The Silent Love (15 page)

Mary, already a legendary figure for six villages around as a force to be reckoned with, gained much stature through the telling of this tale. Anyone—and especially a woman—who could order about the doctor, was a heroic figure, indeed. Not to mention the lady had once spurned the lord of the manor, deigning instead to have her child without his marriage lines in her pocket.

The doctor slumped upon the settee in the anteroom, wiping his perspiring face with a handkerchief drawn from an inner pocket, while the formidable woman turned back into the chamber.

Hannah lay upon the bed, heels dug into the soft mattress, body arched with the onslaught of fresh pain... the contractions were coming closer together. "Water... please."

Mary went to the bed and began once more her gentle ministrations to the suffering girl, her heart going out to this innocent, whose current situation would not have come about without the greed of her son and the selfishness of his father.

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"She has threatened the doctor, Milord, with your retribution, should he seek to gainsay her and the doctor wishes to leave, but of course, he will not. Me thinks he fears her more than you."

Darwin stood at attention, the unusual spate of words issuing forth reluctantly from the taciturn butler.

"And how fares my lady wife?" The Marquis queried his servant urgently.

"She fares... as well as can be expected in her weakened condition. Perhaps you should speak with Mistress Strongbow yourself, Milord, for she has told me naught this last hour."

Again, more words than normal had emitted from the butler, but his concern for his mistress gave strength to his voice box, and he stood ready to do the Marquis bidding and fetch Mary.

"I think perhaps we should leave Mistress Strongbow to her work. Have someone go for David. I would have my son close by, for he comforts me well."

The Marquis knew the servants were already buzzing about David's untimely visit to the sickroom and speculation was high. Somehow, the old man was less worried for their gossip than he was for the need he had to keep his son in company with him.

Silently, the butler bowed and quit the room, hurrying along the corridor to dispatch yet another footman to fetch the young master to the house. It would be several hours before he came, however, for David was not at the cottage, nor his grandfather's house in the village.

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David piled his packages in the small curricle, feeling expansive and better than he had in days. He had purchased fine dress material, a warm woolen shawl, and a pair of tortoise shell combs for his mother's hair.

For his grandfather, a new pipe, a heavy winter coat and one of lighter material for warmer weather, along with a pair of sturdy boots, ordered from the cobbler who would come tomorrow to fit them.

He climbed atop the perch and gathered the reins. As he moved to slap them over the backs of the animal's and move off, he heard his voice shouted from afar down the cobbled street.

"Master David! Wait!" The young man in Darlington livery came hurrying, trotting the old mare as fast as he could make her go, heels thumping her flanks as her urged her along. "Wait, sir! 'Tis urgent!"

Closing the distance between them, young Jess came to a halt next to the carriage. The mare, sides heaving with her effort, stood docile as her rider slid off her back.

"Sir... 'tis your father. He has sent for you to come straight away to the manor. The young mistress has begun again to labor... " the young man flushed red at the nature of his subject, "... and his wish is for your presence to comfort... "

Not waiting for the groom to finish, David completed the downward slap of the reins and was off at a gallop, the small carriage swaying precariously, bouncing behind the speed of the cattle, the packages sliding about in the small boot, forgotten by the harried man as he drove madly down the lane.

The dust of the road swept over him and his hair flew about in the wind he created, but David was oblivious, concentrating on controlling his cattle, maneuvering them around the larger ruts in his path, his heart heavy with dread. Thinking what would happen, were he too late, he whipped the horses harder.

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"David... David!" Her voice a horse whisper, Hannah could barely make enough sound to be heard, but Mary, seated next to the bed, watching the girl struggle, leaned forward to hear her better. "Please... where are you? God will punish us... the babe does not come... 'twas a most grievous sin... "

Twisting against the pain, she drew her legs up and turned to her side, for it lessened when she lay thus. "On your back mistress, lay on your back. The child cannot move into the birth canal from that position."

Mary, grown weary these past hours from watching Hannah suffer, gently prodded her charge, moving her once more onto her back. "There child, all will be well, the time grows near... " she crooned in her soft voice, "... even now I feel him coming close to birth."

Her hands moved gently over the girl's belly, eyes peering at the birth area, looking for signs of her grandchild's entry into the world. The birth canal was dilated wide, and the blood flow had changed, for the placenta was beginning to break up. But the babe was positioned wrong; sideways against the opening.

Going to the door, she called the sleeping doctor, her voice gentle for once. Having gotten her way with him in the matter of the leaches, she was willing to be generous. She needed the doctor's help and knew it well.

The doctor gathered his black bag and followed Mary back into the chamber where Hannah lay suffering. He went straight to the bed, all business as he focused on the patient.

"Mary, hold her hands, and keep her still." Doctor Huckaby, looking worried—their argument forgotten in the urgency of his patient's need—fixed Mary with a serious gaze. "Mayhap we should get Elspeth here. You will need her help. When I turn the babe the pain will surely make her thrash about."

"I will help. There is no need to call another." David came into the room, his face sweat-streaked and dirty from his wild ride across the countryside, his cravat hanging loose around his muscular neck. His voice was firm as he raised a hand to stay her, seeing his mother's irritated look. "Nay, do not tell me to get gone, mother. I will not leave."

The doctor, seeing Mary capitulate, did not dare to argue, for mother and son were much alike. Though he did wonder at the young master's appearance here. Most unusual, indeed.

David went quickly to the basin of water in the corner, splashing his face and scrubbing at his hands. Tossing the loose cravat from his neck, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and came to stand beside the bed. "What shall you have me do?"

"Stand to the other side of the bed, David." His mother, resigned as she heard the implacable note in her son's voice, grasped his hand, squeezing it in affection. "You will hold her arms thus," she demonstrated by pulling Hannah's limp arms to her sides and pressing them down, "and you will not get in the way. Use your strength to hold her still, and do not concern yourself about bruising her arms, for that is a lesser injury than she will have if the babe is not turned properly."

David placed his large hands over Hannah's forearms, gripping gently. The girl's eyes flew open, and she stared at him, her expression going from gladness to horror and back again as her troubled spirit warred within her. Her silent lover looked upon her and lifted one hand, gently brushing her hair back from her temple.

Hannah turned her face into his touch for a moment but the pain came again, harder than ever before and she bit her lips to stifle a scream, twisting in agony once more.

"Hold her arms, not her face. Demit man, pay attention!" The good doctor, reaching into the birth canal, pulled his hands away abruptly as she moved. "Get a grip on her thighs, just here," he commanded, motioning with one bloodied hand. "Mary, you hold her arms."

Both mother and son moved to do his bidding, and David gripped Hannah about her slender thighs, pressing her into the mattress, holding her body still with a firm grasp as the doctor probed her womb. The doctor's face dripped with sweat and his eyes narrowed in concentration, his breathing coming hard with his exertions and he wheezed as he murmured to the unborn child. "Well, little fellow, easy goes you now... just turn a bit more... "

Hannah struggled to free herself from the torment of the doctor, and the hands gripping her body, screaming as the agony became unbearable. "'Tis God's punishment David! David! 'Tis God's punishment!"

Her body went limp as the babe turned and his head crowned, for she was insensible and exhausted.

"Quickly now, David. Help me thus." His mother began to massage the girl's belly, pushing on the babe to bring him through as the doctor, on his end, tugged at the tiny slippery body. "She has fainted and cannot push, we must do this for her."

David, replicating his mother's movements, placed his hands just above Mary's upon Hannah's flesh, and began to urge his child into the world, feeling the life beneath his fingers as the kicking, struggling babe surged toward the exit, and something in David's heart swelled and burst with joy.
 
His son
...

The Sixteenth Marquis of Darlington slid into the doctor's hands at quarter past six 'clock of the morning. Many hours had passed since  his journey to life had begun. His mother, coming from her faint at the sound of his loud squalling, whispered, "The babe is mine and none shall take him from me. God will punish me... adultery... David... " then she closed her eyes and fell into an exhausted sleep.

David stiffened at her words, his eyes flying to those of his mother who looked back at him, her expression unreadable. He stood away from the bed and looked down at the tortured woman upon the bloodstained mattress, his heart splintering as that word echoed in his mind.

He then turned to the doctor who seemed not to have heard her whisper, for he held the babe, who screamed lustily, and his hearing was not as good as it could have been.

Relieved that the doctor knew not what Hannah had said, he was also devastated by her accusation. He must leave this place, for if that is what Hannah believed, then all was lost, and he knew she would not—could not—ever come to love him.

Chapter Ten

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Hannah lay near death for three more days, her babe suckled by a lusty maid from the village who had given birth to twins several days before and had mother's milk to spare in her ponderous breasts. The heir was brought to his mother each day and placed in the crook of her unresponsive arm, as Mary prayed that the child close to her would bring Hannah from her self-imposed coma.

She tucked her grandson against his mother's side, pulling the coverlet over them both, tucking it firmly into the side of the mattress to prevent the child falling away. Then she sat again in the chair beside the bed, her hands busy with her sewing as she set careful stitches in a new blanket for the child.

The tiny forms she created with silk thread matched the elves on the wall of the nursery and would complement them nicely. She didn't look up as her son came into the room, but recognizing his footfall, spoke quietly.

"How fares your father this day David?" The old Marquis had taken to his bed with a fever just after the child had birthed. He had been unwell for some time but would allow no one to press him to rest; for he awaited the birth with every ounce of life left to his tired and crippled body. Her voice harsh, she added, "Does he yet live?"

"He has rallied some. Cook prepared a nourishing broth, using your recipe, and he seems to hold it down. He is pleased, of course, with the child, and that has helped his recovery, I am certain."

David waited a moment, and she looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his dark eyes. She smiled encouragement and waited for him to have his say. Finally, he said, "Mother... I would speak with you about my father."