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“Yes, some.”
“Before you sleep, I’m going to fetch some broth. It will fortify your blood.”
Grateful for the privacy, Bea took action the moment the midwife left. She tried to pull her daughter off her breast, only to find her rosebud mouth clamped on her with surprising vigor, even as she dozed.
“Ow!” she whispered. Grimacing with the pain, she detached her. “Here, we must don this gown, sweetling.”
Surely, if not of her own flesh, this grunting, wrinkled creature would fail to charm Bea, yet enchant her, she did, with every single of her noises and movements. The discovery that she and her daughter shared a wicked curse only strengthened her determination to protect and love her. She carefully slipped the gown over her head and helped her little arms through the sleeves.
“Shh,” she soothed, pulling the whimpering babe close again, who calmed as soon as she was against her mother. “What sort of name suits you?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled her child’s scent.What are my wishes for you?
All her life, Bea had viewed herself either as useful or burdensome to others. She had been both to her mother, who had given birth to her at forty-five. In her early childhood, she was a tiring drain; later, she transformed into her mother’s companion and caretaker until she died. When Harriet had taken her in, Bea was an unusually sheltered and naïve girl, eager to please, but ignorant of the ways of the world.
It had made sense when she learned from Harriet she was most likely a by-blow from an affair. Her ‘father’ had shown no interest in her before his death, and her very existence had always seemed bittersweet to her mother.
Her arms tightened carefully around her daughter. “You’ll know you’re only a blessing to me and your father. You’ll be strong. Brave. You’ll know more of the world than I have. You’re Miriam,” she said, wonderment filling her tone. “Yes. Miriam was a prophetess. Heroic.” Her gaze dropped to the volume of white fabric over her daughter’s thighs, and she pulled the flannel wrapper back around her.
“Miriam was smitten by God, as you and I have been. But our affliction—I don’t think it’s our fault. It’s not yours!” she whispered fiercely. How could a newborn have done anything wrong? “Unlike Miriam’s leprosy, however, we cannot be cured. But fear not; I love you.” She bit back a sob. “I’ll have you know no shame over it.”
Hannah returned first and sat nearby when Bea insisted she could not yet relinquish her daughter. Panic rose in her. She could scarcely insist on caring for her own child night and day; she would have to let go of her some time.
“Here’s some good, restorative broth for you, my lady,” Mrs. Tewell said kindly, leading in a maid, who carried a tray with a steaming bowl.
“You’re to bring her to me whenever she’s hungry,” Bea said, finally giving Miriam to the nursemaid.
“Yes, my lady, I—oh!” Hannah snatched a fresh square of flannel from the pile on the bed and hurriedly slipped it under Miriam’s dress. “She’s a fountain, she is! And didn’t have a napkin on yet.”
Oh, no, no, no! Not so soon!If only discovery could wait. “I’ll do it!”
Clucking, Mrs. Tewell pushed Bea back against the pillows. “Rest, Lady Candleton, rest!”
“No, I—” Bea froze, frowning.
Hannah had already pulled up Miriam’s gown and was situating fresh flannel under and around her—blatantly exposing the curse between her daughter’s legs—yet was showing no reaction to the sight.
Seeing Bea’s face, the midwife looked at the nursemaid and the babe, then stepped over to examine the situation more closely. It was a miracle Bea could hear the woman’s quiet words over the roar in her ears. “Hale and hearty, she is. Hale and hearty.”
“She is?” Bea asked in a small voice.
“Sheis,” Hannah pronounced with a smile, pulling the gown down Miriam’s legs. She proceeded to swaddle the babe, explaining how being wrapped tightly would help her sleep.
“She—she looks robust to you? Healthy?” Both women nodded. “Nothing missing from her anatomy? Nothing…extra?“
“Ten fingers! Ten toes!” the midwife said jauntily.
“Very good,” Bea croaked, shrinking back against the pillows.
“Do rest, my lady. Do rest.”
Confusion pierced through the deep exhaustion.Was it possible…?
Could that bit of flesh between her own legs benormal? From the time that she had discovered it and the naughty sensations touching it evoked, she had been certain that wanton bit of her was anomalous and should remain secret. Until she’d seen her daughter’s—shockingly prominent on an innocent newborn—never had she even considered the possibility that she was not alone in having one.
Certainly, Mrs. Tewell and Hannah had to have seen Miriam’s just now…but they had neither recoiled nor screamed.
Could Mrs. Tewell have one? Hannah?Bea’s eyebrows shot up.Harriet?!
Minutes later, she found herself giggling as she pondered. She would have to think about whom she could ask to confirm her new suspicions. Perhaps her friend Clara.
Oh, how today had been a day of priceless gifts. Miriam above all. A profound bond and understanding with William. The Candleton rubies. And the surprising revelation that she was not, after all, as damaged and strange as she had always believed.
