“Of course I would have.”
“And he would have sold my family.”
Vincent looked behind them at the fire. It had gained ground and would overtake this spot. “Can you carry him?”
“Leave him.” Nkiruka spat on the ground. “He poison.”
Vincent and Frank shared a look that was indecipherable, even to Jane. Then Frank sighed heavily and tugged off his cravat. He tied it over Lord Verbury’s eyes in a crude blindfold, then stood, hauling the unconscious man over his shoulder. “Yes. He is poison, but as simple as it would be, we cannot leave him.”
Jane wished it were otherwise. If they had not seen him lying there, and discovered the next day that he had expired in the fire, she would not have mourned. Finding him and leaving him to die in the fire, though, would be murder as surely as if they had used a gun. She did not like it, but she agreed that they could not leave him.
Nkiruka glared at him. “You know what he did to Amey.”
“And to my mother.” Frank shifted the burden higher on his shoulder. “If leaving him were in my nature, he would have been poisoned long ago.”
With no more words, Frank led them off the path to the slave quarters and headed straight across the plateau towards the ravine that divided Greycroft from the Whitten estate. Leaning on Vincent as she was, Jane could feel the horrible tension in his body.
As Frank had said, it was not far from the slave quarters. They had been walking for no more than twenty minutes when the ground in front of them dropped away into a craggy ravine. The land twisted along a graceful curve, showing raw, crumbling earth that fell a good fifty feet or more to a winding stream. The erosion from that stream had clearly widened unsteady soil so that the ravine was on its way to becoming a canyon. No one could view it and think of trying to climb down those soft walls.
It looked utterly real. Nkiruka stopped and glanced at them with a mixture of pride and amusement.
Vincent’s gaze went vacant as he stared into the ether. He shook his head. Then shook it again.
Jane squeezed his arm. “What are you seeing?”
He shook his head a third time and returned to seeing the corporeal world. “Nothing. There is no glamour visible. How is there no glamour visible?”
“I told your wife thinking about it like fabric limits what the English can do.” Nkiruka winked. “After the child is born, we can talk about glamour.”
Frank came to stand in front of them, Lord Verbury’s form still limp over his shoulder. “The entrance will make you feel as if you are falling. It is only three strides deep, so set your course and walk straight ahead.”
“You can make people feel motion?” Vincent sounded almost outraged. Jane understood his frustration perfectly, that there might be something with glamour that he could not do.
“Visual and wind.” Nkiruka shoved him from behind. “Not actual motion.”
Frank led them forward along no path that Jane could see. It looked for all the world as if Vincent were about to step off the edge of a cliff. And then the view changed so that what had been below them now seemed to be rushing at them with great speed. Wind whistled past Jane’s ears and stirred her hair. Her every sense told her she was falling. For three strides, and then it all cleared.
They stood on the far side of a narrow bridge across a ditch. A small village composed of wattle and daub houses stood before them in a gently sloping valley. Frank pulled down his cloth mask. “This … this is why I cannot leave Antigua. I have to protect this.”
Thirty-two
A Laborious Enterprise
Frank went ahead to let Dr. Jones know they were coming and to secure his lordship, while Nkiruka led them through the lanes of the village. In the cock-crow hours, Picknee Town was quiet and had the tucked-away, snug feeling of many an English village. In the dim light, the wattle and daub houses could be mistaken for stucco and thatched roofs, complete with cheerful gardens set in front. They passed a blacksmith and what gave every appearance of being a haberdashery. There, Jane had to stop and bend to put one hand on her knee. Vincent held her other arm and supported her with a hand on her waist.
Jane ground her teeth. It was not the pain so much as the fatigue, or perhaps the two in combination. “I am very sorry, but I think I do need to be carried after all.”
Without a word, Vincent shifted his grip and smoothly lifted her into his arms. He smelled of smoke and his shirt was damp against her cheek. Next to her ear, his heart rattled like a runaway carriage. Through the open collar of his nightshirt, her fingers brushed the riot of hair on his chest. Jane pressed a palm to his chest, rubbing a small circle as if that could calm him.
His voice rumbled through her fingers. “I am supposed to be comforting you.”
“You are.”
Their destination was only two streets from where Jane had stopped. They arrived at a two-story shingled building in the heart of the village. A neat sign hung next to the door: Hospital.
As Vincent carried Jane up the stairs of the front porch, Frank opened the door. “I am to ask how often the bearing pains are coming.”
Jane had stopped counting sometime after they left the house. “They were every half hour before we left.”
“She has had three since then, so every fifteen minutes, I think.” Vincent carried her inside.
The door opened straight into a sitting room, which was rustic but very pretty. A pair of candles shone merrily on a small table. A young man of colour sat near it. His round cheeks were slick with sweat, and one leg fidgeted nervously as he stared at a door on the far wall. At the sound of their entrance, he looked round, and his eyes widened.
Frank held up a hand. When he spoke, his voice had nothing British about it. “Dem wid me. Nkiruka, she done vouch fu dem. Dey safe.”
The young man looked as if he would protest, but a young woman cried out in another part of the hospital. Head whipping in the direction of the noise, he tightened his grip on his chair.
Frank led them away from the sitting room, through a broad passage, and into a room on the ground floor. A glamural of stars and clouds covered the ceiling and made the plain, whitewashed walls more appealing. Against one wall, a plain cupboard had been painted white to match the walls. A narrow bed stood against the opposite wall with a table and straight-backed chair next to it. At the foot of the bed, a small brazier gave off a pleasant resinous scent.
In the middle of the room stood the birth stool.
It had a rounded barrel back, but the seat was what drew Jane’s attention. Carved in an open U shape, it was designed to allow an expectant mother to sit without anything to impede an infant’s entrance into the world. Vincent passed the stool and lowered Jane on to the bed.
Nkiruka and Frank conferred by the door. Jane suspected that they had a muddied silence wrapped around them, as she could not make out the words of their conversation. After a moment, Nkiruka patted Frank on the shoulder, and then Jane could suddenly hear them again.
“Dr. Jones is with another patient, but should be in shortly,” Frank said.
“Where is—”
“You are not to worry about him. Concentrate on your wife.” Frank put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and squeezed. “I need to go back to the great house. Will you be all right?”
“Thank you, yes. I know I should come, but…”
“There is no need to explain. And truly, unless you have dealt with arson before, you are simply another body to carry water.”
The amount of work that must needs be done would be tremendous. Jane squeezed Vincent’s hand. “You should go.”
“I am not leaving you.”
“Sitting in the waiting room will not suit you. You do better when you have some activity.”
“I am not leaving you.” A spasm of fear rattled Vincent’s mask of self-control for a moment before he governed himself. He shook his head firmly. “I am not leaving this room without you.”
Most husbands would have been shocked to have been asked
to even approach a birth chamber. Jane could not comprehend how she had been so lucky as to have one who wanted to be with her. “You understand that it will get worse, and will likely be difficult for you to watch. There will be blood. I will scream. I might hate you. Are you certain?”
“Do not ask me again. Please.”
She smiled at him as the tears that she seemed to be plagued with, pressed into her throat. “Well then. Consider yourself warned.”
* * *
Dr. Jones pushed the door open with her hip, carrying a steaming basin in her hands. Tendrils of her hair had escaped their kerchief and curled against her cheeks. “Mr. Hamilton, you will be more comfortable in the waiting room.”
“I am staying.”
“We have already had this argument, I am afraid.” Jane was taking a turn about the room between pains and had her hands pressed against the ache in her back. Nkiruka followed her on one side, with Vincent on the other.
“Hm.” Dr. Jones set the basin on the little table. “Well, lie down and let me see where we are. I left my other patient with one of the midwives but should get back to her quickly. Are the bearing pains still fifteen minutes apart?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let me see if I need to wake another midwife or if we have time.”
“Are you not going to attend to her?” Vincent held Jane’s arm, unnecessarily now, as she walked back to the bed.
“With two patients in labour at the same time, I have to order my time based on need.” Dr. Jones spoke with exaggerated patience, as though this was a speech that she had given many times. “The midwives are trained in this, and I should only be necessary for an emergency. My other patient is farther along, so she is likely to need me before your wife does.”
Jane lowered herself to the bed and, without being told, turned on her left side, drawing her knees up. “I quite understand.”
Dr. Jones moved Jane’s shift out of the way and for the next few moments gave her something to distract her from the ache in her back. Vincent shifted from one foot to the other, staring fixedly out the window.
“Good … good.” Dr. Jones stood, nodding, as she pulled Jane’s shift back down. “You are well dilated, but I would guess that we have another few hours before the bearing pains begin in earnest.”
Vincent’s voice cracked in disbelief, “In earnest? What has been occurring thus far?”
Though Jane was not at all encouraged by the reminder that her discomfort would grow yet worse, she could not help laughing at her husband. “Are you certain you do not wish to wait outside?”
His jaw firmed. “I am staying.”
“Mr. Hamilton. Your wife needs to conserve her energy for labour, not cheering you.” Dr. Jones stopped at the door. “If I have any cause to think that your distress, which is only natural, is affecting her delivery, I will ask you to leave. Do I make myself clear?”
He wiped his hand down his face, smearing the soot so it blended with his bruises. “You do. Thank you.”
“Hm.” She nodded to the basin on the table. “There are towels in the cupboard. Please wash yourselves before I return. This will be a dirty enough business.”
* * *
Jane paced around the room in random patterns, Nkiruka and Vincent trailing her. At regular intervals, Jane needed to stop and brace against one of the bearing pains. They came more rapidly now. She stood with her hand against the whitewashed wall, arm outstretched and rigid.
Vincent shifted his weight and ran a hand through his hair. “Try breathing rapidly, in little pants.”
“I did not know you were educated in childbirth.”
“I am not … but I have some experience with pain.”
At this point, Jane was willing to try anything. So, feeling a little foolish, she panted. Whether it was the shallow breaths or because the bearing pain was ceasing on its own, she felt somewhat better. It would be preferable if Vincent did not have the experience to offer that advice, but the relief was welcome.
* * *
Every hour, Dr. Jones returned to review Jane’s progress. When Jane’s report on the frequency of the bearing pains made her brow furrow, the doctor asked her to lie down on her left side upon the room’s narrow bed. Humming a little, Dr. Jones turned to the table and opened a small pot of oil, which she lavished on her hands. “This will be uncomfortable.”
She was entirely correct.
After longer than Jane liked, Dr. Jones pulled back and wiped her hand upon one of the linens. “The baby is breach.”
Jane felt the blood drain out of her face. Nkiruka said a word in Igbo that Jane suspected was a curse.
Only Vincent looked at a loss, his brows drawn up in worried confusion. “What does that mean?”
“It means that the baby is presenting feet first, so the birth will be more difficult. I am very sorry. It is sometimes a complication of bed rest, that the infant does not turn head down.” Dr. Jones folded the towel and blew out her breath in a huff. “I am going to visit my other patient and instruct the midwife that she will need to finish with her. When I return, things will be unpleasant, but we should be able to deliver the baby safely.”
“Should?” Vincent took a step closer to Jane.
“Yes. It is fortunate that the baby is early, since it will be small.” With that encouraging sentiment, Dr. Jones set the towel down and took her leave.
* * *
As Dr. Jones promised, the next several hours were not pleasant.
* * *
Jane sat on the birth stool with Dr. Jones on a low seat in front of her. Vincent sat on a taller chair at her back, bracing her with his hands on her sides as she strained with the bearing pain. Her breath hissed through her teeth as she waited for it to pass.
Panting, she ground out, “Are my eyes crossed?”
“What?”
“Do my eyes cross during bearing pains?”
“Um.” He leaned forward around the edge of the chair. “No.”
“Ha!” Jane glanced at Nkiruka, who stood at her side with a cloth to wipe the sweat from her brow.
The older woman chuckled. “Now you turning purple in the face.”
Dr. Jones cleared her throat. “That much is true.”
“Lovely— Ah!” Jane had wanted to get through the birth without crying out, but that proved to be impossible.
* * *
Well past noon, sweat-soaked and panting as if she had been working glamour for days, Jane leaned her head back against Vincent during one of the respites between her bearing pains. Those had become fewer and shorter. The glamour in the ceiling had shifted with the sun to become a cerulean sky with downy clouds drifting across it. Jane watched one of the clouds simply because it was moving.
Vincent’s arms around her had been a constant comfort during this ordeal, for which Jane was grateful. “I think every man should be required to sit with his wife during labour.”
“If that were the case, there would be a significant number of only children.” He kissed her cheek. “No man who loves his wife could possibly want to make her endure this.”
She patted his hand. “Next time will be easier. Or so I have been told.”
Nkiruka nodded. “Dat’s true. My last baby dropped out after only two hours. I almost didn’t have time to know I was labouring.”
“Speaking of…” Jane closed her eyes and braced again as the next pain came.
* * *
There then passed a period of time in which Jane said many unutterable things.
* * *
The afternoon sunlight had flooded the room. Dr. Jones looked up from her stool and gave them a smile. “Ten toes and healthy colour.”
“What?” Vincent leaned forward as if he could see past Jane’s bulk to her nethers.
“The feet are out.” She looked down and moved her hand. “And when I touch them the toes curl, so everything is going well.”
Jane began weeping with relief. She was too tired to be annoyed by her tears. With the swea
t covering her, she doubted anyone would notice the addition.
“But this means that I need you to push in earnest now.” Dr. Jones had sweat upon her forehead as well. “When the next pain comes, you must bear down. I will guide the baby.”
Guide was a gentle word. What followed was not. Jane strained to push with her entire body. She clenched her fists, and her face, and everything, trying to push this child out of her. She gasped for air, pushing, and pushing, and pushing.
By her ear, Vincent murmured, “There, there…”
“Do not ‘there, there’ me!” She fairly snarled. “And do not even think of kissing me to make it better.”
He pulled back a little. Jane could not see his face, but it must have had some alarm on it, because Nkiruka chuckled. “She doing good. Na bite you yet.”
“Yet.” Jane drew in another breath with which to push. “Give me time.”
Dr. Jones said, “You are doing well … just keep pushing.”
“I am pushing.”
“Good…” She seemed completely inured to the violence of Jane’s responses. “Good. And—yes. You are having a boy.”
All the frustrated anger of the labour dissipated with those words. Jane found Vincent’s hand and clutched it. Turning her head, she leaned back and kissed his bruised cheek. He appeared completely inarticulate, mouth open and eyes wet.
“In the usual course, when I say that, the child has been delivered, but the hard part is next. Shoulders.”
The hard part? Nothing about this had been easy. Setting her jaw, Jane returned to work.
“Wait—wait. Do not push for a moment while I draw the arms down.”
Jane sagged back in the chair, closing her eyes as she tried not to strain against Dr. Jones’s efforts. This was the surest confirmation of original sin that she could think of, but surely after so many generations there was no need to continue revisiting the punishment. Her whole being was fixed upon a core of agony. As things below shifted, Jane clenched Vincent’s arms. Sound tore from her throat, completely outside her volition. Vincent held her steady.
“There … Nkiruka, will you support his body while I turn the head?”
Of Noble Family Page 36