Chapter 10 Waiting
By the time Rowena had walked slowly back to the front door, the nearest entrance to the house, leaning heavily on Georgie and the gamekeeper, Augusta had raised the alarm, and footmen were streaming down the steps.
Not far behind them was Richard, his face ashen, who at once replaced the gamekeeper in supporting his wife carefully up the steps.
“What happened? You are not hurt? Any pain?”
His voice was high with anxiety, and beneath the tumbling words was the deeper question — is the baby hurt?
“My foot slipped, that is all, and I fell down the steps.”
“What steps? Where? How far did you fall?”
“One of those short flights beside one of the little waterfalls on the upper river. I must have slipped down… oh, perhaps three or four steps.”
“Three or four… but is there any pain?”
Is the baby hurt?
“I am a little achy where I fell… my arm and left leg, mostly. I shall have some splendid bruises in a day or two.”
As they reached the top step, the duke appeared, with the same terrified expression and the same litany of questions, and the unspoken one — is the baby hurt?
“Froggett? Where is Froggett?” the duke cried. “Ah, there you are. Send for the physician at once. At once!”
“Already done, your grace,” Froggett said, wringing his hands.
“And the midwife,” Richard said. “Just in case.”
And there it was, the unspoken fear brought into plain sight.
“Yes, yes, an excellent idea,” said the duke, walking helplessly alongside the little group escorting Rowena, his arms spread wide as if to shield her from trouble. “Just to check that all is well.”
“Ow!” Rowena said, stopping abruptly.
“What is it?” Richard whispered. “A pain?”
She laughed suddenly, the sound echoing in the cavernous entrance hall. “The baby kicked me.”
They all laughed then, in relief. A kicking baby must be a good sign. He was unharmed, then!
“Ah, the little fellow does not like being tumbled down steps, I dare say,” the duke said, indulgently. “He is registering his displeasure.”
Sophia watched them to the bottom of the stairs, but by then half the household had appeared wanting to know what had happened, so, after sending a footman to find Maria and Charlotte, she took everyone into a parlour to tell the tale and listen to the ladies’ prognostications.
Cousin Hester was sure the baby would be born deformed, but Mama laughed that off.
“He is very well protected inside his mother, I assure you,” she said.
The midwife arrived first, half running up the drive.
A few minutes later, the apothecary arrived in his gig.
And two hours later, the stylish carriage of the physician from Brinchester pulled up outside the house.
All three were agreed that Mrs Richard would be somewhat bruised, but there was no serious damage caused and the baby inside her was perfectly well.
“He has a fine, strong kick,” Dr Percival said with a smile, as he sipped Madeira in the duke’s study. The whole household had crowded in to hear the verdict, and now there were sighs of relief all round. Even the duke was smiling.
Dinner that evening was a strange affair. Rowena kept to her room and Richard, too agitated to be in company, stayed with her. The rest of the party was surprisingly merry, aware that disaster had narrowly been averted.
Sophia was less merry. The image of the rake lying beneath the snow haunted her.
How long had it lain there, waiting to catch an unwary walker?
And what should she do about it? If she told anyone, there would be an almighty fuss, some hapless gardener would be dismissed without a reference and she did not want to be responsible for anyone losing his employment for a simple mistake.
Yet she could not leave the rake lying there.
Another snowfall would bury it again, and someone else could fall, with more serious consequences.
She had still not resolved the problem when she went to bed that night.
She picked up her book and prepared to read for a while to put herself to sleep, but after a few minutes she closed it again.
She knew clearly what she must do. Tomorrow, she would retrieve the rake and take it back to the head gardener.
There was no need to mention that it had caused Rowena’s fall.
Instead, she would just say that she saw it lying and thought it best to put it back where it belonged.
With that thought, she settled down to read, but the house was not quiet.
First, there were rapid footsteps along the passageway outside her room, followed by knocking on someone’s door — Mama’s she thought. Then low voices, and more footsteps. All was quiet for a while, then there was a gentle knock on the door.
“Sophia?” The door opened and Mama’s head appeared, lit by a flickering candle. “I saw the light under your door, so I thought you might still be awake.”
“I am. What is it?”
“Rowena’s pains have started and Richard is in a state.”
“It is too soon, surely!”
“Only a month or so, which is not disastrous. The midwife is sent for, but I have sent Richard down to the library to pace up and down, or get drunk, or whatever men do in such situations.” She sighed in exasperation.
“Anything but sitting outside Rowena’s room agonising loudly and distracting her.
Will you sit with him for a while? By and by, I will wake Charlotte to come and take over from you, but for now, let the others sleep. Will you go?”
“Of course. What did Papa do when you were labouring?”
She laughed. “He went shooting! He was not a great one for such sport as a rule, except as a courtesy to guests, but whenever my time came, off he went with his gun. Then he would come home to hear that he had another daughter. Not that he ever blamed me, but he was especially pleased when Richard was born. He bought me the diamond parure, if you remember. I only ever got a necklace or a bracelet for you girls. Go on, off you go. Weston is with him, but he is almost as jumpy as Richard is. There is nothing like a lady’s presence for soothing a man, is there? ”
Richard seemed to be following Mama’s suggestions to the letter, for Sophia found him prowling about the library in an elaborately embroidered banyan and slippers, a brandy glass in his hand, his nightcap askew on his head.
Weston’s face brightened perceptibly when he saw Sophia. “Shall I fetch you something to eat, madam?” he said.
“Good idea,” she said. “It is likely to be a long night.”
Richard groaned. “It is too early! More than a month, everyone said, but now this fall has set things off and who knows how it will end?”
“We shall just have to await the outcome with patience,” Sophia said briskly. “Getting yourself into a state is not going to help Rowena one little bit. She would be happier to know that you were dealing with the situation with fortitude.”
Richard stopped prowling and glared at Sophia.
“Have you ever been in love, sister? Have you ever felt such a connection with another person that your life is immeasurably better when she is in the world, and would be insupportable without her? No, of course you have not. You sail through life without a care for anyone. So do not presume to lecture me about fortitude. There can be no fortitude where Rowena is concerned.”
A tart reply was on Sophia’s lips, but she swallowed it.
There was no point in quarrelling with Richard.
He was quite irrational about Rowena, and there was nothing to be done about it.
Instead, she persuaded him to sit down, and began to read snippets from the London newspapers, which she hoped might distract him.
He said nothing, but perhaps the sound of her voice soothed him, for at least he seemed calmer.
Unfortunately, the door was flung open and the duke swept in, full of the tale of how his first duchess had died in childbed.
“It was just the same with Caroline — she started early, and all seemed well, but then—”
“Thank you, your grace, but that is not helpful,” Sophia said firmly. “Rowena is a different person, the circumstances are different and we look forward to a different outcome. Just think, in a few hours’ time, you may be holding the next heir to the dukedom in your arms.”
“I have held four such in my arms,” the duke said tersely, “and now they all rest in God’s arms.”
“Then let us see what God decides to do this time.”
The duke glared at her, unwilling to concede even the slightest possibility of a happy outcome, but a moan from Richard brought him to his senses.
“There, there, boy! You must not take everything I say so literally. Maybe your sister is right, eh? Rowena is a fine, healthy young woman. No need to anticipate the worst.”
“I cannot bear it!” Richard said with a groan. “How much longer will it be?”
That was another question to which there was no answer, so Sophia wisely did not attempt one.
The night passed in painfully slow increments.
Never had the hands of the clock moved with so little energy!
Richard paced, the duke worked his way steadily through the brandy decanter, Weston hovered anxiously and Sophia read from the newspapers, if only to fill the heavy silence.
Even when Charlotte appeared, still yawning, Sophia read on, for it seemed to help.
Whenever she paused, either Richard would start up his agitated maunderings or the duke would talk about his first wife, so she plodded on.
Sometime after three by the clock, Mama came in, causing Richard to jump to his feet in an agony of hope and terror.
“She is doing very well, but it is a slow business. You had much better go to bed, Richard.”
“I could not possibly sleep!”
“No, but— Well, never mind. Sophia, what are you doing here? No need for you when Charlotte is here. Off to bed with you, child.”
“Very well, Mama, but you will wake me if there is any news?”
“Of course, but it is not likely to be before morning.”
Richard groaned again.