Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [1]
Once all the live passengers were safely on board, the matter of loading the coffins into the hearse-carriage was dealt with in as discreet a manner as possible, so as not to cause undue distress. Those not travelling with a coffin but who were going to the cemetery to tend a grave or mark an anniversary filed into a separate carriage, and Grace joined them. Someone made a remark about it being pleasant that the sun was shining that day and there was a murmur of agreement all round, but Grace didn’t look up or even think of contributing a comment of her own, so occupied was she with her own devastating circumstances.
After all, what difference would it make to her if it rained or snowed – or indeed, the world were swallowed up by fog and no one ever saw sunlight again? She had given birth to a child, and the child had died. At that moment, nothing else was of the slightest importance.
The train started right on time with a tremendous roaring noise and rattling, amid gusts of steam and smoke which enveloped the carriage like a cloud. From further down the train a bewildered shout of ‘What the devil?!’ was heard, and some women screamed in fright, for Grace was by no means the only one who hadn’t travelled on a train before. Startled by the hissing steam and noise, she jumped to her feet, only to find herself the centre of attention. She sat down again quickly.
She knew that the journey would last about an hour and had been told exactly what to do: once the train was under way, she was to go into the van where all the coffins rested, choose one (not a pauper’s coffin, the midwife had instructed, but one in the first-class section, made of good wood with brass handles), lift a corner of the lid and put her precious bundle inside. That was all. Once the train reached the cemetery, the coffins would be unloaded from the train and their lids screwed down permanently before being carried to their final resting places, where private services and ceremonials would be held.
If Grace was quick, the midwife had said, then no one would know that there had been a small addition to one of the coffins – and treating the dead child thus would be far, far better than taking it to a paupers’ burial ground in London.
‘I always recommend it for young girls like you who’ve suffered such a loss,’ the midwife had gone on to say. ‘And afterwards you must forget it ever happened. Never tell a soul about the child – no, not even if you marry. You are a fallen woman, and no one can forgive such a sin.’
Grace had tried to protest that it had not been a sin on her part; she had not wished nor invited the incident which had caused her to have a child, but Mrs Smith had told her not to speak any more about it, said that she would forget about it quicker that way.
As the train settled into a rhythm and the stink and mire of London gradually gave way to the sweeter green of the countryside, Grace looked out of the window, unable to stop her thoughts turning to the events of the past few days.
x
The last stage of her labour, though painful, had been blessedly quick – but that was mostly because for hours she’d denied to herself that she was in any real pain. For months before that, she’d denied being with child at all, and indeed no one looking at her could have guessed it until the last couple of weeks. Only then had she seen people exchanging glances and winking at each other, or heard catcalls of ‘There’s a gal as wants a husband in a hurry!’ or ‘That’s not beer what’s made her belly swell!’ when going past a tavern on a Saturday night. She’d told Lily, of course, but had no idea how much someone like her sister could understand about babies and the process of getting them.
Coming close to her time (how she knew this she couldn’t say, for she had no idea how long a pregnancy should last), Grace began to search for someone who would help her with the birth, for she knew it to be a matter involving not only a deal of pain, but also blood and linens and bowls of water. Earlier on,