Page 41 of Lizzie’s Spirit

The Harmonia do Cul weighed anchor the next morning and made its way to the Heads.

But there, a strong tide and southeasterly gale made it impossible to navigate the passage safely.

Captain Ruiz was forced to anchor and wait for more favourable conditions.

Large swells rolled in from the Pacific Ocean, the heavy seas threatening to dash the ship upon the towering sandstone cliffs.

Abruptly the topgallant yard gave way, tangling the rigging.

There was nothing he could do—his return to Sydney Cove constituted less risk than continuing the journey.

The vessel was gone some two days before the residents of the town saw it back in port.

“Mrs. Darcy!” A soldier, from the flagstaff at Government House, pushed past Sgt. Monogan and entered her office at the orphanage. “We’ve a signal from the Harmonia do Cul, the ship of Captain Ruiz . You’re required urgently on board.”

“Come, Phoebe, and you also, Ann. Let us hope the poor woman’s travail is not too hard.” Elizabeth sent a message to Darcy that she may be on the vessel for some time, collected her midwife’s satchel, and ran to the Government Wharf, where a cutter from the ship was to collect her.

She contained her anger as the captain showed them to the cabin where Senhora Ruiz lay in deep pain. “How long has she been thus?” she asked in Portuguese.

“Some two days,” replied he. “I’ve been much engaged with the ship and not been to her cabin. I came this morning, once we anchored.”

“Two days! and possibly more—the poor woman. Ann, get yourself to the cook and have him make up some caudle. I shall write out the ingredients, though my written Portuguese is rather ill. Phoebe, we need clean, fresh water and a bowl for washing. I’ve brought the strong soap from the dispensary.”

Elizabeth held the woman’s hands, which were tightly clenched. “Senhora, it’s Mrs. Darcy. Hold my hands, then I’ll examine you. We’ll have your babe out as soon as maybe, with God’s will.”

Elizabeth and the girls thoroughly washed their hands. Gently, Ann fed Senhora Ruiz some wine and the caudle. Once the sustenance touched her lips, she eagerly sought more, not having eaten for two days. Oh, the neglect of her husband, but such recriminations would assist neither mother nor child.

“When did your waters break?” she asked and was gratified that only two hours had passed since. She felt the child from outside the womb. It lay wrong, the head to one side. It was best to turn it immediately.

She entered the sheaf and found the mouth of the womb.

Where the babe’s head should be pressing at the opening, a small hand was poking through.

Carefully she searched, finding first the head, which was indeed at an angle; then, further back, the feet, but they were apart and did not lie together.

Taking some cord, which she carried for this purpose, she looped it around the first foot she found.

Keeping hold of the cord, she searched again for the other, on which she also placed a loop.

Some time passed; how long she didn’t know.

Proceeding carefully was better than hurriedly and causing bleeding of the mother, which most times could not be stopped.

All the while, Elizabeth spoke to Phoebe and Ann, explaining to them what she was doing—her feeling for the head and then the foot of the babe.

She also translated to Portuguese so that Senhora Ruiz could understand Elizabeth’s manipulations.

Ann held the hands of the lady, Phoebe ready to assist Elizabeth in her work.

“Why do you use loops?” said Phoebe. “Surely you could pull the legs down into the birth passage with your hand? It would be easier than putting the loops around the feet when in the womb.”

“Greater violence would be done to the child if I were to pull it with my hand. I put the loops around the feet to keep them together and turn them. The babe is still living, so I must not injure it. Also, I must prevent an arm from entering the mouth, so I use my right hand to push them deeper into the womb.”

Senhora Ruiz groaned; a pain had come. “Now I pull,” said Elizabeth, “but no harder than the pains push the child. You cannot hurry either mother or babe too much.”

The rough wooden timber of the deck pressed against Elizabeth’s knees. Senhora Ruiz lay on her back, her legs spread apart over the side of the cot. ‘Twas not ideal but the best of a poor circumstance. “Whoa, its hand wishes to exit early. I must push it up good and high above the sharebone.”

Thus time went on. The pains continued, as did Senhora Ruiz’s torment, and at each of the throes, Elizabeth gently pulled on the child with her left hand.

The other ensured only the babe’s feet would enter the birth passage.

Captain Ruiz came to the door of the cabin, but Phoebe sent him away.

Only women could give comfort to his wife at this time of utmost distress.

Perhaps some ten hours later, the pains were almost continuous; Senhora Ruiz was close to collapse.

Her travail now approached three days. Could they save the child?

Elizabeth knew not, but she could save the mother.

The next throes began, and Elizabeth pulled the feet of the babe, now with her hands as they were at the entrance to the sheaf.

Firmly she continued to pull even as the throes subsided; in response, the body of Senhora Ruiz recognised the birth was imminent—she continued to push, crying with exertion. And then relief as her child was born.

Tears flooded Elizabeth’s eyes; the travail was over.

Phoebe immediately took the child and cleared its nose and mouth of mucus.

A pink-skinned, wrinkled boy, small to have come out of such a large woman.

Elizabeth understood why her husband had not thought she was so far gone in her pregnancy.

A cough. Then the cry of a newborn dragged into the world.

Ann helped Senhora Ruiz move back onto the cot and arranged cushions behind her.

Phoebe gently placed the babe into Senhora Ruiz’s arms. She smiled with the bewildered look of the new mother, unable to properly grasp that her labour was done; that both she and her child were safe.

Elizabeth waited until the afterbirth was delivered.

Ann and Phoebe used the water in the basin to cleanse Senhora Ruiz, who had already placed the child to her breast. Shortly thereafter, Captain Ruiz entered.

As is the way of men, his was a beaming smile of congratulation to himself for having sired a son .

“See, it’s God’s will that I have a son. The gale at the Heads was His sign that I should return to safe anchorage.”

“No, Senhor,” said Elizabeth through clenched teeth.

“Your invoking God is your excuse absolving you of responsibility for having almost murdered both mother and child through your indolence, neglect, and avarice, putting profit ahead of their well-being. Look to your heart, Senhor. If there is, indeed, a loving God, it would have been easier for Him to turn the child in your wife’s womb, ensuring thereby her safe delivery, rather than sending a tempest to drive you back to port! ”

There was little more she could do. Pushing past him, she and her assistants made their way to the upper deck, thence onto the cutter for the shore.

Either the captain would treat his wife and child with consideration, or he would not.

Such was no longer her concern. But she felt an ache within her, which lingered for days thereafter.

Only the solace of William’s arms could restore her good humour—that she could face the world with any sort of composure.

***

On returning to shore, Elizabeth made her way to the house and there met Darcy, who was waiting for her return.

“William, I’m overwrought; could we please ride?

Perhaps to Boondi. I need to clear away the despondency that eats at my soul.

” The strain of dealing with an abnormal birth and her fear for both Senhora Ruiz’s and the babe’s life had left her drained.

Was this always the lot of a midwife, or is it because I’m too young for such a task?

My fatigue is such that I’m at a loss for a clever phrase from Latin, Spanish, or French to dispel my disquiet!

A man was dispatched to fetch horses from the government stables.

Elizabeth changed from her work dress, which was now soiled, into the riding habit Darcy had gifted her.

With a pert beaver atop her head, together with her scarlet close-fitting jacket and skirt, her stylish attire lifted her melancholy.

Certainly, when she rode the spirited chestnut gelding whose colour matched the curls spilling from under her hat, her upright posture complementing her graceful, trim figure, all in the colony acknowledged Mrs. Darcy as a handsome, elegant woman.

But beneath was the turmoil of a young gentlewoman being thrust too rapidly into the painful world of women, childbirth, and the carelessness of men.

The early spring day was turning warm, the temperature approaching seventy degrees by the mercury of Darcy’s thermometer. But when they arrived at Boondi, a strong onshore breeze was blowing, making for an unpleasant walk along the beach.

“Oh, William,” Elizabeth exclaimed, “I thought to swim, but the sea is too rough and the wind too cold.”

Darcy looked out over the white-capped waves, spray misting the air. “There’s the lagoon behind the dunes—it’s cold, but little wind.”

“Perhaps… are you certain we’re alone? The Belle Vue ridge overlooks the lagoon, whereas here, we’re hidden by the dunes.”

“Dearest Lizzie, this is your domain, and anyone else trespasses. If they dare look, I’ll declare them Peeping Toms and into the stocks with them!”

Elizabeth laughed. Yes, the chill water of the lagoon would do wonders to release the tensions of the long hours pulling Senhora Ruiz’s babe.

They returned to the lagoon. Elizabeth undressed, leaving only her chemise.

Squealing with gleeful anticipation, she ran into the water and dived beneath the surface, as she had so many times as a child in the ponds at Longbourn.

Clad in his shirt, Darcy followed more sedately.

“Why not dive, William? The shock of cold water is best done quickly. ”

“I cannot, Lizzie. Once my head is underwater, some panic sets in. As a child, I once fell into the lake at Pemberley, from which terrifying experience I’ve never recovered.

But I can swim well enough.” Darcy pushed himself forward and swam to her.

Elizabeth dived once again and surfaced just behind him.

“William, there’s a bee on your bottom!” Impulsively, she flicked at it with her fingers. “Oh, ‘tis not a bee, but a brown butterfly—no, some pigment just like my freckles. How adorable, I shall kiss it and watch it fly away.”

Embarrassed, Darcy spun around. She gently kissed him on the lips. “You have the right of it; your lips are much more alluring.”

The scents of eucalyptus and tea tree mingling with her scent turned his body to gooseflesh.

“This is divine; the water is almost fresh, though it tastes a touch salty.” She placed her hands on Darcy’s chest. With a coy look in her eye and glancing down, she whispered, “Goodness me, your manly bits have disappeared!”

Darcy blushed: this minx was driving him to distraction. “’Tis only the chill of the water.”

“Then I should warm you.” Taking his hand and pulling him towards the water’s edge, Elizabeth lay down on the rug placed on the sandy ground and looked languidly towards him, her eyes closing.

Scarcely had her head touched the blanket than she fell asleep.

Gently, he removed her chemise to hang on the branches of a nearby tree.

He covered her with his coat; the air was warm, but he feared she may take some chill as the afternoon shadows lengthened.