The Regency (39 page)

Héloïse knew that voice. She opened her eyes, turned her
head gladly towards it.

‘Lucy! Oh Lucy!'

‘
Dear God alive, what a mess! Where's James? I told him
not to let them — for God's sake, why did he let this butcher
in here? Yes, sir, I said butcher! You look exactly like one, with
your crotchets and knives! Get out this instant! And you, you
hag! Parslow, escort the good doctor and his moll out of the house. Docwra, look to her ladyship. You, Mathilde, go and tell James he's not to let any more of these quacks in. Here,
take my cloak. Marie, bring me soap and water, and some
kind of salve — pomatum, goose-grease, anything.’

The strong voice, pouring strength into her; movement and
voices; relief, a sense of oppression passing away. Lucy was
here! She was leaning over the bed now, saying, 'Dear God,
Héloïse, what have they been doing to you?'

‘
Dear Lucy! You've come! Now I can die in peace,' she
whispered.

‘
Stuff! You're not going to die, now I've got here,' Lucy said
briskly. 'You'll never know what a terrible journey I've had! I had to do the last half on horseback — I've been in the saddle
for ten hours today. I almost turned back a dozen times, but I
had a feeling somehow — Well, anyway, I've arrived, and if
you die now, you'll make me look nohow, so I won't allow it.
Let's have a look at you. It's all right,' as Héloïse flinched, 'I
won't hurt you any more.’

Héloïse felt the hands on her — small hands this time, icy
cold, but gentle.

Lucy grunted. 'It's a shoulder present. Some fool has been
pulling on this arm, trying to deliver the baby that way.'

‘
The midwife,' said Docwra, looking over her shoulder. 'I
had it out o' her on the stairs. Hours and hours she's been
pullin' away at it, like a sailor on a rope. What do you think,
my lady?’

It looked bad enough, Lucy thought. The baby's arm,
protruding from the vulva, was swollen and misshapen; and the tissues of the vulva itself were engorged and painful-looking.

‘
The ignorance of these people,' she muttered angrily.
'Docwra, give me a pin, or a needle or something.' Docwra
passed her a needle, and she stuck it into one of the baby's
fingers, and saw, to her relief, the starfish reaction of the
hand.

‘
Thank God for that,' she said. She leaned over Héloïse,
smoothing the damp hair from the cold forehead. Héloïse
opened her eyes, and Lucy spoke slowly and clearly, holding
her attention. 'Listen, Héloïse, I'm going to turn the baby
inside you and bring it out by the feet. I'd like to give you
time to rest first, but I'm afraid the baby might not be able to
stand any more delay.'

‘The baby — alive?'

‘Yes, it's alive.’

Héloïse closed her eyes with relief. 'The doctor said it was
dead.'

‘
Much he knows! Everything's going to be all right now.
The baby's still alive, and there's a chance it will survive, if
we work quickly. You must help me all you can by pushing
when I tell you to.’

Héloïse nodded slightly, gathering herself for the effort.

‘
Right, Docwra, let's get these covers off, so that I can see
what I'm doing,' said Lucy, but as she and her maid took the
folded-back mass of sheets and blankets, Marie intervened
with a cry of distress.

‘No, what are you doing? You must not!’

Lucy straightened and fixed the maid with a steely eye.
'Listen, Marie, you can take your provincial prudery and
leave, or you can stay and help, I don't care which. But I'm
not going to work groping about under blankets because you
have some misplaced sense of modesty about my seeing your
mistress's body. Do you think she cares now?’

Not tactful, Docwra thought, as Marie mottled up with
anger. She intervened placatingly. 'Don't mind my lady,' she
whispered, putting a hand on Marie's arm. 'She's had a hard
day. Would you like to keep Miss Mathilde out of the way? I
don't think she ought to be seeing this sort o' thing. You could
get the linen ready between you. It's best if I help my lady —
I know her ways.’

She edged Marie gently but firmly out of the way, winked
conspiratorially at Mathilde, and then returned, her expres
sion grim, to her mistress's side. She knew both the gravity of
the situation, and how much hard work was ahead of Lucy —
and when she was already exhausted from her five-day
journey across snow-bound England. Had it not been freezing
hard, they would not have made it at all. Many times Lucy
urged Docwra to stay behind — she not being much of a
horsewoman, and not the shape for it either — but Docwra
wouldn't leave her. Her behind felt like brawn now; she
was glad to be standing up, and not to have icicles hanging
from her nose. That was about the sum of what she had to be
thankful for: that, and the fact that they had arrived before
her poor ladyship and the infant were dead.

‘Ready now, my lady,' she said.

‘At least,' Lucy said with oblique humour, 'it's easier with humans than with horses.’

It was a long and gruelling task. Firstly she took up the
pomatum Marie had brought. The waters must have come away long ago, she thought: everything was both dry and
swollen. The infant's engorged arm, the surrounding tissues,
her own hand and arm, must all be lubricated, and then,
seating herself on the low stool the midwife had been using,
she began to insert her hand, working it inch by inch past the
prolapsed arm towards the cervix. There was no thought of
embarrassment in her mind, or that what she was doing was
both unnatural and wrong. Héloïse was no longer Héloïse: she
was a medical case, more interesting than one in a book, but
as academic.

‘
Lord, you'd have made a fine doctor, if only you'd been a man,' Docwra breathed. It had taken some getting used to, to
see her mistress behave so far out of her sex, but in the last thirteen years Docwra had helped her sew up wounds, draw teeth, deliver babies, and God knew what else, and she had come at last to feel pride in her skills, rather than horror at
her shamelessness.

Despite Héloïse's exhaustion, her muscular contractions
were still strong — sign of the human body's astonishing
resilience, Lucy thought. Her job was now to repel the baby
against those contractions, turning it in the womb far enough
to be able to draw the feet down. Despite the bitter cold in the room, she was soon sweating with the exertion, and again and
again Docwra reached over to wipe her face with a napkin.
There was a complete silence now, apart from the sounds of
breathing, and even Marie and Mathilde, overcoming their
distaste, had drawn near to watch the tense battle with
nature. Mathilde alone had a thought to spare for the men
waiting below for news, ignorant of everything that was
happening. She did think of slipping down to reassure them,
but could not quite bring herself to leave the scene. Everything
seemed so perilously poised, that she felt superstitiously as
though any change might cause a disaster.

Then, at long last, Lucy gave a long groan of accomplish
ment. 'That's it!'

‘My lady?'

‘
It's round. I've got the feet. Now, Héloïse, we're almost
done. Can you hear me?'

‘Yes.' It was no more than a whisper.

‘
When you're ready, bear down as hard as you can. I'll help
you. Two or three good pushes should do it.’

Marie hastened to take her mistress's hand, and gripping it
with astonishing strength, Héloïse pushed, while Lucy drew
firmly on the baby's feet.

‘
Again, Héloïse.' The tiny purple feet emerged from the
vulva, and Lucy paused to wind a strip of linen round them,
to give herself better purchase, and to save damage to the
fragile extremities. 'And again. And once more!’

The long body slithered free, the pulsing cord rising up
from the centre like some exotic jungle creeper. With her
fingers under the infant's neck Lucy waited, until at last
Héloïse strained again, and she finally guided the head out in
a rush of blood. Docwra regarded the baby anxiously. It was a
bad colour, and apart from the still-swollen arm, it looked
misshapen. Lucy examined it quickly. She cleared the mouth
of mucus with a finger, and it gave a little crowing gasp. She
tied and cut the cord, and passed it over to Docwra.

‘No dislocation, at least. Here. Keep it warm.’

Héloïse was trying to lift her head. 'Lucy — the baby — is
it all right?'

‘Yes,' Lucy said tersely. 'A boy.'

‘
A boy!' Héloïse whispered. She let her head fall back on
the pillow, and smiled. To Marie, her face seemed trans
figured. 'Can I see him?'

‘In a minute,' Lucy said. 'Let me attend to you first.'

‘A boy, Marie! I'm so glad. James will be glad. A son!’

Ten minutes later the placenta was delivered, and Lucy
was able to get up at last, grunting with the pain in her
muscles. Apart from the saddle-soreness and stiffness from
crouching so long in a cold room, her arms and shoulders
were aching abominably, and the fingers of her right hand
were stiff and painful. She knew that by tomorrow they
would be swollen up like an old woman's, and she'd have no
use of them for a day or two.

She crossd the room, and looked down at the long, purplish
baby on Docwra's lap. It looked small and frail; it was a
wonder it had survived the long ordeal. 'How is it?'

‘All right now,' Docwra said with some pride. 'He stopped breathing a while back, but I foxed him! I turned him upside
down and gave him a little shake and a skelp, and he's back
with us now.'

‘We'd better shew it to Héloïse, or she'll think we're hiding
something from her,' Lucy said. 'She's already worried that it
hasn't cried.'

‘
Ah, sure God, the poor little creature's exhausted. He
hasn't the strength to cry, till he's had a sleep,' Docwra said,
getting up. They took the baby back to Héloïse, who had sunk
into an exhausted doze; but she woke when they approached,
and took the baby into her arms with the look of unearthly
joy which Lucy never saw on a human face except at such a
moment. It made it all seem worthwhile, just for a moment.