Page 105
She interrupted John’s explanation with a question. “How did the midwife describe the symptoms?”
“A chest of drawers being pushed sideways through a doorway. Covered by a curtain.”
“That would be a transverse presentation with placenta previa,” Dr. Gibson said, “which means we must leave without delay.” Hearing her husband’s low groan, she turned to him with a contrite smile. “Darling, there’s no other choice. Besides, you still have all those intelligence reports to read. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone. If you wouldn’t mind telling Nanny I’ve been called away—”
“I’m going with you,” Ransom told her flatly.
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” she protested. “You’ll be so much more comfortable here.”
“If you think I would let you go alone to a house full of convicted criminals—”
“No one will bother me in the middle of surgery. I’ll have scalpels!”
“Respectfully,” John broke in, “could the two of you argue on the way there?”
***
After telling Enid to have a cup of tea and a few minutes to herself, Reina took her place at the bedside. Every few minutes, Tuppence would turn bleach-white and start gasping as the labor pains started again. Her grip on Reina’s hand tightened repeatedly until the bones were compressed and her fingers were bruised.
Mrs. Caswell occupied a nearby corner, sometimes rising to bring Tuppence a fresh iced cloth for her forehead or neck, or administer another drop of heavily diluted laudanum.
“Tuppence, dear,” Reina said gently during one of the lulls, “I won’t let anything be done against your wishes. You have my word. But I do think you and the baby are going to need a doctor’s help. I wonder if . . . if perhaps you would consider meeting him? If Mrs. Caswell and I stay right here with you, and we talk with him together . . . he might be kind and trustworthy. Shall we find out before you make any final decisions?”
Tuppence closed her eyes and smiled faintly. A soft calm seemed to have come over her. It was worrying, how pale she was, how sunken the corners of her eyes and lips.
Anxiously Reina took Tuppence’s hand in hers.
“Will you agree to meet the doctor, dear?” she urged. “To see what you think of him?”
“Yes,” Tuppence agreed, as if the issue were of no particular concern.
Reina felt a rush of relief. “I think that’s very wise of you.”
She glanced at the mantel clock. Eight thirty. John had left half an hour ago. God, please let him find the doctor and come back soon. Tuppence’s condition appeared to be worsening by the minute, and from what Isabel had told her about giving birth, it required a great deal of stamina. Reina wished she could infuse Tuppence with her own strength and bear the pain for her.
When this was over, she was going to take Tuppence somewhere warm and sunny to recover. A place in the country.
Mrs. Caswell came to drape another blanket over Tuppence’s lower half. The midwife wore a serene expression, but as she turned away, she massaged her forehead as if it hurt.
The Cotswolds, Reina decided. She would find a house situated near wheat fields and wild daisies, and an old hedgerow with bluebells at its feet—
“Miss Martin,” Tuppence whispered. Her eyes had opened. She was staring at Reina steadily.
“What is it, dear?”
“I want the baby raised to be good. A good man.”
“He will be.” Reina took the slim hand between both of her warm ones. “You and I, and June, and the rest of us, we’ll all raise the baby together. It might be a girl, you know. That would be wonderful.”
“It’s not his fault,” Tuppence said.
“Not whose—the baby’s? No, he couldn’t help how—how any of this started. He’s a sweet, innocent soul.”
Tuppence closed her eyes. A smile ghosted across her dry lips. “I want you to take him.”
Reina blinked in surprise. “You mean—help raise the baby? Of course, I will—I’ve said so before.”
“If I’m not here.”
