Remember Me - Lesley Pearse [45]
‘But don’t they go together?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes, if you are very fortunate,’ he smiled. ‘Sadly most of us get one or the other, not both. Or worse still, feel all that for someone who just isn’t suitable.’
Mary had a feeling he was trying to tell her that was how he felt about her.
‘But surely if you feel that way they can become suitable?’ she said wildly.
‘Maybe.’ He shrugged his shoulders and looked across the harbour to Rio. ‘If you could take that person to some new place where your backgrounds didn’t matter.’
Their conversation was halted abruptly by Captain Gilbert coming aboard. Tench had to go and greet him, and Mary slipped back to the stern of the ship to gaze at Rio across the bay and wonder if Tench had wished he could take her there.
But if he had, why was he encouraging her to think of Will? Surely that wasn’t what men did? But Mary had long ago realized that Tench wasn’t like other men.
They sailed out of Rio harbour on 4 September, and three days later, in the evening, Mary went into labour.
It wasn’t so bad at first. She lay quietly next to Bessie and even managed to doze. But by the early hours of the morning she was in real pain, and she had to get up and hold on to one of the ship’s beams to alleviate it. Surgeon White was called at mid-morning, but he pronounced everything to be normal and said first babies always took a long time. His only preparations were to order two women, who just happened to be Mary Haydon and Catherine Fryer, to collect some straw for Mary to lie on.
The ship was rolling in a heavy swell, and Mary and Catherine were entirely unsympathetic towards Mary. To make matters worse, the hatches were closed because of high winds, so the hold was dark and stuffy.
‘You ’ad the pleasure,’ Mary Haydon said spitefully. ‘Now you got to suffer the pain.’
Mary had always been aware that these two women had continued to hold her responsible for their plight, however much they had insisted in the past that it was done and forgotten. Every time Mary had received gratitude or praise from the other women, she had sensed their jealousy. She guessed they saw her labour as a chance to get even, hoping she’d make an exhibition of herself and lose some of the admiration the others had for her.
But Mary wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of that. When the next pain came she gritted her teeth and bore it silently.
On and on it went, each pain a little stronger until she was forced to lie down and cling to the knotted rope one of the older women had thoughtfully tied around a beam for her to pull on. Sarah sat beside her, bathing her head, and making her take sips of the brackish water.
‘It won’t be long now,’ she whispered encouragingly. ‘And if you want to scream, you do it, don’t pay no mind to those two witches.’
Mary thought she might die of the agony, and wondered in a brief moment between pains how women could bring themselves to have more than one child. But then, just as she felt unable to bear any more, there was a new sensation, one of wanting to bear down.
She had heard other women, including her mother, speak of this part, and knew it meant the baby was fighting its way out. Suddenly she felt a wave of tenderness for the child within her, and a determination to expel him or her as quickly as possible.
‘It’s coming now,’ she whispered to Sarah, and as the next pain came she clenched her teeth together, brought her legs up, pulled on the rope and bore down hard.
She was vaguely aware that the other women were having their evening meal beyond the blanket Sarah had thoughtfully hung up to give her some privacy – she could smell the stew and hear them chewing. The rolling and the bucking of the ship seemed to echo what was going on with her body, and she was glad of the darkness hiding what she knew must be a very ungainly sight.
She heard Sarah order someone to go and get the surgeon, but it was some time before he came, and he left almost immediately after giving Sarah some curt instructions and a lantern to see by.
‘Don’t leave me,’ Mary screamed