Chapter 24
Nora dodged the thin streams of water as she opened a ward window.
She needed to keep a supply of fresh air for Meg despite the ghastly weather.
Daniel thought the windows were better closed; Horace, open.
She traded on and off, depending how strong the rain flowed and how thick the smells of human suffering and nursing gathered in the basement ward.
As if sensing contagion teeming in London’s low streets, the autumn sky had refused to close, letting loose a scrubbing downpour that tested the patience of even the hardiest city residents.
The roads ran with foul water, sweeping away sewage, manure, and years of coal dust rinsed loose from roofs and pediments.
For the first time in her memory, Nora saw the gilded numbers of the Southwark Cathedral clock peeking through the coat of black grime.
But the storms didn’t cleanse the city of cholera; they flooded it with contagion.
Nora positioned a bucket to collect the drips and adjusted the nearest pastille burner so stray drops wouldn’t catch it and extinguish the sharp smell of cloves.
A distant grumble of thunder rattled the sky as she wiped the windowsill.
At least her pregnancy demanded little attention so far.
At ten weeks, she still suffered nothing other than an occasional burst of nausea or fatigue that passed within an hour.
She turned back to Meg to watch her reaction to the windy, wet air.
The girl closed her eyes and breathed in gratefully.
“I’m going to leave this open for a few minutes while I go upstairs. If it gets too cold, ring your bell,” Nora instructed.
Meg nodded and Nora slipped out, eager for a quiet lunch with Mrs. Phipps to prove she wasn’t working too hard. The more Mrs. Phipps saw Nora with her feet up, the less she begrudged her remaining in London.
“I’ll pour the tea,” Nora said, striding into the dining room. A bright blur caught her eye—a shade of blue silk that would never adorn Mrs. Phipps.
“Julia?” Nora gasped.
Julia rose from the dining chair next to Mrs. Phipps and spun around, her bonnet untied, ribbons streaming in disarray.
“My parents’ home in Chelsea isn’t safe anymore,” she blurted out, as if reading Nora’s thoughts.
“Cholera everywhere. My father’s volunteered to come out of retirement and sail a ship to Denmark.
He’s taking my mother with him. They want me to go, too—get out of London. ”
Nora started to exclaim that this was extreme, then dropped her eyes, remembering the short message sent in childish script to her weeks ago.
Elias taken by God. The Morse family had lost both sons.
Taking leave of London certainly wouldn’t have sounded extreme to them. If only they’d had the choice.
“I’m not going without Harry. I’ve been begging him to go as ship’s doctor, but he refuses.” Julia sat down heavily, and Nora took the empty seat on her other side.
“Try to remember, Horace has had more experience treating cholera than anyone, and he never took sick.” She paused and inhaled. “Harry’s being very careful.”
“It doesn’t seem to matter.” Julia pressed her hands to her cheeks, a ruby glinting in her wedding ring like a drop of blood.
“My mother lost a friend last week, and now her children are ill. It’s creeping through the air, whether you’re careful or not.
” Julia lifted off her bonnet and laid in her lap. “There’s nowhere to go.”
Mrs. Phipps poured out steaming, strongly brewed doses of tea into their cups. “No cases in my sister’s town. She wrote just days ago. The three of us can still go.”
Nora tried for a reassuring smile. “Daniel and Harry and Horace are overrun with cholera cases, and babies won’t stop coming just because the doctors are busy with an epidemic. I have mothers who need me here.”
“But I thought…” Julia narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you stopping for your confinement?” A long yellow curl unraveled against her shoulder.
“I’m not treating cholera cases.” For now. It was an uneasy truce she’d made with Daniel. “But people are sick and hurt, as always.” Nora stopped at the dark flash of dismay in Julia’s bright eyes before she dropped her head. “What’s the matter?”
Instead of answering, Julia gathered her clenched hands into her lap and shook her head, refusing to look up.
“Julia, dear?” Mrs. Phipps ventured.
“She’s going to have a child.” Her whispered voice fractured, breaking off the rest of her sentence. She folded her shoulders inward, a wall of flesh to block them out.
Nora reached out an uncertain hand. “What is it? Has something happened?”
Something between a scoff and a sob escaped Julia’s mouth. “Nothing at all has happened,” she finally answered.
Nora’s startled glance met Mrs. Phipps’s mournful face. How to proceed?
“I’m sorry… Is it about my pregnancy?”
Julia stood, turning herself completely away from her friends. “It’s not yours. Or my cousin’s. Or my mother’s friend’s grandchildren. It’s not any of the pregnant women or filled prams. Nothing at all to do with a single one of them.” She wiped her face with trembling fingers.
“It’s me. I’ll never have one of my own,” Julia whispered.
Understanding spilled over Nora.
Mrs. Phipps dropped her head, but Nora could tell she was not surprised. This was why Julia had fled the breakfast table, then fled this house to visit her parents.
“But…” Julia had been pregnant three years ago when she was only seventeen. She couldn’t be barren. Yet there was no way to say it without referencing—
Julia looked at her and pressed a hand to her chest as if suffering from one of Horace’s angina attacks. “I know. It makes me want to die when I think he gave me a child and Harry can’t!”
The burning words scalded Nora’s ears until they hardly worked at all. She couldn’t let Julia speak of wanting to die. The scars on her arms… “Harry’s a doctor,” she tried again. “Has he examined you?”
Julia’s cheeks went red, and she pressed her lips together. “He said there must be too much scarring from his surgery. That’s the only explanation.”
“He’s not a specialist,” Nora pointed out. Harry was an intrepid doctor, but he avoided obstetrics practice, claiming he hadn’t the resolve or the temperament. “You should have come to me,” Nora admonished gently, wishing she could have eased Julia’s pain long ago.
“You’ve only been home from Italy for nine months, and nearly all of it was wedding plans and setting up your hospital. Besides, I kept hoping…” The strained veins across her temple stood in contrast to her smooth skin. Nora must keep the conversation soothing.
“I was such a fool to not notice. Exactly how long?”
“Two years and four months.” Julia’s chin wobbled. “We pretended it was normal for so long, but you’ve only been married a few months and you’re already—”
Terrified.
It wasn’t the moment to confess the cold distance growing between her and Daniel, or that he no longer wrapped his arms around her on the rare nights they shared a bed. All from their disagreements over the tiny person they’d not yet met.
“I can give you ether to make you more comfortable during the exam,” Nora offered, forcing her mind back to the current problem.
Julia closed her eyes and sat down again, as if the brief conversation had wrung her lifeless.
“Harry blames himself. For doing the surgery. And I blame myself for trying to kill myself. If I’d just had the child…
” She swiped at her eyes. “My father blames himself for demanding Harry get rid of it—”
“Julia—”
“Blame enough to drown us all, and nothing to make it better. Harry and I couldn’t let any other doctor know what we’ve done. That’s why I couldn’t see one.”
Nora waited without breathing. Of course they couldn’t consult anyone.
“And I was so ashamed to tell you. Afraid you’d blame Harry for an imperfect surgery. I wasn’t the best patient. I was hysterical and fighting until they dosed me with enough morphia to force me unconscious again.”
Mrs. Phipps blanched, frozen.
Nora shuddered. Julia had survived that nightmare; they could bring her through this one.
“I have tools that will help me see.” She was fairly certain Harry didn’t own a speculum. The reasons for his distaste for obstetric work were now painfully clear. “If you were pregnant once, there’s hope.”
Julia twisted her hands into a mangled knot. “That’s what we said for years. But I can’t find hope anymore.”
“Then we’ll find it together,” Nora promised. “But I can’t treat you if you’re in Denmark.”
After a quiet moment, Julia motioned with her chin toward Nora’s stomach.
“If you keep seeing the sick and working all day, you could lose your child. Harry wrote me, saying that Daniel’s worried sick about you.
” She dropped her gaze, staring at her clenched hands.
“Is it necessary for you to put yourself in such danger?”
Nora’s voice came out too high and forced.
“I’ve hardly any symptoms. And the factory women keep working until they’re too large to be seen in public.
” She had already ordered a higher-waisted dress that would conceal any swelling of her middle, though there’d been none to speak of yet. “I have time.”
She didn’t add that she wasn’t at all sure Daniel was worried about her. He didn’t seem heartbroken that she’d be forced to watch the war with cholera from a safe perch when she most wanted to help fight; his worry was for the tiny stranger deep in her womb.
“I could examine you tomorrow, if you wish.” It wasn’t the time to think of herself.
Julia took a staggered breath and looked to Mrs. Phipps, who gave a gentle nod.
“Harry could even help me administer the ether, if you want him there—”
Julia shook her head furiously.
“Are you afraid of the pain?” Nora laid her hand lightly on Julia’s, a promise in the touch. “You’ve never used the ether, but it’s strangely pleasant. You’ll see.”
“It’s not that.” Julia hung her shaking head, one silver tear plunging to her lap. She exhaled and dropped her shoulders in defeat. “If you examine me and say it’s impossible”—her pain hung between them, thickening in the cool air—“I’ll believe you.”