“Ladies, would you please make good use of this excellent soap and scrub your hands and arms,” she instructed. Both women rushed to comply as Belle gathered up shears, twine and a small knife and placed them in the wash basin. She hurried to the fireplace to retrieve the kettle and poured the boiling water over the items in the bowl.
Mae cried out from the bed as she fruitlessly struggled to push the baby out. Belle grabbed a clean bath sheet and tied it around herself as Mrs. Ferris held tightly to Mae’s hand murmuring words of comfort. Damaris stood white-faced at the other side of the bed. She looked at Belle helplessly.
“Begin as you mean to go on,” Belle said quietly and offered her an encouraging smile. “Help me get Mae to the edge of the bed.” The young woman whimpered and pleaded for them to leave her be, to let her rest. While her mother and Damaris would have relented, “Hell’s Belle” would not. Mae was growing weaker and Belle knew that if she lost the strength needed to help them deliver her child there would be little any of them could do that wouldn’t put both mother and child at grave risk. Mae had to fight. “You’ll do as I tell you, Mae,” she said sharply. “It’s time we saw this baby born. Now, let’s set to work, shall we?” Mae whimpered a bit more, but gave no further protest.
If the other women were shocked by Belle’s stern demeanor, they wisely kept it to themselves. Within moments Mae knelt on hands and knees at the edge of the bed. The baby had already dropped into the birth canal so there would be no attempt to turn the baby at this point. Belle steeled herself to deliver the child in a breach position. Mae’s cries would have broken a heart of stone, but Belle forced her attention to remain on her task. Damaris tried her best to hold back her tears and Mrs. Ferris soothed her daughter as best she could. Belle imagined the terrible fear gnawing at the older woman as she tended her own child through a difficult and dangerous birth.
The other women helped Mae sit on the edge of the bed while Belle hastily spread pillows and clean sheets on the floor between the young woman’s legs. With assistance from the other women, Belle helped Mae squat over the pillows, then started rocking her gently back and forth. Belle prepared herself to guide the infant’s legs from the mother and knew the difficult part would be delivering the baby’s shoulders and head as Mae’s passage worked to contract over the largest part of her child.
Belle waited for the next contraction and then issued her commands. “Push, Mae, push. Concentrate on the pain and push for me, for your child. Come on!” She waited for the torso to appear and only then did she reach to guide to guide the infant’s arms and shoulders into the world. The rest happened quickly.
“It’s a boy!” Belle cried out, then dipped the child’s head down to encourage the first cry – not that the baby needed much encouragement. The tiny infant hollered gustily as the duchess and Mrs. Ferris eased Mae back onto the bed and both mother and daughter clung to each other and cried. Damaris sought out Belle’s gaze. Both of them had lost their own mother – another thing they had in common. Damaris gave Belle a watery smile. They were friends in truth now by sharing common ground and their own trial by fire. She smiled back at Damaris in understanding.
Belle gently cleaned the infant boy, giving thanks that he’d been no bigger and that he was Mae’s second child. Otherwise the day could have ended quite tragically. Thomas bolted through the door as soon as Mrs. Ferris opened it. He fell to his knees beside his wife’s bed, tears coursing down his cheeks as he told her how much he loved her. Soon Mr. Ferris joined them and there was a great deal of happy weeping from all members of the Ferris family. After a time, Belle shooed out the proud grandparents and Thomas, who cradled his tiny son in his arms, cooing softly to him as he went. She needed to examine Mae and make certain none of the birth sack remained inside her and that there was no excessive bleeding.
After the adults left, Belle spied little Bess clinging to the door frame, her eyes wide and fearful. Who'd let her slip in? Bess looked up at Belle with a quivering mouth. As much as Belle longed to hold the child and comfort her, she still had work to do to ensure her mother's recovery. She turned to Damaris. “Mari will you please take Bess to her grandmother. I’m afraid they’ve quite forgotten her in all the excitement and I’m sure she’d like to meet her new brother. Wouldn’t you love?” she asked Bess. “You can visit with your mama a little later after she's rested.” Belle glanced up at Damaris and her smile melted away. Damaris looked horrified at the prospect of even touching the little girl.
“Mari,” Belle repeated firmly. When that yielded no result, she raised her voice and sharpened her tone. “Mari, take Bess to Mrs. Ferris now.” Damaris flinched and turned tear- filled eyes on the child. She nodded stiffly and after a moment more, knelt down and offered her hand to the little girl. Bess reached out her hand tentatively. Damaris took it and rose, tears filling her eyes. She said nothing to Belle as she left the room with Bess toddling at her side.
Damaris’ reaction concerned Belle. She’d watched the other woman handle all manner of circumstances today with graceful efficiency, but looking after Bess had completely undone her. Despite her worry Belle set to work caring for Mae.
Many long and stress-filled hours had passed since the start of their unexpectedly adventurous shopping trip. Belle glanced back at the bed as she prepared to go in search of the duchess and Bess. Thomas sat holding Mae's hand, a look of pure devotion on his face. Perhaps, Belle reflected, love wasn't such a rare and farcical thing after all – not between the right people. She felt her heart pinch as she fervently wished that she and Michael could be right for each other.
Belle found Damaris tucked into a rocking chair in Bess’ small room with the little girl asleep in her lap. She was singing a lullaby and stroking the child’s hair. Her tears had dried, but she was still terribly pale and she watched Bess with a look of such anguish it almost stole Belle’s breath from her lungs. Belle moved carefully towards the rocker.
“Thank you for caring for her, Mari,” she said softly. “Let me lay her down for you.” The other woman looked up at her blankly. Belle carefully scooped Bess up and though she sighed softly in her sleep, the child slept on. She laid her gently on her cot and returned to Damaris’ side. The clues were coming together for Belle; Mari’s refusal to speak about her own children, her look of terror at having to take charge of Bess. Belle reached out and gently caressed Damaris’s shoulder as the other woman stared dully into space.
“I killed my baby,” Damaris said starkly. “I killed my little girl, Rose.” Belle felt the color drain from her own face.
“Tell me what happened, Mari,” she whispered gently.
Damaris shrugged. “I don’t know what I did, but I did something. I wanted to look after her myself, you see, just as I had both of her brothers.” She drew in a ragged breath that ended on a sob. “That night I played with her, fed her, even though it’s considered poor taste for any woman of breeding to nurse her own children, you know.” Belle nodded, privately thinking she would have made the same decision herself. “Then I gave her a bath and rocked her to sleep, just as I had most other nights.” She turned her bleak eyes to Belle. “No matter how hard I’ve tried, I still can’t think of what I did wrong. She simply died in her sleep. So little, so beautiful.” Her tears flowed again, filled with hopelessness and heartbreak.
“The doctor said sometimes it just happens, but I must have done something, Belle. Jules says I didn’t, but I see the sorrow in his face and I wonder if he thinks I failed her and him. I’m afraid to love my boys. I’m afraid I may do the same thing to them.” She grabbed Belle’s hand, clinging to it in desperation. “You know about these things, Belle. I saw you deliver Mae’s baby. Please, please tell me what I did. Please tell me what....”
Belle knelt before her and clasped her shoulders. “Mari, listen to me. The doctor is right. You did nothing to cause your child’s death and there was nothing you could do to save her. It was a horribly tragic thing, Mari, but it wasn’t your fault.”
&
nbsp; “But...I....,” Mari faltered.
“Listen to me,” Belle commanded, giving her a single firm shake. “We don’t know why seemingly healthy babies suddenly die in their cribs, but we do know that a true crib death is not the mother’s fault. Your Rose was not neglected, Mari. You loved her and gave her the best care possible.” She pulled the other woman into her arms and held her close. “Maybe one day we’ll know what causes this terrible thing and then maybe we can take steps to prevent it, but for now all you can do is to forgive yourself, Mari. That’s all any mother who’s gone through this hell can do. You’d never blame another woman who’d suffered this loss, would you?” She felt Damaris shake her head against her shoulder. “Of course you wouldn’t,” Belle affirmed. “Then treat yourself with the same compassion. Let go of your guilt. Then do one more thing for your little Rose. Show your sons how much you love them every day. Be with them, Mari, for Rose, for them, for yourself.” Belle rocked her gently as the other woman cried.
How long they remained that way, Belle didn’t know, but after some time, Damaris eased away from her. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I’ll go to the nursery when I get home and tomorrow, Jules and I will take the boys on a picnic.” She smiled weakly through her tears. “I’ll read to them and Jules will help them fish. We haven’t done that since...” she inhaled to gather her strength, “since we lost Rose.”
A noise from the doorway caught their attention and both women turned to see the Duke of Strathmore standing there watching his wife, his face filled with anguish, love and sudden hope. His eyes glistened and his voice broke as he whispered her name. She rose from the floor and dashed across the room into her husband’s waiting arms. Jules wrapped her in a tight embrace as though the change in her might be a dream that could be snatched away. Damaris murmured words of love against his chest while Jules closed his eyes and rested his cheek on her head, simply cherishing her.
Belle slowly rose to her feet, transfixed at the unity of this man and woman. Watching them filled her with indescribable joy and at the same time a sorrow unlike anything she’d ever felt. This was what love looked like. This, like Mae and Thomas, was genuine, soul-stirring, everlasting love. It was real. Belle, herself, would never know what it felt like to share a lifetime of such commitment with someone. Watching the Wentworths, as they embraced opened a wound that she’d thought long healed. Five years ago she too had been in love and believed herself to be loved in return. Stars hung gloriously in the sky and the moon had smiled down on her with infinite promise. It had all been a lie and damn it, damn it, she wanted it to have been true. True then and true now.
Chapter Twenty-four
“I trust you had a pleasant day, Miss Belle?” Hodges asked as he handed her cloak and bonnet to a waiting footman.
“It had its moments, Mr. Hodges, thank you.” She tried to hide her giggle behind a discrete cough, but one look at the normally sedate butler's smile told her he'd probably concluded that she'd enjoyed more than just a glass or two of cider. Mr. Ferris was not only an excellent innkeeper, but he also produced the finest rum punch she'd ever had the pleasure to sample.
“I don't normally imbibe, Mr. Hodges, well...not this much at least, but you see we had so much to celebrate. The baby, Mari not slapping me, the baby.” She waved her hand gesturing to the entry hall at large. “The entire village came to wish Mae and her new son well. Mari and I couldn't very well refuse now, could we? We had a hatchet to bury.”
Hodges inclined his head, and cleared his throat. “Perhaps more than one by the look of things, Miss.” She squinted her eyes as she looked Hodges up and down. His eyes looked much brighter than usual. Come to think of it the entire world looked much brighter as well. “I'm glad to hear you and her grace have mended fences.”
Belle executed a somewhat sloppy salute. “I'm pleased to report the paddock is secure, sir.” Belle floated towards the stairs. Hodges discretely took her elbow, probably an excellent idea as the staircase had grown considerably longer since morning. They reached the top and Belle paused to finish regaling Hodges with the day's adventures. The butler’s mouth hung open has she concluded her tale of Mae's delivery. Belle frowned. Perhaps she should have used a touch more discretion. Not everyone was medically minded.
“It's all right, Hodges, I'll see Miss Winslow to her room. You may retire.”
Belle turned, perhaps a little too quickly and Michael reached out to steady her. She didn't hear Hodges leave, but when she turned her head back again, much more slowly this time, he was gone.
“Allow me, Miss Winslow,” Michael, handsome as ever, gazed down into her face. He had such a delightful mouth and his eyes held the same suspicious twinkle as Hodges'. Well, perhaps there was more...heat in Michael's look. She beamed up at him trying to remember why she was supposed to be so cross with him. He was so tall and masculine and he smelled wonderful. Then she remembered.
“So you do come out of your study.”
“On occasion,” he drawled, an easy smile curving his lips. Those lips. “I received Jules' note this evening. You've had quite a day.” He took hold of her shoulders and for a moment Belle thought he might kiss her. It might not be such a bad idea. He released her and took possession of her elbow. Belle fought her disappointment then tried to remember all the reasons kissing Michael was not a good idea – at least not right now. She pulled her arm out of his grasp.
“I'm angry at you. You've been avoiding me. Admit it,” she said, poking him in the chest.
“Yes, I've been avoiding you,” he answered quietly. “I'd planned to speak to you this evening, but you were out...celebrating.” He grinned. “We'll talk tomorrow, though I suspect you may not be feeling quite so merry – a distinct advantage for me.”
Belle snorted. “I've been further into my cups than this, my lord. Quite by accident, mind. I'm not a drunkard...normally. The Slovakian people make a plum brandy that tastes like fruit punch. Thought I was drinking cordial.” She winced at the memory. “That was a very bad morning.” Belle began to giggle and reached over to clutch Michael's arm with her free hand. “Mari fell asleep in the coach on the way home tonight,” she whispered, “and she snores.”
“Really? I never knew that,” he replied.
Belle heard the amusement in his tone and it irritated her. “I'm angry at you.”
“So you said.” He patted her hand like a kindly uncle. Belle stopped abruptly and glared up at him. He continued to regard her with benevolent amusement.
“If I were a violent sort of person I'd plant you a facer,” she said, thrusting out her chin. He grinned down at her.
“You'd fall over.”
Belle sighed. “That's true and if I tried to kick you I'd miss and fall....”
“Right on your delectable little bottom.” He urged her a few more feet further down the hall and stopped in front of her door. “We have arrived, madam.” Michael opened her door and gestured her inside. “I'll see you tomorrow, Belle. We'll talk then, I promise.” He bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead – like an uncle – then turned to walk away.
He'd only gotten a few steps away when Belle indignantly said, “Perhaps I won't wish to speak with you tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will,” he called over his shoulder. “Besides, I'm still your employer.” Belle swore under her breath, but he must have heard her, because the hallway filled with his laughter as he strolled out of sight.
***
During her time at Harley Street Hospital and in Scutari as well, Belle had probably washed, dried and ironed enough linens to cover half the beds in Europe. The field hospitals hadn't cared much about the niceties of freshly ironed linen, nor sheets at all unless they were being torn up for bandages. Belle snapped another clothespin into place as she hung the sheet on the line. She loved hanging laundry out to dry. It gave her a sense of accomplishment to see rows of clean, white bed linens waving in the fresh breeze. She didn't care much for ironing them, though.
Belle had fare
d much better this morning than she'd expected, or probably deserved. She doubted Mari would be able to say the same. The other woman had heeded neither Belle's, nor Jules' warnings and consumed an additional two cups of Mr. Ferris' rum punch. Belle, herself had only suffered a mild headache – nothing willow bark tea and a tumbler or two of water hadn't sorted out. She'd sent some willow bark round to the duchess this morning along with instructions for preparations and use. Her new friend would be on the mend by luncheon.
Gussie matched Belle's placement of clothespins on the sheets as precisely as possible. Belle smile at her in approval and the girl beamed with pleasure. The life of a tweenie was filled with long hours of unpleasant tasks. They held the lowest rank within a household staff and were the first to be blamed when something went wrong below stairs. Most were subjected to physical abuse couched as discipline. Gussie, though frequently yelled at, was fortunate that Mrs. Babcock and Mr. Hodges would never sanction such treatment of staff in any household they supervised. Since she'd been assigned to assist Belle the girl's stature had risen somewhat among the servants and Gussie looked upon the nurse as her personal heroine. The girl worked diligently at each task Belle gave her, asking well-thought-out questions that displayed insight as well as intelligence. Where Mrs. Babcock held to strict standards of cleanliness within the household, Miss Nightingale's own standards surpassed them when it came to caring for the sick and infirm. Belle passed on what she had learned to Gussie. Paddy affectionately called the girl, “Little Shadow,” because she'd copied Belle's mannerisms, even attempting to wear her hair in a bun. Gussie's case of hero worship made Belle uncomfortable at first, reminding her of a time when girls not much older than the little tweenie had blindly aped her every move. Where she'd once taken such admiration as her due, Gussie's devotion left her feeling humble and she made a promise to herself to never betray the girl’s trust.
A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Page 34
