The Flower Book by Catherine Law

Author:Catherine Law [Catherine Law]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749014919
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2013-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

January: the blackest month of all the year

The hammering on the front door woke up the house and set Jess yapping in the kitchen below. In the darkness, Violet sat upright. Her mind, jolted from its sleep, spiralled with bad news and telegrams. A pool of dread slopped in her stomach. She got out of bed and fumbled with her lamp as she heard her father’s footsteps go past her bedroom door and down the stairs. Wrapping herself in her dressing gown, she stepped onto the landing and peered into the gloom of the staircase, seeing the sickening sway of her father’s lantern shadows over the walls.

The blast of icy night air through the open doorway was murderous. Violet became aware of a strange crackling silence outside under the high midnight sky. But it wasn’t the quiet of a peaceful sleeping countryside; the stricken woods, lanes and hedgerows were holding a collective breath under a deep, hard freeze. She glimpsed cold clouds of stars in the sweeping infinite blackness above and felt a chill like death sweep into the hallway as the boy from Charlecote farm panted on the doorstep, begging for Dr Prideaux. Violet’s father took hold of his collar and hauled him inside.

‘What now, what now?’ he asked, shivering in slippered feet.

The boy stuttered, breathless, his nose running, his cheeks looking like they’d been slapped. He’d run all the way.

‘Master says you got to come quick. It’s Missus. The baby’s coming.’

Violet’s father muttered about all the unnecessary commotion, and where was the midwife? After all, it was her second child.

‘It’s backwards, sir. Someone said to tell you, it’s backwards.’

Without a word, Dr Prideaux thrust the lantern at Violet and raced up the stairs to dress, calling back for her to fetch his doctor’s bag from the cupboard.

Violet did as she was asked and stayed mutely by the door, holding it ready. Was there something she could do for her friend, apart from just stand there? Was there nothing to be done but wait? By her side, the little boy began to cry, snuffling into his sleeve.

‘Pray the wagonette starts first time,’ her father muttered. He was in his hat and coat and out of the door in no time, the boy shuffling after him. Violet closed it behind him, shutting out the silent frozen January night. She wandered in a daze to sit by the warm kitchen range, occasionally ruffling Jess under his chin, feeling a little heat ebb from the fire box. But the cold stayed with her, remained inside her, stiffening her body, chasing away sleep until all she could do was wait in the middle of an unreal, unbearable world.

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