Chapter Twenty-Three #2
‘Nothing,’ Mathilde said, one hand on her stomach. ‘I’m not feeling too good. It’ll soon pass.’
Paulette stared at her. ‘Dear God, you aren’t in labour, are you? That’s all we need.’
‘I’m not due for another fortnight,’ Mathilde told her, dismissing the possibility before it could take root. ‘And first babies are never early, according to Odile.’
‘Thierry was.’ Paulette turned her bicycle around. ‘Shall I fetch the midwife?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Mathilde said, straightening up. ‘See? I’m fine now. Can you give me a lift to the paddock? We need to hurry.’ She knew exactly where to take the children, but she would need help.
‘Of course.’ Paulette pulled her on to the back of the bicycle and they rode towards the small field behind the stables where the horses were grazing. Between them, she and Paulette caught the pony, Mascotte, tacked her up and harnessed her to the cart.
‘Now, could you go to the kitchen and tell Odile what’s happening?’ Mathilde asked Paulette, climbing up to take the reins. ‘Then meet me by the servants’ block, that white building opposite, beyond the cypress trees.’ She pointed it out, then gasped and bent double.
Paulette threw down her bike and hurried over. ‘You’re in no fit state to do this. I’ll hide the children if you tell me where to go, but you should get down from that cart this minute.’
Mathilde shook her head. ‘No, you’ll never find the place.’ She took a few shallow breaths and let the pain wash over her until it receded. ‘Quickly! Talk to Odile and come to us as soon as you can.’
She cracked the reins and urged Mascotte into a trot.
It was the bumpy bicycle ride that had upset her stomach, she told herself.
If these were contractions, they were the practice ones Odile had described that could last for hours – days, even.
Once the children were safe, she would return and let herself be looked after.
She could manage, and they needed the help only she could give.
The children were waiting in a line in the servants’ block courtyard. Stefan and Anna had put them into pairs and kept them calm, though they were clearly frightened. Clambering down from the cart, Mathilde smiled reassuringly as she beckoned Anna aside and told her the plan.
‘There’s a shelter in the woods where they can spend the night.
Stefan and I will take the little ones in the cart.
My friend Paulette’s on her way and she’ll help you with the others.
Go down the back path and turn left along the lane.
Keep to the hedge, and hurry. I’ll meet you by the gate in the far corner of the opposite field, where the woods begin. ’
Anna nodded. She gathered the six smallest children together, knelt down and spoke rapidly to them in Polish, then she and Stefan lifted them into the cart and made them lie down close together.
They obeyed her instructions, fitting into the curve of each other’s bodies and clinging on like limpets.
Mathilde threw a couple of potato sacks over them, remembering how she’d hidden Geoffrey so many months ago.
She wished for a moment she’d thought to collect Brioche, but there was no time; no time either to tell the countess what was happening, though Odile would explain.
Stefan climbed into the cart first and took the reins, so Mathilde was able to use both hands to brace herself on the seat beside him. Sweat beaded her forehead and she thought she might be sick.
‘You’re not well. You should stay here,’ he said, but she shook her head.
‘Quickly,’ she urged him, yet he made Mascotte walk along the rutted track, only urging her into a trot once they reached the lane, and in fact Mathilde was grateful.
It didn’t seem long before they’d reached the gate.
She led the cart into the field and Stefan helped her unhitch the pony.
He lifted the children down one by one, and Mathilde guided them to the shelter of the hedge, where they sat, unnaturally still and quiet.
Two of them had wet themselves but that couldn’t be helped.
They allowed her to stroke their hair and stared at her while she spoke reassuring words they couldn’t understand.
She was watching Stefan push the cart deep into the hedge, hiding it as best he could, when a spasm gripped her, taking her in its jaws and dragging her down to a dark, wild place.
She must have groaned because she became dimly aware of him beside her, rubbing her back.
Instinctively she knew that a process had begun that could not be stopped, and that at some point she would have to give in to the demands of her body. Not yet, though.
‘It’s all right,’ she muttered, when she had come up for air and could speak again. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Because here was Paulette, bringing the first group of older children through the gate. Anna would be following shortly; they were almost there.
Stefan helped Mathilde to her feet and she pointed uphill. ‘That’s where we’re heading. Keep close to the hedge and walk in single file.’
‘Leave this to us,’ Paulette told her. ‘We can take it from here – you go back to the house.’
‘No!’ Mathilde said, the word coming out in a gasp.
The whole party had to get under cover as soon as possible, and without her, they would never find that precise point among the brambles that marked the start of the woodcutter’s path.
Half the little ones could ride on Mascotte and they would swap midway; the others would walk, being given piggy-backs if necessary.
But where were Anna and the last few children?
Had they been seen? She craned over the gate and there, thank God, she saw them, running along the lane.
‘Right,’ she said, grasping Mascotte’s reins. ‘Follow me – and hurry!’
Looking back, Mathilde had no idea how she made it up the hill.
She forgot about the children and concentrated only on putting one foot in front of the other, her gaze fixed on the ground.
If she looked up, she would see how far there was to go.
Every so often she would stop and groan into Mascotte’s warm neck, inhaling her reassuring animal smell.
Paulette followed close behind. ‘How often are the pains coming?’ she asked, her hand on Mathilde’s shoulder.
‘I’m not sure. Every few minutes?’ Mathilde wiped her face with her sleeve.
‘And how well equipped is this shelter we’re making for? Will there be water, for example?’
‘There’s a spring nearby,’ Mathilde replied. ‘I don’t know about any other supplies.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Paulette, this isn’t what you bargained for. I think the baby’s on its way.’
‘You don’t say.’ Paulette shook her head. ‘Well, we’ll just have to do our best.’
‘But it’s early.’ Mathilde gripped her friend’s elbow. ‘What if something’s the matter? What if—?’
‘No “what ifs”,’ Paulette replied firmly, squeezing her hand. ‘Everything’s going to be fine. My auntie was a midwife and I’ve watched her deliver hundreds of babies. How much further do we have to go?’
They were approaching the edge of the wood and from there it would be another fifteen minutes’ walk or so. ‘Best foot forward, then,’ Paulette said briskly. ‘Or do you want to ride the pony?’
Mathilde shook her head. The thought of heaving herself on to Mascotte’s bony back was unimaginable.
At last, to her huge relief, they were plunging into the wood through a narrow opening amid the bushes.
They’d be protected by the canopy of branches overhead, although the darkness was deeper here and the children were frightened by the strange night sounds around them.
An owl was hooting close by, and the trees rustled and sighed.
One of the little children began to wail, which threatened to start them all off.
‘Let’s sing,’ Anna suggested. Mathilde was beyond caring; at least some noise would cover her groans.
They’d started on the second verse of ‘Frère Jacques’ when she suddenly gave a startled cry.
Something had given way inside her body and a gush of warm liquid was flooding between her legs, splattering on to the leaf mould.
Paulette took her arm. ‘Can you walk, or shall Stefan and I carry you between us?’
‘I can walk,’ Mathilde gasped. Despite her pain, she felt a flash of elation that her baby was about to be born here, in the forest where it had been conceived.
She staggered on, supported by Paulette on one side and Stefan on the other, and then – thank God – they had reached the camp and she could lie down at last in one of the sleeping hollows.
Paulette immediately took control: locating the crates of supplies which were still piled in a corner of the shelter, bringing out lamps and lighting them with a tinderbox, dispatching Stefan with a canteen to fetch water from the spring, tearing her petticoat into strips.
Anna took blankets from the trunk and cleared places for the children to sleep.
Mathilde turned her gaze away to concentrate on herself. Lying on her back was excruciating so she sat with her back against a tree trunk and her legs drawn up.
‘That’s a good girl,’ Paulette said, rolling up her sleeves. ‘Now let’s have a look at you.’ She tucked Mathilde’s smock over her knees and brought the lamp closer.
Mathilde closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her mother appeared beside her. ‘Nearly there, chérie,’ Simone whispered. ‘What a brave girl you are.’
‘I can see the baby’s head,’ Paulette called. ‘It’s in a good position. Take little panting breaths, and when you feel the next contraction, give a great big push.’
‘I can’t do it, Maman,’ Mathilde cried. ‘I’m going to tear apart.’
‘Nonsense,’ her mother said. ‘The women in our family are made of strong stuff. You’re about to meet your daughter so do as the lady says. I’ll hold your hand.’
Her daughter! Mathilde leaned back, readying herself to ride the next wave and then bearing down with all her might: sinews straining, breath tearing, stars exploding in her head. She let out a wild cry and Paulette shouted too. ‘Baby’s head is out!’
The next contraction was already coming and Mathilde needed no encouragement to push because it seemed the worst was over and somehow she was still alive.
Grasping her mother’s hand, she bore down again and again, until something slithered from her body and she was suddenly empty and free, and an entirely new sound could be heard in the wood: her baby’s cry.
‘It’s a girl!’ Paulette exclaimed from somewhere far away. ‘A lovely little girl.’
‘I know,’ Mathilde said, reaching out to take her daughter from Paulette’s arms. ‘My mother told me.’
Everything was hazy after that. She remembered Paulette massaging her stomach and at some point the placenta being delivered, and a knife being sterilised in the fire Stefan had made, to cut the umbilical cord.
Water had been boiled and her daughter was washed and wrapped in part of Paulette’s petticoat before being returned to Mathilde’s arms. She was enchanting, with a tiny rosebud mouth and a light covering of wispy dark hair.
‘What are you going to call her?’ Paulette asked, gazing at the baby.
‘Esmé,’ Mathilde replied. ‘Esmé Simone Paulette Garnier.’
Paulette pounced. ‘Aha, Garnier! So that’s the fellow. But thank you for including me in the list – I’m honoured.’
Mathilde laughed. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that name. I meant Esmé Simone Paulette Morisot, of course.’
For a moment, she had forgotten who she was, which was understandable. She was Marie Garnier, Mathilde Duval and Fleur Morisot all wrapped into one. She’d had so many roles – a daughter, then a wife, a widow and a runaway – and now she was a mother. What sort of job would she make of that?
‘Thank you for helping me, Paulette,’ she said. ‘I could never have managed without you. And thank heavens for your auntie.’
Paulette smiled. ‘My auntie ran a tabac. I was just trying to jolly you along.’
‘But how did you know what to tell me?’
‘I remembered what the midwife said when Thierry was coming,’ Paulette replied. ‘It worked, though, didn’t it? We didn’t do too badly.’
‘We didn’t.’ Mathilde kissed her daughter’s sweet-smelling head.
Esmé, meaning beloved: the perfect name for her perfect, miraculous child.