Page 30 of A Wager at Midnight (Betting Against the Duke #2)

Chapter 30

S CARLETT —P ARLOR P ANIC

M rs. Halland, who insists I call her Maryanne, tells me story after story in her mother’s home. I’m laughing so hard at the humor of her childhood. Then she tells me of her older brother. He serves with her husband in the navy. They were all children together: Maryanne, her husband William, and Stephen.

I stop chuckling at a picture of the three jumping off drays, apple picking in the countryside. She’s rubbing her big belly a lot. “Do you want me to go find some apple tarts?”

She giggles. “No. Being almost buried alive in a barrel of tart crab apples is enough for me.” The small clock on the mantel chimes. It’s eleven o’clock. Time has sped past us. We must’ve been in here for hours chatting.

My new friend winces and pats her abdomen. “I don’t think the little bunny wants anything sour.”

“I know a little about medicine. The movement is good.” I grip her hand, or she grabs mine. “You both are going to be all right.”

Maryanne stares at me. There’s strain and tears in her golden-brown eyes. “I’m scared. I don’t say it to my mother. To anyone. But I’m fearful. And every day that this babe isn’t born, I think we won’t make it.”

“Hey, you’re going to be fine. And this baby will be healthy.” I know not if anything I’m saying is true, but I must comfort her. I have faith that all will work for our good. Maryanne and her baby will be well.

Stephen and Mrs. Randolph come into the room. “There you are,” he says. His expression shows relief. “See, Auntie, she hasn’t run off.”

“She’s lovely, Stephen,” the woman says as she takes a close seat in the parlor. “The Wilcox girls are well known. Two have successfully married into the ton.”

No rolling my eyes. No being demure. I keep my face light, for I know she’s not giving my family a compliment. “Yes, they have.”

Mrs. Randolph plays with her perfectly pressed lace on her blue gown. “I don’t mean to sound trite, but it was expected that you’d follow suit.”

“Oh my, I didn’t think you thought about me at all.” When I see Stephen looking up, I try to soften my tone. “I mean, we Wilcoxes keep to ourselves.”

“Love knows its own success,” Maryanne says. “If I had to marry a man with a title, I would hope he’d have a kind heart and that I’d be brave enough to follow mine.”

I clasp her hand. “One has to be brave to love. There’s no other way.”

Stephen smiles at me. I feel he wants to say something but then closes his mouth and sits on the edge of the sofa.

Mrs. Randolph moves away from us, then sits on a lavender-striped couch by the window. A mantel, more chairs, and a table separate us. She stares at me. Do the wrinkles in my satin offend at this distance?

I remove the fichu and show off my shoulders. Not sure it helps that Stephen’s drooling, wetting those oft-ashy lips as he looks at me. Must admit, that since we’ve been kissing, he’s kept them moisturized well.

Mrs. Randolph stands and moves like she’s a barrister presenting a case to jurymen. “I like being direct. I suspect you’re just a friend that Stephen has brought along because Eveline, the woman he loved and lost, was also to come.”

“Auntie, can you please not do this? Scarlett is the woman I’m courting.” His eyes are on me. I’m not sure if he’s begging for me to ignore her barbs or dig in. “Please stop.”

“Yes, Auntie,” Maryanne says. “Scarlett is lovely, and she’s as vexed at Stephen as she is in love with him. I think that’s a good combination.”

My cheeks warm. I hate that my heart shows so easily. “We were talking about drays and apples. How did you come up with that?”

Maryanne sits up a little. “And who was tense about a certain young man falling and busting his britches?”

“Now, Maryanne.” Stephen wipes at his face. “You told her about the apple picking gone awry? I thought we were never to discuss that, or that you’d only focus on my heroic part.”

“Yes,” Maryanne and I say together, and laugh anew.

Twisting from Maryanne’s wincing face, I say. “Stephen Adam Carew knows how I like doing as much research as possible.”

“What’s his favorite novel?” We all whip our heads toward Mrs. Randolph. “Do I need to repeat myself? The way our Stephen loves novels, he would have said it.”

“I don’t know.”

My statement makes Mrs. Randolph grin like a tiger. “See, I thought—”

“Because he likes so many. From Sense and Sensibility to that one story with Darcy and Mrs. Bennet. And he’s always talking about Shakespeare.” I lean toward Maryanne. “I’ll have to tell you how he almost became engaged last year by making people swoon by reciting Shakespeare’s lines from Taming of the Shrew .” I frown at him. “But you don’t like when I quote from the play, do you?”

“You choose the wrong lines, Scarlett.” He offers a half smile. “But I say if you deny to wed, I’ll crave the day when we shall ask the banns and be married.”

“Shakespeare.” Mrs. Randolph wrinkles her nose. “Stephen does have many interests. But how would you’ve learned of them?”

“I’ve known him for over seven years. And for most of that time, we couldn’t stand each other. In fact, I hate him a little right now.”

Stephen frowns, then looks down at me. “Well, it’s hard to take to a woman who knows so much and is often right. Then you, Scarlett, have the nerve to leave your leading strings and change to corsets. Before I knew it, you were grown, opinionated, beautiful, and for some unknown reason . . . you believe in me, even when I doubt myself.”

“That’s a deadly combination for you.” Maryanne chortles and winces. “Oh, Scarlett is great, Auntie. She has spunk. She’ll keep Mr. Know-it-all sharp.”

“My man-of-all-work calls him Mr. Stuffy. Sometimes Petruchio.”

“Oh, I like that bettah.” Maryanne lies back and sucks in a huge breath of air.

My eyes are on her and then Stephen. He takes out a pocket watch. I believe he’s timing how frequent her pain comes. That baby’s coming soon.

“Distractions are a good thing.” Stephen glances at me, then his watch. That’s a signal. “But, Mrs. Randolph, you don’t need to quiz Miss Wilcox. This is your first time meeting us as a couple, but you should know that I think we are more than a couple.” He’s not looking up from his watch. “You see we are perfectly suited. And I want her to be my wife. Part of me stupidly wanted the aunties’ approval, because I respect you for what you mean to the community, but you can be wrong. I’ve grown up enough myself to know it. I want Miss Wilcox, and if she’ll have me, I think I’ll settle for well-wishes once our banns are read and we’ve wed. What say you, Miss Wilcox? Will you accept this proposal?”

“That’s exactly my point,” Mrs. Randolph says. “Outsiders take the best of our community and then they turn their hearts to making money. You want to assimilate more and emulate the ton?”

“I thought that was what you did, Mrs. Randolph, when you dissuaded Mr. Carew from pursuing a hospital.”

“She has you there, Auntie.” Stephen glances at me, then sets his gaze to his watch.

“I need more answers from her before I will entertain any appeal for a marriage.” Mrs. Randolph flutters closer to the sofa. “When is Stephen’s birth—”

“December fifteenth.” I shake my fingers at her. “Oh, please ask something more difficult.”

“Favorite dessert.”

“He likes sweets, but I will say cassava pone. His aunt makes it perfectly. Yours, Mrs. Randolph”—I lower my voice—“is crumbly and often dry or was it burnt.”

She gasps. “That is not true. My desserts are delicious.”

“Sometime delicious, more often dry.” His cousin snickers, then winces.

“It was only dry that one time.” Stephen, ever the diplomat, tries to smooth things over. “Auntie Theodora, I think you’ve asked enough of Miss Wilcox.”

“I know you, Stephen, to be a very busy man. I find it odd for you to come today with such a beautiful young lady that no one has seen you with and expect us to believe you found time to actively court her. This is some cruel joke.”

Straightening her blue hem, she turns her gaze back to wrinkled me. “What’s his favorite color?”

“Dark blue. It brings out his eyes. But the new emerald-green jacket is my favorite. You look good smashing into doors for me.”

“If he weren’t a doctor, what would he do?”

I look at Stephen and begin to chuckle. “Oh, that must be a trick question. If he were in Trinidad, he’d be an herbalist, a true medicine man. Here in London, I don’t know.”

“Ah haw, see.”

“I don’t know because Stephen has so many interests, maybe a Shakespearean actor . . . but he likes the details of the law . . . and he was first trained as a doctor pulling teeth.” I flash an adoring smile at Stephen, one that implies, Darling, I know you like the back of my hand . “Oh, give us a hint.”

The man beams.

He’s eating up the attention until Chrysanthemum comes. Stephen dips his head to her and excuses himself.

“Eveline,” Maryanne says, “sit with us and help calm down Auntie. I think she’s doubting Stephen’s commitment to our new friend Scarlett.”

The beautiful girl, whose skin is almost light enough to pass into any world, sits. She looks better without the wig. Her natural dark brown hair is braided into a refined chignon. “I can tell you, Auntie, that Stephen never stopped talking about Miss Wilcox when we courted. She always managed to get under his skin. His mentions of her became unbearable after the Duke of Torrance’s ball. He attended and didn’t invite me. It was crystal clear where I stood with him then, and when what I believed was a better situation came along, I took it. Scarlett Wilcox was in his heart way before me. I knew someday he’d figure it out. Seems like I was right.”

Mrs. Randolph frowns. She sits back in her chair like she wishes it would rock. “She’s an outsider. You chose one, and now you’ve left him. You should come back, be one of us.”

“I gained an annulment in Scotland, but the baron has my dowry. At least I have my freedom. I’ll figure things out. Be at ease, Auntie. Miss Scarlett Wilcox will go to any length to save Stephen. That kind of love is hard to find.”

I smile at Chrysanthemum. I guess she recognized Stephen and me both at the brothel. She’s a good person, even if her life isn’t what she wants right now. I hope she can make the life she wants. “I do charity work at Bridewell, there may be positions there to help—”

“The baroness does not work.”

“This one does, Mrs. Randolph. I have to work until everything is resolved or I no longer care that I was cheated. Bridewell? A friend of mine had to go there recently.” Chrysanthemum looks sad but resilient. “Daisy is doing better.”

Mrs. Randolph leaps up. “Wait. Do you two know each other? Who’s Daisy?”

Maryanne screams. Her pink gown is wet. There are spots on the lace that look like blood.

I hold her hand. “Go get Stephen, Chr . . . Eveline. He’ll know what to do.”

Both women run out of the room. It’s just me and Maryanne and a baby ready to come.

“You promised all would go well, Scarlett. Be a woman of your word.”

“I am.” Most of the time. I strengthen my grip and hope the medicine man, the physician previously trained as a doctor, is as good as I know he is. Then I pray for the blessing that Maryanne will be one of the lucky mothers who live and have a baby born alive.

Stephen makes everyone in the parlor leave but me and Mrs. Smith, before he heads to the kitchen.

I’m still holding Maryanne’s hand when Benny comes. He has Stephen’s bag, towels and iron forceps. They look scary, but the jaws might be needed to pull the infant from the womb.

Mrs. Smith paces. “The accoucheur said she still has weeks.”

“Sometimes they are wrong.” I try to calm her. “Babies have their own timing.”

“Mama, the pain.” Maryanne pushes on her stomach. “He’s too high up. My baby is going to die, and so am I.”

“No. We have a chance. Tantie,” Stephen says, “go get sheets. Lots of clean sheets.”

The mother takes off running.

Heaving, Maryanne asks, “What will the sheets do?”

“Nothing. I just know she needs a distraction. Doing something will get her not to focus on . . .”

“The dangers.” Maryanne closes her eyes. “Glad you and Scarlett stayed. I hope we all have a long friendship.”

Stephen’s sleeves have been rolled up. His hands have been scrubbed. “Maryanne, my assistant here is going to take off your gown. She’s going to get you unclothed to your chemise. Your baby needs freedom. I’m going to get you both free. Get to it, Scarlett.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and I begin to undo buttons, pulling the fabric-covered disks through holes that seem to have shrunk to half their size.

“Take your time, Scarlett. I need you calm.”

Stephen’s tone is flat. There’s no emotion or anxiety in his voice. I can’t read him at all. I don’t know if he truly believes that all will go well.

He lifts his cousin, and I get the dress and layers off her. Maryanne is sweaty, and her chemise is soaked.

I gaze at Stephen, and again I sense nothing. I’m filled with dread as I recognize the noises I heard in Mama’s room when both she and my sister were in there. Katherine kept screaming, just as Maryanne does.

Her mother returns with a pile of sheets.

“Lay them on the ground about the sofa.” He looks at me. “Scarlett, when I lift her up again, pull the sheets underneath her.”

Nodding, I wait. When he has her hovering an inch above the cushion, Mrs. Smith and I work fast to cover the sofa in linens.

He sets her back down and goes to her legs and peeks below the chemise. “You’ve not opened. A woman’s body is a miraculous thing. The baby will not come out that way.”

I go and pick up the clamps. “We pull . . .”

I set them back down. I know that won’t work.

The despair. I feel it smothering me. That day. The day Katherine bore her babe. I hear screams like she’s in the next room.

Mrs. Smith is weeping.

Mrs. Ellis comes in with buckets of water and more cloths. I wet one and hand it to Mrs. Smith. “Mop her forehead. Keep her cool.”

“With your permission, Maryanne, Tantie Telma, I will do a dissection of the abdomen. I will get the baby out and then I will close the incision. It’s the only way.”

My eyes are too blurred with tears, but I hear them agreeing.

The next thing I know, I’m being dragged from the room. “Scarlett.” Stephen is shaking my shoulders. “I need you. I need you to help me. But I can’t take you back in the room unless you are the brave woman I know.”

“The brave one who’s seen too much death.”

“And that’s medicine. Scarlett, I see life and I know death. There’s a chance that all will be well. A small chance. But I know death wins if we do nothing.” He releases my shoulders. “If you can’t, I understand. It takes a lot to step into that room knowing you might not be of any help, that what you do can hasten death. But I’ve made my peace with it. I’ll be brave for them.”

I don’t know what to say. Have I been playing all this time? Have I been too naive thinking I can change the world?

“Scarlett, you’re brave. I need you. I was going to give you a choice, but I see that if I leave you, you’ll never be able to get over your dread. All the things a mind like yours can do won’t happen, not if you’re always captive to fear.” He kisses my forehead. “I won’t force this. I’ll let you know—”

I clasp his hand and hold on tight. “Tell me what to do. I should wash my hands.”

“Yes. I’ll show you how.”

I follow him to the kitchen. Hot steaming water is on the stove.

Mrs. Ellis is there making as many pots as she can. “Any word?”

“Mr. Carew is about to perform a caesarean. I read about it in bunny dissection.”

Stephen scrubs my hands and then his once more. “Well, the medicine men often talked of this practice from Africa. Cleanliness, they say, makes the gods happy. Keeps the incident of fevers away.”

“Yes, no fever.”

Mimicking how his arms are raised, I run with him back to the parlor.

Benny has come back with more bottles.

Stephen takes the one marked laudanum. “Cousin, this will help with the pain. Don’t push.”

She nods, and he gives her three tablespoons.

Then he takes a bowl and pours foul vinegar and laudanum in it. “Scarlett, expose her abdomen, pull away the chemise.

It’s wet anyway. I do as he says.

“Please,” Maryanne whimpers. “Save my baby. My husband needs to see his daughter.”

“That’s right, Scarlett. My friend and I have a wager. He says if you’re carrying low, that’s supposed to be a boy.”

“I think your friend made that bet based on observations that Maryanne was carrying low and narrow, not what was actually seen. Upon seeing your cousin, I would say low is an exaggeration.”

His aunt is pacing and praying. She stops and looks at Stephen. “Boy, are you crazy? Makin’ sinful wagers when we need His favor for a healthy baby.”

“It’s not sinful.” He looks at the clock on the mantel and then at me. “It’s just a wager at midnight. I say if it’s a boy, you marry me as soon as a license is possible.”

“And if it’s a girl,” I ask, as I mop Maryanne’s brow.

“If it’s a girl . . . You leave with me and journey to Gretna Green and we marry as soon as we get there.”

Maryanne cries out. “You two are silly. Just agree to marry. Be happy any way you can.”

“I like any of these options. Decide, Scarlett.” Stephen’s voice holds power. “The baby’s coming.”

I’m scattered and scared. Every scream Maryanne roars mirrors Katherine’s. My ears echo. They fill with yesterday’s sorrow.

I hear sobs—Maryanne’s, Katherine’s.

I remember Mama praying then whispering, “Be strong. Be strong.”

That awful day, Stephen was in the bedroom. I was told to stay downstairs, but I heard his broken voice saying, “So sorry. So sorry.”

And again Mama, strong, resolute Mama, whispering, “Be strong.”

Lifting prayers to the heavens, he sinks his hand onto Maryanne’s abdomen. “Scarlett, Tantie, hold my cousin’s arms. Keep her still.”

Stephen has the scalpel in his right hand. “Maryanne, trust me. I dug you out of the crab apples. I’ll gather you and this new life and bring you to safety.”

“I start now.” Stephen makes an incision through the skin. From the dissection classes and anatomy sketches, I know the fancy name of subcutaneous tissue. Red bubbles and gushes. Stephen takes towels and stanches the flow, but he doesn’t stop. He cuts again.

Maryanne twitches, she screams, but Stephen has made a smooth stroke through the uterine wall. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t.

I don’t want the dreams that rage in the dark. I must watch life drawn out of her flesh.

Everything grows still and quiet.

The baby cries and cries. The child lives.

Stephen raises the babe. “Scarlett, come hold him.”

I do, scooping the little one into a towel.

“He’s breathing, Maryanne.” Tears roll down Stephen’s cheek. “Scarlett. He’s breathing.”

“Let me see.” His cousin lifts her head. She’s sobbing but it’s different than before. This is joy. “My son. We all win.”

Stephen ties off the umbilical cord and uses scissors to snip the cord. The babe is free. He’s in our world, and I move him closer to his mother’s face.

Maryanne looks at peace, happy. “He’s beautiful.”

But this procedure is not done.

Stephen draws out the burgundy placenta and then uses silk to suture the uterus and the skin. He wipes more of the vinegar-laudanum mixture along the stitches. Using clean bandages, he wraps his cousin’s abdomen.

Mrs. Smith takes the baby. “You rest, Maryanne. He’s so good. You did so good.”

I cover the new mom in a fresh sheet.

Then I join Stephen sitting on the couch near the window. I bring with me a tub of fresh water and clean away the evidence of surgery from his hands.

When I think it’s all gone, I wrap a towel about his arms.

“Stephen. You’re wonderful. But I remember.”

“Woman, remember everything in the morning. We can talk about everything then.”

He yawns and I know he’s tired. I can’t destroy his peace.

“Scarlett. Let’s rest. You know how I get without my rest. Then we’ll talk wedding details. No getting out of this. We won the wager.”

I want to agree, but what I know will destroy everything. I have to tell him, tell everyone what I know.

“Oh, Stephen. Forgive and forget an old fool.” His aunt is rocking her grandson. “You should’ve been caring for Maryanne all along.”

His cousin opens her eyes. “Thank you, Stephen. Thank you, Scarlett.”

“Yes, thank you, Miss Wilcox. Oh, call me Tantie Telma, too.”

“Then it’s Scarlett,” I say.

“Soon to be Scarlett Carew, but once we rest.” Stephen waves to me like the duke. “Come, Scarlett.”

I think of now, not tomorrow. That makes it easier to simply fall into his arms. “Rest, Maryanne,” he says. “In the early morning, I want you to try to suckle. Your son will need his mother’s milk.”

Stephen sounds so encouraging, but the real wager is not when or how we marry. It’s if the horrible birthing fever will arise and claim Maryanne before dawn. A fever can take this good moment and make it tragic.

All I know is that I’ll stay in Stephen’s arms and be alert all night. I’ll not sleep until Maryanne gets up to start her life again as a mom.

When I know she’s out of danger, I have to leave. I have to go from this man, this community, and return to my world and tell a father about the twin that lived.