Chapter 28
The cobblestones echoed beneath Nora’s boots as she sidestepped, neatly evading a throng of foreign students spilling from the brightly lit Austrian café.
The scent of coffee, woven into the nimbus of tobacco smoke, tugged on her elbow, tempting her inside.
A hot, bitter cup might burn off some of the soreness nestling between her shoulder blades—the aftereffect of attending a delivery with Ruth and two new midwives who’d begun her classes.
For the last seven hours, she’d taught medical terms and techniques in the urgency of the moment instead of in a lecture.
It seemed to have worked. Discussing pelvic rims and traction during a heated labor cemented the terms into her students’ minds.
By the end of the delivery, they’d used them with scarcely an extra thought.
There’d been a few moments when Nora had wondered if she’d need her scalpel after four hours of largely unproductive pushing.
When the infant finally descended enough, Nora had demonstrated the proper use of the short forceps.
After another hour of patient, nearly breathless maneuvering, she’d brought forth a seven-pound boy with downy orange hair and shining eyes—indigo one moment, button black the next.
Fascinating, that particular hue. So common among infants, and so temporary.
By a child’s first birthday, their eyes morphed into blue or brown, green or hazel or gray—a remarkable array of colors, but none so compelling to her as that glossy, just-born blue-black.
She’d tried to duplicate that tint when painting, mixing shades and giving up in disappointment when she couldn’t reproduce a color capable of eliciting the sensation she felt meeting the unblinking gaze of a newborn.
Not too much longer, and she’d be looking her own child eye to eye.
A boy, passing her on the pavement, jostled her shoulder, making her drop her bag. She’d thought herself almost to a standstill again.
Before her bag fell prey to watchful urchins, Nora seized it from the ground.
Straightening, she glared back at the offending shoulder, but the boy who owned it hadn’t bothered to notice and was walking airily away.
Grumbling under her breath, she checked the contents.
Yes, her mercury thermometer had survived.
She turned her head back to the café, doubly tempted, as she was scheduled to call on Daniel’s aunt later today.
That prospect made a few moments’ retreat even more necessary.
Nora slipped inside the café and purchased a kleiner brauner. She’d learned in Italy how to nurse one cup for an hour or more, and she used her training well.
If only she could reschedule her visit with Aunt Wilcox for later in the week.
But Aunt Wilcox was not the rescheduling sort.
She wouldn’t understand or sympathize with a long labor, and Nora couldn’t breathe a word about her unsettled stomach or groggy head.
The pregnancy must be saved for another day—another battle.
She was tempted to burrow her head atop her arms and doze right at the table, but a flock of young men kept up a rowdy banter two tables away. A few more sips and then she’d pay for a carriage. Perhaps fill the extra time by having it circle Regent’s Park while she caught a half hour of sleep…
She left her payment beneath her empty cup and ventured into the chill and damp air, waving down a dull-faced driver with a sad, drenched palomino pony. “Just slowly,” she instructed, handing him a generous fare. “I’d like to see the leaves in the park before I arrive.”
When the carriage halted, Nora lifted her head from the bench, shaking away sleep as she oriented herself. The musty odors and worn fabrics of the cab blurred in a dizzying swirl. Biting her lip—the pain would jolt her awake—she blinked to clear her eyes.
Aunt’s house.
She wished for a mirror, certain that her once carefully pinned hair was now fuzzy. Hopefully, she’d have a moment to make repairs in the hall.
Grasping her bag, Nora trudged up the steps. A stern-faced butler opened the door without a word, elastic eyebrows lowering at the sight of her. “Mrs. Gibson?” he asked, though he’d seen her before and knew precisely who she was.
“Yes, thank you.” She stepped inside and handed him her bag. “Please see this is kept safe. I’d like to visit the water closet before I see Aunt.” She spoke with far more authority than she felt. The butler’s cuffs and collars were of finer quality and certainly in a better state than her own.
An older maid showed Nora to a small room, which also happily contained a washstand and mirror.
Nora washed her face, shivering from the cold water, and repinned her hair, smoothing it into place with wet fingers.
A pinch to her cheeks, a quick shake of her skirts—thank goodness her billowing apron had protected her clothes throughout the delivery.
One smear, the unmistakable brownish-red of dried blood, marred her sleeve, but she did her best to twist it toward the back of her arm, retucked her blouse, and reemerged almost a new woman.
The maid was waiting. “This way, ma’am.”
Nora followed obediently, fortifying her confidence by trying out suitable greetings in her mind. Pleasing and convincing Aunt Wilcox seemed the only way if she was to mend things with Daniel and circumvent Adams.
Aunt Wilcox presided over the drawing room from a fireside chair. “You didn’t come in your own carriage?” Her eyes swept over Nora, fixing on her arm. “Where have you been?”
“A difficult labor. But the child and mother are safe.”
Aunt’s nose flared and her eyebrow lifted. “Certainly left you the worse for wear.” Before Nora could scrap together a reply, she continued, “I suppose that’s to be expected. At least you’re competent, not a criminal like that Surrey woman. Take a seat.”
Nora had expected more idle conversation before confronting the matter, but perhaps this was fortunate.
It was hard, maintaining pleasantries with Aunt Wilcox, and this spared her from introducing the difficult topic.
“That case in Surrey is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you. You are so influential. If that woman is found guilty—”
“She will be.”
Nora swallowed. “I know she’ll find her treatment in prison more humane because of your efforts.”
Aunt nodded. “That is our aim.”
“And a noble one,” Nora agreed. “I’ve come to—”
“One moment, please.” Aunt raised her hand, then turned to another maid, just entering the room with a tea tray. “That should have been placed before my guest arrived.”
The woman apologized with a quick bob and scurried from the room, face red and crumpled.
“She’s new. From the refuge,” Aunt Wilcox explained. “You must forgive her failings. Margot just started upstairs yesterday. She’s intelligent, though. I’ve no doubt she’ll improve.”
Nora looked back toward the empty doorway. “That’s very commendable.” Even if she thought it might be done with a little more kindness.
Aunt waited expectantly.
“I wanted to discuss a scheme I have,” Nora began. “For the education and improvement of women. It bears on this recent case and your own work. I’d like to establish a training program for midwives.”
“I don’t—”
“As you know, there are some unqualified women—”
Aunt Wilcox snorted. “I’d say. My physician, Dr. Adams, abhors the lot of them.”
“I’m familiar with his argument. But it is a very limited view—tainted, I think—because he is a man. If I could impart a female perspective…” Nora held her breath, but Aunt Wilcox didn’t object, though her brows lowered.
“When I worked in Italy, it was common for midwives to learn from each other, as they do here, but also from doctors and surgeons. They frequently work alongside them, even. When there are complications, a surgeon is summoned. But when matters proceed smoothly, he or she can confidently entrust a woman’s care to the midwives. ”
Aunt scowled slightly—whether in doubt or disdain, Nora couldn’t tell.
“There are extremely skilled and experienced midwives here in London, treating hundreds of women unable to afford physicians.”
“The charity hospitals are free,” Aunt countered. “They could have a baby with a physician attending, all without a farthing.”
“It sounds reasonable,” Nora conceded. “But I know a great deal about such hospitals and doctors. The vast majority are students who have seen one or two births. And the close quarters spread disease. Most women, rich or poor, prefer to be attended in their own homes.”
The maid returned and lowered the tray to the table with a wobble that made Nora flinch. Luckily, the tea service landed safely. “We’ll serve ourselves,” Aunt said, dismissing her, and turned back to Nora. “According to Dr. Adams—”
“He does have some valid critiques,” Nora admitted, the words grating her throat.
“But I think those are best resolved by improving the education offered to women and creating standards like those that govern doctors and apothecaries. If it works for those professions, why not for midwives as well? In Bologna, medical professors train and work beside the midwives, who attend some of the same classes as the surgical students—”
Aunt replaced her cup in her plate with a clink.
“The same classes? The men and women together…” Aunt exhaled in a tight huff.
“Do you know how long and hard I’ve worked to have female prisoners given their own wards?
The impropriety of the male inmates is beyond description. Mixed company in such settings—”
“The medical setting is quite different.” Nora pushed away inconvenient memories of bawdy medical students casting sideways glances at her as they discussed cervixes and birth canals.
“Impossible. I cannot contemplate such a thing. To view and discuss such intimate concerns—”
“I quite see your point,” Nora said smoothly. She must switch tacks to ensure Aunt Wilcox didn’t dismiss her out of hand.