Page 28 of Pursued Beyond Treachery (Harrowed Hearts #2)

L ady Stanford’s face was ashen when Susannah entered the carriage, her breathing labored. At the house, Sir Nathaniel swept his wife into his arms and carried her in.

Susannah followed Mr. Kendall to the front parlor where he dashed off a note to someone.

“Who is that for?” she asked, not having anything to occupy her time as she paced nervously in front of the fireplace.

“My uncle. He will want to know of the current situation. ”

She nodded and took another turn of the room. “Where are the others?”

“John will be here shortly, but Al accompanied Javenia and her mother to fetch the doctor.”

Sir Nathaniel entered, panic in his eyes. “Miss Wayland, my wife insisted I call for you. She says you know some about birthing babies.”

Susannah stopped, her eyes widening. It was too soon. “Only what little I remember from when my youngest brother was born, but that was six years ago.” How much did they believe her thirteen-year-old mind retained?

“It will have to do.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room.

“Sir Nathaniel, might you go to the housekeeper? She is sure to know more than I do.”

“Mrs. Clark never had children.”

Susannah wanted to name other servants that might have more experience, but they were already up the stairs and to the Stanfords’ bedroom door.

Inside, the room was stifling, the fire having been stoked higher than any other in the house.

Lady Stanford lay on her side, sweat on her brow and a tear trickling down her cheek.

“I shall go await the doctor.” Sir Nathaniel dashed from the room, leaving Susannah bewildered.

Slowly, she approached the bed. “Are you in much pain?”

“It is not the pain that distresses me so much as the knowledge that this baby will not—” her voice broke.

She did not need to finish her sentence. Susannah knew it was far too early for the child’s survival. Kneeling down by the bed, she took Lady Stanford’s hand.

“I am so sorry, Your Ladyship.”

“Melior.” She sniffled. “If you are going to share in my grief we might as well drop the formality. Besides, it is still odd to be called by my mother-in-law’s title.” A small smile broke through the grief on Melior’s flawless face.

“And you must call me Susannah.”

Melior nodded, then grimaced. Her features became taut, her hand tightening around Susannah’s.

Panic filled Susannah’s chest as the pain enveloped her friend. Thinking back to Michael’s birth she pulled out the only bit of knowledge she had from her memory. “Breathe, Melior. In and out. Slowly.”

She didn’t know how much time passed in such a manner, but when the doctor finally arrived, she breathed a sigh of relief.

The man crossed to the bed and looked down on Melior, his face impassive. “How long since the pains started?”

“About two hours,” Melior said through clenched teeth.

“Any more bleeding?”

More? Susannah’s gaze flicked back and forth between the two. Melior had been bleeding and yet had still been up and about.

“Yes.” Melior blew out a breath.

“More or less?”

“More.”

“A lot more or only a little?”

“A moderate amount.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “Hmm… Well, I am sorry to inform you that this baby will not survive. Best to let your body take care of the process. It will probably take several hours, perhaps even days.” He glanced at the drawn curtains while removing a handkerchief from his pocket.

His bony fingers clutched the cloth as he first dabbed his forehead and then the tip of his nose.

Last, he used the piece to wipe his hands.

Susannah cringed at the sight.

“Call me if the bleeding becomes too intense or you start to feel the need to push.” And with that, he walked out, not once even touching Melior.

Susannah wanted to chase after him, to ask what he meant by too intense, to ask why he did not give her anything for the pain, but Melior’s hand tightened around hers and she knew her place was here with her friend.

The housekeeper and a maid brought a basin of water, extra linens, and a cloth to wipe Melior’s brow. They spoke in whispers as they moved about the room, but eventually were asked to leave, their motion and noise irritating Melior.

Sir Nathaniel stormed in twenty minutes later, his face darkening at his wife’s prone form. “Mrs. Clark said the doctor left, and without talking to me. Did he do anything? What did he say?”

Melior listlessly turned her head to look at him. “He said to—” Her voice broke and another tear slipped down her cheek. The frustration on the baronet’s face faded and, sitting gingerly on the other side of the bed, he took up her other hand.

“He said what, dearest?”

Melior cast Susannah a look of desperation.

“He said the baby will not survive,” she said. “And to let Melior’s body handle the process. We are to call him if the bleeding worsens or she feels it’s time to push.”

Sir Nathaniel’s brows slammed down and he cursed under his breath. “And there was no other care given. What about draughts for the pain?”

Susannah shook her head, then returned her focus to Melior as another wave of pain hit her. When the pain passed, she glanced up at Sir Nathaniel. The desperation and fear in his face broke her heart.

Rushed footsteps echoed in the hall before the door flew open and Miss Harris appeared. She took in the room quickly.

“Nate, Al and John are downstairs with Mr. Kendall. You need to be with them.”

“But my wife—”

“This is no place for a man, Nate.” She crossed the room and took hold of his arm.

Another person stepped in but hung back, her dark gown nearly blending with the shadows. Susannah might have missed her had her halo of golden curls not shone in the dim candlelight.

Miss Harris pulled Sir Nathaniel to the door and pushed him out, shutting it firmly behind him.

“What are you doing here?” Melior hissed, her eyes locked on Lady Braithwaite.

“Mel, hear me out,” Miss Harris said. “Livy has had far more experience than any of the rest of us in this. I know you worry about her reputation, but she can help you, unlike that devil of a doctor who has left you to suffer.”

Melior’s gaze shifted to Miss Harris, her eyes creased and her jaw locked.

She began to squeeze Susannah’s hand but it was the only outward sign of her pain.

Her stoic expression was so different from how she’d handled the rest of her pains, as if she could not let down her guard around the new lady.

Lady Braithwaite stood straight; her hands clasped firmly in front of her.

It was the first time Susannah had seen her without a cane of some sort.

The lady’s face held the same immovable expression that left no room for weakness, and yet in her eyes Susannah saw a flicker of uncertainty.

“We were friends once, Lady Stanford. Or at least on cordial terms. Can we not be again?”

Melior did not answer. Was it from pain or an unwillingness to let go of the past?

Lady Braithwaite sighed. “This is a very private thing and I will not invade on your privacy if you do not wish it, but I can help you.”

“How could you possibly know how to help me?” Melior said through gritted teeth. “For all I know you have come to gather gossip, much like you do with the rest of Society, only to wield it like a sword against me when the fancy suits you.”

Susannah glanced between the pair, her brow furrowing. From the little she knew, gossip in Society was directed toward Lady Braithwaite, not coming from her.

The tiny lady stepped forward. “I never share things of a moral nature, Lady Stanford. You should know that by now. You and your husband have done nothing to be ashamed of, therefore there is no gossip to be had. I swear to you nothing that happens here shall pass through my lips.”

Melior’s hand relaxed, and Susannah breathed a sigh of relief. Her grip had become increasingly painful.

“As to your question.” Her Ladyship took another step toward the bed, her gaze wandering to the ceiling. “I have done this before… several times, in fact.”

All eyes turned toward Lady Braithwaite, but she steadfastly gazed at the ceiling.

“You mean, you have helped people?” Melior asked.

“Yes. And I have done”—she waved her hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the bed— “this myself.”

Something in the way the steadfast woman’s voice cracked on the last word brought tears to Susannah’s eyes. Lady Braithwaite carried herself as a goddess, far above the world she lived in, but in that moment she seemed almost human in her brokenness.

“But what can you do that the physician has not?” Melior’s voice wavered and she let her head fall back on the pillow.

Lady Braithwaite snorted. “First lesson, Lady Stanford. Physicians are not your friend, at least not when it comes to female issues. Might I surmise that he entered, looked at you without even deigning to dirty his hands by touching you, then left with inane advice to ‘let nature take its course.’”

Melior gave one sharp nod of her head, her jaw tightening.

“There are ways to speed this process along once it has started. Ones that I stumbled upon during my second and third experience.” Lady Braithwaite approached the bed and peered down. “Let me help you.”

More tears gathered in Melior’s eyes. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Lady Braithwaite sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand over Melior’s sweaty brow, her face losing its reserve and her green eyes lighting with compassion. “I know,” she said softly. “I know.”

The empathy before her pushed the tears from Susannah’s eyes and down her cheeks.

“What do we do first?” Melior finally said.

Lady Braithwaite’s genuine smile surprised Susannah. Something as human as a smile seemed beyond her, but when it formed on her face the sight was glorious.

“Javenia, please summon the housekeeper,” she ordered, then turned to Susannah. “Miss Wayland, help me get Lady Stanford to her feet.”

“You want me to stand?” Panic laced Melior’s voice.

The firm tone Lady Braithwaite had taken with the others immediately gentled. “Yes, it is necessary for the process. Please trust me.”

Melior searched her face, then finally nodded.

When the housekeeper entered, Lady Braithwaite ordered her to bring the copper tub and fill it with hot water.

“But, my lady—” The housekeeper protested, her gaze sharpening on Melior supported between the two ladies.

“Do not question me, Mrs. Clark. Get it now. Can you not see that your mistress is in pain?”

The plain looking woman nodded, her hand nervously fluttering around her waist. Turning to a maid who had followed, she gave the orders and asked that a footman bring the tub.

When all was in place, Lady Braithwaite ordered everyone out of the room. Susannah stared at her, thinking she’d meant only the servants.

“You too Javenia, Miss Wayland. Lady Stanford needs quiet and calm. Squeamish misses will do her no good.”

“Miss Wayland may go, but I am staying,” Javenia protested.

Lady Braithwaite narrowed her eyes at her, but it was Melior who spoke.

“Please go, Javenia. I will have Lady Braithwaite call for you if you are needed.”

A flash of hurt crossed Miss Harris’s face and her shoulders dropped. “If that is what you wish, Mel.”

“It is.”

Miss Harris answered by linking arms with Susannah and turning to the door.

The last thing Susannah saw before leaving was Melior’s dark head of hair, stringy with sweat, leaning on Lady Braithwaite’s delicate shoulder as the other woman gently ushered her bent form toward the tub of steaming water.

Her heart ached for the pain and sorrow her friend must be experiencing. It must be agonizing to lose a child. Then fear crept in. Not all women made it through childbirth.