She looked away sadly. “Maybe that’s…” She looked to us again, her teeth worrying her lip. “The midwife said the baby is sickly because it were not blessed by the angels.” She made a curious gesture of touching her upper lip. “She says it’s a whore’s baby.” Henrietta winced at the word. “That many times women who live in sin have sickly little babies that are unblessed.”
“What?” I asked.
“This here,” she pointed at the indent beneath her nose.
“The philtrum,” Gaston said with a frown. “There are old beliefs that it is the mark of an angel’s finger on the lips of a baby, from when the angel seals the new soul in the body.”
“So what does that have to do with…?” I began to ask, but he was already gone, back into the room.
“She don’ have it,” Henrietta whispered, as if the angels would hear her.
Gaston returned with the child and Agnes. As I did not hear Vivian yelling in their wake, I assumed she had fallen asleep again, despite the lack of wine. He turned the little one’s face toward me and pointed at her lip. There was no indentation.
“Well, do all babies have one, or is it a thing we grow?” I asked.
“I want a second opinion,” Gaston said. “One that I trust. I have not seen enough babies to know.”
“I seen them real small,” Henrietta said. “But I never seen one sickly, an’ I never looked at their lip afore. An’ this little babe, she be very wee indeed.”
“Shall we locate another midwife?” I asked. “Is there another midwife? And, is that Mistress Engle the one who will deliver Sarah’s baby?”
Agnes nodded. “I do not like her. She is simple.”
Gaston shook his head and sighed. “We will address that later. Right now we are going to the Theodores’.”
“Oh,” I said.
And so, still wearing only filthy breeches and tunics, we left the house with the baby.
In the harsh noonday light, I was appalled to see the damage, and amazed it was not worse. Sarah’s house was black with smoke, but not charred, and the other neighbor was slightly singed – some of their roof and sideboard would need to be replaced – but in between them was a smoldering tangle of black wood, one-third the size of the structure that had stood there yesterday. I supposed I should speak to Theodore while we were there about the cost.
At the Theodores’, Hannah regarded us with alarm, and Mistress Theodore met us in the foyer to whisper, “He has only just gotten to sleep.”
Gaston nodded and whispered, “We are here to see you.” He proffered the child.
Rachel frowned, but quickly took the babe and led us into the back room where her child, Elizabeth, was crawling about on a blanket on the floor, next to a rocking chair and a sewing basket. Rachel laid our infant on the table and unwrapped her carefully.
“He said she had the child,” she said. “And how is the little one?” she cooed. Then she was frowning as she examined the baby. Next to her, Hannah was frowning as well.
“She is very small,” Rachel said. “Elizabeth must have been twice this one’s size.” She looked to Hannah for confirmation, and the forbidding Negress nodded with a grim smile.
“Her head’s too small,” Hannah said.
“Aye,” Rachel said with a sigh.
“Do all babies have a philtrum?” Gaston asked, and pointed at her upper lip and then his own. “This little indent here.”
Hannah and Rachel frowned at one another and then looked at the baby with new concern.
“Aye,” they said in unison.
“Well, not all babies,” Rachel said. “This one doesn’t. I haven’t seen that before. And…” she added with a new frown. “She’s sleeping very soundly.” She pinched the infant’s thin thigh, and the child did not stir.
“So she is deformed and sickly,” Gaston sighed with a thick voice.
“She might not be sickly,” Rachel said kindly. “Has she… Has her mother fed her the first milk?”
We nodded.
“Has her mother had rum, or…”
“She was on such a drunk she is still not sober,” I said ruefully.
Rachel nodded. “My mother used to say that if you want a child to sleep and you cannot get them down any other way because they’re sick, then you drink some wine before you nurse them. It gets the baby drunk and they sleep.”
“It goes into the milk?” Gaston asked with horror.
She shrugged. “That’s what they say. But I have not heard of it with a mother’s first milk. It takes days before a woman’s breasts swell with true milk. The first milk is different, but if the mother was pickled all through her pregnancy…” She sighed.
“So we have a drunk and deformed baby?” I asked, wondering why I should not be surprised that the Gods would make such a jest of the matter.
“She’s not ugly,” Rachel said. “She’s just not as other babies are.”
Gaston was distraught. “That damn woman.” He rubbed his eyes angrily and asked Rachel, “Can we feed her anything else until we wring the rum out of her mother?”
She smiled. “I’m still nursing Elizabeth. You can leave her here for a time and I’ll feed her. She won’t need much right away, and by the time she does, my breasts will produce more.”
“You would do that?” he asked.
She nodded. “Only for you and this little one, not for her mother, but aye, I will do that.”
“Thank you,” he breathed and embraced her.
Hannah was still frowning at the infant, and she touched one little hand with a long brown finger and shook her head sadly.
“Now you two go and get some sleep,” Rachel said kindly. “And keep her mother out of trouble. We will see to this one. Does she have a name?”
“Nay,” I sighed. “It has not been discussed.”
She frowned. “If… well, if she is sickly, you should think of a name soon and get her baptized.”
I nodded sadly and followed Hannah to the door. Gaston stayed behind for a minute.
Hannah regarded me in the cool and quiet of the foyer. Her voice was low and for me alone when she spoke. “Master Will, you need to tell your… God, that you wish to keep that child, if you wish to keep her on this Earth. Otherwise, she is just a guest.”
I took a deep breath and considered her. “I understand.”
She nodded solemnly and left me.
Gaston appeared a moment later, and we stepped out into the bright light and heat. I told him what Hannah said as we began to walk home.
“I feel the same,” he said sadly. “She ails. I cannot tell you the medical reason why, but I can see it. I feel it is the rum. If it can truly get into a woman’s milk, could it not get into her womb? If it can, the child has been pickled.” He swore. “But… What did Hannah mean we should do? Pray, or baptize her? I do not think either will solve the problem.”
“Perhaps we should pray in my fashion,” I said.
He smiled grimly. “Perhaps we should, and name her.”
“And claim her,” I sighed.
He frowned at me. “If you do that, you will be stuck with that damn woman forever.”
“Do you want the pickled baby?” I asked.
He turned to regard me with hope and regret, and I sighed.
“Will, I do not…” he started to say, but I pressed a finger to the indentation above his lips.
“You need not say anything,” I said. “Your face could inspire me to sign a thousand baptismal records.”
He sighed, and smiled at me with great regard. “My heart aches.”
“As does mine,” I said softly.
He shook his head. “Non, not that way: I wish to kill her damn mother.”
I laughed. “Well, perhaps that will be necessary someday.”
Vivian was, of course, quite incensed we had left her child with Rachel Theodore. She cursed us a great deal. Gaston began to lose himself, but as he had with his father, he chose to leave the room with control and dignity despite the Hor
se glinting in his eyes.
When much of the yelling abated, I told her all that had been said by the midwife and Mistress Theodore. And then I added, “I believe we originally agreed you should like a wet nurse; well, now you have one for a short time. When you no longer sweat rum, I suppose we will have to bring the child back, though.”
“I do not want one now!” she screamed, and threw what she could reach at me. “And I did not make the baby sick!”
I checked what remained of the room’s furnishings carefully for any stashed bottle of spirits, and then hauled Gaston’s medicine chest away and left her alone. Agnes and Henrietta had already retreated from her wrath.
Pete, Striker, and Sarah were sitting in the atrium eating soup. It smelled delicious and made my stomach rumble, but I had much yet to do.
“Is Gaston in the stable?” I asked.
They nodded.
“LookedAngry,” Pete said. “WeLet’ImBe.”
“That was wise,” I sighed. I gestured at the parlor door, behind which Vivian was still yelling and throwing things about. “The baby is at the Theodores’: Mistress Theodore is still nursing. We must dry my damn wife out. It will not be pleasant. If you would rather it were not done here…” I stopped: I did not know where I would take her if it were not to be done here.
Sarah shrugged.
“That room does not lock,” Striker noted, and looked about as if considering the usefulness of the house’s other rooms. “I’ve had to dry men out before; it’s always the quartermaster’s duty when the drunkards show up to rove. If you don’t watch them, they get into the stores.”
“What would you suggest?” I asked.
“Put her irons in the hold,” he sighed. “We don’t have a hold. I guess there’s the stable.”
“Nay, it is a happy place,” I said. “I will not have her sully it.”
Pete chuckled.
“Leave her where she is and put her in irons,” Sarah said.
“We’ll have to drill a hole to anchor the chain,” Striker said.
She shrugged with a long sigh and looked about her soot-stained house. “That is the least of my concerns.”
“I am guessing we do not have the necessary irons on hand…” I said.
Striker grinned. “Nay, the need has not arisen here.”
Sarah smacked him playfully.
“You can buy them at the blacksmith’s,” he said with a grim smile. “All the planters need them.”
“And a sad thing that is,” I said, and went to find Gaston. He was sitting in the stable with the puppies. He appeared much calmer. “I am going to the blacksmith’s to buy leg irons to chain her in the parlor until she sobers,” I told him.
He smiled quite glumly. “That should solve the problem, unless someone brings her something.”
“I doubt anyone here is so inclined,” I said. “And I will threaten to beat Henrietta if she should allow the damn woman to talk her into it.”
“Would you?” he asked with a frown.
“At the moment, oui.”
He decided to accompany me, and we went to the blacksmith’s and bought a set of anklets suitable for a woman, and a dozen feet of chain and a bolt to attach it to. Vivian had exhausted herself by the time we returned, and at first she did not wake as we drilled the hole at the base of one of the wall beams. Then she did wake and asked what we were about. Then she saw the chains. Pete had to sit on her as we wrapped her ankles to keep them from chafing, and applied the anklets, and locked them to the chain and the chain to the bolt. She had nearly screamed herself hoarse by the time we left her.
Henrietta had hovered by the door the whole time, her big eyes filled with tears. I towed her out with us.
“I will see to her later,” I assured the woman kindly. “She will not be abused or go without food or water. I would rather you did not tend her for a time, though.”
She frowned. “I will not bring her anything, my Lord. You can trust me.”
“I believe that, Henrietta, but I am ordering you to stay away from her for your benefit. You have long cared for her, have you not? It hurts you to see her thus?”
She nodded with a little sob.
“Well it will hurt less if you do not see her, and you will like her better when it is done if she has not spent days cursing you.”
“I suppose, my Lord,” she said.
“I am quite serious, Henrietta,” I said and shook her shoulders gently until she looked up at me. “I will dismiss you if you go near her without my permission. And God forbid what I will do if she receives a drink from anyone.”
She swallowed and nodded quickly. “I understand, my Lord.”
“Now, go and see if you can assist Samuel, if you please. It might take your mind off the matter.”
This suggestion seemed to relieve her, and she hurried off. I hoped Samuel viewed her arrival in his cookhouse as a blessing and not a curse.
I went to join the rest of the household where they sat about the remaining tables in the atrium.
“Well, that is seen to,” I said. “I will see to her. I have ordered Henrietta not to.” I looked to Agnes sternly. “I do not wish you to go near her, either.”
The girl regarded me with wide eyes. “Why would I do that?”
“Smart girl,” I said, and dropped into a chair next to Gaston.
“She does not like me,” Agnes said.
“She will if she thinks you’ll bring her rum,” Striker said.
“I am not stupid or naïve,” Agnes said primly.
Several of us fought the need to smirk.
“Now that we have destroyed the parlor,” I said. “What should we attempt next?”
Sarah chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, our rooms on this wing are not so very bad, but…”
“I have seen our room,” I said. “I imagine all the rooms on that side of the house are black.”
She nodded. “They need to be cleaned and repainted.”
I looked to Gaston and he nodded. “We will set upon it in the morning.”
“I have been wondering where everyone will sleep,” she said. She indicated the Marquis and Dupree, as well as Gaston and me. “Thankfully, Uncle is still at the plantation, as his room is in ruin, too. If she is not to be near Lady Marsdale, Henrietta can sleep in the servants’ quarters. And I know Will and Gaston are used to far worse conditions, and I suppose they will sleep in the stable, but my Lord, I do not know where we will put you,” she said to the Marquis. “I would have said the parlor, but…”
We looked to the Marquis: Dupree was just finishing his translation.
He shrugged. “We rested in the dining room today. On the floor,” he added, as if it amused him that he had done such a thing. “However, I would not deny the house its use…”
“Non,” Sarah said quickly. “We can move the table and find cots. That will be fine. We can eat here.”
“WeGotHammocks,” Pete said. “MightAsWellMake MoreHolesTaString’Em. NotLikeWeWon’tBe Fixin’ItAllAnyway.”
“I am sorry,” I said to all.
“It is not your fault,” Sarah said. “Fires happen even when extremely drunken women do not tip over lamps.”
Sam and Henrietta brought us corn cakes and more of the soup I had seen the others eating earlier, and we ate and began to talk merrily of all that needed to be done to repair each room of the house.
We at last succumbed to lingering exhaustion, and left the pool of warm lantern light about the tables. I went to check on Vivian while Gaston went to salvage what he could from our room.
Vivian had been unable to do much to destroy the furniture, but I was thankful I had left nothing of value in her reach. I found her curled on the end of the settee, with her arms about her knees. She made no move when I lit a lamp on the far side of the room.
“Go away,” she muttered when I approached. Her eyes opened, and she squinted at the lantern light and winced.
“Do you need anything?” I asked. “And spare me the sarcasm such
a question can well engender in these circumstances.”
“I am thirsty,” she said bitterly after a long pause. “And there is no chamber pot.”
“All right,” I said. “Are you hungry? I am sure you must be quite starved. Would you like some soup or bread? That is all we ate.” She had not eaten since probably before the fire, and she had vomited several times during the birthing.
She shook her head, and pushed herself up to sit. “I am filthy and bleeding. I would like a clean gown and rags.”
“I do not believe any of your clothing remains,” I said with a sincere shrug. “Perhaps Agnes or my sister can loan you a gown and the other.”
“And,” she added. “I will need Henrietta to help with my hair and…”
“Nay,” I said.
Her eyes hardened, but she bit her lip to keep her initial words in. “Why?”
“She loves you,” I said. “Perhaps enough to do what must be done, but she has been raised a servant, and I cannot trust that that will not win out. You will need to attend to yourself, or I will assist you if there is a thing you cannot do alone. I will find a brush or comb for your hair.”
“Damn you,” she spat.
I shrugged. “I will bring you water in a cup you cannot break, and a pot.”
Her curses followed me out the door.
“Has she gotten the shakes yet?” Striker asked with concern as I joined them.
“Nay, not yet,” I sighed. “I think she is finally no longer drunk, and now she feels its bite.”
I asked the girls for a spare nightgown and comb, and rags for the bleeding, and went to find water in a tin cup and a chamber pot. Agnes met me at the door to the parlor with a brush, a comb, some ribbons, and a gown and ladies’ rags. In the parlor, I set everything where Vivian could reach it.
“Should I leave the lamp?” I asked.
“Go fuck yourself.”
I sighed. “I will leave the lamp turned down low for a time, so that you might see what you are doing and place things so that you might find them in the dark.”
“As long as you leave, I care not,” she said.
I sighed again. “I know it is very small consolation, but I do not hate you. I am sorry I did not tell you of my change in plans; that I left you worried and concerned for your future… such that you would believe the rumors that spread through the servants after the party. I understand why you burned the house. And it was just a house. And… I feel you meant no harm to the child, if indeed the drinking is what caused the harm.”
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