly cut me out of line by sneaking into the room instead of resting. I finally managed a cuddle while Jemima drifted off to sleep and Edward dozed in the bed beside her.
The midwife finished tidying the room and prepared a trundle bed for herself, as she was to stay a day or two and tend the new mother and baby during the night. “I shall pop downstairs and have a bite to eat while the mother is resting. Please do not tire her out, or the baby.”
The midwife left the room before I could comment that it might be difficult to tire out someone who was asleep.
Looking down into Louis’ face, memories of my own baby son flooded back to me. “Hello, young Louis. I wonder what delights are in store for you.” I looked into his eyes, and something stirred within me. A fierce protective feeling, and as my Prudential Light came forward, an answering vibration came from young Louis, as if he too had the family gift. That was the second time, my Prudential Light had surfaced in recent days. After all the trouble I had in Singapore trying to summon it at will, I was annoyed that it just surfaced as if it had a will of its own. I knew it came forward when I needed to protect myself, but now I had more people that I cared about, that I wanted to protect, so maybe that was why. My emotions were heightened. Just as I detected my talent, it faded. Just as Edward jerked awake.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Just a candle flaring.”
As Edward was sleepy and tipsy, he went back to sleep.
I kissed the top of Louis’ head. “Welcome to the world, Louis Theodore Wilbur Hardcastle Huntington. You are going to be an interesting one to watch.”
If Edward was a gentleman magician and Jemima had extremely powerful magic herself, then their child was going to be exceptional. He had the family talent within an hour of his birth. I wondered what shape his gift would take. Mine was the restrained Prudential Light, a vague power that opened up like a parasol when me and mine needed protection. Apart from talking to the dead and sometimes the living at a distance, I could not do much more than that. I could not direct it at will. Louis would have much more ability than me because his parents would be able to teach him. Who knew what greatness he would achieve?
Chapter 10
After all the excitement of the birth, fatigue hit me hard and I lay down to nap. A few hours later, Milly sent the maid up with some soup and bread, and this I ate while it was still warm. The house was quiet as night fell, and I had the urge to try to write some more of my story.
Singapore, 1840
I awoke the morning after the attack to bright sunlight streaming through the window. Aches and pains bothered me, but I was awake and ready to face the day. Blinking a few times, I saw that my “room” had been created with walls of wooden boxes. Rolling over, I saw on an upturned crate next to me a fan made of paper, a pot of warm tea and a small cup. Next to them was a bowl of broth with a piece of green vegetable floating in it, a ball of what looked like meat and some flat things I had never seen before. I later learned they were called “noodles”.
After picking up the bowl and inhaling the aroma, hunger flared in my stomach. I had not eaten since the tea party the day before, and even then I had only partaken of some sandwiches and a piece of cake. The delicious soup soon disappeared, and I drank the tea and took up the fan, for already the room was warm from the moist hot air leaking in through the window. The small rectangle of light was too high for me to look out of. The scent of the sea where it met the river drifted in and the noise from the boats on the filtered in along with the echo of voices—at times muted and distant and other times words rang out like a bell but in a language I did not understand.
A bucket stood in the far corner, and by its odour I could tell it was for relieving myself. Mr Chen had thought of everything, even if it was all strange and different to me. Nonetheless my mind was crowded with worries. How long could I stay there? What would people say if they knew I was under the protection of a Chinaman? They would assume all kinds of unsavoury things, even though he had been nothing but gentlemanly.
Struggling out of the bed, I checked my robe was tied and climbed to my feet, grunting and groaning with the movement. In the small space, I was able to take five steps and five back. There was a curtain, which I took for a doorway, but on the other side were more tea chests that partitioned off this area. If I wanted to, I could shift the boxes and leave. It was more to shelter me from any casual observers. I was safe, and without money or acquaintances I had nowhere else to go. Mr Chen had been extremely kind, and I was in no state to leave.
To ease the stiffness in my joints, I kept pacing backward and forward as best I could in the small space. The sounds of the street leaked into the room; carts trundling past, hawkers calling out in languages I did not understand. I tried to discern the Malay from the Chinese, but it was hard. The heat grew more difficult to deal with, so I lay down again and drowsed.
