by Harriet Hahn
The contractions were now running about every minute.
“This baby is coming fast,” she gasped. “Where are we going to put him?”
There was a moment of consternation. James, who was sitting on her shoulder occasionally licking her forehead, hopped off the table, beckoned to Johnson, who handed the light he was holding to me, picked up a candle and followed James into the dark house.
I wondered what James was about, but I knew he had explored every inch of the great hall, and sure enough, in about five minutes Johnson appeared carrying a baby basket from the old nursery on the top floor.
“There’s a window broken in the nursery from a tree branch, but the rain is not coming in so I think it will wait till morning,” he said. “James knew right where this basket was.”
A small pillow and clean baby sheet from the layette, which was of course ready, prepared the basket for its new occupant.
Cook was now holding one of Helena’s arms to give her something to push against while I held the other, and Lord Henry in a big, white apron monitored the baby’s progress and talked to the doctor on the phone.
Not only were there no complications, Helena certainly was doing her part with enthusiasm.
Wilson had provided a battery-driven radio and we listened to weather reports from time to time. The storm, which had done considerable damage and closed most roads in the area, was to continue until about three in the morning and then abate. Power lines were down in many places and crews were already out trying to make repairs.
Lord Henry had concentrated the heavy-duty lanterns in the birth area. Candles flickered throughout the rest of the kitchen. Suddenly, the largest lantern began to flicker.
“Just what we need,” he muttered as Helena let out a great gasp.
“James,” he said, “you know the pantry near the entrance to the yard?” James nodded. “You can see in the dark; go and find the batteries that are kept there and bring me one, will you?”
James disappeared. In a few minutes he returned, dragging something behind him. It appeared to be some sort of rag wrapped around some large object.
“Clever fellow,” said Lord Henry as Wilson undid the rag bag. In it were three batteries, which he promptly used to replace the dying ones. The light ceased to flicker.
James returned to Helena’s shoulder and continued to lick her forehead.
In the end Lord Henry did not have to do much but catch the baby, once its head was free.
There he was, a baby boy, his head covered with pale fuzz, his tiny hands quivering. He let out a lusty gasping cry.
The doctor relayed instructions on severing the umbilical cord and delivering the afterbirth. Helena gasped and laughed, Lord Henry laughed and cried, and Cook wrapped the baby in a blanket and gave him to Helena to hold. The baby was screaming. Helena kissed him.
“Hello, Hal,” she whispered. Then she gave him back to Cook, who put him in the basket on a nearby counter. James hopped on the counter and looked at the red, squalling baby. Very gently he touched the top of the fuzzy head with his furry cheek. The baby stopped screaming. James licked the little head very gently and began to purr. The baby breathed quietly, no longer frantic.
Suddenly, the lights went on. We realized the storm was no longer raging. Rain was still falling, but the wind was no longer blowing at gale force.
“Let’s have lots of kids,” said Helena.
Cook, who had had five children herself, gave Helena an affectionate hug and then took over the job of washing the baby and seeing to the mother while Lord Henry thanked the doctor and arranged that later in the day (it was now four in the morning), as soon as the roads were open, the doctor and a nurse would come to check on the patient. The nurse would stay as long as she was needed.
Lord Henry kissed his beloved wife. “We’ll have as many as you want,” he said, “but, I hope, not this way.”
In due time, Helena, helped by Lord Henry and me, went back to her own bed with Henry George Ashton Steptson, who would in due time become the 25th earl of Haverstock, and James of St. James’s, who would in due time become his godfather.
Wilson supervised the restoration of the kitchen, and everyone went to bed.
As we lay in bed James rubbed his face against my cheek and purred a happy purr. He began to lick me, but I knew it was not my face he was tasting but that of his future godson.
When we all woke up about noon, the storm had passed, leaving only ragged clouds and much cooler weather. I looked out my window to see the doctor and a nurse walking up the driveway. The main roads were now open, power had been restored, and in back I could hear the sound of a power saw cutting up the tree that had fallen in the yard across the garage doors.
I went down to breakfast, leaving James still asleep. I sat in the kitchen with Cook and Johnson, and we congratulated ourselves on how well we had come through the crisis.
I was drinking my second cup of coffee when Wilson appeared. He looked tired but his usual unruffled self.
“Lord Henry asked me to report that the doctor has pronounced both Lady Haverstock and young Hal to be in splendid shape,” he said. “Nurse, who will stay for a week anyway, seems most pleasant, and I think we should be back in order by tomorrow. Weatherby and the outside staff are freeing up the garage at the moment.”
“That’s good news, Wilson,” I said. “It was quite a night.”
“Memorable,” said Wilson. The phone rang. He answered it.
“Miss Wettin,” he announced. “Will you take it?”
“Certainly,” I said. I greeted Fiona and told her the news.
“A proper heir! That’s wonderful news indeed,” said Fiona. “I think Etheria will have something to say! By the way, I guess you won’t want to go to London this morning. You’ll want to stay for a while.”
“You can get to London?” I asked.
“Yes, the main roads are open, and my little house on the street had no problems, nothing fell on it.”
“Would you take James and me up to London?” I asked.
“I should be pleased to take you, and if you can keep the cat quiet, I’ll take him as well,” she said in her sharp voice. “Be ready in an hour.”
“Don’t try the drive,” I cautioned. “James and I will be waiting on the main road.”
“Excellent,” she said, and hung up.
So James and I said good-bye to a tired but happy Helena and Lord Henry and a sleeping Hal. The doctor had gone and Nurse Goodwin was now in charge of mother and baby.
Fiona had picked us up and deposited us at Baron’s without incident. James slept on my lap all the way.
I spent the rest of the day getting my notes together, calling friends and contacts to say good-bye. James dozed on his table.
At five the guests began to arrive. Shep brought Jane and Anne. They were followed almost immediately by Peter Hightower, who sat in the big chair with James on his lap.
James insisted on being elegant and having his Lagavulin served in a glass instead of a saucer even though his whiskers kept getting in the way.
We cleaned out the larder and had some caviar, a dab of pâté and a lot of Stilton and Italian sausage.
I recounted the events of the night and described young Hal, without doubt the finest baby ever born. Peter promptly called Lord Henry to congratulate him and then settled back.
“Well, James,” he said, as we were all warm and fed and relaxed. “You have had quite a time these past months.” James purred happily. “Let’s see, you captained a croquet team”—James stopped purring; that was a painful memory. “You directed a musical”—James grinned and waved a paw at Anne. “Exposed a fortune hunter and arranged a marriage—located two lost works of art and traveled some seven thousand miles to the other side of the world to do it.”
James was now sitting up proudly on Peter’s lap, acknowledging our applause. “Then you sponsored an unsuccessful cat food”—James snarled—“but you redeemed yourself and became a star witness for
the prosecution of a felon and retrieved stolen property from an unsuspecting collector.”
“Don’t forget, he gave a benefit,” said Shep. James hurled himself at Shep.
“And much more,” mused Jane. “Think what he could do if he were properly managed.”
In that instant James hopped from Shep’s arms to mine.
I looked down at James. “She doesn’t mean it, James. We all agree that, just the way you are, you’re a fabulous feline.”
About the Author
Harriet Hahn was born in Gatún, Panama, and grew up in Spokane, Washington. After attending Reed College in Portland, Oregon, she graduated from the University of Chicago, where she met her husband, Charles Hahn, with whom she later worked as an editor of the trade magazine he published in Latin America and the Caribbean. Due to Charles’s avid interest in stamp collecting and British postal history, the Hahns traveled frequently to London. On one trip, they stayed at a small hotel that was inhabited by a delightful cat named James, who befriended Harriet and inspired her to write novels about a connoisseur cat.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1993 by Harriet Hahn
Cover design by Mauricio Diaz
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0447-3
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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About the Author
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