The Makings of a Lady

by Catherine Tinley

  Her shoulders drooped as the enormity of her task sank in. For all her resilience during the kidnap, all her assertions of maturity, all her wishes that others should treat her differently, perhaps she truly was not as ready for life as she had thought.

  She had wished to be Charlotte’s companion during her confinement. Now that the opportunity had been given to her, the responsibility of it was terrifying.

  Mrs Logan entered the chamber without fuss and, ignoring Olivia and Charlotte’s personal maid, Priddy, who was to be Charlotte’s other birthing companion, went straight to Charlotte, who was at that moment leaning over the back of a chair, rocking gently from side to side.

  ‘Now, then, Lady Shalford, it’s Mrs Logan, the midwife, here to tend you.’ She placed her hand comfortingly on Charlotte’s back. ‘That’s it, my love, just you keep moving like that.’ She left her hand there, making soothing noises, and Olivia almost felt the slight air of tension leave the room.

  She and Priddy locked glances, both smiling tensely. Priddy was, like her, unmarried and had also never seen a babe born before. She had been Charlotte’s maid since childhood and cared deeply for her mistress. While they both loved Charlotte dearly, they had been at a loss as to what to do for her. Mrs Logan’s arrival had changed everything. Olivia’s feelings of inadequacy remained, but the fear was a little diminished.

  Charlotte sighed, straightened up and opened her eyes. ‘The pains are getting stronger and lasting longer, I think. Oh, I am glad that you are here, Mrs Logan!’

  ‘You are doing beautifully, my lady,’ said the midwife reassuringly. ‘Just you do whatever feels right—walk or sit, lean or kneel on the floor. But, would you be more comfortable in just your shift?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’ said Charlotte.

  Relieved to have something to do, Olivia and Priddy helped Charlotte undress, while Mrs Logan went around the chamber, subtly changing it to create what she called a proper birthing room. She closed the heavy curtains, leaving the windows ajar, and set out bunches of lavender around the room. On one of her previous visits, she had arranged with the housekeeper for clean linen, soap and plenty of old sheets. The sheets she laid on the floor, creating a completely new atmosphere in the room. It felt a little like a cave now, with the dim light, a low fire in the hearth and soft sheets on the floor. If it was a cave, Olivia thought, it was the nicest, cosiest cave imaginable. The midwife removed her own shoes and signalled to Olivia and Priddy to do the same. Barefoot, they all walked quietly on the soft flooring. Mrs Logan kept her tone low and reassuring and Olivia and Priddy took their lead from her.

  And so began the longest day and night that Olivia had ever known. Charlotte was amazing, remaining calm and composed through the hard work of wave after wave of pain. Mrs Logan created an atmosphere of quiet and calm, punctuated only by Charlotte’s moans and their words of encouragement to her.

  After the first few hours, Olivia realised that she was less frightened—not because anything had changed, but because everything was unchanged. Unending pains for Charlotte. Olivia and the other two women being with her, comforting and soothing her. Mrs Logan had brought her knitting.

  If she is calm, thought Olivia, then there is no need for me to be afraid.

  Night came and the temptation of sleep. Olivia felt guilty about her struggles to stay awake. How could she sleep, when Charlotte was suffering so? She fought it, determined to stay by Charlotte’s side.

  As time ticked by during that long, long night, Olivia slowly became conscious of a strange feeling—something she had never felt before. She frowned as she tried to work out what it was.

  Looking at each of the others in turn, and recognising how focused everyone was on Charlotte, she suddenly saw it. She felt proud. Truly, she felt privileged to be part of this—as if she, in supporting her sister-in-law, was herself finally stepping across a doorway into true womanhood. Not because she wished to do so. Because she had already done it.

  * * *

  Late into the night, Mrs Logan insisted that Olivia and Priddy take breaks. ‘We will need you later,’ she said. ‘Best to save your strength.’ When Charlotte nodded furiously, Olivia and Priddy reluctantly agreed. They took turns to nap a little on Charlotte’s armchair. Mrs Logan, though, was tireless, explaining in a low voice that she’d developed the knack of staying awake all night through many years of being with women.

  At some point deep into the night, the room was quiet and Olivia felt able, for the first time in many hours, to think about Jem.

  Her heart skipped as she recalled the passionate kisses they had shared that morning. Her nerve endings tingled and she sensed her breathing become quite shallow as she closed her eyes, immersing herself in the memory of those amazing kisses.

  Surely, she thought, the kisses meant something to him, too?

  She tried to consider this rationally. Jem was not the sort of man to trifle with a lady. He was a true gentleman and surely would not...

  Rationality departed almost immediately, overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.

  Maybe, she thought, is it possible, that he is seriously interested in me, too? Oh, if only it could be so.

  Remembering her worries about Jem and Amy, she now felt much more confident that his relationship with Amy was innocent after all. He simply had too much integrity to kiss her so passionately if he was also flirting with another lady.

  Or was she assuming too much? Men saw these things differently, she knew. They were encouraged to flirt and to kiss, and to take opportunities whenever they arose—though mostly with women who were not of the ton.

  Men were not judged if they were known as flirts, or even rakes. Ladies, on the other hand, could be judged as being ‘fast’ simply for flirting too noticeably with different men, or for wearing the wrong dress, or associating with the wrong people. If society’s leaders had seen her behaviour with Jem in the rose garden, she would probably be ostracised.

  It would be worth it! she thought fiercely. Even if I never saw him again. Just to have had those moments, those shared kisses... It is worth any sacrifice.

  He was gone now, she knew. Confined to Charlotte’s chamber, she had not been able to go down to say goodbye to him. But she had heard the carriage being brought round and voices from below had reached her ears through the open window. Lizzie. Adam. Jem. Then the carriage departing.

  The yearning for him had been intense in that moment, as she had pictured him hugging his sister, gripping Adam’s hand in farewell and, perhaps, wishing she could have been there to say goodbye to him, wish him well on his journey. He would have plenty of time to reflect during the long trip to London. Would he think of her? Truly, she knew not. All she could do was hope and think of him. At least she had these new, wonderful memories to cling to. She hugged them to herself, revelling in the way she felt.

  * * *

  Lady Shalford’s timing could have been better, thought Jem ruefully, as he settled back in the carriage, having given a final wave to Lizzie and the others as they saw him off. Olivia had been responding with a thrilling enthusiasm to their kisses when they were so suddenly interrupted. What might have passed between them, he wondered, if Olivia had not been called away at exactly that moment?

  Not for one second did he regret kissing her. Yes, it would have been helpful to talk to her about their kisses and find out once and for all what she felt for him. But he would not trade those precious moments for anything.

  Knowing how frightened she was of Charlotte’s upcoming confinement, he had felt proud of her composure as she had rushed to the house to support her sister-in-law. He had been honoured that she had confided in him—surely that meant something?

  Before leaving, he had asked Lizzie for her sketchbook. Without asking permission, he had carefully removed her best sketch of George Manning. Beneath it was a stunning drawing of Olivia. Wordlessly, he had taken that one as well.


  ‘Why on earth are you taking my drawings to London?’ Lizzie had enquired.

  ‘I want to show my friends how good an artist you are, of course,’ he had replied with a wink, then breezed out before she could question him further.

  In truth, he had not needed the sketch of Olivia. Well, not for his business in London, which would be focused entirely on investigating George Manning. However, having the drawing of Olivia would make his separation from her a little more bearable.

  She was, after all, the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Adam would be worrying about Charlotte. He would be unable to settle, Olivia knew, until the baby was safely born and he had confirmation that all was well. He was probably frantic with concern—especially given Mama’s death and the troubles Charlotte had had with previous pregnancies. Olivia prayed again that both she and her child would survive the birth.

  Olivia reflected anew on her brothers’ marriages. Both had married for love—a fact that was evident to her every day. Charlotte knew without questioning how much Adam loved her. Olivia was confident that it was helping to sustain her through this long labour.

  Her mind leaped forward to a time, perhaps only a few years hence, when it could be she herself having the baby and Jem waiting anxiously for news of her. Oh, to have his child! A little boy with the same crooked smile, or a daughter with Jem’s deep blue eyes and serious nature. She hugged the images to herself, ignoring the small voice warning her that her imaginings could yet lead to heartbreak.

  * * *

  Some time very late in the night, things changed with Charlotte. Her pains were constant now, with only very brief breaks in between, and she seemed to be struggling to manage them.

  ‘I cannot do this,’ she muttered. ‘It is too much and I have no strength left.’

  Mrs Logan was unperturbed. ‘You can do it,’ she insisted, ‘and what is more, you are already doing it. You’ll see, it won’t be long now. You are so strong, so brave.’

  Olivia moved to sit beside Charlotte and took her hand. Suddenly, Charlotte stopped rocking and uttered a loud, strangled growl. It quite startled Olivia who looked to the midwife for reassurance. Mrs Logan nodded in a satisfied way. ‘That’s it, my lovely. Your baby is moving down and your womb is pushing now. Keep making that beautiful sound—it means all is well.’

  This went on for some time, while outside birds began to stir and chirp, heralding the dawn of a new day. Suddenly Mrs Logan spoke to Charlotte in a loud, compelling voice, quite at odds with the soothing tone she had used up to now.

  ‘Now, my lady, it is time. Will you kneel, or do you wish to stay where you are?’

  Charlotte opened her eyes. ‘Advise me, Mrs Logan. What is best?’

  ‘There is no best, my lady. It is entirely up to you. So long as you don’t lie down, like some of these new-fangled doctors insist on, all will be well.’

  Charlotte did not respond. Olivia felt her grip tighten and the extraordinary noise began again. ‘Good, good... Wonderful!’ soothed Mrs Logan. ‘That’s it, my lovely.’

  Once it passed, Charlotte opened her eyes again. ‘I have to kneel!’ she said urgently. Rising as she spoke, she whirled round, catching her shift and holding it above her knees. She then knelt on the pile of linens, resting her elbows on the sofa. Just in time, for another wave came over her, and the strangulated groaning sound came again.

  Responding quickly, Olivia and Priddy dropped to their knees on either side of Charlotte. Olivia wiped Charlotte’s face with a cool damp cloth and Priddy murmured words of encouragement. Mrs Logan then tapped Olivia on the arm.

  ‘Now, miss,’ she said calmly, ‘I would like you to receive the baby.’

  ‘Me?’ Olivia’s jaw dropped.

  ‘Yes. I will guide your hands.’

  Olivia gulped, nodded and knelt behind Charlotte. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Lord, what if she dropped the child? I can’t do this! she thought, panic taking hold of her. Yet something about Mrs Logan’s calmness, and the bond that had grown between them all during this long, long night, steadied her. Stilling her fevered brain, she focused again on Charlotte. Within only a few more pushes—Mrs Logan urging Charlotte to go slowly, slowly—it was done. With a wet slither, the baby emerged and Olivia passed the baby to Charlotte.

  ‘A boy!’ said Charlotte, delight on her face. Olivia’s throat closed with emotion.

  ‘And a strong, healthy boy, too!’ affirmed Mrs Logan. ‘He is a good size and has come out pink and moving nicely. Well done, my lady!’

  Charlotte beamed at her child, the pain of just a moment ago now seemingly gone. ‘Hello, beautiful boy,’ she crooned. ‘I am your mama!’ She reached for the baby’s little hand and he immediately gripped her finger tightly. ‘Look!’ she said to the women, ‘See how strong he is!’

  Tears were running down Olivia’s face. ‘Oh, Charlotte, you were amazing!’ She hugged her gently, careful not to squash the baby.

  They sat like that for a few moments, Charlotte exploring her son’s tiny fingers and toes, kissing his head and generally feeling quite delighted with herself—as well she might. Olivia could barely take her eyes off them. She felt so proud that she had been part of this.

  Mrs Logan was busy, gently drying the baby and covering him with a clean soft cloth, without disturbing his first embrace with his mother. She asked Charlotte if she felt like pushing again.

  ‘No,’ said Charlotte, ‘why, must I push again?’

  ‘The navel string—the baby’s life cord has stopped beating and has almost finished its work. See?’ She indicated the cord, which now looked quite thin, white and empty—a dramatic change from the fat and throbbing blue-grey rope of just a few minutes ago. ‘That means the afterbirth will come soon, but there is more blood than I would like.’ She rested her hand gently on Charlotte’s stomach. ‘Hmmm...’ She rose decidedly. She rose decidedly. ‘My lady, listen to me carefully. You are bleeding, and your womb is dormant. We need to encourage the afterbirth to come out. Put the baby to the breast and let him suckle, and I shall give you an infusion.’

  Bleeding. Charlotte is bleeding! Olivia froze, paralysed with fear. This is how Mama died.

  She had not remembered until this very moment, but now snippets of overheard whispers came back to her.

  Bled out.

  She had never understood those words. Now she did. Mama had bled to death after the baby had been born. And now it was happening to Charlotte!

  Mrs Logan glanced at her keenly. ‘Lady Olivia, I need your assistance.’ Leaving Priddy to speak to Charlotte, who was obediently drinking the infusion, the midwife drew Olivia over to the fireplace. ‘All will be well, miss.’ Olivia looked at the midwife, realising that her own terror was apparent. Mrs Logan remained calm—and it was clear did not want Charlotte to be distressed.

  The midwife looked steadily and calmly into Olivia’s eyes until the horror inside began to ease. She nodded to Mrs Logan to indicate she had herself under control.

  ‘Now, please fold these towels for me,’ said the midwife. Olivia could not speak, but took the pile of towels and mechanically began folding them. Mrs Logan touched her hand briefly, then went back to Charlotte’s side.

  The infusion took effect after another few minutes. Charlotte groaned as a new wave of pain came over her.

  ‘Take the baby,’ the midwife instructed Olivia. Charlotte held the child out and Olivia came forward and gently cradled her nephew.

  Was he doomed to grow up without a mother, as she had been?

  Panic threatened to overcome her again, but suddenly, she felt the babe curling one tiny hand around her finger. He gripped it tightly. She looked into the child’s dark blue eyes, and was reminded of Jem’s words of encouragement.

  Jem believed in her, so she could believe in herself.

  Her own fear was irrelevant here—her responsibility was
to Charlotte. Pressing a soft kiss to her nephew’s head, she crouched down beside Charlotte. ‘Your son is eager to return to his mama,’ she said. ‘You are already a wonderful mother, Charlotte.’

  Charlotte opened her eyes and reached out for Olivia’s hand. Olivia took it, and for a moment they looked at each other. Olivia could now see fear in Charlotte’s eyes, but she ensured that her own mind and heart were filled only with calm confidence. Charlotte seemed to sense it. Her breathing slowed a little, she nodded, then she pressed her chin down to her chest and pushed with the tightening.

  Within a short time she had expelled the afterbirth, and soon afterwards, Mrs Logan announced that the bleeding had subsided to her satisfaction. Olivia released her breath. Charlotte was truly safe!

  Olivia’s mind was racing. She had experienced so much today. The ordeal at the tavern had started it and now this. She felt changed, made new. She could almost sense the anxieties of girlhood flutter away and wither. Supporting her sister-in-law, seeing her strength, and working together with the other women to help Charlotte safely birth her child, had given Olivia an unexpected yet potent appreciation of the power of women.

  It was the same power, she realised, that had helped her through her own ordeal and afterwards. Gunn was huge, muscular and powerful, yet she had bested him. Her thoughts were whirling around without anchor or logic, but beneath them there was a newfound wisdom, a certainty that she had lacked before.

  She had huge admiration for her sister-in-law and a sneaking suspicion that the midwife had just saved her life. Mrs Logan had begun to tidy her belongings into her bag, so Olivia went across to speak to her.

  ‘What was the medicine you used?’ she asked tentatively. ‘In the infusion, I mean.’