At Charlotte Square, I nearly jumped from the carriage without waiting for the footman to lower the step. Only the realization that a broken ankle or neck would not help me get to my sister faster made me pause. However, the second footman, who sat by the door on some nights when we were out, was not at his post, and I was forced to pound on the door. I wanted to shriek in frustration.
When finally the lock clicked open, I pushed my way through the door, waving my hands to halt the footman’s stammered excuses. “Was a package delivered today? A jar from Hinkley’s?”
The footman stared at me as if I’d grown two heads.
“Was a package delivered today?” I demanded angrily.
When he still didn’t answer, I rushed past him and lifted my skirts to race up the two flights of stairs to my sister’s bedchamber.
“Ah, yes,” the footman finally spluttered, calling after me. “The man said there was somethin’ wrong wi’ the jar the shop delivered a fortnight ago. He apologized and said he was replacin’ it . . .” His words trailed away, but he’d already told me what I needed to know. That man had likely been Monahan, pretending to be an employee of Hinkley’s.
My heart leapt into my throat and I hiked my skirts even higher to take the stairs two at a time.
“Kiera,” I heard Philip shout in confusion from below as he stepped out of his study, but I didn’t stop to explain.
I didn’t stop to knock either, but simply charged straight into Alana’s chamber. Jenny startled, nearly dropping the jar in her hands.
“Kiera,” my sister said, pushing herself up on her elbows so that she could see me over the mound of her bare abdomen.
I raced around the bed to yank the jar of Hinkley’s cream from Jenny’s grasp. “Have you rubbed any of this onto Alana? Has she touched the cream or the jar in any way?”
“No, my lady,” Jenny stuttered, blinking at me in bewilderment. “Not this jar.”
I exhaled and nearly collapsed in relief.
“What is going on?” Philip asked in alarm from the doorway. Gage stood beside him, with his eyes politely averted out of courtesy to Alana, whose nightdress was still ruched up, revealing her stomach.
“It’s poisoned. The new jar of cream they delivered today,” I clarified. “Lady Rachel thought I was the one using it.”
Jenny stared down at the cream still smeared on her hands in horror.
“You need to wash that off. Now.”
She turned to hurry from the room, but Alana stopped her.
“Use mine,” she told her, lowering her nightgown to cover her exposed skin.
Jenny hesitated but a second and then plunged her hands in the bowl of water on Alana’s washstand.
I pulled the cord next to Alana’s bed to summon more servants.
Philip staggered across the room with his hand clutching his forehead. “Devil damn. If you’d been just a few seconds later . . .” He sank down on the bed next to his wife and reached out to clutch her hand between his. He stared into her eyes intently for a moment and then turned to me. “Why would Lady Rachel poison your skin cream?”
“It’s how she killed Lady Drummond,” I replied succinctly. The rest of the details could wait. I crossed the room to hand Gage the jar of contaminated cream. He lifted a hand to touch my cheek gently, letting me know he understood how shaken I was even if I was hiding it from the others. I wanted nothing more than to sink my head down on his shoulder, but there was Jenny to see to, and a murderess and her majordomo to catch.
Figgins appeared beyond Gage’s shoulder, his attire in perfect order. No one would have ever thought he’d just been summoned from his bed. “My lady?”
I stripped off my gloves and cloak and handed them to him. “Jenny has been poisoned. She is not in great danger, but she does need to lie down. Send for Dr. Robert Graham to look at her. He will know what to do.”
The unflappable Figgins nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
I turned to Jenny, beckoning her toward the door now that she had finished scrubbing her hands. “Have a maid replace the water in Lady Cromarty’s chamber, and send Bree up to me.”
“I’m here, m’lady,” Bree said, emerging from behind the butler.
“I need you to look after Lady Cromarty,” I told her, placing a hand on Jenny’s back to guide her through the door past Gage. “Jenny may begin to feel ill, if she doesn’t feel it already.”
“But my lady,” Jenny tried to argue.
“You need to lie down,” I told her firmly. “We’ll take care of Alana.”
“Yes, my lady, but . . .” She lowered her voice. “I think she’s gone into labor. She insists not, but I’ve been with her through three births.” Her eyes were very serious. “I know when it’s time.”
I glanced back at my sister where she lay on the bed with Philip leaning over talking to her softly. There were lines between her brows, telling me she wasn’t as free of pain as she wished us to believe.
I turned to Figgins. “Send for Dr. Fenwick as well.”
He nodded and gestured for Jenny to come with him.
“Thank you, my lady,” she said, before allowing herself to be led away.
“I’ll fetch fresh water and a bowl,” Bree offered, following them.
I leaned against the door frame, watching as my sister absently rubbed her belly in circles, soothing either herself or her baby, perhaps both. She looked so small, so frail, lying in that bed. I was used to her being robust and lively, bossing me around as she’d done since before I could even remember, not timid and frightened, uncertain she would see the morning. Even when she struggled to give birth to Greer, and the physician couldn’t stop her bleeding, she’d stayed strong and determined, refusing to give in. That was the Alana I wanted to see now, not this weak, cowering woman.
There were just too many things that could go wrong. Her strength could fail. Infection could set in. She could bleed out. I bit my lip, refusing to allow myself to list all the others. I had no way of knowing what would come, but I was going to do everything in my power to make sure my sister and her child lived.
My nerves tightened in fear and anticipation, like a corset string ready to snap. I made myself breathe deeply, settling myself for the battle to come.
I felt the warm press of Gage’s hand against my back and turned to look up at him. The tenderness and assurance shining in his eyes at once comforted and heartened me. I rested my head briefly on his shoulder, absorbing his strength, and then forced myself to step back.
“Is your father still in Edinburgh?”
He tilted his head quizzically. “Yes.”
“Take him and Sergeant Maclean, if you can find him fast enough, to detain Lady Rachel and her majordomo.” I looked him determinedly in the eyes, not wanting him to disregard my wishes. “I don’t want you going alone. They’ve proven they’re reckless and ruthless, and possibly desperate. I’m already terrified for my sister. I don’t need to be worrying about you, too.”
He lifted his hand to caress the back of my neck. “I will. Send word to my quarters when your sister is safely delivered.”
His confident words bolstered me. “I hope to be cradling a new niece or nephew in my arms before daybreak.”
“I would like to see that.”
The gentle tone of his voice caught at something inside me. “Would you?”
He leaned toward me. “Very much.”
We stood staring at each other for a long moment, and then I smiled. “Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
I breathed through the catch in my chest. “Stay safe.”
“You, too.”
I expected him to release me then, but instead he pulled me close and kissed me soundly for all to see. I didn’t fight him or worry about the impropriety, but simply sank into the feel of his mouth on mine, his body supporting me. Until he’d
pressed his lips to mine, I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed this. To know that no matter how much the world around us crumbled and faltered, together we were still strong.
I clung to that truth and clutched it close to my chest through the rest of the night, comforting and restoring myself from it, and finding the courage to face whatever must come.
• • •
At first Alana tried to argue when we told her Dr. Fenwick had been sent for, but she was swiftly silenced when her face contorted from a labor pain. Fortunately they were still short. I’d barely had time to round the bed to the opposite side when the pain began to subside.
She breathed for a moment before lifting her head to renew her protests. “But it’s too soon. The baby isn’t due for a couple more weeks.”
“He should be fine,” I assured her, perching on the side of the bed to hold her hand.
“Greer was three weeks early,” Philip reminded her. “And she turned out well. Small, but perfectly healthy. This baby will be, too.”
Alana gripped his hand, seeming to soak up comfort from his touch and the sound of his voice as much as his words.
“Besides, I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. If this baby is ready to come, then he’s going to make his appearance, whether you wish it or not.” I reached up to brush a strand of hair back from her forehead. “He’s taking after you already.”
She smiled weakly.
Bree returned with the water, and I stood to help ready the room for the baby’s arrival. The housekeeper had been woken and was standing by to assist, as was a kitchen maid, who was warming large quantities of water on the stove. We gathered linens and cleared the space around the bed and on the tables nearby. The hearth was tended and a pot was lined with blankets to cradle the infant close to the fire should it become necessary.
And all the while, Philip sat calmly by Alana’s side, talking to her in a soothing voice and helping her to breathe through the pain. I expected him to excuse himself at any moment, for most men did not attend the delivery of their children. It was believed not to be their place. He had followed such a custom with his other three children, but this time he continued to stay. Even when I sat down on the edge of the chair by Alana’s bedside, he remained steadfastly by her side.
Watching him with her warmed something inside me that had gone cold these past few weeks, and I felt a tremendous release to know that their marriage wasn’t broken. It had only faced a trial. One they would overcome. Proof, perhaps, that a happy, well-suited marriage was possible, just not a perfect one.
Alana’s labor pains grew steadily more intense and closer together, as expected, but the blood spotting her linens concerned me. It was not a large amount, but enough to make me anxious for the physician’s arrival. I was about to call for Figgins and ask if he knew what was taking so long, when Dr. Fenwick strolled into the room with his bag.
“So the wee bairn has decided he wants to be born in March after all,” he declared, removing his coat and unbuttoning his cuffs to roll up his sleeves.
Alana laughed feebly. “It appears so. Unless he plans to make me labor for more than twenty-four hours.”
“Well, let’s see, shall we?”
I stood to the side as he examined Alana. He was well trained and steady under pressure, so I could not tell whether the blood he saw had alarmed him or not, but he took a bit longer than expected to lower the sheet again, even waiting through one of her labor pains.
“Oh, I dinna think we have long to wait noo,” he stood up to tell Alana and Philip. “A March baby he’ll definitely be. How is the discomfort?”
My sister inhaled shakily. “Manageable.”
He looked at her closely. “Well, you tell me if it isna.”
He crossed to the table, where he set his bag and began to remove some of the instruments from inside, but all the while his eyes were surveying the room. I noticed his gaze stayed longest on the precautions we had taken with the warming pan and extra coal. This chilled me, though I tried not to let it show.
I moved to stand next to Dr. Fenwick, ostensibly to help him set up his instruments. “Are there any other preparations we should make?” I asked in a low voice so that the others could not hear us. My eyes darted toward the hearth, letting him know exactly what I meant.
“Nay, you seem to have arranged things well.” He glanced over his shoulder at Alana. “I heard that Lady Cromarty’s maid was poisoned.”
“Yes. Another physician should be examining her now, but I anticipate she will not suffer much ill effect. We seem to have caught it in time.”
“That’s good to ken. And Lady Cromarty was not harmed?”
“No.” I exhaled. “Thank goodness.”
Dr. Fenwick offered me a tight smile.
Alana groaned as another labor pain began and we both moved to help her. I took hold of her other hand while Dr. Fenwick watched the clock on the mantel. When the worst had subsided and my sister relaxed back into the bedding, Bree moved forward to bathe her brow with a cool cloth.
“All right, Lord Cromarty,” the physician said as he pulled an apron over his clothes. “Noo is the time when I usually suggest the husbands leave.”
Philip met my gaze across Alana’s body. Her chest rose and fell steadily as she rested between pains. But although her eyes were closed, I could see she was still gripping her husband’s hand.
His eyes hardened with resolve. “I’m staying,” he replied decisively.
Dr. Fenwick did not seem surprised by this. “Then I will simply remind you that all our attention must be on your wife and child. Should you feel faint or ill, please remove yourself from the room.” His words were prosaic, almost as if spoken by rote.
And Philip responded in kind. “I will.”
He looked up at me again and I saw the man I had to come to rely on and admire staring back at me from behind his eyes. A little bit of the fear clutching at my heart began to unravel. If I could have said something, I would have, but words failed me, and the moment passed as Alana audibly inhaled. We turned as one to coax her through her pain, encouraging her to breathe as evenly as she could.
Onward the hours stretched as we supported and comforted her as best we could while Bree stood quietly in the background doing whatever else was necessary. Dr. Fenwick oversaw the proceedings, but there was really little he could do until the time was right or, heaven forbid, something unfortunate happened. He alternately examined Alana, timed her labor pains, and sat in the chair near the hearth, waiting for her body to ready itself to give birth.
When the time finally came, I could tell that my sister was exhausted. Between labor pains she lapsed into a dazed stupor, almost falling asleep. But with urging from Dr. Fenwick and help from me and Philip, she rallied herself to push. Bree assisted the physician, and I could tell from the tight pucker of her lips that something was not quite right, but I didn’t dare leave Alana’s side to find out what it was.
Then just as the first wash of morning light began to filter through the curtains, Dr. Fenwick ordered her to give one more push, and a mewling cry met our ears. Alana fell back against the bedding propping her up and peeled open her eyes, trying to see.
The physician didn’t immediately speak, working with the infant as he was. The babe’s sounds had subsided to a whine and I could see that his skin appeared blue. Dr. Fenwick stuck his finger inside his mouth to extract something, but all the while his eyes kept darting up from what he was doing to look at Alana.
“Lady Darby, your assistance please.” His voice was calm, but urgent.
I moved toward him quickly as he directed Bree to give me the towel she was holding.
“Clean him off as best as you can and place him in the warmin’ pan.” He glanced up at Philip, adding almost absently, “The bairn is a boy.”
I gathered him into my chest. His tiny whimpers tore at my heart. I
could see now what had compelled the physician to hand the baby to me. Alana had lost a significant amount of blood, soaking the linens around her.
I turned away, telling myself to focus on the child so that Dr. Fenwick and Bree could attend to Alana. With the utmost care, I wiped the baby’s skin clean and swaddled him in another towel before placing him in the cloth-lined pot we had prepared and kept warm. Then I knelt down beside him to watch his tiny chest rise and fall with each rattling breath.
Though I was frightened of what I might see, I forced myself to look back at the bed. Alana lay still and pale against the covers as Dr. Fenwick frantically searched for the source of the bleeding. A pile of bloody linens covered the floor at the base of the bed. But it was Philip’s face that was most wrenching. His hands rubbed up and down her arms as he spoke to her in a voice gone hoarse from hours of talking, somehow keeping it composed and level. However, his gaze was agonized, begging her to open her eyes, to stay with him.
I turned away, pressing my hand gently to the tiny baby’s chest, and prayed.
CHAPTER 31
Hours later I collapsed into the chair before my dressing table and laid my head in my hands. My muscles ached from the night of exertion and the strain of the tension that had coursed through me. My head swam with fatigue, but I could not sleep. Not yet.
“Lie doon, m’lady. Or you’ll collapse,” Bree urged me with her hands planted on her hips.
I looked up at her reflection in the mirror. “But Alana . . .”
“Is restin’ safely. I’ll keep an eye on her. As will Lord Cromarty.”
“And the baby . . .”
“Wee Jamie is tucked up in the nursery wi’ two nannies watchin’ o’er him, no’ to mention a trio o’ excited older brother and sisters. So there’s naught for you to do but sleep.”
I sighed. “I will.”
Bree continued to stand there with her gimlet eye fixed on me.
“I will,” I responded more firmly in exasperation.
She narrowed her eyes in skepticism, but left the room.
A Study in Death (Lady Darby Mystery, A Book 4) Page 30