Winter of the World

She closed her eyes. ‘Go ahead.’ She was almost too scared to be embarrassed.

She felt him raise the skirt of her dress. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said. ‘Poor you.’ Then he ripped her underpants. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Is there some water . . . ?’

‘Bathroom,’ she said, pointing.

He stepped into the bathroom and ran a tap. A moment later she felt a warm, damp cloth being used to clean her.

Then he said: ‘It’s just a trickle. I’ve seen men bleed to death, and you’re not in that danger.’ She opened her eyes to see him pulling her skirt back down. ‘Where’s the phone?’ he said.

‘Sitting room.’

She heard him say: ‘Put me through to Dr Mortimer, quick as you can.’ There was a pause. ‘This is Lloyd Williams. I’m at Tŷ Gwyn. May I speak to the doctor? Oh, hello, Mrs Mortimer, when do you expect him back? . . . It’s a woman with abdominal pain and vaginal bleeding . . . Yes, I do realize most women suffer that every month, but this is clearly abnormal . . . she’s twenty-three . . . yes, married . . . no children . . . I’ll ask.’ He raised his voice. ‘Could you be pregnant?’

‘Yes,’ Daisy replied. ‘Three months.’

He repeated her answer, then there was a long silence. Eventually he hung up the phone and returned to her.

He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘The doctor will come as soon as he can, but he’s operating on a miner crushed by a runaway dram. However, his wife is quite sure that you’ve suffered a miscarriage.’ He took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Daisy.’

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. The pain seemed less, but she felt terribly sad. The heir to the earldom was no more. Boy would be so upset.

Lloyd said: ‘Mrs Mortimer says it’s quite common, and most women suffer one or two miscarriages between pregnancies. There’s no danger, provided the bleeding isn’t copious.’

‘What if it gets worse?’

‘Then I must drive you to Merthyr Hospital. But going ten miles in an army lorry would be quite bad for you, so it’s to be avoided unless your life is in danger.’

She was not frightened any more. ‘I’m so glad you were here.’

‘May I make a suggestion?’

‘Of course.’

‘Do you think you can walk a few steps?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Let me run you a bath. If you can manage it, you’ll feel so much better when you’re clean.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then perhaps you can improvise a bandage of some kind.’

‘Yes.’

He returned to the bathroom, and she heard water running. She sat upright. She felt dizzy, and rested for a minute, then her head cleared. She swung her feet to the floor. She was sitting in congealing blood, and felt disgusted with herself.

The taps were turned off. He came back in and took her arm. ‘If you feel faint, just tell me,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you fall.’ He was surprisingly strong, and half carried her as he walked her into the bathroom. At some point her ripped underwear fell to the floor. She stood beside the bath and let him undo the buttons at the back of her dress. ‘Can you manage the rest?’ he said.

She nodded, and he went out.

Leaning on the linen basket, she took off her clothes slowly, leaving them on the floor in a bloodstained heap. Gingerly, she got into the bath. The water was just hot enough. The pain eased as she lay back and relaxed. She felt overwhelmed with gratitude to Lloyd. He was so kind that it made her want to cry.

After a few minutes, the door opened a crack and his hand appeared holding some clothes. ‘A nightdress, and so on,’ he said. He placed them on top of the linen basket and closed the door.

When the water began to cool she stood up. She felt dizzy again, but only for a moment. She dried herself with a towel then put on the nightdress and underwear he had brought. She placed a hand towel inside her panties to soak up the blood that continued to seep.

When she returned to the bedroom, her bed was made up with clean sheets and blankets. She climbed in and sat upright, pulling the covers up to her neck.

He came in from the sitting room. ‘You must be feeling better,’ he said. ‘You look embarrassed.’

‘Embarrassed isn’t the word,’ she said. ‘Mortified, perhaps, though even that seems understated.’ The truth was not so simple. She winced when she thought of how he had seen her – but, on the other hand, he had not seemed disgusted.

He went into the bathroom and picked up her discarded clothes. Apparently he was not squeamish about menstrual blood.

She said: ‘Where have you put the sheets?’

‘I found a big sink in the flower room. I left them to soak in cold water. I’ll do the same with your clothes, shall I?’

She nodded.

He disappeared again. Where had he learned to be so competent and self-sufficient? In the Spanish Civil War, she supposed.

She heard him moving around the kitchen. He reappeared with two cups of tea. ‘You probably hate this stuff, but it will make you feel better.’ She took the tea. He showed her two white pills in the palm of his hand. ‘Aspirin? May ease the stomach cramps a bit.’