“Guilty?”
Gabe shook his head. “Quinn, Sylvia made a choice not to go to the police or confront the men who did that to her. Whether it was because she thought no one would take her seriously or because she didn’t really have a case is anyone’s guess, but this is her fight, not yours. Rhys is not your father, so let sleeping dogs lie, at least with him.”
“Meaning what?” Quinn asked, putting down her teacup.
“Meaning that there are two other men out there who might be your father. My advice to you is to focus on forging a relationship with Sylvia instead of hunting down your other parent, but I know that it will fall on deaf ears because I can already see that glint of refusal in your eyes.”
Quinn couldn’t help but laugh at Gabe’s astute assessment. He was right: she couldn’t simply let this go. Perhaps confronting Rhys was not a good idea, but she’d be damned if she gave up now. A few weeks ago, she had no idea who her biological parents were, but now she had one mother and two possible fathers, with a fifty–fifty chance that one of them was her biological dad. Whatever the consequences, she had to find out.
“All right, Gabe, I won’t say anything to Rhys, for now, nor will I fly off to hunt down the other two men, but when the time is right, I will take this to its logical conclusion.”
“Fair enough,” Gabe said as he took a last bite of toast and got to his feet. “Now, I have to run. I have a meeting at nine. Did I ever tell you that being a department head is a colossal bore?”
“You did, but now I actually believe you.”
“OK, I’ll see you later.”
“See you,” Quinn replied. Gabe might be right about not confronting Rhys, but having to see the man and pretend that she didn’t know about his past was going to be harder than he imagined.
Chapter 63
November 1665
Suffolk, England
A warm and pleasant September gave way to a rainy October, which seemed to drag on endlessly, one dreary day following another until Elise thought she might die of boredom, cooped up as she was in the big, empty house. Then November arrived at last, bright and frigid, the cold wind blowing away the last of the leaves and turning the waters of the sea a dark, forbidding gray. White caps danced on the grim surface, and great waves pounded the shore with relentless frequency. Mercy begged to go to the beach nearly every day, eager to see what treasures she could find. She rarely found anything other than shells and smooth stones, but on one occasion she found a coin and what appeared to be a man’s silver shoe buckle. Her find only fed her appetite, and she believed that if she searched diligently enough, she’d find other valuables. Elise was too big and unwieldy to walk to the beach, but James was happy enough to take the girl, eager to get away from the gloom of the gamekeeper’s cottage.
Elise spent her days in the parlor, gazing out the window with a book on her lap or sluggishly stabbing at her embroidery as she waited for James to come and see her. He came every day but stayed for a perfunctory half hour under the pretense of checking on her welfare and visiting his niece. To stay longer or show Elise any affection would get servants’ tongues wagging, and now that they could no longer snatch an hour alone at the cottage, they had to be extremely mindful of appearances as they were mistress and servant, not expectant parents. At times, it seemed as if the babe would never come, comfortable and safe as it was in Elise’s womb. Elise felt tired and irritable from lack of sleep due to the frequent demands of her bladder. Her back ached, especially when she sat for too long on the hard wooden settle, and her belly felt firm and tight, its weight and bulk disproportionate to the rest of her body.
By the time Elise’s pains started, she was more than ready to face the terrors of the birthing chamber. The day was misty and gray, and a brace of candles was lit in the parlor despite the early hour, casting a pool of golden light that dispelled the gloom, but only just. Elise paced in front of the hearth, grateful for its warmth. The brisk wind from the sea seemed to penetrate every crack, and the room was frigid and drafty. The midwife had been sent for an hour since but had not arrived yet. Elise suddenly felt frightened and wished that she had female relatives or friends who might help her through the birth. Many women had a roomful of well-wishers around them while they labored. The women shared their own experiences, told stories, or offered silent support to the mother if they had no wish to share, having lost a child during or after the birth. There was Barbara, but she was better off kept in ignorance of what was going on, having no understanding of what Elise was about to experience. Barbara had caught a chill a few days since and was persuaded by Mistress Benford to keep to her bed. She didn’t object; she just lay there quietly, staring at nothing in particular.
James mentioned once that Lord Asher meant to find Barbara a husband and make sure she produced a male heir if his scheme to use James to impregnate his wife failed, and Elise thanked the Lord that it hadn’t come to that. Barbara was as innocent as a babe in arms, and the thought of some man forcing himself on her and Barbara going through the pains of childbirth without fully comprehending what was happening to her was inconceivable. What kind of monster would do that to a girl who was mentally deficient? Elise prayed that the child would be a boy. Edward would be temporarily pacified, and poor Barbara would be safe from harm.
Elise asked Peg to look after Mercy and keep her occupied. She was too young to attend a birth, and Elise couldn’t handle the endless questions the child asked. She’d been in the house when her brothers were born, but Molly wisely kept the child out of the bedchamber, most likely because she wished to hold on to her sanity. Elise could hear Mercy’s piping voice as it echoed down the corridor.
“When will the baby come?” she asked Peg, her voice full of pleading. “Will it be a boy? Can I see him?”
“The baby will come when it’s good and ready, Mistress Impatience, and ye will see it when her ladyship gives ye leave to. Now, why don’t ye teach me how to write some more words? I’ve already memorized the ones ye taught me last week.”
“Do you have a quill and ink, then?” Mercy demanded. “I don’t recall them being kept in the kitchen.”
“Bossy boots,” Peg grumbled and retraced her steps to get the implements from the study.
Elise rested her hands on her lower back and leaned backward as far as she could. Stretching her back like that eased some of the tension, but her back ached almost as much as her womb when it contracted. Elise let out a low moan and resumed pacing. It helped to walk despite what Mistress Benford said, having birthed seven children herself in quick succession. She insisted that Elise ought to be lying down, but the idea of remaining completely immobile during the pain seemed like torture. Elise would walk about until the midwife arrived, at which point she would no doubt be bullied into bed.
“Where’s Pete?” Elise asked Mistress Benford as the woman came into the room to bring her a cup of spiced wine and ask after her condition. Elise peered out the window as she spotted the midwife waddling toward the house, her head bent against the wind. She was an older woman, portly and short of stature, her cheeks ruddy with cold, and a look of fierce determination on her face. She knew her business, and she performed the service with dedication and kindness. Elise breathed out a sigh of relief, knowing that she was in good hands.
“In the stables, I expect.”
“I wish him to fetch Master James.”
Mistress Benford gaped at her in astonishment. Elise could almost hear her thinking that James had no business being there while the mistress labored, but it wasn’t for her to question her lady’s judgment.
“I’ll send Pete to fetch him right away. Anyone else I should summon?” she asked, her tone acerbic. Elise didn’t bother answering. A sharp pain tore through her, making her cry out. The pain didn’t last very long, but it had been intense and frightening, and it occurred just as the midwife entered the parlor in search of her patient.
“Shall I help you to bed, me lady?” Mistress Wynne asked, having quickly a
ssessed the situation.
“Perhaps you’d better,” Elise conceded. She wished her mother was there to hold her hand and tell her that all would be well. The pain was intensifying, and she had to pause on the stairs to catch her breath and wait out a contraction.
Elise finally made it to her bedchamber and allowed Mistress Wynne to help her undress. She remained in her chemise and climbed onto the bed, suddenly grateful for a moment’s respite from the pain and the support of the pillows behind her back. Her belly grew hard and taut as another contraction rolled over her, leaving her red in the face and panting. Elise glanced toward the window to see lashing rain soaking the countryside just before Mistress Wynne drew the curtains, shutting out all natural light. The birthing room had to be kept warm and dark, so she stoked up the fire and lit a few more candles.
Elise was surprised when there was a knock on the door and a young girl entered, followed by a strapping youth who set down the birthing chair, bowed deferentially to Elise, and departed. They must have set off in a wagon after Pete came to fetch the midwife and brought her back on his horse.
“This my daughter, Maisie, yer ladyship. I’m training her. I hope ye don’t object to ’er presence.”
Maisie was perhaps a year or two younger than Elise, and Elise felt instant kinship with the girl. “I’ve no objection. Maisie, will you sit with me for a bit?”
The girl instantly sat on the side of the bed and reached for Elise’s hand. She had the same dark-brown hair as her mother, but unlike Mistress Wynne, whose eyes were dark, her eyes were a cornflower blue, fringed by dark lashes. They were full of compassion as she smiled at Elise. “All will be well, me lady. Me mam can bring a baby into this world whilst wearing a blindfold and with one hand tied behind ’er back. She’ll ’ave yer precious babe out and swaddled before ye know it.” Elise relaxed for a moment, soothed by Maisie’s words. She was grateful not to be alone.
“If ye’ll allow me, me lady,” Mistress Wynne said as she pushed her hand between Elise’s legs and into her womb. Elise cried out and arched her back, but the midwife was undeterred by Elise’s discomfort, her face thoughtful as she took measure of Elise’s progress.
“You’re very close, me lady. It won’t be long now. Ye’ll have to push the baby out very soon.”
“How will I know when?” Elise asked, panicked. She thought the baby would come out on its own when it was time, so the notion of pushing it from her womb took her by surprise.
“Oh, ye’ll know. Yer body will direct ye. Now just try to save yer strength and roll through each pain as best ye can, and don’t hold yer breath. Maisie, after the next contraction, let’s help her ladyship onto the chair.”
Elise’s legs felt shaky and feeble as Maisie and Mistress Wynne helped her out of bed and settled her into the chair. She grabbed the handles, grateful for something to hold on to as the next pain rolled over her, leaving her breathless and exhausted.
“Now, lean back and spread yer legs like so,” the midwife said as she pushed Elise’s legs toward the sides of the chair, leaving the opening in the middle unobstructed. She bunched Elise’s shift about her waist, leaving her lower body completely exposed. “There ye are, all ready now.”
Elise felt an urgent need to bear down. She couldn’t have fought it if she wanted to. It commandeered her body and tore its way through her, making her screech as she gripped the handles and pushed. The pain was unimaginable, but she couldn’t stop now. She had to get it out, had to get his unbearable pressure to stop.
“Again,” the midwife said as she crouched before Elise, staring between her legs, her hands at the ready should the baby come shooting out unexpectedly. Elise pushed again and again. It felt like an hour, but it was probably no more than mere minutes. The pressure was like a living force inside her body, forcing the baby out of her womb and pushing aside her bones. She felt as if her hips were being spread apart, yanked by giant hands, and there was a terrible burning in her quim as the baby’s head passed through.
“It’s ripping me apart,” Elise cried as Mistress Wynne carefully maneuvered the shoulders. Tears were rolling down Elise’s face and hot, sticky blood pooled in a basin beneath the chair’s opening.
“That’s what babies do,” Mistress Wynne said matter-of-factly. “They put ye through unbearable pain and suffering, and once ye heal, ye can’t wait to do it all again.”
Elise doubted the wisdom of those words, but she had no time to wonder if they might be true. She let out an animal scream as the child slithered from her body into the waiting hands of the midwife. Elise’s back seized and she went rigid from the pain as her legs bounced of their own accord to relieve the strain.
“Maisie, give ’er some brandy,” the midwife said as she severed the cord and took the child away to be cleaned. Elise was still shaking as Maisie held a cup to her lips. “Here, take a sip. It will help relax ye.”
Elise’s teeth chattered and made a metallic noise against the pewter cup when she tried to drink, but she managed to get a few sips of the fiery liquid down her gullet. It burned its way down, but then a nice warmth began to spread as the brandy took effect. Elise suddenly forgot all about her discomfort. The baby wasn’t crying. She tried to rise to peer around the midwife’s wide back, which hid the baby from view.
“Is it dead?” Elise cried. “Please, I need to see it.”
She cringed when she heard a resounding slap on the bottom and the child began to howl in outrage, no doubt wondering if it might be too late to return to the womb, where it had been safe and warm and no one was hitting it on the rump.
“A fine boy, me lady. A fine boy, indeed. And very large.”
The midwife swaddled the baby, who was still screaming furiously, and showed him to Elise. She reached out and gingerly took the child. He felt heavy in her arms, but she held on tight, terrified of dropping him. He stopped crying and opened his eyes, studying her for a long moment before closing them again and opening his tiny mouth instead.
“Put him to yer breast.”
“But I don’t have any milk,” Elise protested.
“Don’t worry. There’s enough there to sustain ’im until the wet nurse comes.”
“I don’t wish for a wet nurse. I’ll nurse him myself.”
Maisie and her mother exchanged shocked glances, but the midwife quickly rearranged her face. “Of course, me lady. As ye wish.” Her tone was indulging, but her expression said that Elise would quickly change her mind.
Elise put the baby to her breast and he moved his little head about until he finally found what he was looking for. Elise yelped as the tiny gums clamped around the nipple and began to suck. It didn’t feel as if anything was coming out, but the baby seemed content and dropped off to sleep a few moments later.
Elise glanced behind Mistress Wynne’s shoulder, suddenly aware that the door had opened. James stood in the dim corridor. He was perfectly still, his face ghostlike in the gloom, but Elise could see the wonder in his eyes and the silly grin on his face. Their eyes met and she smiled just for him before he disappeared. They had a son, and Lord Asher had the heir he so desperately needed. Perhaps everything would work out after all.
Elise gazed down on her newborn son. Until this moment, the child in her womb did not seem real. She felt him move and knew that in time he would be born, but she had no clear idea of what to expect or how she might feel. She’d never witnessed a birth, although she had heard her mother’s muffled screams when Amy and Anne were born, and she’d held her newborn sisters, feeling proud and overcome with tenderness for the little girls. This was different, however. As she looked at her son, she felt a kind of fierce protectiveness, the likes of which she’d never known before. She was seeing her boy for the very first time, but it felt as if she’d been his mother forever, and the love she felt for this tiny human being was beyond anything she might ever feel for anyone else. The fact that the baby was James’s forged a new emotional connection between her and James, a connection which suddenly and
irrevocably bound three separate beings into one whole—a family.
Elise wished that she could invite James to come into the room and allow him to hold his son, but that would be inappropriate and quite telling to the servants, so she focused instead on the beautiful child in her arms and took an extraordinarily long time to study his every feature and become familiar with his wonderful scent. The baby slept peacefully for a short while, but then his mouth began to open and close, and his head turned from side to side, reminding Elise of a blind newborn kitten seeking its mother’s tit purely on instinct. She pulled down her shift and moved the baby closer to her breast. He began to suck fiercely, determined to get the nourishment he needed.
“Shall we send word to the master?” Mistress Benford inquired as she stood in the doorway, admiring mother and child. “He’s a fine boy, no doubt about it, me lady. And looks so like this dear papa.”
Elise almost blurted out that he did resemble James but bit her tongue just in time. Of course, people would look for a likeness between her son and Edward, and she was sure they would find it since people tended to see what they wanted to see.
“Yes, please send Pete with a message for Lord Asher. He’ll be most pleased.”
Elise smiled gently as Barbara materialized outside the room, ghostly in her white nightdress. “Take a look at your brother, Barbara,” Elise called out as she turned the baby toward Barbara. Barbara remained outside the room, kept from entering by Mistress Benford, who warned about the baby catching cold and was insisting on Barbara returning to bed immediately.
“Never seen a live one before,” Barbara said as she beheld her brother. “Always dead. Always sad.”
Elise knew that Barbara was referring to her siblings, who had never even drawn breath, and the sadness of her parents, but Elise still felt as if someone just walked over her grave. She was glad when Barbara turned and left, unimpressed with the baby.
The Lovers Page 35