Young bloods

'The midwife told me everything before we left. I know there is little enough chance that he will survive.We must put our trust in the Lord.'

'Yes,' Garrett nodded.

The carriage pulled out of the village and the rattle of cobblestones gave way to the softer rumble of the unpaved turnpike that wound through the countryside towards Dublin. Garrett flicked back one of the curtains from the small carriage door and pulled down the window.

'O'Shea!'

'My lord?'

'Why are we not going faster?'

'It's dark, my lord. I can barely make out the way ahead. If we go any faster we could run off the road, or turn the carriage over. Not long to dawn now, sir. We'll make better time as soon as there's light to see.'

'Very well.' Garrett frowned, sliding the window closed before he slumped back against the padded seat. His wife took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

'My dear, O'Shea's a good man. He knows he must hurry.'

'Yes.' Garrett turned to her. 'And you? How are you coping?'

'Well enough. I've never been so tired.'

Garrett stared at her, thin-lipped. 'I should have left you to rest at the inn.'

'What? And carried our son to Dublin by yourself?'

He shrugged, and Anne chuckled. 'My dear, much as I think you are a fine husband, there are some things that only a mother can do. I have to stay with the boy.'

'Has he fed?'

Anne nodded. 'A little. Shortly before we left the inn. But not enough. I don't think he has the strength.' She lifted her little finger to the baby's lips and teased them softly, trying to provoke a reaction. But the child wrinkled his nose and turned his face away. 'It seems he has little will to live.'

'Poor lad,' Garrett said softly. 'Poor Henry.' He felt his wife stiffen as he used the name. 'What is it?'

'Don't call him that.' She turned away to the window.

'But, it's the name we agreed on.'

'Yes. But he might not… live. I'd saved the name for a son who would be strong. If he dies then I'd not use the name for another. I couldn't.'

'I understand.' Garrett gently squeezed her shoulder. 'But no Christian child should die without a name.'

'No…'Anne looked down at the tiny face. She felt powerless, knowing that scant hours might lie between the present and the moment at which the baby moved on to the next world, scarcely drawing breath in this. There would be sorrow in vast disproportion to the duration of the infant's life. Conferring a name on the sickly thing would only make matters worse and she shied away from the duty.

'Anne…' Garrett was still looking at her. 'He needs a name.'

'Later. There'll be time for that later.'

'What if there isn't?'

'We must trust to God that there will be time.'

Garrett shook his head. It was typical of her. Anne hated life to confront her with any difficulties. Garrett drew a deep breath. 'I want him to have a name. Not Henry, then,' he conceded.'But we must agree one now, while he still lives.'

Anne winced and looked out of the window. But all she saw was the juddering images of herself, and her husband and child reflected back at her.

'Anne…'

'Very well,' she said irritably. 'Since you insist. We shall name him. For whatever good it will do. What name shall we give him?'

Garrett stared down at the boy for a moment, marvelling at the depth of his feelings for the infant, and at the same time dreading the midwife's verdict. For Anne to have carried him in her womb for so many months; to have felt his first fluttering movements; to know that she carried a life within her… When she had told Garrett of the awful stillness within her womb, they had rushed to Dublin in a blind panic, only to have the birth begin on the way.When the child had been born alive, Garrett had felt his heart fill with relief, which had been crushed when the midwife had gently explained that the child was too weak to live. He fought back the grief welling up inside his heart.

'Garrett?' Anne raised her face to look into his eyes. 'Oh, Garrett, I'm so sorry, I'm not being much help, am I?'

'I – I'll be fine. In a moment.'

He straightened up and held her close to him, sensing the strain in her body even as the carriage jolted along the rutted turnpike. Outside, the first pale grey glimmer of dawn smudged the rim of the hills to the east and the coachman cracked his whip above the heads of the horses, increasing the pace.

Anne forced herself to concentrate. A name was needed – quickly. 'Arthur.'

Garrett smiled at her and looked down at their son.

'Arthur,' he repeated. 'After the king. Little Arthur.' He stroked the infant's silken forehead. 'A fine name. One day you'll be as gallant and courageous as your namesake.'

'Yes,' Anne said quietly. 'Just what I was going to say.'

The dawn, grey and drizzling, broke across the Irish countryside, and the rutted track soon became muddy and sucked at the carriage wheels as the vehicle splashed along. At noon they stopped briefly in a small town to rest the horses and take refreshment. Anne stayed in the carriage with the child and tried to breast-feed him again. As before, Arthur's lips smacked as he sought out the proffered nipple, but after only a few convulsive sucks he turned his face away, choking and dribbling, and refused any more.

As the light faded, and darkness wrapped itself around the carriage once again, the turnpike wound round a hill and, ahead, Garrett could see the distant twinkle of hundreds of lights from windows as the capital came into view. Once more O'Shea had to slow the pace as he strained to see the track ahead. And so it was two hours after nightfall before the carriage entered the city, and clattered through the streets to the house at Merrion Street.

Garrett gently handed down his wife and child, and ushered them inside, giving orders that a fire be stoked up in the parlour at once, and that warm food be prepared for Anne and himself. Then he sent servants out to find a wet nurse and to summon Dr Kilkenny – the most reputable of the city's doctors.

He was led into the parlour just as Anne and Garrett were finishing their broth. Garrett jumped to his feet and clasped the doctor's gloved hand in greeting.

'Thank you for coming so soon.'

'Yes, well, I was told it was urgent.' The doctor's breath carried the odour of wine.'So where's my patient,Wesley? This young lady?'

'No.'Anne gestured towards the crib, warming by the fire.'Our son, Arthur. He was born last night. The midwife said he was poorly as soon as she saw him. She said we must expect the worst.'

'Ah!' The doctor shook his head. 'Midwives! What does a woman know of medicine, an Irish woman at that? They should never be permitted to pronounce on medical matters.Their remit is purely the delivery of babies. Now what's the matter with the boy?'

'He's not feeding, Doctor.'

'What? Not at all?'

'Only a few mouthfuls. Then he chokes and won't take any more.'

'Hmm.' Dr Kilkenny set his bag down beside the crib, shuffled out of his coat and handed it to Garrett before leaning over the baby and gently folding back the linen swaddling. His nose wrinkled at an all-too-familiar odour. 'Nothing wrong with his bowels at least.'

'I'll have him changed.'

'In a moment, after I've examined him.'

Anne and Garrett watched in anxious silence as the doctor leaned over their child and examined the tiny body closely in the wavering glow of the candles in the chandelier. There was a faint cry from the crib as the doctor pressed lightly on the child's stomach and Anne started in alarm. Dr Kilkenny glanced over his shoulder. 'Rest easy, my dear woman. That's perfectly normal.'