In all this time not one person had ever come to see her, nor had she expected anyone. A letter to her parents had reaped no reply. Its purpose had been to tell her father how innocent of sexual matters she’d been.
She’d tried to explain that, brought up in ignorance other than those half understood, sketchy and preposterous and mostly erroneous bits of information exchanged at finishing school, yet imagined to be fact by sheltered young women, she’d had no idea she was getting herself into trouble; that if only she had been taught the facts of life, she would never have allowed to happen what had happened. But he’d probably refused to read her letters, no doubt forbidding her mother to do so too. As for Hamilton, all was silence. Not that she cared.
Her time drawing nearer she wondered more and more what would become of her once the baby was born and she was turned out.
It was an accepted rule here that the baby would be taken from the mother for adoption, usually by an orphanage. In most cases it appeared a girl was only too glad to be rid of it and go about her own life. To be saddled with a child with no known father was a disgrace in itself and no girl wanted fingers being pointed at her. An orphanage was the only answer.
After a few days recuperating, the mother would be turned out to earn her own living and be glad of it. A small amount of preparing for work would be carried out during her stay, usually as a housemaid somewhere.
The rule was that as soon as the baby was born it was whisked away from the mother before she had a chance to really look at it and thus form a bond. A representative from whatever orphanage it was destined for would be there to take it away. Should a baby arrive during the night, it was placed in the crèche until morning.
So it was that after two days of labour, Madeleine’s baby arrived in the early hours. She now lay all alone, exhausted, grateful for the respite from those terrible pains at last, sure she would never forget those gruelling forty-eight hours of absolute suffering for as long as she lived.
She thought of the tiny unseen life that had in its own way rescued her from her agony at the very moment of its birth, how she had collapsed with relief, too worn out to even see the bundle in its wrappings being borne from the room. Now she lay, all alone in the darkened room, wondering what her baby had looked like. She’d not even been told if it was a boy or a girl.
Sleep had been fitful. She seemed to have been awake for hours. Through the tiny grill the sky seemed paler than it had been, so morning was probably not far off.
Lying on her back had now become uncomfortable. Needing to move, Madeleine eased herself to a more upright sitting position though still not a comfortable one. Carefully she inched her legs over the side of the hard bed, her bare soles recoiling as they touched the cold bare floor. She remained for a time perched on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, feet held clear of the chilly floor. Her stomach felt strangely soft and flabby after so long being tightly distended. It was many minutes before she could bring herself to move at all, but she wanted to get to her feet, to feel normal again, more like a human being.
Finally summoning enough strength to stand, surprised to find that she could, she held on to the bed rail for support, taking her time until her head ceased spinning and she felt steady enough to stand alone. All she wanted now was to get out of this room with its cloying taint of birth blood hanging in the air, if only to breathe in something fresher.
Now came a few hesitant somewhat wobbly steps taking her to the door. Carefully, quietly, she opened it. Not a soul in sight anywhere. Hardly a thought in her head, she moved out into the corridor, no longer worried about the chill on her bare feet from the lino there. At the moment she wasn’t even sure where she really wanted to go but small hesitant steps were taking her in the direction of the crèche at the end of the corridor.
She came to a sudden standstill as a movement ahead made her give a smothered gasp: a nurse issuing from the crèche. Fortunately, the woman turned left without glancing in her direction and, too far off to have heard her intake of breath, turned right down a narrow corridor.
But it put an idea in Madeleine’s head. If no one else was in that room it would be worth having a small peek at the baby she had given birth to. If the nurse came back in time to catch her, what could she do but tell her off?
She was about ready to drop by the time she’d reached the nursery. It was a tiny room. Going in she realized there was only one baby there, lying in a cot and so completely swaddled in a thick off-white shawl that only the little face was visible. But the sight of those tiny features, so pretty, so delicate, a little girl, gripped Madeleine’s heart in a sudden welter of love.
‘Ohhh…’ Her sigh drew itself out in a profound surge of tenderness, her breath coming in small gasps as tears misted her eyes – her child, part of her own flesh and blood, hers, her daughter.
She bent forward and picked up the small bundle, held it against
