‘You must,’ Hester snaps. ‘Just hold it.’ She now dips one of the towels into the basin and starts to clean up Meg. ‘You don’t have to look. Close your eyes, just hold the basin close.’
The old woman closes her eyes while Hester works at cleaning up a wailing, sobbing, seemingly hysterical Meg.
‘There, there, dearest, it’s all come away, you’ll be safe now,’ she says soothingly to her eldest daughter. ‘God in his infinite mercy didn’t want you to have this dear child.’
At the mention of God, whom Mrs Baker regards as her own personal territory, she opens her eyes. ‘God bless you, my dear,’ she manages to say, though whether this is meant for Hester or Meg is not clear. ‘The little mite is on its way to Paradise.’ These dear sweet words seem to surprise and cheer her up no end and she offers to take the blood-tinged contents of the basin into the kitchen and return with fresh hot water from the kettle. ‘Not too hot,’ Hester instructs quietly. ‘She is so very tender.’ She looks up at the old woman, and Mrs Baker gives an involuntary sob as she sees the terrible sadness in Hester’s eyes. She turns and hurries as much as she might with the basin in her hands into the kitchen.
When she returns Hester tells her to place the basin on the floor beside where she sits on the bed. In Mrs Baker’s absence she has moved a chair to the furthermost side of the bed. ‘Will you sit, my dear, and hold Meg’s hand?’ she asks. ‘I must go and find her father.’ Mrs Baker moves over to the chair, happy to be able to do something for Hester and knowing herself calm enough to hold Meg’s hand. Hester pauses at the door and speaks to Meg. ‘Dearest, I must fetch your father,’ she says, as though Meg hasn’t heard her words to Mrs Baker.
‘Mama, don’t go! Please don’t go,’ Meg wails. ‘Send Jessica!’
Hester sighs deeply. ‘She’s not well, my precious.’ Hester now turns to Mrs Baker and in a whisper, as if she is still talking to Meg, says, ‘Poor Mrs Baker saw our dear Jessica naked, her mind quite gone.’ She looks again at Meg. ‘Try to sleep, my dearest, Mama will be back soon.’ She leans over and kisses Meg on the forehead. ‘Mrs Baker will mind you while I’m gone.’
Hester, free from the homestead and on her way to the cow paddock where Joe will be waiting, is both elated and despairing. Mrs Baker will make a fine witness without her ever having seen the evidence. But, at the same time, she has witnessed Jessica’s condition and will now have to be sworn to secrecy. Hester despairs at the thought that she will need to throw herself on the old woman’s mercy and beg her not to reveal Jessica’s pregnancy. She knows the old lady, despite any assurances she may give, cannot be trusted, for she simply can’t help herself. There is nothing much Hester can do about this latest predicament and she is furious at Jessica’s behaviour. Once again her youngest daughter has shamed them all. Joe nods quietly when she tells him all this, though she doesn’t tell Joe how she has meant Mrs Baker to believe Jessica has gone strange in the head.
‘It would have come out sooner or later,’ Joe says philosophically, ‘we can’t hide the girlie’s pregnancy forever.’
It is as they are walking back from the paddock together that Hester remembers the letter. Quite why it would pop into her head at such a moment she cannot think. ‘Joe, there is a letter for you — the verger gave it to me this morning.’
Joe goes into Meg’s room when they return to the homestead. He feels awkward in front of Mrs Baker, who still clings dutifully to Meg’s hand, but it is this very awkwardness which makes the scene all the more convincing.
‘I’m sorry, girlie,’ he mumbles. ‘You get better now, eh.’ Then he turns and walks out slowly, followed by Hester who goes to her handbag and gives him the letter.
Joe, who knows himself to be a slow reader, goes to sit at the kitchen table. Tearing open the envelope, he begins to read.
Dear Mr Bergman,
I most sincerely trust you and your good wife are in excellent health, though, as a physician, I hope this is even more the case with your daughter Meg, a fine young woman whom I understand is now married to young Jack Thomas. An admirable family and an excellent choice, if I may say so. As I recall saying to you, these things have a splendid way of working out for the best.
However, I am charged with a most extraordinary duty and all of it in the name of King and Country. I have received a letter from Colonel Septimus Cunningham-Thomas who is, I believe, the colonel in charge of Jack Thomas’s battalion and also, I seem to recall, his uncle, on his father’s side. In what seems to me to be a highly unnecessary precaution, he asks that in the unlikely event of a miscarriage or stillbirth, Meg is overseen by myself or a midwife of my nomination, and the sad occasion witnessed and certified by either one of us.
I have told him that it is unlikely that I will be in a position to oversee the birth, or, as it may be, miscarriage, but that I will recommend a certain Mrs Colleen O’Sullivan, a woman in whom I have complete trust. She lives in Yanco and while she is of the Church of Rome this should not be held against her as she is thoroughly trustworthy and highly skilled in the modern technique of delivery. In the sad event of a miscarriage or stillbirth, I, or as it is likely to transpire, Mrs O’Sullivan, may be called as witnesses. In such an instance I regret that you must keep the foetus in your possession for inspection by myself or Mrs O’Sullivan.
I hasten to say that I feel it highly unlikely that such a calamity will befall your daughter. Nevertheless I have written to say that we will comply with the colonel’s instructions, as they are in your best interests. I say this because I am led to conclude from his letter that the marriage contract is in some way implicated if Meg’s pregnancy is not forthcoming.
I am too old to feel insulted by such a manifest doubt in my ability to determine so obvious a condition of pregnancy, but for the sake of good relations with your son-in-law’s military commander, I have agreed for Mrs O’Sullivan to be called as the primary witness if such a tragedy should occur. Upon her evidence I would then certify to the colonel’s satisfaction that a miscarriage has in fact taken place or that the child was stillborn.
All this is, of course, entirely unnecessary. Your daughter Meg is to my mind in excellent health and, but for the slimness of her hips, I foresee no complications. She should carry the full nine months and give birth to a healthy child, though I strongly suggest she remains out of the saddle for the last two months of her pregnancy and is required to undertake only light duties.
Please let me know when the birth takes place so that we may adjust the little matter of timing we talked about previously.
My felicitations to your dear wife and daughter.
I remain, yours faithfully,
Nathaniel Merrick (Physician).
Joe rises slowly from the kitchen table and walks over to stand in the doorway of Meg’s bedroom. Hester looks up as he reaches the door and he indicates with a jerk
of his head that she should follow him. Back in the kitchen, he hands her the letter from Dr Merrick. ‘Come outside, we’ll talk there,’ he mutters.
Hester stands in the yard and reads the letter and then looks up at Joe and sighs.
‘What now?’ Joe asks, spreading his hands as they begin to walk towards the cow paddock.
Hester hands him back the letter and walks silently for a while, thinking. After a time she looks up at her husband. ‘We’ll have to do her in.’ She shrugs. ‘There’s simply no other way out, Joe.’
‘Do her in? Do who in?’ Joe asks, confused.