The Regency (40 page)

‘
He's lovely,' Héloïse whispered. 'My son!' She kissed the
mottled face reverently, and then said, 'Tell James! He must
be so worried.'

‘Yes. I'll tell him,' Lucy said.

‘
We'll get you cleaned up, my lady,' Docwra said, 'and give
the little fellow a bit of a wash, and then Mr James can come
up and tell you himself what he thinks of it all. Here now,
Miss, would you like to take the baby and sponge him over,
while Marie and me see to her ladyship?’

Lucy went downstairs. On her way to the steward's room
she halted, and turned back and went into the drawing-room
where there were always several decanters on the side-table.
She had thought of wine, but seeing the brandy, decided she
needed something a little more stiffening, poured herself a
generous measure into a glass, and raised it to the empty air. She thought of Morgan Proom, the old horse-doctor who had
been her mentor and teacher when she was a little girl longing
to be a doctor. He had always celebrated after a difficult case
with a large quantity of smuggled brandy — in his case,
usually a bottle or two.

‘
To you, Morgan, wherever you are,' she said with a quirky
grin. 'You taught me well. May your instruments never rust!’

She swallowed, coughed a little, and then headed for the
steward's room.

The scene within might have made her laugh, had she been
less tired. The three men were crouched miserably over the fire, their feet under the two dogs, and as she came in, five
pairs of melancholy eyes rolled up at her. Of course, not
having heard the baby cry, they would think the worst. Father
Aislaby's hand reached automatically for the cross hanging against his chest, Edward looked as though he might cry at
any moment, and James looked exhausted beyond fear or
grief.

‘
It's all right,' she said, and Father Aislaby, quicker witted
than the other two, closed his eyes with relief, crossed himself,
amd mouthed a short prayer. The other two simply stared at her. 'It's a boy,' Lucy said. 'They're both all right. James, do
you hear me?'

‘Héloïse — she's alive?' he said blankly.

‘
Yes — no thanks to that quack you brought in! I warned
you, Jamie.'

‘You weren't here — what could I do?' he cried in distress.
'Someone had to be with her. The midwife's got a good
reputation.'

‘
Oh well,' Lucy shrugged, seeing there was no point in
berating him, 'I got here in time, that's the main thing.’

‘
And the baby?'

‘
It's had a hard time of it, but there's no reason why it
shouldn't survive — no more reason than usual. You can go
up and see them both in a minute, when Docwra's cleaned
them up a bit.'

‘
We must drink their health,' Edward said, reviving slowly
as the news sank in. He rang the bell by the fireplace. 'A boy!
That's wonderful. Congratulations, Jamie. Mother would be
so pleased.'

‘
I'll make arrangements for the baptism,' Aislaby said. 'It
had better be done immediately, I suppose? Is the child strong
enough to be brought down to the chapel?’

Lucy shrugged. 'In an hour or so, yes.’

The door opened, and Ottershaw stood there, a little out of
breath from hurrying, his face twitching with the effort not to
ask for news.

Edward took pity on him. 'Ottershaw, her ladyship has
been delivered of a boy. You may tell the other servants —
and bring a bottle of the Clicquot, please. We want to drink
the baby's health.'

‘
Oh, thank God, sir! My congratulations, sir, on behalf of all the servants, sir.' Ottershaw looked genuinely delighted.
'May I ask how it is with her ladyship?'

‘She's well enough,' Lucy answered for him. 'Tired. You
might ask Barnard to prepare something light for her. And
something more substantial for me — I don't remember when
I last ate, and I feel as limp as a bootlace.'

‘
Of course, your ladyship. With pleasure. At once,' Otter
shaw said, unusually effusive.

‘And you may wet the baby's head in the servants' hall too,
Ottershaw,' Edward added as he turned to go. 'Open some
thing suitable. I leave it to you.'

‘Thank you, sir.'

‘
There'll be some smiling faces in the servants' quarters,'
Aislaby commented when the butler had gone. 'They all love
her ladyship very much.'

‘
I just hope Barnard doesn't collapse with joy before making
me some supper,' Lucy said dourly. 'Jamie, will you step
outside — I have to talk to you privately for a moment.’

Outside in the hallway, she faced her brother, seeing by the
light of the sconce beside the chapel door how drawn he looked. He had aged in the last few days. His eyes were
meshed round with fine lines, and there was a glitter of silver
here and there in the chestnut hair which she'd never noticed
before. I keep forgetting, she thought, that we're none of us
children any more.

‘
What is it?' he asked. 'Is she really all right? Don't hide
anything from me, Luce.'

‘
She's had a hard time of it,' Lucy said. She paused a
moment. There was no way of telling a man, other than an
accoucheur,
how hard it had been. 'She's exhausted, but
there's no reason why she shouldn't recover.'

‘And the baby?’

Lucy shrugged. 'I don't know. It's always touch and go
after a hard delivery. It's not very robust, but it's got a good
chance, if it's nursed properly. But that's not what I wanted
to say to you.'

‘Well, then?' he said impatiently.

‘
You understand that to deliver the baby I had to pass my
hand into the womb?' James looked away in embarrassment.
'I discovered that it's abnormal. This may be because of
something that happened when Sophie was born, or it may
have always been like that. You see, her pelvis is very small
and narrow, and the lowest three vertebrae project —’

James interrupted, his face still averted. 'I don't understand your medical talk. What are you trying to tell me?'

‘
She may not be able to conceive again. If she does, she
may not carry to term. I'm only surprised that she's had two
children already.’

James was silent a while. Then, 'Have you told her this?'

‘
Not yet. I thought you might want to tell her yourself.' He
nodded, biting his lip, beginning to turn away. 'But Jamie —
wait. I haven't finished.' He met her eyes reluctantly. 'She
may or may not be able to conceive — I don't know. But I'm
quite sure she
ought
not to.'

‘You mean —?'

‘
I had the deuce of a job bringing the child round. Another
time I might not be here — or the child might be bigger — or
she might be weaker. Do you understand what I'm telling
you? She ought not to have another baby. She's not formed
for it. It might kill her.’

James nodded, looking very old. 'Yes, I understand.’

‘
Will you tell her, or do you want me to?'

‘I'll talk to her. Thanks, Lucy.’

Footsteps across the hall heralded Ottershaw with champagne and glasses on a tray, and a broad smile on his face,
followed by a footman with a tray of food.

‘
Your supper, my lady. Everyone in the servant's hall is
delighted with the news, sir. When you see her ladyship, sir,
would it be too much trouble to convey to her our respectful congratulations?'

‘Yes. Very well, Ottershaw,' James said shortly.

And as he spoke, the house bell began to ring: the quick
double strokes for a birth. They were muffled here in the hall,
but outside they would be ringing clearly in the dark icy air
across the white fields, to tell the villagers and tenants and
estate workers the glad news, that another Morland had been
born at Morland Place.

*

The baby was frail; so frail that, once he had seen it, James
felt despairingly that there was no point in giving it a name.
Aislaby performed an immediate baptism — in the bed
chamber after all, so that Héloïse could witness it — and James
thought that there would probably never be a christening.
The child had breathing problems, and had to be revived
several times in the first two days. Lucy, having no pipette,
used her wits and sent to the kitchen for a piece of macaroni,
and shewed Sarah how to pull the infant's tongue forward,
and blow through the tube down its throat until it began
breathing again.

The cold was also a problem for a child so weak. There was
no place warm enough for it to be left, so Héloïse kept it in
bed with her in the crook of her arm, except when she handed it over to Sarah to change. Though she was the junior nursery
maid, it was Sarah who took charge of the baby, for Jenny
had an aversion to it, thinking it ugly and malformed. It's
right arm was still grotesquely swollen, and its face was
misshapen, though Lucy assured them that its features would straighten out of their own accord in a few days.

Héloïse loved holding her child, but she was too weak to
feed him, so a wet-nurse had to be found, one who was willing
to live in. After two days of fruitless enquiries, Mrs Thomson
produced a girl from Huntsham Farm, out near Harewood
Whin. How she had come to hear of her was a mystery, but
the girl was a dairymaid of fifteen who had become pregnant
and refused to name her seducer. The farmer and his wife,
finding her useful, had allowed her to stay on, and she had
recently given birth to a male infant, which had died soon
afterwards. They were now only too glad to be rid of her,
since in her delicate condition so soon after childbirth, she
was no longer able to go out and tend the cows.

The girl's name was Matty, and once Héloïse had seen
what beautiful, clear skin she had, she was quite willing for
her to take over the feeding of the baby. Sarah was happy also
to yield up the business of changing it, though she still
watched over it jealously, not believing the ex-dairymaid
would not have the sense to tell whether it was breathing
normally or not.

Matty did not seem to find her new charge ugly or
deformed. She had been desperately miserable when her own
baby died, and had feared that the farmer's wife would turn
her out into the snow at any moment. Morland Place seemed a
haven of luxury to her, and understanding that her remaining
there depended on the baby's survival, she lavished as much
care on it as Héloïse would have herself.