“I know,” said my grandmother. “They are decorating the church with flowers for John Polgarth’s wedding.” John Polgarth was the man who owned the grocer’s shop in East Poldorey, quite a worthy member of the community, and he was to marry Molly Agar, daughter of the butcher.

The wedding was to be the next day.

As we stepped through the door I heard the commanding voice of Mrs. Polhenny. She was a very important person in the neighborhood because she followed the profession of midwife and most of the younger generation had been brought into the world by her. I always thought she believed that gave her the right to pass judgment on their actions and superintend their spiritual welfare, for this she did in no uncertain way.

She was naturally not popular with her protégés. That was of no importance to her. She would have said she was not there to make people like her but to put them on the road to salvation.

Mrs. Polhenny was a good woman if by good it was meant that she went to church twice every Sunday and often in the week, that she was involved in most good works for the salvation of the church, and that she could apply the Scriptures to almost every occasion; and as she could not help being deeply aware of her own goodness she was quick to detect the sin in others.

Naturally her life was one long disapproval of almost everyone around her. Even the vicar came in for criticism. He took the Bible teaching too literally, she said, and was inclined to seek the company of the publicans and sinners rather than those whose sins had been washed away by the blood of the Lamb because of their devotion to duty and their love of virtue.

I did not like Mrs. Polhenny. I found her a most uncomfortable person. Not that I had a great deal to do with her, but I was sorry for Leah, her daughter, who was about sixteen years old at this time. Mrs. Polhenny was a widow but I had never heard of a Mr. Polhenny; there must have been one, otherwise there could not have been a Leah.

“She must have killed him off pretty quick,” was the comment of Mrs. Garnett, the cook at Cador. “Poor fellow, I reckon he had a rare old time of it.”

Leah was very pretty but she always seemed cowed as though she were looking over her shoulder, expecting the devil to be lurking somewhere ready to spring out and tempt her.

Leah was a seamstress. She did beautiful embroidery which she and her mother took into Plymouth once a month and sold to a shop there. Her work was exquisite and the poor girl was kept at it.

On this day she was in church with her mother, helping with the flowers, and Mrs. Polhenny was giving orders to her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Polhenny,” said my grandmother. “What beautiful roses!”

Mrs. Polhenny looked pleased. “It’ll be a good show for the wedding, Mrs. Hanson.”

“Oh yes indeed … John Polgarth and Molly Agar.”

“Everyone in the towns will be there to see them wed,” went on Mrs. Polhenny, and added significantly: “And it’s about time, too.”

“I’m sure they will be very suited. Nice girl, Molly.”

“H’m,” said Mrs. Polhenny. “A bit on the flighty side.”

“Oh, she’s just high spirited.”

“Agar did well to get her married. She’s not the sort to be left unwed.” Mrs. Polhenny pursed her lips, hinting at secret knowledge.

“Well, it’s all for the best then,” replied my grandmother.

There was a movement behind us. Mrs. Polhenny was studying the flowers in the container. I glanced around. The newcomer was a young girl. I did not know her. She slipped into one of the pews and knelt down.

Mrs. Polhenny said: “Bring me that spray, Leah. That would go very well here …” She stopped short. She was staring at the girl kneeling in the pew.

“Can I believe my eyes?” she said loudly and with indignation.

We were all silent, wondering what she meant. She had left the flowers and walked briskly down the aisle to the girl.

“Get out!” she cried. “You slut! How dare you come into this holy place? It’s not for the likes of you.”

The girl had risen. I thought she was going to burst into tears.

“I only wanted …” she began.

“Out!” cried Mrs. Polhenny. “Out, I say!”

My grandmother cut in. “Wait a moment. What does this mean? Tell me what’s going on.”

The girl shot past us and ran out of the church.

“You may well ask,” said Mrs. Polhenny. “It’s one of the sluts from Bays Cottages.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. “And I don’t mind telling you she’s six months gone.”

“Her husband.

Mrs. Polhenny laughed mirthlessly. “Husband? Her sort don’t wait for husbands. She’s not the first in that lot, I can tell you. They’re bad, through and through. It’s a marvel to me that the Lord don’t smite them on the spot.”

“Perhaps He feels more kindly towards sinners than some mortals do.”

“They’ll come to judgment, never fear.” Mrs. Polhenny’s eyes glittered as though she were already seeing the girl writhing in the flames of hell.

“Well, she was here in church,” said my grandmother. “She must have been repenting, and you know there is great joy over sinners who repent.”

“If I were the Lord,” said Mrs. Polhenny, “I’d do something about them Bay Cottages, that I would.”

“Perhaps some have to be thankful that you are not the Lord,” retorted my grandmother somewhat tartly. “Tell me about the girl. Who is she?”

“Daisy Martin. A bad lot, that family. The girl’s grandmother called me in. She’s repented her ways … getting old and frightened of what’s to come, I shouldn’t wonder. Wanted me to take a look at the girl. I said, ‘She’s six months gone and what about the man?’ She said it was one of them farm laborers who came on to help with the thatching. The girl’s only sixteen. Disgraceful, I call it.”

“But you’ll deliver the child, of course.”

“I have to do that, don’t I? ’Tis my work, and if a baby’s been planted, however sinfully, it’s my duty to bring it into the world. God sent me here to do this work and nothing would stop me.”

“I’m glad of that,” replied my grandmother. “We must not visit the sins of the parents upon the children, you know.”

“Well, they’re God’s children, however they’ve been come by. As for that creature … I hope they cast her out … once the child’s born. It does the neighborhood no good to have her sort about.”

“She’s only sixteen, you say.”

“Old enough to know better.”

“She’s not the first, by any means.”

“So much for the sinful ways into which we have fallen.”

“There is nothing very new about these things, you know,” said my grandmother.

“The Lord will take His vengeance,” Mrs. Polhenny assured us, looking up to the rafters as though to Heaven—giving the Lord a little prod, I thought, to remind him that He was being lax in performing His duty.

I knew my grandmother was torn between the pity she felt for the wayward young Daisy and the secret pleasure she derived from baiting Mrs. Polhenny who went on: “The goings on at Poldorey … East and West … well, it would give you a bit of a shock, I reckon, if you knew all.”

“Then I suppose I should be thankful to remain in ignorance.”

“The Lord will take His vengeance one day … mark my words.”

“I can hardly see East and West Poldorey as Sodom and Gomorrah.”

“It’s coming, you’ll see.”

“I hope not. But what I do see is that we are holding up your work. We’ll say goodbye, Mrs. Polhenny.”

We stood outside the church and my grandmother breathed deeply, as though she needed fresh air after the atmosphere iii the church.

Then she turned to me and laughed. “What a self-righteous woman. I’d rather have a sinner any day. Oh well … she’s an excellent midwife. There isn’t a better in the whole width and breadth of Cornwall. My dear, we must look after that poor girl. I’ll go along to the cottages tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

She seemed suddenly to remember my age, and possibly it occurred to her that I was being introduced to the facts of life before I was ready to absorb them.

She went on: “We’ll go over to Pencarron this afternoon. Isn’t it wonderful that you have Pedrek here with you?”

I thought a lot about Mrs. Polhenny and always scrutinized her cottage closely when I passed by. It was just outside East Poldorey and often I would see clothes drying on the bushes. There were lace curtains at the windows, spotlessly clean, and the stone steps leading to the front door were regularly scrubbed. She obviously believed that cleanliness was next to godliness; and saw herself as an upholder of both virtues.

Once or twice I glimpsed Leah at a window. She would be there with her embroidery frame, stitching away. Sometimes she looked up from her work and saw me. I would smile, wave my hand, and she would acknowledge my greeting.

I should have liked to talk to her. I wanted to know what it was like living with a mother such as Mrs. Polhenny. But she always gave me the impression, if ever I hesitated, that she must get on quickly with her work.

Poor Leah! I thought. It must be hard to be the daughter of a saintly woman who, as she felt it her duty to uphold the morals of the countryside, must be much more strict in her own home.

I thanked God for my mother, my grandparents and the Pencarrons. They might not be so concerned with the laws of God but they were much more comfortable to live with.

So that summer passed as others had. My grandmother visited Bays Cottages and took clothes and food for the young girl; Mrs. Polhenny delivered a healthy boy in due course and my grandmother affirmed that, however irritating she was in other ways, she knew her job and mothers were safe in her hands.