A Carriage for the Midwife Read Online Free Page A

nose.
    ‘Good, good,’ he nodded uncertainly, giving them a vague smile. ‘I hope that you are all good children, giving comfort to your mother and – er . . .’ He glanced towards the dark corner where Bartlemy lay. ‘You must bring them to church, goodwife, as soon as the weather improves.’
    Absurd though he appeared, Susan sensed that here was a man struggling to do his Christian duty in the face of want and misery.
    ‘Don’t we get no parish relief then, Parson?’ cried Dolly, and Susan saw his eyes fall before her desperate need. In his haste to see smiles in place of blank stares, he started gabbling his message.
    ‘I have been to see Mrs Bennett, who in her charity has some victuals for you if – if young Susan will call at—’ he began, but Dolly broke in with a shriek.
    ‘What?’ she cried, her pinched face alert. ‘Has Sarah Bennett bread for us? Today?
Now
?’
    ‘Yes, woman, this very hour, if you will send the child up to her.’ He turned to Susan. ‘Go to the scullery at the back, and keep out of the farmer’s sight behind the hedge, for if he sees you – well, take care he does not. And have you a jug to take with you?’
    ‘Take the crock jug, Sukey,’ cut in Dolly, her sunken eyes glinting wildly. ‘Go on, get ’ee gone up to her back door!’
    ‘The
scullery
door,’ Smart corrected her.
    ‘What ha’ she got fur us, Parson?’ asked little Polly.
    ‘I don’t know, child. I heard her speak o’ barley bread and a cut off a hind o’ salt bacon – and she asked for a jug to be sent.’
    The children’s weak cheers were too much for the parson, who had wrestled long and hard with himself before going to beg from the Bennetts. His own wife was having to make a dinner from thin, meatless soup and baked potatoes to feed their hungry brood in the draughty parsonage; he would feel the lash of her tongue if she ever found out that he had gone to Sarah Bennett on behalf of another family. Yet at this moment he knew that he had done right, and a constriction arose in his throat; he turned away from their grateful eyes to wipe his own with the back of his hand.
    Dolly had no interest in his reflections. She picked up one of the rag rugs that had covered her and the baby as they slept, and threw it over Susan’s shoulders.
    ‘Get goin’, Sukey. Put yer dad’s boots over yer feet an’ make sure ’ee don’t spill nothin’, nor fall down in the snow. Go on, go
on
!’
    Susan went forth on her errand without mishap, and arrived at the Bennett farmhouse kitchen, a haven of warmth where a hearth fire supplied heat to an adjoining bake-oven and a large black pot hung over it on a triple chain. The flagstoned floor was warm to her feet, and the aroma from the pot indescribably delicious.
    ‘These are thin times for us all, Sukey,’ said Mrs Bennett briskly. ‘This is for Dolly and you children, mind, not that idle drunken oaf. The farmer’s temper do rise at the very name o’ Lucket, so be sure ye don’t let him see ye.’
    The jug was filled from the stew pot, and bread and bacon wrapped in a knotted cloth. Mrs Bennett’s sharp words were softened by her tone, and Susan sensed that the woman’s heart was at variance with her head.
    ‘Tom! Tom, where are ye? Come down and take this girl back to the Ash-Pits, will ye? Ye can help carry the – see she doesn’t fall down.’
    A blunt-featured boy of about nine clumped into the kitchen in response to his mother’s call.
    ‘And whatever ye do, don’t let your father see.’
     
    His duty done, Smart made his way back to the parsonage of Little St Giles, from which he served Lower Beversley. He was chilled to the marrow of his bones, but his heart was lighter, and he looked forward to a game of backgammon with his older children, to take their minds off the rigours of winter.
    But his plans had to be set aside, for Dick the carrier was waiting for him with grim news. Goody Firkin’s corpse was laid across his cart, staring up