Page 26

Alistair and Violet followed the small boy out of Nowhere and into the dark, twisty alleyways of Covent Garden. He insisted that Violet walk ahead of him, between himself and the child. He wanted no one taking her unawares from behind.

This part of Covent Garden, as it led into St. Giles, was the very seediest part of London. The streets sloshed with filth and dirt and a smell so repulsive it made even a hardened sailor like him wince.

“Are you okay?” he whispered to Violet, worried that she was too delicate for a place like St. Giles.

“I’m fine,” she said. “But this—” She looked around her. “No wonder they thought it was miasma.”

Alistair nodded and took careful note of his surroundings as they moved; he’d be damned if he would leave them to be reliant on the child that was leading them into this hell to also lead them back out again.

St. Giles had been a place of dire poverty all his life and had somehow become even worse in the years he’d been away.

Hell’s teeth, he thought as he watched Violet’s straight spine move ahead of him through the darkness.

She shouldn’t be in a place like this .

The putrid smell alone could make one cast up one’s account. But it was the feel of a multitude of eyes on them that really put Alistair on edge. And the sound of rats skittering out of their way as they moved even further into the rookery. He didn’t want her here.

But a part of him was glad the boy interrupted their conversation. He’d almost told her about McGann’s inane plan to marry her for her inheritance. There was no need for her to know that piece of information, only that he was working hard on a plan for the future. For their future.

That was what he should tell her, and only that. Nothing more.

“Are we almost there, boy?” he called out.

“Aye, gov. We’re here.”

The boy stopped in front of a low, dark hovel that was more rattrap than home. Alistair was almost glad for the darkness that hid the squalor he was sure the child lived in. He’d seen similar levels of poverty abroad, but it shocked him to the core to find it right here in London.

“She’s in there, gov,” the boy said, but Alistair only shook his head and gestured to Violet.

“She’s the one you want, not me.”

“Show me the way,” Violet said as a low moan emitted from the interior. “Now, if you please.”

Violet ducked her head and followed the child into the low-ceilinged home.

“Where is she?” she asked, and he pointed to a small figure covered in blankets in the corner of the room. Her heart shuttered at the sound of the woman’s cries.

No. It’s not a woman.

The huddled figure in the corner was barely more than a girl. Violet knelt alongside her.

“I’m here with you,” she whispered, grasping the girl’s hand. “How long have you been in labor?”

The girl turned her glassy eyes to Violet’s. “Since yesterday. It ain’t right. I know it ain’t right.” The girl stopped speaking and let out another groan.

“May I examine you?” Violet asked.

The girl nodded; her face contorted with pain. Violet quickly gestured for Alistair and the boy to turn around and face the wall to give them some privacy, and then she lifted the blankets covering her legs. They were skinny and knob-kneed, more tomboy than expectant mother.

Violet wished desperately for so many things then: clean water, blankets, a comfortable bed for the girl to lie in. Iron salts and a healthy diet. But she had none of those, and the girl could not wait.

“I’m going to put my hand inside you now,” Violet whispered. “It will hurt.”

“It already hurts,” the girl gritted out through clenched teeth.

“I know,” Violet replied as soothingly as she could. “And I am sorry.”

She slipped her hand inside the girl’s birth canal, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t find what she was expecting to find. She took a deep breath as her fingers explored, and then she removed her hand as quickly as possible, her heart sinking.

What she’d found was even worse than she’d feared. Given the length of time the girl had been in childbirth, Violet knew the baby was likely breech. But what she’d found instead was a baby turned on its side. A transverse birth.

She remembered the words of the midwife she’d studied under. “Pray you never find one on its side, girl,” the woman had said. “It’s a death sentence for them both.”

Violet pushed that memory aside and stood, giving the girl’s hand a pat. “A word,” she said to Alistair and motioned him to the other side of the room.

“This baby cannot be delivered,” Violet whispered grimly. “Not the way it’s positioned now. I’m going to have to turn it. And even then—”

“I’ll help you,” Alistair said.

“No, listen to me. You need to take the boy. It is probable that neither his sister nor the baby sees daylight. I’ll do what I can, but he should not be here.”

“Violet, don’t be absurd. I’m not leaving you alone in St. Giles.”

“Alistair, please. He’s just a child. He can’t witness this.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’ll take him outside if I must, but I’m staying close enough that I can hear you call for me.”

Violet acquiesced; she had no time to argue. Alistair had barely shepherded the boy out the door before she turned back to her patient.

“Will we die?” the girl asked. “Me and the babe?”

Violet held her hand and knelt back down beside her.

“I’ll do everything I can,” she promised. “But I’m going to need your help. Can you help me?”

The girl nodded again, her bravery nearly bringing tears to Violet’s eyes. She pushed them aside to concentrate on her duty.

“Good,” she said. “Right now, I need you to do something that’s going to sound quite strange. I need you to NOT push, no matter how much you want to. Do you understand?”

The girl nodded again.

“Very good. Let’s get started.”

With one last look over his shoulder at Violet, Alistair led the boy outside.

“What we doing out here, gov?” the child asked, his small hand clutched in Alistair’s larger one.

“We’re giving the ladies some privacy,” Alistair said.

“I don’t think that’s right.” The boy puffed out his skeletal chest. “Jess’ll need me in there.”

“You’re the man of the house, are you?” Alistair asked, and the boy nodded.

“I am.”

“That’s good,” Alistair said. “It’s important to take care of what’s yours. And may I ask your age and name, sir?”

Inside, he could hear the moans and cries of the girl growing louder.

Bollocks, he thought, as the boy’s eyes slid toward the door. But he’d keep the child outside no matter what. He’d promised Violet he would.

“I’m Davy,” the boy said, “and I’m ten.”

Alistair quickly hid the look of astonishment from his face. The boy was so small he’d thought him no more than six or seven years old at the most.

“A fine name and age,” Alistair said. “And your sister?”

“Jess is fourteen. I think. It’s hard to know ‘cause she was here first.”

“Perfectly logical,” Alistair agreed. “And your parents?”

“What about them?”

“Are they close by?”

“No.” Davy shook his head. “We ain’t got none. Our mum died before I remembered her and our da three years ago. Too much drink Jess said. Ruined him.”

Jess let out a bloodcurdling scream just then, and they both flinched.

“Jess is alright, ain’t she?” Davy asked, the fear evident in his eyes even if he was trying not to show it.

Alistair put his hand reassuringly on the boy’s shoulder. He wanted to sweep him into a sheltering hug but thought the gesture might not be welcome. Ten-year-old boys had their prickly pride, after all.

“Violet is going to do her best to make sure Jess is okay,” Alistair said. “And you and I are going to stand outside here and keep talking while she does her work. If either of those ladies inside calls for us, we’re going to give them whatever help they need just as soon as they need it. Alright?”

Davy nodded and tried to keep his eyes from wandering back over to the door, behind which his sister lay screaming.

“Is she your lady then, the midwife?” Davy asked.

“She’s a nurse,” Alistair corrected, while he thought, she’s not my lady yet.

But she will be.