Chapter 14
They had been in Lytham for almost four months when Catherine’s first twinges came. She knew it could not be long before the child that she and Thomas had created would come into this world, and she was excited and terrified all at once.
“How are you feeling? Your colour is a little high, Catherine.” Agnes Price sat next to Catherine on the wide window seat.
“I can feel more movement, Agnes, and little pains. Well, hardly pains, but I do not know how else to describe them.” Catherine smiled at Agnes before staring out of the window and across the calm blue sea. “I suppose I am more uncomfortable than anything else.”
“Then I do not think it can be long now.” Agnes gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and stared out at the sea also.
Agnes was such a kind, warm woman that it was not difficult to see why it was Celia had kept her as a companion.
“Agnes, tell me again, is it a nice place?” Catherine heard the tremor in her voice.
“It is clean and warm, one of the nicest I have seen. And they are very discreet, Catherine; you need have no fear of it.”
Catherine did not doubt that Agnes was telling the truth, but it was not discretion or lack thereof that she feared. It was parting with her baby; Thomas’ baby.
Even after so many months, Catherine still thought of Thomas every day. She thought of how he had held her hand down by Stromlyn Lake and how they had both known that it could not last forever. It had seemed almost cruel that they had fallen in love so completely. Of all the people in the world, why were they meant to be together? Why, when they could not be?
If Catherine had the energy left to be angry, she would have been. Life ought to have been different for them; they had no argument between them, no feud. All they had, all they had ever had, was love.
They should have been able to court, to become engaged. They should have been married by now, eagerly expecting the birth of their first child with their families around them, all smiles and congratulations.
But no. Because two arrogant men had fought over a woman so many years ago, they were apart; their lives ruined, and the birth of their baby reduced to a matter of shame and secrecy.
Catherine suddenly burst into tears; she could not bear the wheel of thoughts which went around and around in her mind.
“I am so sorry, my dear,” Agnes said and pulled Catherine into her arms. “I know that none of this can be easy for you. I cannot imagine how you are feeling.”
In the absence of Celia, who had walked into the town in the hope of buying some apples, Agnes was a very fine substitute.
“I know I should think of myself as wrong, as having behaved badly, but I cannot. It should never have been this way, and only the stubbornness of old men has made it so. That is the difference between me being thought of as bad and thought of as good. Two old men. It is so very wrong, Agnes, but I am powerless to make it right. My heart is already broken. I lost Thomas, but it seems that is not enough. There is more to pay, and I am to let go of my precious baby. I am to have my heart broken again as if I deserve it to be so.” She wept hard, her breath coming in noisy gulps.
“I know. I know,” Agnes soothed and began to rock her back and forth. “And I am so sorry. You are not bad, my girl. You have done nothing wrong, and you most certainly have not deserved any of this.”
How wonderful it was to be surrounded by people who did not judge her. Society’s main pastime was just that, criticism and judgement, but Celia and Agnes did not partake.
Suddenly a great dragging sensation ripped through Catherine’s belly, and she cried out in pain. She lurched forward as if to escape it, and Agnes, as efficient as ever, expertly got her to her feet and sped her through to the little chamber.
As Catherine perched, afraid and breathing heavily on the edge of the bed, Agnes hurried back and forth with everything that she needed to prepare for the delivery.
No sooner did she have everything ready than Celia returned from town. Catherine knew her time had come, and she prayed to God to help her child be delivered safely into the world. All thoughts beyond that moment would have to wait until her work was done.
And hard work it was, although Catherine had known it would not be easy. It was the way of things and always had been.
But the moment Catherine set eyes on her baby boy, her exhaustion fell away. She was energized and suddenly full of purpose as she took him from Celia and held him in her arms for the first time.
She looked into his tiny, perfect face and saw Thomas’ beautiful blue eyes looking back at her. She squinted at the sparse little tuft of chestnut red hair and touched it lightly with her fingers.
“Beautiful. He is just beautiful,” she said through tears of joy. “His hair and eyes are so like his father’s. He is the image of him.”
The baby breathed slowly and made contented little noises as he peered back up into the eyes of his mother. He squinted as if he was trying to focus and then fell asleep.
“He is beautiful,” Celia said, taking a seat by the bed as Agnes set about tidying up. “Agnes is emotional, I can tell.” Celia let out a secret laugh. “That is why she cannot sit still. But you must not mind it, for it is just her way.”
“Agnes has been wonderful. You both have. I will never be able to thank you both enough for what you have done for me today. For both of us,” she said and looked down at the sleeping baby.
Suddenly, Catherine felt an immense sense of peace. It was as if she knew she would never be parted from her child now, come what may. Whatever life threw at her, she would manage it as long as she had her baby with her.
“He certainly is a handsome little boy. He will fair very well in this world with a face like that.” Celia smiled sadly at the sleeping infant.
“We may or may not fare well in this world, Aunt Celia, but we shall do it together,” Catherine said, not knowing how else to begin to tell her aunt she would not be surrendering her baby.
“I know you are in pain, Catherine. I know this is going to be the hardest thing you will ever have to do, but …”
“I cannot do it. I love you dearly for what you have done, not just you and Agnes, but Uncle Charles too. You have all been so kind, and you have all put me first. I cannot think that anybody in this world has done so much for me, and it pains me more than I can say to hurt you. I would not wish it, especially after all you have done.” Catherine paused to wipe her tears with the back of her hand.
“Here, my sweet girl.” Celia handed her a fresh white handkerchief.
“Thank you.” It was clear that Celia was not angry with her, and something about that made Catherine feel all the worse. “Aunt Celia, I do not expect you to support me more than you have done already. I know the shame of this situation, and I would not bring that down upon you. This is mine to deal with, and I shall find a way.”
“But my dear Catherine, I could never …”
“I will do whatever I have to do to keep my little boy with me. Now that he is here,” she began and looked down into his angelic little face. “I could never part with him. It was hard enough before he was born to think of the moment when I would have to let him go, but I know with the deepest certainty I could not do it now. I care not what poverty I must live in, what low circumstances. I would even go into the workhouse to keep my child with me; that is how strongly I feel. I hope you can forgive me for all the trouble I have caused you.”
“Catherine, what I was trying to say was that I could never abandon you, no matter what choices you make.” Celia laid a hand on her cheek. “I do not yet know how best I can help, but I am sure Charles will be able to think of something. He really is awfully clever. That is why I married him.” She laughed, and Catherine knew her aunt was trying to put her at her ease.
She should have known that Celia Topwell would not try to shame her into giving away her child, nor turn her back on her entirely. Celia was cut from very different cloth, and Catherine gave a silent prayer of thanks that it was to Celia she had been sent when she had been disowned by her father.
“Now then, you get some rest, and Agnes and I shall fashion a letter to be sent to your Uncle Charles today.” She rose and leaned forward to first plant a kiss on Catherine’s forehead, and then one on the baby’s soft cheek.
“Thank you,” Catherine said tearfully as Celia left her little chamber.
Catherine stared around the tiny room, its pale lemon walls reminding her of her room back home. By home, of course, she meant Ivy Manor.
The idea that she probably would never be able to go back there was a painful one, even though she knew she could not let go of her child just so that she could return. However kind Celia and Charles were, they could not possibly support the idea of having Catherine and her baby living under their roof. They were not society figures, it was true, but they were still respectable and well-respected. They would be made pariahs by association, and she could never do that to them.
But perhaps there really was a way they could help her. Perhaps she would not be entirely alone or brought so low as to find herself and her child in the workhouse.
Catherine was once again gripped by the unfairness of it all. This should have been the happiest day of her life, not one marred by thoughts of poverty and sadness and shame.
“No, my little boy, we shall think happier thoughts,” she whispered to her sleeping child. “We shall imagine life as it should have been, with your Papa here and looking down at you in wonder.”
And she did just that. Catherine closed her eyes and pictured herself in a beautiful chamber with bright sunshine pouring into the room. The window was open, and a cooling breeze played around the smooth skin of her face.
Then her husband, the wonderful and handsome Thomas Carlton, made his way cautiously into the room as if he feared waking mother and child.
“Come in, Thomas. We are awake,” she imagined herself saying with a laugh at her husband’s barely concealed nervousness and excitement.
“You look beautiful,” she imagined Thomas saying as he hastened towards her and sat down on the edge of her bed. “I have never seen you look more radiant.”
“Thank you.” She smiled to herself, almost as if the whole scene was real, and she truly was looking at her beloved husband.
“And this is my son.” She pictured Thomas smiling down at their baby in awe. “This is my little man.”
“He is your little man. And see how he looks just like you, my love. See how his soft little tufts of hair have such red in them, and his eyes are such a wonderful blue.”
“But they are almond shaped and beautiful like his mother’s, see?” As she pictured Thomas’ face, it was so clear to her in every detail that she could almost have reached out and touched him.
“Then he has the best of both his parents, does he not?” She smiled and leaned back into her plump white pillows as her husband ran a hand through her hair.
“He will have your intelligence and my wit, and he shall navigate this world very well. And we must have more, Catherine. We must make brothers and sisters for him.” She imagined Thomas looking just as excited as she knew he would have if her imagination were reality.
“What shall we call him? He must have a name.”
“You choose a name for him, Catherine.”
“Henry. Let us call him Henry.”
“Henry Carlton. Yes, that is perfect.”
Catherine opened her eyes finally to see that the baby was awake again. He was staring up at her and had the most serene look on his little face. She imagined for a moment that Henry, for she had decided to name him such, had been right with her in the scene in her imagination, settling his bright blue eyes on the bright blue eyes of his father.
If only Thomas really could see him. If only Thomas had been with her there at that moment, she felt sure they would never be parted again.
Feeling her heartbreaking afresh at the loss of her one true love, Catherine knew that it was a pain that would never leave her. Her tears fell again, and she wished she could escape her own emotions, if only for a little while.
“Oh, Thomas, how did things turn out this way?” she said miserably as she held baby Henry tightly to her. “How is it that I am alone? How is it that you are not here? And how is it fair that I will love you with this dreadful intensity for the rest of my life?”