Chapter 11 #2
If only she could have gone with him as she’d so often done before.
Her hand settled over her rounded belly. She produced a soft sigh, then smiled. Life was rapidly changing. Nothing would be the same once the baby arrived.
Setting her palms against the tabletop, she pushed her cumbersome figure upright.
The pain that followed stole her breath.
It felt like a lance being slowly driven through her. She gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, and steadied herself against the table. Merciful heavens. Jaw clenched, she prayed whatever this was would soon subside, that it was nothing serious, and the baby was safe.
“Mrs. Croft,” a man’s urgent voice inquired. “Are you unwell?”
A groan was all she could manage.
“I’ll fetch your maid.”
Samantha pushed the breath she’d been holding out of her lungs and gulped down more air. The awful cramping sensation faded at the sound of the dining room door swinging shut. She opened her eyes and saw that the footman was gone — off to alert Emma that her mistress required assistance.
Another breath and Samantha felt much better. She re-filled her glass with the wine she’d had for dinner and drank. Strange. It was almost as though the incident hadn’t occurred at all.
Perhaps the food had disagreed with her in some way?
She shook her head and left the room, having just reached the foot of the stairs when additional pain tore through her. One hand managed to grab the newel post at the base of the stairs, even as she doubled over in pure agony.
“Goodness gracious.” Emma’s soft voice was accompanied by the gentle touch of a hand at Samantha’s back. “Has your water broken?”
Samantha barely managed to shake her head. “Too soon.”
“Only by a couple of weeks.”
“Oh, God.” The agony peaked before easing away once more.
“Please have the carriage brought around,” Emma told Elks. “I’m taking my mistress to Saint George’s at once.”
“Would it not be better to fetch Doctor Wolf?” Elks’s voice conveyed his concern.
“This will be faster.” Emma clutched Samantha’s free hand and met her gaze with fierce determination. “You’ll be fine.”
Samantha knew that wasn’t a promise her maid could keep, but she appreciated her confidence in the moment. Especially since she herself felt like wailing.
“I want my husband,” she gasped between breaths while Emma assisted her with her pelisse. “He said he was going to see Mr. Henshaw but…I’ve no idea where he lives.”
“Mr. Croft departed on foot,” Elks said, “so he won’t be far. I’ll send a couple of footmen out to see if they can locate him.”
Samantha was barely able to manage a nod as additional pain barreled through her. She reached out, seeking support, and was met by Emma’s steadying hand. The maid wound an arm around her back and allowed Samantha the time she needed to find her bearings once more.
“Are you ready?” Emma asked when Samantha’s breaths deepened.
“Yes,” Samantha rasped. “Let’s get to the carriage before the next episode starts.”
They set off, every dip and bounce of the carriage exacerbating the tremors that drove through her abdomen every few minutes. She wasn’t sure how often they came or went. The worst was almost the calm between them — the not knowing when the pain would return, only that it surely would.
“I believe the intervals between your contractions are decreasing,” Emma said once the most recent one abated.
“What do you mean?” Samantha’s brain was screaming so loudly for a reprieve from this hellish experience, she couldn’t think or make sense of what Emma was saying. “Oh, God…” She needed to move, not sit still while dreading the next bout of agony. “Why is this happening?”
“Because you’re with child.”
“No…something is surely wrong.” Horribly so or she’d not feel like this.
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong at all, Mrs. Croft, besides the fact that you’ve gone into labor.” Emma rubbed Samantha’s back with soothing strokes. “It’s a little early perhaps, but not by much.”
Samantha pressed her hands into her thighs while hunching forward. “Would my water not have broken if that were the case?”
“I…honestly don’t know,” Emma muttered, removing all the assurance her previous statement might have provided had it been followed up by a more confident answer.
Bloody hell and damnation. This was worse than getting shot. Worse, too, than having the lead ball extracted and getting stitched up. Whatever this was, it would surely be the end of her.
Christ have mercy, it was starting again.
She gulped down a breath and braced herself while making a promise. If she survived this, she was never letting Adrian near her again.
* * *
Adrian tripped and nearly fell in his haste to halt the approaching hackney. Murry, who always matched Adrian’s pace, had fallen behind. No doubt the fear that swam through Adrian’s veins increased his speed. Apparently, it also made him blind to obstacles in his path.
“Stop,” he shouted, not caring if he looked or sounded like a madman.
All he knew was that he had to reach Samantha right now. He had to be by her side, and each passing second was one more wasted on not being there to help her through this.
Elks was the one who’d imparted the news.
He’d uttered something more about footmen, but Adrian hadn’t paused to listen.
None of that mattered. The only thing of importance was that his wife was in pain.
Agony, as Elks had described it. Good God.
She’d not have gone to the hospital if she were well.
The hackney drew to a halt, and Adrian leapt inside. Thankfully, Murry had the good sense to issue directions.
“Did you tell him to hurry?” Adrian asked as he climbed through the door.
“Yes. I promised to double his fare if he gets us there in five min—”
The carriage jerked forward so roughly they nearly flew off the bench. Only the bracing of hands and feet kept them seated as the carriage started charging toward Saint George’s. Occasional shouts from the driver warned people of their approach so they could get out of the way.
“You must calm yourself,” Murry said, his voice level.
“Calm myself?” Adrian gritted his teeth and clutched the leather strap that hung by the window. “My wife is so poorly she had to go to the hospital, and you want me to calm myself? Are you mad?”
“Based on the information provided by Elks, I don’t think she’s poorly at all, sir. What he described are the signs of labor.”
“Labor?” Whatever dread had been churning around in Adrian’s gut turned to ice, then shattered, splintering into a million shards that ultimately speared him. “No. It can’t be. She isn’t due for another two weeks.”
He needed those weeks in which to prepare himself mentally and emotionally.
To have them snatched from him without warning was far too cruel. It didn’t allow him time to adjust to the idea of… No. He’d not even think in such terms. Samantha would be well. All would be fine. And he…
He’d had nearly nine months in which to come to terms with what was about to occur and every way in which it could go horribly wrong.
As it had for his mother.
Dear God, what had he done?
“I should have taken precautions,” he muttered. “What the hell was I thinking, allowing her to be placed in such danger?”
“Take a breath and steady yourself,” Murry said. “There’s no sense in worrying over the worst that can happen when there’s every chance this will turn out to be the happiest day of your life.”
“Childbirth is dangerous, Murry. My mother…so many other women as well…”
“Yes, but the vast majority do survive, and your wife is strong, Mr. Croft. The strongest woman I’ve ever encountered, in fact. I’m confident all will be well.”
“But there’s no guarantee.” Damn. The air felt stuck in his throat.
“Isn’t that true of most things in life?”
Adrian nodded. As the carriage pulled to a halt in front of Saint George’s, Murry told him, “She’ll need you to be calm. If you show up in a panic, it’ll only make the experience worse for her.”
The flask Murry pushed into Adrian’s hand reminded him why he valued his valet as much as he did. He didn’t mince words, and he was always prepared for any eventuality.
“Drink,” said Murry. “Then take a deep breath and release the fear.”
“And if I can’t?” Adrian asked even as he set the flask to his lips.
“Then you put on an act that’s worthy of the Theatre Royal.”
Sound advice indeed, Adrian reasoned and tipped back his head. The spicy brandy slid down his throat with ease, heating his insides and easing the tension. Another sip further dissolved it, replacing the dread with a deeper yearning to step up and do what was needed.
Samantha had to come first. His demons would have to wait in the shadows for now.
“Thank you, Murry.” Adrian reached for the door and thrust it open.
When he entered the hospital moments later, he was met by one of the nurses he knew.
“I’ll ring for someone to show you the way to your wife’s room,” Mrs. Burns said.
“No need. If you give me directions, I’ll find her myself.”
Mrs. Burns did as he asked without hesitation, and Adrian stalked off with Murry close on his heels.
How many times had he walked these hallways over the years? Whenever one of his servants had needed medical help, he’d come here. When his sister was killed, he’d visited her at the morgue. Later, when patients started turning up dead around London, the investigation had brought him here, too.
He hurried up some steps and continued down a hallway.
Not much farther now. He was almost there…
And then the world folded in on itself at the sound of a woman’s agonized scream.