“According to your aunt, Louisa is well. The Sheridans saw them at Court from time to time, but Louisa has probably started her confinement by now. Theo dotes on her and Louisa enjoys being the grand lady,” his father replied sadly. “I miss her more than you can imagine.”
Finn looked at Alec, his eyes full of hope. “Do you think you might reconcile some day? I think Mama would like that.”
“I’m sure she would. I don’t know, Finn. Time will tell, but right now it’s too soon. I only hope that she’s well and happy.” Alec looked heartbroken, but he was still firm in his resolve. He’d forgiven her the disgrace, but he couldn’t forgive the murder. That would take more time.
Finn suddenly stilled as a baby’s wail pierced the quiet of the early evening. He sprinted toward the house, his sister forgotten. Alec followed at a slower pace, praying that everything was well.
Abbie was sitting up in bed, her hair cascading around her shoulders, her face glistening with sweat. She looked exhausted, but a smile of pure joy split her face as she showed Finn the little bundle she was holding. The baby’s face was pink and wrinkled, its eyes closed, and its crown of golden fuzz plastered to its tiny head. It looked content as it lay on Abbie’s breast wrapped in a wooly blanket. His mother and Mrs. Mallory left the room, giving them a few minutes of privacy as they escorted the midwife downstairs to offer her some refreshment and payment for her services.
“Can I hold it?” Finn asked, looking at the little person that was now his responsibility.
“It’s not an it; it’s a her,” Abbie giggled. “It’s a perfect little girl. What should we call her do you think?” They’d discussed names, but nothing came to mind, so they decided to meet their baby and see what name fit.
“Whatever you like. You are the one who labored to bring her into this world. I’ll be happy with any name you choose.” Finn held out his arms as Abbie put the bundle into them, making sure that Finn’s palm supported the head. His daughter opened her eyes, looking straight at him, her green gaze so like his own.
“What about Diana?” Abbie asked, watching Finn’s face.
“After the Goddess?”
“No, after the whore. If it hadn’t been for Diana’s help, you and Sam would have never rescued me and neither one of us would be here right now. What do you think?”
“Diana Whitfield,” Finn said experimentally. “I like it. Diana it is.” He kissed the baby’s tiny hand as it came out of the blanket, the fingers touching his face. Abbie just smiled as she saw her husband wipe away a tear of joy.
“Diana it is,” she repeated, reaching for her daughter.
June 1625
London
Chapter 81
Louisa Sheridan opened her eyes, instantly aware of the chill in the room. It was unusually cold for June, driving sheets of rain lashing against the window and filling the room with impenetrable gloom. Louisa snuggled closer to Kit, needing his warmth and comfort. He was fast asleep, but he wrapped his arm around her as she wiggled her butt against his thighs. He looked relaxed and at peace, making Louisa smile. He’d been much happier since Buckingham went off to Ireland two months ago, sent there by the king to assess the current situation with Irish Catholics. Louisa wasn’t much for politics, but she knew there were some instances of unrest as Catholics protested having to pay the penalty for not attending Protestant services. It must have been Buckingham that caused Kit such anxiety, summoning him at all hours of the day and keeping him away from his family. Louisa hoped that vain and arrogant libertine would stay in Ireland for a good long time.
Kit seemed more like his normal self since Buckingham left, the haunted look in his eyes replaced by something like contentment. Louisa was thrilled to have her husband back, and relieved to know that there had been no mistress. Buckingham must have been putting terrible pressure on Kit, demanding his counsel and loyalty in meetings of the Privy Council. Kit had to walk a fine line between doing what he thought was right and showing unwavering support for Villiers, despite his reservations about the coming war with Spain. Buckingham was a dangerous man to cross, and the consequences of his displeasure could be dire.
Louisa suddenly felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. Buckingham’s name is George, she thought suddenly. Could it have been possible that “G” stood for George? Louisa shook her head, annoyed with herself for that crazy thought. Buckingham was a known sodomite, but he was the rumored lover of the king, and even if he weren’t, Kit did not share his proclivities. How silly she was being for even going down that path. Kit would be furious if he found out she thought him capable of carrying on a flirtation with Buckingham. Louisa was about to close her eyes again when she heard Robbie’s wail coming from the nursery.
“Coming,” she mumbled as she got out of bed, reaching for her warm dressing gown. Robbie was standing in his cot, his feet cold as ice as he reached out for her.
“Want milk,” he announced, wrapping his arms around Louisa.
“Go back to bed,” she said to the nurse who came running into the nursery, her round face creased with sleep. “I’ll just take him down to the kitchen for some warm milk. Neither one of us is going back to sleep.” Louisa wrapped Robbie in a blanket and carried him downstairs, his cheek warm against her neck, and his little arms wrapped around her in a gesture of trust and love. She hoped Cook had already lit the fire, so she could warm the milk as well as her frozen feet. Louisa was just about to go down into the kitchen when a knock on the door startled her. Who would come so early in the morning unless it was bad news? Louisa passed Robbie to Cook as a manservant entered the kitchen, his face apologetic and red with cold.
“I have a note for you, my lady,” he said, handing Louisa a folded piece of paper. “It’s from Lord Carew.”
“Have something warm to drink,” she told the man as she unfolded the note with shaking hands. Theo wouldn’t write unless something was wrong. The note was brief, written in Theo’s firm hand and asking her to come right away. Her niece had been in labor for three days and was asking for her. Louisa ran upstairs to get dressed, her guts twisting with worry. She knew Louisa was in the care of Dr. Wells, but in this day and age anything could happen.
The coach was outside waiting for her as she stepped into the cold rain, her shoes instantly soaked through. What bliss it would be to have a pair of rain boots, Louisa thought, annoyed for thinking of something so trivial when her niece was in agony. Funny how the mind sometimes turned to mundane things in time of worry, Louisa thought, looking out of the window as the coach made its laborious progress down the street, maneuvering between wagons making their morning deliveries.
Theo looked like hell, his face ashen and his eyes full of fear as he met Louisa in the hall. His crumpled clothes and unshaven face indicated that he hadn’t slept in days, his soul torn to shreds by his wife’s screams. Robin put a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, but Theo never even noticed, his eyes on Louisa.
“She’s been laboring for three days, but she’s no closer to delivering the babe,” Theo moaned. “I’m so scared for her, Aunt Louisa. She’s growing weaker by the moment. She’s been asking for you since last night, but I didn’t want to disturb you unnecessarily. I hoped she might have had the baby by now, but nothing yet. Dr. Wells won’t let me in. I’m scared,” he said again, looking like the twenty-one-year-old boy he was.
“I’ll go up and see her,” Louisa promised, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. Her heart raced as she walked up the stairs and toward the sound of the heart-wrenching screams echoing through the stone corridor. The house around her was unusually quiet, as if holding its breath, the rain lashing against the windows the only sound aside from the terrible screams coming from Louisa’s bedroom.
The room was lost in shadow, only the feeble light of a rainy dawn infiltrating the gloom and barely reaching the small, frightened figure in the large bed. It hadn’t been aired out in some time, the overpowering smell of sweat, fear and blood f
illing the air and nearly making Louisa gag. Her niece lay in a tangle of blood and sweat-stained sheets, her face nearly indistinguishable from the color of the linen; her hair plastered to her forehead, and her eyes closed in exhaustion. She might have been dead if not for the barely noticeable rise and fall of her chest as she braced for another contraction, which came as soon as Louisa approached the bed.
An older woman, presumably the doctor’s assistant, sat on the side of the bed, holding Louisa’s hand and whispering words of encouragement as she bore down, her face turning beet-red and her eyes bugging out of her head with the gargantuan effort of trying to squeeze something the size of a watermelon though a keyhole.
“Ah, Lady Sheridan,” Dr. Wells said, turning to face Louisa. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes and sweat stains under his arms bearing testament to the fact that the man obviously hadn’t had any sleep in days either. He ran his hand absentmindedly through his disheveled hair, his eyes on his patient as he shook his head in dismay.
“Aunt Lou,” Louisa whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming, “thank God you’ve come. I’m so scared.” Another scream tore from her as a contraction rolled through her body, leaving her limp and exhausted.
“What’s happening, Doctor?” Louisa asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“I’m afraid her pelvis is too narrow, and the baby is somewhat stuck. I’ve offered to perform a cesarean section, but she refuses, and I can’t go against her wishes. It’s a risky procedure with a low rate of success. The only other option is to use the hook.”
“No!” Louisa roared from the bed. “I forbid you to use the hook.” She looked terrified, her eyes wild with pain and fear, but still lucid enough to know what using the hook meant. The baby would be extracted in pieces in an effort to save the mother’s life. “I forbid it,” she whispered, tears choking her as she considered the alternative. “Save my baby.”
“I will do everything I can, Lady Carew. Now try to save your strength and rest between contractions. I must speak with your aunt.”
Doctor Wells walked off toward the window, motioning for Louisa to follow him. In the murky light from the window he looked even worse, his skin sallow and his jaw covered with a day’s stubble that was surprisingly gray compared to his dark hair.
“What am I to do, Lady Sheridan? Lord Carew is paralyzed with indecision, and if I don’t act soon it will be too late for them both. She wants to save the baby, even if it means giving up her own life in the process.”
“Save the mother, doctor,” Louisa whispered. If it was a choice between both of them dying and only saving the mother, then it had to be done. God willing, Louisa would be able to have another baby, one whose paternity wouldn’t be in question. But she was desperate to save this baby. Was it because she hoped it was Tom’s, or because of the guilt she felt over taking his life? Agreeing to let the doctor butcher the baby would make her a murderess in her eyes, and she couldn’t bear to have two deaths on her conscience, especially if this child was all that was left of Tom.
“Is there nothing you can do to save the child?” Louisa asked, already knowing the answer.
“There is something,” the doctor said, searching Louisa’s face as if unsure of whether to mention it, his lips clamping tight as he looked away from her, gazing into the dreary morning.
“Well, what is it?” she hissed, annoyed with the man for being so secretive.
“Lady Sheridan, I have a friend, a French Huguenot who fled his homeland to escape religious persecution. He’s invented a device that can be used to pull the child from the womb without harming it, but he prefers to keep it a secret for fear of persecution by the Church. Some might feel that this device interferes with the will of God and blame the person who invented it. I have the object in my possession, but have never used it on a patient.”
Doctor Wells continued to study Louisa’s face, his own showing signs of fear and doubt. As Court physician, he had much to lose and very little to gain by saving one child. Medical progress was not something that was encouraged by the king or the Church, and not worth risking position and personal safety over, not to mention the safety of the doctor who invented the device. He’d suffered enough religious persecution and only wanted to live in peace in his adopted homeland.
“Doctor, please, I beg you, use the device. I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Your secret and that of your friend will be safe with me. Louisa is in no condition to understand what’s happening, and your assistant can be sent out of the room. You have my word that no one will hear anything from me.” Louisa grabbed his wrist in her agitation, her eyes never leaving his. She knew what device he was referring to, but couldn’t let on. “Please,” she repeated, seeing his resolve weaken. “I beg you, save them.”
The doctor gave an almost imperceptible nod as he turned to his nurse. “Please go to the kitchens and get some hot water,” he instructed her, not wishing to arouse suspicion.
“Yes, Doctor.” The woman bobbed a quick curtsey and scurried from the room, eager to do something to help. Doctor Wells quickly turned the key in the lock before reaching for his medical bag. Louisa had never seen forceps first hand, but she’d seen pictures and heard of forceps deliveries. The object was crude, but surprisingly similar to the ones she’d seen in the twenty-first century. It was made of some type of metal which caught the meager light of the room. Louisa desperately wanted to ask Doctor Wells to clean the instrument, but she had to remain silent, knowing that the notion of germs and infection from unsterilized tools was foreign to him. She breathed a sigh of relief as he used a wet rag to wipe the forceps before turning toward the bed.
“Hold her,” was all he said as he positioned himself between Louisa’s legs. His muttered prayer was drowned out by Louisa’s desperate scream as the forceps entered her body, tearing it apart further. The doctor’s brow was furrowed in concentration as he maneuvered the tool until he was sure he had it around the baby’s head securely, ready to attempt extraction. Louisa took her niece’s hand in both of hers, holding on tight, and talking to her as the doctor began to carefully pull the infant from her body. Louisa went rigid as a board, her body refusing to cooperate as another contraction ripped through her, forcing the doctor to wait.
“Louisa, look at me. Doctor Wells will save your baby, but you must let him. Try not to fight him, allow your body to relax.” Louisa smoothed a strand of hair from her niece’s face, trying to soothe her.
“I’m trying, Aunt Lou. It hurts so much,” Louisa wailed. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Just a little bit longer, my love, just a little bit longer.”
“Aunt Lou, please tell my parents that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything that I’ve done. Please ask Dad to pray for my soul and to put a marker for me in the cemetery,” she whispered. “Please.”
“You can tell him yourself once you are feeling better, and no more talk of markers. Now, concentrate on your breathing. It will make the pain more bearable.”
“I want my mother,” Louisa wailed as Doctor Wells pulled the baby’s head from between her thighs, her face crumpling as tears ran down her cheeks. “I just want my mother.”
“She’s not here, love, but I will be right here with you. I won’t leave you. Just do as the doctor says. Trust him.” Louisa just nodded, too exhausted to reply. The pain must have been unbearable, but she clenched her teeth, squeezing her aunt’s hand to the point of cutting off circulation. Doctor Wells grunted with effort as he pulled the shoulders out, easing the baby gently out of Louisa’s body. He cleared its mouth and nose of mucus and wrapped it in a blanket before turning his attention back to Louisa.
“She’s hemorrhaging badly,” the doctor said as he wadded up two towels and stuffed them between Louisa’s legs in an effort to reduce the bleeding. “Please clean the instrument and hide it in my bag before you unlock the door.”
Louisa did as she was told, opening the door just in time for the nurse to barrel in with a basin of stea
ming water and more rags.
“God be praised,” she exclaimed as she saw the baby lying quietly on the bed next to its mother, but no one was paying attention to the infant. Louisa was no longer screaming, just lying silently, her face white against the linen of the sheets. The towels between her legs were the only splash of color in a colorless world as the fabric absorbed the blood, pouring out of her body at an alarming rate.
“Here, look at your baby,” Louisa urged as she placed the mewling bundle into her niece’s arms. “Look at him, Louisa.” She knew there was nothing to be done, but hoped the sight of the baby might give her some strength to hold on. “He’s beautiful.”
Louisa gazed at her son, her face full of rapture. The little boy was still covered in smudges of blood, but the golden fuzz and blue eyes were unmistakable. Louisa smiled beatifically, planting a kiss on the baby’s downy head.
“He’s perfect,” she said. “Just perfect.”
Louisa never turned around as Doctor Wells stepped away from the bed, his hands covered with her niece’s blood. She didn’t need to look to know that there was nothing more he could do. She was still bleeding profusely, the blood pooling between her legs and soaking through the sheets, its metallic tang filling the room.
“What would you like to call him?” Louisa asked, tears running down her face. She could see the life slipping out of her niece as her lips turned bluish, her face going from pale to gray.
“Tom,” she whispered. “I want to call him Tom.” She smiled at the baby one last time before closing her eyes forever.
“I’m so sorry. I did everything I could,” Doctor Wells said, taking the baby out of Louisa’s arms. The child looked at him with round blue eyes, completely unaware that a great tragedy had just befallen him. “Will you tell the father?”
Louisa just nodded, unable to find her voice. Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled to the door to break Theo’s heart. He stood outside, his face full of hope until he saw Louisa’s face.
A Game of Shadows Page 34