Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately, the scene that greeted Isabella and Damien when they entered Maggie’s bedchamber was not as gruesome as Isabella’s active imagination anticipated.
Maggie, dressed in a loose flowing nightgown, was pacing the room slowly while her husband, Fred, impatiently watched.
Fran was fussing over the bed, smoothing down the sheets, arranging and rearranging the pillows.
Jenkins was hunched over the fireplace, methodically adding logs to an already blazing fire.
“It was very good of you to come, Miss Browning,” Fred said the moment he spied Isabella.
Isabella smiled nervously at Maggie’s husband. Although he was outwardly calm, she observed the sporadic twitching of Fred’s hands. His eyes darted constantly to his wife, and Isabella saw him wince visibly as Maggie suddenly ceased her pacing and bowed her head in pain.
“Well, Maggie, I am told the moment is upon us at last,” Isabella proclaimed brightly. She gave the maid a look that she hoped conveyed the confidence and reassurance she was far from experiencing. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I believe Maggie and I can handle things from this point on.”
The men shuffled silently out the door, and Fran hovered expectantly by the bed, clearly torn between her desire to go and feelings of loyalty to remain. “It is best if you leave too, Fran. I promise I shall call if I need you.”
Fran hesitated a moment, then bestowed a wavering smile on Maggie. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Would you please see to Fred for me?” Maggie requested. “I know he is trying to be brave for my sake, but I swear he turned paler each time a pain gripped me. I’d feel much better knowing you were watching out for him.”
“Of course, Maggie,” Fran replied, clearly thankful to be able to perform at least some useful task for her friend.
The room turned eerily quiet after Fran left. Maggie took a tentative step toward Isabella, but stopped short when a strong contraction overtook her body.
“Is it true the bridge is flooded, Miss Browning? The midwife won’t be coming?”
“Yes, the bridge is impassable,” Isabella confirmed quietly. She reached out and tenderly brushed the hair from Maggie’s face. The maid looked so frail and frightened and alone. “But I’m here, Maggie. And I’m going to help you. Did I ever tell you my ... father was a doctor?”
“I recall Mr. Jenkins mentioning it once.” Maggie cautiously straightened her body and pressed a fist into her aching back. Isabella watched her every movement.
“You learn things growing up in a physician’s household,” Isabella lied baldly. “I have more experience than you might think.” There was no point in scaring Maggie any further. What she needed was reassurance. As far as Isabella was concerned, a white lie at this point certainly seemed in order.
“What should I do?”
Isabella felt a tiny stirring of relief. Maggie accepted her. Isabella looked at the young girl hugging her cramping abdomen and prayed she was up to the task. “Does walking help ease the pain?”
“Some.”
“Good. Then let’s keep at it.” Isabella moved next to Maggie and placed a comforting arm around her. “I’ll help you.”
The next few hours passed slowly for the two women.
Maggie’s pains were obviously increasing, though she made a gallant effort to hide it.
When Isabella noticed Maggie tiring, she insisted they abandon the pacing in favor of the bed.
She wiped the maid’s face with a cool, damp rag and tightly held her hand when the contractions grasped Maggie’s body. And Isabella talked. Endlessly.
She’d gotten it into her head that keeping up a constant stream of inane chatter would distract Maggie from her pain. So Isabella told amusing, and for the most part fictitious, stories from her childhood. She talked until her voice was nearly hoarse and her throat felt dry and raw.
It seemed to work for a while, but after a time Isabella noted a marked change. Maggie’s contractions came closer together, and Isabella could tell by the way Maggie clenched her teeth that they were fierce and violent.
Isabella reached out a comforting hand and rested it on Maggie’s abdomen.
She could feel the intense tightening of the womb through the nightgown as the babe within lurched and quivered.
As the pain washed over her, Maggie dug her heels into the mattress, arched her back and lifted her convulsing body off the bed.
“It hurts, oh, how it hurts.” Maggie winced, twisting her head from side to side.
It was nearly unbearable to watch Maggie suffer so intensely, but Isabella forced down her own fright. Her torment was nothing compared to the agony Maggie now endured. Helplessly, Isabella pushed back Maggie’s dark, sweat-dampened hair.
“Have courage, Maggie,” Isabella whispered. “It will all be over soon.”
For the thousandth time, Isabella again reviewed in her mind the few birthing instructions she knew.
Over and over the stern voice echoed in her head, a memory of that long-ago day in her childhood when she had witnessed that awful birth.
You must push as hard as you can when the head appears, you must push as hard as you can when the head appears.
Gently, Isabella lifted Maggie’s nightgown and looked between her legs, praying for a glimpse of the baby’s head.
Maggie moaned sharply, and her head sank back against the pillows in exhaustion.
She closed her eyes and seemed to struggle for the strength to take a few shallow breaths.
A sharp chill of fear ran down Isabella’s spine.
The maid was obviously tiring; Isabella was uncertain how much longer she could endure the pain.
She desperately hoped Maggie would have the strength to push the child from her body.
“Everything is going very smoothly, Maggie,” Isabella said in a soothing voice. “You must try to conserve your strength and rest between the contractions. Soon you will be able to begin pushing the babe out.”
A slight movement startled Isabella, and she turned to find Damien by her side. The earl had slipped unnoticed into the room, and he stood now at the foot of the bed, his eyes riveted in horror and wonder on Maggie.
“She looks as white as the sheets beneath her,” Damien whispered hoarsely. “Is everything all right?”
“How the devil am I supposed to know?” Isabella hissed in a loud whisper. Desperately needing to vent her fear and frustration, the earl provided a convenient target for Isabella. “In case you have forgotten, sir, my experience with childbirth is rather limited.”
Embarrassed by her outburst, Isabella anxiously turned her head toward Maggie, fearing the young woman had overheard. She need not have been concerned. Maggie was oblivious to her surroundings. Her eyes were tightly shut, and she made low, whimpering sounds deep in her throat.
“I’ve sent Fred down to the stables to check on the horses,” Damien told Isabella. “The poor man is frantic with worry and desperate not to show it.”
“His fears are not unfounded,” Isabella said solemnly. “Birthing can be a dangerous business.”
“Mrs. Amberly is still out cold, but Fran and Molly have volunteered to help,” Damien informed Isabella.
Regretfully, Isabella shook her head. “They are both expecting children of their own. As much as I would appreciate their assistance, I cannot subject them to this. After witnessing Maggie’s ordeal, I am sure they would dwell overlong on their own forthcoming births.”
“Then I shall stay,” Damien declared softly.
Isabella’s knees went weak with relief. “I suppose it would be too much to hope that you have done this before,” she said with a curious mixture of sarcasm and elation in her voice.
“I’ve delivered some livestock,” Damien replied in all seriousness.
“Perfect,” Isabella snorted. “Your vast experience nearly exceeds my own.” She turned with concerned eyes toward Maggie. “She is so tired. I only pray this will be a swift and normal delivery.”
At Isabella’s instruction, Damien took up a position at the head of the bed, behind Maggie. The poor woman was so consumed by her labor pains, she was barely aware of his presence.
Isabella climbed onto the mattress at the foot of the bed and gently raised Maggie’s knees. “With the next pain you must bear down and push hard, Maggie.”
Isabella placed her hand on Maggie’s distended belly and waited for the tightening of the next contraction to begin. When she felt the muscles tense, Isabella calmly issued instructions. “Bear down, Maggie. Now.”
Disoriented, Maggie struggled to obey, but she lacked the strength to lift her upper body off the bed while pushing with her lower extremities.
Collapsing against the pillows in exhaustion, Maggie sobbed brokenly, “I cannot. Dear God, I cannot.” Tears seeped from her eyes, wetting her temples and falling into her sweat-soaked hair.
Numb with fear, Isabella stared beseechingly across the bed at Damien. The earl was pale under his tan, but he did not hesitate once in his actions. He sat down on the bed, braced himself against the wooden headboard and carefully lifted Maggie so that her back rested flush against his chest.
Barely half-conscious, Maggie whimpered as the next racking pain gripped her body. Waiting for Isabella’s silent cue, Damien whispered encouragingly to Maggie and, miraculously, the maid was able to follow his commands.
After an agonizing hour, Isabella began to panic. How long could this possibly continue? Maggie was almost beyond reality, awash in a constant sea of pain. The grim expression on the earl’s face confirmed that Damien shared this view. But what could they do?
Isabella was so consumed with worry that she nearly missed the sudden appearance of the tiny dark crown of hair between Maggie’s legs. “My God, it’s. the head! I can see the baby’s head!”
“This is it, Maggie, the baby is finally coming,” the earl elatedly announced.