Chapter Eighteen
Janelle pulled the cloak up around her head and face, but she didn’t exit the carriage. “My bag,” she said with a grimace. “When Madame Florina contacts me, she sends a hackney with my bag.”
“Yes,” he said, as he stepped out of the carriage and scanned the surroundings. “I’m aware. She packed the satchel for me with clothes. Trust me. I have it all figured out.”
A bold statement, especially from a man about childbirth, but she didn’t have much choice. Typically, by the time she arrived at a laboring woman’s side, the birth was very advanced. She was accustomed to rushing inside and evaluating the circumstances between contractions.
So she nodded and ducked out of the carriage.
She grasped his fingers, reassured by the size and strength of his hand around hers.
It was nice, she secretly admitted, to have a large presence beside her as she walked through the less proper areas of London.
Except this location wasn’t so bad. Indeed, it appeared on the poorer side of acceptable, which was a vast improvement from her usual locations.
“I am called to someone here?” she asked, relief in her voice. “This will be so much easier.” A home with some wealth, even if it was that of a servant in a modest house, would make things better for the mother. There would be people to help and food for mother and child.
“I’m glad you think so,” he said as he drew her to a large building designed for several families to share.
Ah, so it was a woman in a flat, she reasoned. Not as good, but still, that spoke of neighbors who could assist. She paused as he directed her to the stairs. Normally this close, she could hear the woman screaming or see people waiting in taut anxiety in the street. Everything here was quiet.
“Where is she?” she asked.
“Upstairs,” he answered, and he guided her up four flights of rickety stairs. She had climbed worse, of course, and she was grateful not to haul her heavy bag. It would be awkward carrying that while climbing the stairs in her ballgown.
She paused on the landing as he smiled at her.
She recognized the gleam of triumph in a man’s eyes, and immediately tensed with suspicion.
What made men happy rarely translated to joy for a woman.
At least in the general way of things. Still, she held her tongue and waited as he unlocked the flat with a key and threw open the door.
What she saw inside made her frown with confusion.
There, in the middle of the room, was a large, beautiful birthing chair.
It was well made as might be seen in a very wealthy nobleman’s home.
It had strong wooden bars to grip, supports for the thighs, and levers to widen or narrow the spread according to a woman’s needs.
It was gorgeous, and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “But what is it doing here?” she asked as she looked around the room. There was little else there. A couple rags, a single bucket, and a modesty screen.
“This is a safe place for you to work,” he said. “The neighborhood is respectable, we are on the top floor for privacy, and there is a place for you to change your clothing as needed.
She glanced behind the screen. She saw her bag there and a stool for her use. Turning back, she gaped at the major. “You brought me from a ball with an elaborate ruse about some secret communication, all to show me a birthing chair?”
“No!” he said stiffly, as if insulted by the very idea. “There is a woman in labor. You are to help birth her child.”
“Where?” The room was empty save for themselves.
“I sent the direction. She is coming.”
“Here?”
He nodded. “It is much safer this way. A good neighborhood. You will not be robbed in the coming and going. And if someone sees you, you can claim to have a school companion here. No one will think the least thing about it.”
“So it is safer for me.”
“Yes.” He seemed annoyed that she hadn’t grasped the excellence of his thought process.
“And what about the women?”
He frowned. “What about them? They will come to you here. It’s what happens at the hospitals.”
“Lying In hospitals take women two weeks before their time.” She looked around. There wasn’t even a bed here.
He dropped his hands on his hips. “They will come to you here. If they want your help in their labor, then they will come to you. It is only right.”
“Up four flights of stairs?”
“Yes!”
She arched a brow. He would catch onto the truth eventually. “Major, imagine you have a soldier who has taken a ball to his gut. Do you make him climb up four flights of stairs?”
He frowned, starting to get a glimmer. “He would be bleeding.”
“And the woman will laboring.” She rolled her eyes. “How will we get hot water up here?”
“I thought of that. There is a stream nearby for water. It will be an effort to bring it up the stairs, but I will help with that.”
“With one bucket?”
He pursed his lips. “I will get another.”
He would have to get several more. “And how will we make it hot?”
He shook his head. “We did not use hot water in Spain.”
“I do.”
“That might pose a problem.”
Yes, she had guessed as much. “How close are we to the hospital?”
“What?”
“There are things that I cannot do. If there is time, I call for a medical student. I will need to send for one and have him arrive in a speedy manner.”
He dropped his hands on his hips. “I thought you were capable of delivering a child.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “I cannot meet every possibility. How close are we to a priest?”
“What?”
Did he know nothing? “Not all of the babes survive, and they need to be baptized.”
“The babes,” he said, his voice low. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
No, he hadn’t. The mothers, of course, already had their religious details handled, but sometimes there were scant minutes for a baptism before death. And only those who had been touched by a priest could be buried in hallowed ground.
He began to frown as he was thinking. In his defense, she could tell he wasn’t the kind of man who argued when he knew he was wrong. So she threw him a bone.
“It’s a lovely birthing chair. I can’t imagine how you found it.”
He grimaced. “Don’t patronize me. I know I’ve erred.” His tone wasn’t surly so much as resigned.
She smiled at him. “Why didn’t you ask me? I have often dreamed of a place like this. I have endlessly pictured what I want and what I need.”
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. She wondered if he would admit the truth. He was not a man who usually asked advice, probably because he could think circles around most everyone. Or maybe it was because intelligent women had been sorely lacking in his life.
“I should have asked,” he said. “This was meant to be an enticement.”
Her brows rose. “Into what?”
His expression was self-mocking. “Into a marriage I think you should refuse.”
“Then you’ve done an excellent job of pretending to lure me in while actually discouraging me. You know this will not work.”
He was about to answer, but he didn’t get the chance. They both heard the building scream of a woman in labor. It started out low, but no one could mistake that distinctive wail. Janelle reacted immediately, rushing out the door to see. He held her back.
“No, no. Get changed. I’ll bring her up here.”
She tried to push past him, but he was adamant to the point that he picked her up and set her back into the room. “You cannot be seen in that gown! It would hurt Lord Benedict!”
She wanted to argue that Lord Benedict wasn’t relevant at this moment, but that was short-sighted. The major knew her fiancé’s world better than she did, and besides, arguing with him would take time. So she gave in with a frustrated grimace.
“Carry her if you have to. Betty will be there in a moment.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond but rushed behind the modesty screen.
Pulling open the bag, she saw it was indeed Betty’s massive satchel.
It was stuffed full, but on top was an old gown and the leather apron she often used.
It would take time to strip out of her dress, especially since the one she wore was buttoned in the back.
Rather than rip the thing in her haste, she decided to keep it on.
She used the leather belt to tie up her skirt before covering herself with the apron.
Her hair went back into a messy bun, tied by another cord.
And her jewelry—ear bobs and a necklace—were stuffed into a pouch.
Then she rushed to the door and down the stairs.
As she suspected, the laboring woman had barely made it up the first flight of stairs.
She was a teenager supported on one side by the major and the other by an even younger girl.
All three looked terrified, and Janelle’s heart melted.
Three people determined to soldier on despite being completely out of their depth.
The pregnant one was gripping the major’s arm as her body squeezed hard in a contraction.
The man would have bruises as he kept the girl from falling.
She’d seen lesser men faint at this point or babble uncontrollably.
The major’s response to stress was a calm demeanor that kept to the business at hand.
That made him a good man to have around, and she smiled when he looked up at her.
She opened her mouth to say something encouraging, but he interrupted her. “Don’t come down,” he said firmly. “I’ve got her.” And then in a stunning show of strength, he squatted down and scooped the laboring woman off the stairs.
It was a dangerous thing to do. Women in labor do not rest quietly in a man’s arms. They writhe and moan while he thudded up the stairs.
Fortunately, other people had come out to look and several held out a supporting hand.
Janelle started to descend, but quickly saw she wasn’t needed.
The major was managing. He held the woman carefully, but another contraction was beginning.
“Hurry,” she said as she held open the door.