The Promise

  The pain subsided enough for Belle to tell her, but as the older woman listened she lit the gas light on the wall, got a clean sheet from a chest, folded it over and tucked it beneath Belle.

  ‘I’m just going to wake Garth up and send him for the doctor,’ she said, as ever calm even in a crisis. ‘I’ll dress and come right back to you. Just hold on, I won’t be long.’

  Belle was vaguely aware of Garth speaking to Mog out on the landing. She heard his heavy step on the stairs and the door downstairs slam shut behind him. Mog came back to her soon after with a jug of hot water and some towels.

  ‘I would swing for that bastard who did this to you,’ she said as she washed Belle’s hands and face with a flannel. ‘But for now we’ve just got to get through this together.’

  The pains came and went, each one stronger and stronger with less time between them. Mog held Belle’s hand, bathed her face with cool water and spoke soothingly, telling her the doctor would soon be here.

  Belle could not respond, for even between pains she was bracing herself for the next one, and when it came it was white hot, a hideous agony which she thought might kill her.

  Dr Towle arrived just as the baby began to come away. Belle saw Mog cover her face with her hands as he pulled back the bedclothes, and though Belle couldn’t see what they could, she could feel the warm slippery mass between her legs and the sensation of liquid flooding from her.

  From then on everything became blurry and disjointed. The next thing she knew, the doctor was listening to her heart through his stethoscope.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Reilly,’ he said. ‘I hoped so much that the injuries you received wouldn’t result in this, but these things are out of our hands.’

  She didn’t have to ask if the baby was dead, she knew it hadn’t stood a chance. ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’ she managed to get out.

  ‘A girl, but she was much too tiny to breathe,’ he said and his voice cracked with emotion.

  Jimmy had hoped for a girl, he’d wanted to call her Florence. Tears ran down Belle’s face unchecked; she felt that everything had been taken from her.

  ‘Mrs Franklin and I will clean you up now and give you something to help you sleep,’ the doctor said as he took her pulse. ‘I wish it was in my power to take away your sorrow too, but I’m afraid only time will do that.’

  Belle felt another rush of blood come from her, and she closed her eyes, not wishing to see the panic on Mog’s dear face.

  It was ten in the morning when Mog accompanied Dr Towle downstairs to see him out. They were both tottering with exhaustion, Mog’s white apron was stained with blood, and the doctor looked less than his usual immaculate self for he had dark stubble on his face and his eyes were bloodshot.

  The sky was dark grey and it was very cold. They could hear Garth moving barrels down in the cellar, as he’d left the door open.

  ‘Is she going to recover?’ Mog asked tremulously. Belle had lost a tremendous amount of blood, and at one point it looked as if there was no possible chance of saving her. But the doctor had packed her with gauze and now it was in the hands of God.

  ‘She’s young and strong,’ Dr Towle said with a deep sigh, as if he was trying to look for positives. ‘If she gets through the next twenty-four hours without a further haemorrhage and no infection sets in, then I think she will recover fully. I’m going to arrange for a nurse to be with her. You are admirable, Mrs Franklin, but you are exhausted now and Belle will need specialist care.’

  Mog nodded. ‘Whatever is best for her. I couldn’t bear to lose her.’

  ‘Are you her aunt?’ he asked, looking down at her curiously. He knew that Mr Franklin was Jimmy Reilly’s uncle, but he’d sensed the deep love this small woman had for his patient, and it seemed much stronger than if they had been related just by marriage.

  ‘I was her mother’s housekeeper,’ Mog replied. ‘But I brought Belle up right from a baby.’

  ‘I see,’ he nodded. ‘Well, you did a fine job – she is a lovely young woman, and my wife tells me she is a very talented milliner. It is such a shame her husband has recently gone to France. I’m sure his presence here now would be very good for her.’

  ‘Should we try to get him home then?’ Mog asked. ‘Belle didn’t want him to know about the attack on her for fear of it worrying him, and I expect she’d say the same about this.’

  ‘Yes, but from what I’ve heard about Jimmy I’d say he’d be the kind to want to be here to comfort his wife. Obviously it will take time for him to be contacted and for him to get back here, but I do think it should be done.’

  ‘But how, doctor?’ Mog asked, wringing her apron in her hands in agitation. ‘I don’t know who to go to about it.’

  ‘Just tell me his regiment and other details and leave it with me. I have a little influence which I can use to get him back.’

  After giving Mog instructions as to Belle’s care until the nurse arrived, and writing down Jimmy’s details, Dr Towle left, saying he would come back again in the evening.

  Garth came into the kitchen as Mog was putting the soiled linen in the wash tub to soak. He looked over her shoulder at the cold water turning red and paled.

  ‘Is she going to pull through?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mog turned to her husband and burst into tears.

  She had heard him walking up and down the landing during the night, and it had helped her to know that he was as afraid as she was.

  Garth put his arms around her and held her tightly. ‘Fate couldn’t be cruel enough to take her now, like this, not after all she’s been through and all she means to Jimmy and us,’ he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

  ‘I must get back to her,’ Mog said, straightening up and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. ‘Will you bring up some coal so I can light the fire in her room? It’s grown so chilly, and when the nurse gets here we can’t expect her to sit in a cold room.’

  ‘Do you ever think of yourself?’ he asked gently, touching her cheek affectionately. ‘You only had a couple of hours’ sleep before this happened. You look all in.’

  ‘I’ll be fine once I know she’s on the mend,’ Mog said.

  He hugged her again and stroked her hair. ‘Go on up then and I’ll bring you some tea and do the fire for you.’

  At eight that evening Mog was sitting in the easy chair in Belle’s room, watching the flickering flames of the fire.

  Dr Towle had called in an hour earlier to repack Belle with gauze, and had been heartened by no further heavy blood loss and her stronger pulse. Because of this he sent Nurse Smethwick home, asking her to come back in the morning to relieve Mog. He also said he’d managed to get a message through to the commanding officer in Etaples and he felt it was likely Jimmy would be on the next ship back to Dover.

  Mog could hear the wagons, carriages and the odd motor car pass out on the street. She heard someone with steel blakeys on their boots walk by, but the bar was much quieter than usual. She thought Garth must have told the customers to keep the noise down because of Belle. It had been such a long and distressing day. Smethwick, though clearly a very good nurse, was one of the bossiest women Mog had ever had the misfortune to meet. The first thing she demanded was that Mog remove all of what she called the ‘folderols’ from the bedroom, which included fancy cushions, lace bedside tablecloths, the hat stand which held around six pretty hats and innumerable scarves and the frilled counterpane. Mog pointed out that Belle would be shocked to find herself in a room stripped of all the things she loved, but the nurse insisted they harboured germs. And so it went on all day, with Mog being ordered hither and thither to do the woman’s bidding. Not once did she suggest Mog catch up on sleep, even though she was rocking on her feet with tiredness.

  She even insisted Mog went out to buy some liver, which was to be lightly braised in milk and fed to Belle when she felt able to eat, to enrich her blood. Mog pointed out that Belle hated liver and she thought a glass of Guinness would do the same job in a mor
e palatable way.

  ‘Give a sick woman alcohol?’ Nurse Smethwick retorted. ‘Whatever next!’

  Mog avoided any further confrontation with her, but she planned to give Belle some Guinness next day if she was feeling like it, as it was one of her favourite drinks.

  She had intended to catch forty winks by the fire, but now she could rest she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes closed. Getting up from her chair, she went over to check on Belle. In just the firelight and with one candle by the bed she couldn’t tell whether colour was coming back into her face, but she looked peaceful. Her dark hair was lank and tangled, and her lips looked cracked, but to Mog she was still a beauty. She remembered how she’d nursed her through measles when she was five. Mog had stayed in the darkened room with her constantly for two weeks, sponging her down to reduce the fever, terrified she might lose her sight as so many children did with the disease. Annie only ever came as far as the door to see how she was. She claimed it was because she didn’t want to risk spreading the disease, but Annie always had an excuse for not having normal maternal urges.

  ‘I ought to send her a telegram,’ Mog thought, feeling guilty that she hadn’t thought to do so after the attack and therefore prepared her for what had happened today.

  Mog’s relationship with Annie had floundered back at the time the brothel had been burned down after Belle was abducted. Two years later, when Belle came back from France, they patched things up for her sake, and Mog had invited Annie to her wedding. She’d come to Belle’s too, and helped with the wedding arrangements, but in reality all they had was a shared past. Mog often wondered if she could claim that they were ever really friends. Looking back, it seemed far more of a mistress and servant partnership.

  Yet even though Annie was as hard as nails and not given to showing her feelings, Mog knew she did love her daughter. Belle had said that the last time she visited her and told her she was expecting, Annie had said she hoped she would do better as a grandmother.

  A tear rolled down Mog’s cheek. When Belle became pregnant she was so excited and thrilled she had entirely forgotten about hoping for her own baby. She’d knitted two little jackets already and made several tiny nightdresses and was just about to start on a shawl.

  The clothes didn’t matter; she could give them to another young mother. What really hurt was that all those lovely little daydreams she’d had were shattered. She wouldn’t be able to walk the baby in a perambulator up on the heath. There would be no family holidays at the seaside, or filling a Christmas stocking and walking a little girl or boy to school. Dr Towle had told her this evening that he thought it would be unwise for Belle to try for another baby as there was a chance she might have been damaged internally and this could happen again.

  Jimmy was going to be devastated. He’d told Mog once he’d hoped they’d have at least four children. He wouldn’t love Belle any less of course, but she knew he’d want to vent his anger on the man who had robbed and beaten her. He would never care about the stolen money or the damage done to the shop, but that wicked man had robbed Belle and Jimmy of the most precious thing in life.

  Belle stirred and opened her eyes. ‘Why are you standing there?’ she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

  ‘Looking at you, ducks,’ Mog said, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Have I been here a long time?’

  ‘Quite a while,’ Mog said. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock at night. Over twenty-four hours since it began.’

  ‘I’ve been asleep ever since it happened?’

  Mog realized then that because Belle had been slipping in and out of consciousness for most of the day, she wasn’t aware how dangerously close she had been to death.

  ‘Yes, most of the time,’ she said. ‘And you can go back to sleep again, but let me get you a drink first. The doctor said you were to have some warm milk with a drop of brandy in it. I’ll go and get it now.’

  Mog returned with the milk, laced not only with brandy but with the medicine the doctor had left to help Belle sleep. She put one arm behind her and lifted her carefully so as not to jar her bad shoulder, and held the cup to her lips. ‘Drink it all down,’ she said, just the way she had when Belle was a little girl. ‘It will make you better.’

  It was pleasing to see her drink it all, as she’d had nothing but sips of water all day. When she had finished, Mog plumped up her pillows and laid her down again.

  ‘How will I tell Jimmy?’ Belle asked, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘We’ll think on that one in the morning,’ Mog said. ‘I’m going to stay in here with you tonight, just in case you want something.’

  ‘Come in the bed with me.’ Belle caught hold of Mog’s hand. ‘Please. I don’t want you sitting in a chair all night, you must be so tired.’

  It crossed Mog’s mind that Nurse Smethwick would not approve of that. But she and Belle had often shared a bed in the past, it was a comfort in bad times. Besides, what did it matter what Smethwick thought? It was Belle’s wishes that were important.

  ‘If you want me to I will,’ Mog said. ‘I’ll just go down and say goodnight to Garth and get myself into my nightdress. You go back to sleep now.’

  She bent down and kissed Belle’s forehead. It felt warm, but not feverish. Had her prayers been answered?

  Throughout the following day Mog was on edge. Belle did appear stable, and had even eaten a few spoonfuls of soup, but that didn’t mean she was out of the woods. Mog knew that an infection could set in at any time, and that was what killed women in this situation.

  Nurse Smethwick was getting on her nerves with her bossiness and superiority. She had made it clear she didn’t want Mog coming in and out of the sickroom and that left her just doing chores and worrying.

  Mog had sent a telegram to Annie, and so she could turn up at any time. That would bring more tension into the house. Garth didn’t like her much, and if Annie was her usual abrasive self that would be likely to upset him. All Mog really wanted was for Jimmy to turn up. It would comfort Belle and give Garth a male ally, and Jimmy’s quiet strength would hold her together.

  Then the telegraph boy came, bringing a reply from Annie. ‘Tell Belle sorry. Unable to come now. Soon. Annie’.

  ‘What could be more urgent than seeing her sick daughter?’ Garth said, his lip curling in the way it always did when he was holding back his real feelings.

  As ever, Mog felt compelled to act as peacemaker. ‘Maybe she’s ill. She could have a difficult guest. Anything.’

  ‘More likely that she doesn’t see losing a baby as anything but a good thing,’ Garth said churlishly.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Mog retorted. ‘Belle said she was very happy at the prospect of being a grandmother.’

  ‘The only thing that makes her happy is making money,’ Garth said and walked away.

  As soon as Nurse Smethwick had left for the evening, Mog went up to see Belle. She was awake, and it looked as if she’d been crying.

  ‘What’s up, ducks?’ Mog asked, sitting on the bed beside her.

  ‘Wishing Jimmy was here,’ Belle said wistfully. ‘And wondering how I’m going to break the news to him.’

  ‘Well, you can stop worrying about that, the doctor got a message through to him and asked that he be sent home. I didn’t tell you before because I hoped if he just came through the door it would be a lovely surprise for you.’

  ‘Someone else had to tell him?’ Belle looked horrified. ‘And why would they let him come home for that? Unless they thought I was dying!’

  Mog gulped. She might have known Belle would only think of Jimmy’s feelings, not her own needs.

  ‘Dr Towle said he had some influence. He thought you needed Jimmy here.’

  ‘And he thought it was a kind thing to let him travel all the way back home thinking the worst?’

  ‘I’m quite sure Dr Towle would have told the commanding officer that you were recovering, ducks. I also know Jimmy
well enough to know he’d have been angry with us if we hadn’t at least tried to get a message to him. It would be far crueller to tell him the news in a letter and let him imagine all sorts.’

  Belle covered her eyes with her hand and sobbed. ‘It’s never going to be the same again. All our plans have gone wrong. Jimmy’s in the army and now I’ve lost the baby. There’s nothing left.’

  ‘That’s plain silly,’ Mog said indignantly. ‘You and Jimmy have still got one another, the war won’t last for ever. And there’s the shop too, once you’re well again.’

  Belle took her hand from her eyes. ‘You know perfectly well that neither Garth nor Jimmy will allow me to go back there again. I’ll have to be like every other wife in England, a stop-at-home. No chance to be me, just watching the years go by without anything to look forward to, nothing to achieve.’

  Mog protested because she thought she must. She insisted Belle was overwrought through losing her baby and looking at things in a distorted manner. Yet she knew Belle was right. Garth and Jimmy wouldn’t want her going back to the shop, they’d be afraid for her after what had happened.

  If Belle had been like any other ordinary, well-brought-up young woman, she wouldn’t be wanting anything more than just to be a very well-loved wife. But Belle wasn’t ordinary, she hadn’t had a normal childhood with a mother who did the chores while her father went out to work. At her most impressionable age she had been snatched away from her home and learned things on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean that wiped out her innocence and taught her to live on her wits.

  Mog knew Belle hated class distinction, yet right from the first day she opened her shop, she’d been compelled to pander to ‘nobs’ because she couldn’t survive without their patronage. At home she was always mimicking the ladies who came into her shop, strutting around with their noses in the air and complaining how exhausted they were after a dress fitting, a luncheon with friends or even a game of bridge.

  Mog, Jimmy and Garth had always found her little impersonations very comic, as she vividly portrayed the vacuous dullness of these women’s lives. They did little for themselves, and their sole aim appeared to be to see that their daughters married well and lived exactly the same way as they did.