Of Noble Family

by Mary Robinette Kowal

  It was too soon.

  Twenty-eight

  The Good Doctor

  By the time Vincent had set her down on the bed in their room, the bearing pain had ended. Jane wiped her eyes as he stepped back. Vincent shifted his weight. “What do I do?”

  Jane had no idea. She had been with Melody during her delivery, but until close to the end, most of the time had been spent waiting. Even then, Jane’s role had just been to hold Melody’s hand. Vincent would need some activity, at least at first. It was easier to worry about him than to think about what was happening to her. Near panic already compromised her ability to breathe. She had tried to be so careful. Jane caught her thoughts before they could run away with her. Clearly, she needed some activity as well.

  “Help me undress.” She sat up.

  Vincent leaped forward. “You should be lying down.”

  “I am not doing this in an evening gown.” She slid her feet off the bed. “Besides, the midwife had Melody walking until her time began in earnest.”

  “But—yes, of course.” Though Vincent was well practised in assisting her under other circumstances, his movements were so cautious that Jane could have unstitched the gown faster.

  “I am not a china cup.” As if to belie her words, another of the cramping waves made Jane stop and close her eyes. God. It was too soon.

  The door to their room opened, but she could not bring herself to open her eyes to see who had come. The voice identified her soon enough, though. “De picknee coming, eh?”

  Vincent answered for her. “It seems so. Can you…?”

  “Sure, sure. You go ’head now.”

  “I cannot leave her.”

  Jane was able to inhale slowly and open her eyes. “Actually, I would like for you to go.”

  His face had already been pale with worry, but now his brows turned up, completely stricken. “Muse…”

  She put a hand on his arm. “We have guests.”

  “You cannot think I am going to dinner while you are in here—” He waved a hand at her middle, unable to finish the sentence. “You cannot expect that.”

  “I want you back later, but it will be hours before there is anything except discomfort. Let Nkiruka get me settled while you at least start the dinner.” She could see that he was going to protest again. “I promise I will have someone call you when Dr. Jones arrives.”

  Vincent opened and closed his fists, jaw tight. At last, he exhaled forcibly and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I love you.” Straightening, he looked at Nkiruka. “Call me the moment anything changes. The very moment.”

  * * *

  Nkiruka helped Jane out of her gown, petticoat, and short stays so that she wore only her chemise. Over that, she pulled a morning gown, which gave her the illusion of modesty, but would be easy to remove when needed. At Nkiruka’s suggestion, Jane took a turn around the room when the discomfort became too strong to sit still. She was walking, hands placed against her lower back, with Nkiruka at her side, when rapid footsteps and a brisk knock announced the arrival of Dr. Jones.

  Still in her riding coat, the doctor opened the door and eyed Jane. “You need to lie down. Immediately.”

  Jane raised her head, frowning. “Nkiruka suggested this, and it does seem to help the pain.”

  “Has your water broken?”

  “I do not think so.”

  Dr. Jones looked past Jane to Nkiruka and raised her eyebrows in question. The older woman shook her head. “Not yet. The pain just start.”

  “Thirty weeks. We do not want labour to begin.” Dr. Jones set her satchel down and pulled off her riding coat to disclose a simple Pomona green round gown of stout linen. “Mrs. Hamilton, I want you to lie down on your left side, please.”

  Jane was too unsettled to fully understand her and needed a nudge from Nkiruka to move. Dr. Jones had said, “do not want labour to begin” as if there were a choice. Jane sat on the edge of the bed, her frown sinking. “Can you stop the labour?”

  “My hope…” Dr. Jones pulled a tightly stoppered bottle from her satchel and set it on the side table. “My hope is that you have not begun labour in earnest. If you have not, then we might be able to put it off for a while yet.”

  While they had been waiting for Dr. Jones’s arrival, Nkiruka had stripped the bed down to a single sheet plus some pillows. Jane lay down and then rolled onto her left side, which put the doctor behind her.

  “Nkiruka, will you take this to the cook and ask her to steep it in milk? I want it warm, but not hot. Also, a basin of hot water and some clean towels.”

  Patting Jane on the arm, Nkiruka left her side. “Quick quick.”

  Jane glanced over her shoulder in time to see Nkiruka take an oil-paper envelope from the doctor. She lifted her head a little. “Will you please tell Vincent that Dr. Jones is here?”

  “Na worry.” And Nkiruka was out the door.

  Not worry? Jane had a better chance of sailing a ship to the Arctic Circle. No. No, she was not her mother. She would not fret before knowing what was happening. Another bearing pain took hold and Jane let her head drop back to the pillow. She tightened against it, trying not to make a sound.

  “Bearing pain?”

  Jane nodded and managed to say, “Yes,” though her voice sounded choked, even to her.

  Something light and metal rattled behind her. “When was the last?”

  “I do not—do not know. Half an hour?”

  “Hm.” Behind her, Dr. Jones poured some liquid into a glass. “I shall want you to drink this. The taste will be quite strong, but please drink it all.”

  “What is it?”

  “A strong claret infused with ginger, passion fruit, wild yam, and Hoffmann’s anodyne. Let me know when the pain eases.” She crossed around the bed to Jane with a glass in one hand and a watch on a chain in the other.

  To Jane, the band around her stomach felt as though it were tightening rather than softening. She did not know how much time passed before she could nod that it had dwindled. It could not have been that long, as Vincent had not arrived yet. “It is better.”

  Dr. Jones snapped the watch shut. “The wine will likely make you dull, but its purpose this evening is to try to relax you, with the hope of stopping the bearing pains, or at least slowing them.”

  In the hall, rapid footsteps that were not quite at a run gave notice of Vincent’s approach. He stopped outside the room. Jane could imagine him composing his expression. Indeed, when the door opened, Vincent gave every appearance of being quite calm, if one dismissed the rapidity of his breath. He bowed. “Doctor.”

  “Mr. Hamilton.” Dr. Jones handed Jane the glass of wine. It had a distinct spicy resinous fragrance that burnt Jane’s nose.

  They continued for a moment with formal pleasantries while Jane drank the odd mixture. It made her feel as though her teeth were being sanded with honey. Harder than drinking it was not shouting at them to omit the social forms. She was not her mother, however. Jane could be calm. She could wait until the doctor had something to communicate.

  Only when Jane had drained the glass and handed it back to the doctor did the conversation progress. Setting the glass on a side table, Dr. Jones said, “I need to examine you. Do you want your husband to step into the hall?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Vincent looked startled. “You have not examined her yet?”

  “I have been here no more than five minutes.” Dr. Jones pulled Jane’s shift up. “Draw your knees up to your stomach, please.”

  Jane tilted her head up and studied the glamour that Vincent had wrapped around the bed. She thought it likely that he was using the Wohlreich variation to create guide threads for the hummingbirds to fly along. Without being able to see into the ether, it was as much a mystery as how anyone could have cold hands in such a warm climate. Jane shifted a little on the bed and turned her attention to the feather pattern on the hummingbirds. He had not individually woven each feather, but when the little creations were in motion
they gave every appearance of having real feathers. She would have to ask Vincent to stop one of them so she could examine it more closely.

  “Mrs. Hamilton, had you experienced any discomfort before you sent for me?”

  “No. Not really.”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “Her back has been hurting for the past two days.”

  “Oh, but that is normal for a woman in my condition.”

  “It has been worse lately.”

  Jane stared at him. Though he was correct, she was certain that she had not complained of such. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “You have been knotting your hands and pressing at the base of your spine.”

  Dr. Jones asked Vincent, rather than Jane, “Has the pain come and gone?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Have you noted the frequency?”

  Jane said, “Pardon me, but the wine has not left me incapable of answering questions.”

  With a touch of asperity, Dr. Jones straightened from her examination. “Will you answer with more accuracy than, ‘No. Not really’? Because I will tell you that it is difficult to diagnose a patient who will not discuss their symptoms.”

  “I did not wish to complain about something that seemed minor.”

  “When a doctor asks you about pain, answering is not a complaint.” Dr. Jones put her hands on her hips and glared at Jane. “Now. How long has your back been hurting?”

  “The past two days.”

  “And has the pain come and gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you noted the frequency?”

  Jane hesitated, not certain. “No. I was trying not to pay attention to it, to be honest.”

  Dr. Jones wheeled on Vincent. “Mr. Hamilton?”

  “I was not at home for large parts of yesterday, so cannot account for those, but today it seemed as though she were uncomfortable about once an hour.” He looked at Jane with some apology. “You sighed.”

  “That hardly seems worthy of note.”

  “Well, you never complain, so I have learned to pay attention to your sighs.”

  “There was nothing to complain about.”

  Vincent opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again. He nodded, with his lips pressed tightly together around whatever he was not saying.

  “What?”

  He shook his head and addressed the doctor. “Can you tell us what is—what to expect?”

  He was the most provoking man sometimes. She could not even scold him for the bald change in subject, because it was to one in which she had the keenest interest.

  “These are irregular symptoms.” Dr. Jones turned the watch over in her hands, opening the cover. “The back pain and the regularity of the bearing pains are consistent with early parturition. But she is showing none of the other signs. Without her history, I would call these false bearing pains and not worry. But with it … with it, I think it likely that she will come to term early. The longer we can delay parturition, the better your child’s chances.”

  Jane inhaled sharply at that. An angry part of her wondered what Vincent would make of the breath. Given the tension in his own countenance, she imagined that he was managing a similar terror. Her query of, “How long…?” was met with his: “What can we do?”

  Dr. Jones held up her hands to hush them both. “I have read of infants born as early as seven months surviving to maturity. I will feel more secure if we can get you to eight months, but every day will help. So we are going to try to slow the bearing pains, and until the baby comes, you are confined to bed.”

  * * *

  Through the night, Jane was turned, given possets, and wrapped in hot flannels, all in an effort to relax her womb. The draughts that Dr. Jones had provided did, indeed, make Jane dull, but not enough to allow her to sleep through the bearing pains. As the ache began in her back again, Jane shifted in bed, surprised to see that morning had broken.

  Seated by the bed, Vincent lifted his head from his book and reached for his watch. He still wore his formal clothes from the evening prior, but the cravat was wildly rumpled and his hair looked as though it had been nested in by a frightened owl. “Another?”

  “Yes.” She sighed as the ache spread across her middle. “It is not as bad, I think.”

  From her chair by the balcony doors, Nkiruka quietly snored with her head resting against the cushions. More alert, Dr. Jones sat up on the chaise lounge. “How long was the interval this time?”

  “A little over two hours.” Vincent kept his eye on his watch as he had been instructed.

  Jane rested her hand on her stomach, waiting for it to ease. Early in the evening, she had been counting, but now she could barely form numbers in her head, much less string them into a rank. “It is lessening.”

  “Thirty-seven seconds.”

  Dr. Jones stood up, stretching. “Good. I think that we can safely say that these are false pains.”

  Jane did not agree that the pains were entirely false, but she understood what the doctor meant. She closed her eyes in relief.

  “But I do not want to chance you standing.”

  The little bit of relief Jane had enjoyed subsided. Though she would very much have liked to protest that she was well, she was exhausted and frightened. “You think bed rest is still necessary?”

  “I do.”

  Nkiruka snorted and woke, jerking her head up from where it had sagged. The lines of her years were more apparent on her face that morning. She should have gone to bed hours ago. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, Nkiruka sat forward. “Wha happen?”

  “Mrs. Hamilton’s pains seem to have slowed.” Dr. Jones came to the bed and lifted the log that Vincent had been keeping of Jane’s bearing pains. “More significantly, they are irregular now. You will likely be fatigued today, but as the time passes, you will become afflicted with ennui. Have you a project with which to occupy yourself?”

  Her head was so heavy that she could scarcely imagine being interested in doing anything.

  “Dat book? Mebbe you can work on dat?” Nkiruka rubbed her eyes and peered at Dr. Jones. “It all right to bring visitors? Talk glamour?”

  They had set it aside while working on the glamural, and then, with the injured here at the great house, Jane had given it little thought. She could not even recall where they had left off, though that might have as much to do with the draughts that Dr. Jones had given her.

  Dr. Jones raised her eyebrows and gave Nkiruka a look that Jane did not quite understand. “Yes, one or two visitors a day will do no harm. One or two.” She turned back to Jane. “So long as you stay in bed and do not become overexcited.”

  “It shall be the driest prose imaginable.”

  “You do not need to go to such heroic lengths. Simply pay attention to your body. If the pains become regular or less than twenty minutes apart, send for me at once.” She fixed Vincent with a glare. “And do not agitate her.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Dr. Jones turned to Nkiruka with something that almost looked like anger. “May I ask for your assistance with the patients?”

  “She need me here.”

  Vincent cleared his throat. “I will stay with Jane.”

  She hated being such a bother. If she were going to do nothing but lie in bed all day, all she needed was a bell to ring for someone. It took too long to assemble that thought into a sentence. By the time it was prepared, the farewells had already occurred.

  Vincent closed the door behind them and leaned against the handle for a moment. Clearing his throat again, he rounded the end of the bed so that she did not have to strain to see him. “Shall I read to you? Or do you want to try to sleep?”

  “Will you lie down with me?”

  He looked at the bed with something like fear. “I do not want to disturb you.”

  “Please believe that you cannot disturb me any more than I already am.” Jane rubbed her face, which was sticky with dried sweat from the hot flannels she had been wrapped in. “I cann
ot believe that you slept at all last night.”

  He tilted his head in a half shrug. “You may be right.”

  “So come.” She patted the bed behind her. “Lie down and try to get some rest. I worry about you.”

  He shook his head and snorted.

  “What is amusing?” She so wanted to go to him, or at the least to sit up.

  “You fret about me all the time, but never complain on your own behalf.”

  “To be fair, my health has been generally good.”

  He held up his hands. “I am not supposed to agitate you, so I shall not argue.”

  “I am not certain whether to be delighted by this new power or dismayed.” Jane tucked the pillow more firmly beneath her head. “I shall choose delighted, and further declare that if you do not lie down and rest, I shall be quite agitated.”

  “Now you are not playing fairly.”

  “Indeed.” Jane beckoned him closer and took his hand. She gave a gentle pull, lifting her head. Vincent bent down to kiss her. When he was close, she gave her most inviting smile. “Just lie down for a little? I will feel better if you do. Besides, you will be able to feel the bearing pains when they occur.”

  He kissed her again, on the forehead. “As you wish.”

  Shedding his coat, he walked around to the other side of the bed. When he slid under the counterpane, Jane reached for his arm and pulled it around her. Vincent lay pressed against her back, but though he was quiet, she could tell by his breathing that he did not fall asleep.

  Twenty-nine

  Contraction and Agitation

  Jane had a writing board propped upon her stomach, which was proving a remarkably useful surface. She wiped her pen off, studying the page, and then glanced across the room to where Dolly sat with Nkiruka. “Let me read this back to make certain I understood correctly.”

  “You go ’head.”

  “The Asante, in contrast to the Igbo, see glamour as divided into five parts. Two of these are easily explicable as a division of light into the visible spectrum, or krasodae hann, and krasodae esuma hann, which is all light outside the visible spectrum. Krasodae dede is what the British call ‘sound’ and krasodae huam is ‘scent.’ They have, in addition to these, a fifth form of glamour, which is tactile in nature. Though the effects are faint, they are nevertheless tangible.”