Page 24 of The Making of Lady Catherine de Bourgh
Chapter twenty-four
C atherine opened her eyes to reveal bright sun shining around the closed curtains. It must be afternoon. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, and noticed she was lying on fresh linens. Knowing not when that feat had been performed, Catherine considered another nap. She would only shut her eyes for a moment—the pain had become a part of her, ongoing and without end.
Before she nodded off, she caught a glimpse of Lady Anne speaking quietly near to the midwife across the room, and she was weeping. It saddened Catherine to see her thus.
A pain greater than one Catherine had felt in her life narrowed her attention back to reality. Her sister was on her right, Dawson on her left, and the midwife at her feet. They were telling her to be strong. Comforting, bolstering words were spilling in all around her.
Catherine could smell the acrid scent of blood and nearly closed her eyes again.
Lady Anne grabbed Catherine’s face and turned it towards her. Dark, puffy circles under her eyes revealed her sister’s exhaustion. She spoke fiercely and with great volume and steadiness, “Catherine de Bourgh, I demand you pay attention to me. Do not close your eyes. The fate of the de Bourgh family rests in your hands. You are bringing the heir of Rosings Park into this world. Now.”
Catherine flinched and took in the expressions of the other ladies in the room. They looked desperate. They looked worried.
Lady Anne squeezed Catherine’s hand and continued. “Push now, Catherine. Bring this babe into the world. I command it.”
The strength and fortitude roused Catherine and enticed her to listen and to follow her sister’s instructions, but she was so tired. She was uncertain she could rise to the challenge.
“I just want to sleep, Anne,” Catherine said weakly.
“But you must not. Not now. It is time.”
Catherine stared into her sister’s eyes, seeing her stubborn resolve, and held her gaze through a push that felt like the weight of the world was tearing her open.
“Push,” Anne said again, and Catherine stared into her eyes, blowing out air in a heavy gasp.
“Again,” Anne demanded.
“Now,” Anne continued.
“Again,” Anne commanded.
“Push,” Anne decreed.
On and on it went, until a feeling of great relief washed over Catherine and sounds of life began erupting around the room. The midwife raised the child into the air and called for some fresh cloth to wipe the babe clean. A young woman from the village was called up to the bed to begin attempts to feed the baby.
Dawson and Lady Anne continued ministrations to keep Catherine comfortable and cool while Catherine’s eyes followed her baby across the room. She held her breath until she heard its cries. And when she did, she too cried out.
“My son has arrived,” she whispered and began weeping once again.
The midwife turned back to her and smiled, “It is a daughter, my lady.”
“A daughter,” Catherine replied, empty of feeling or emotion, only very tired.
“Go tell Lewis.” She squeezed her sister’s hand to gain her attention. “Go tell him about his daughter.”
Anne reached out and brushed the hair from Catherine’s face. “He will be so proud. Now rest, my dearest.”
It was a relief to finally be told she could rest. Catherine nodded at her sister and closed her eyes.
The following days were a blur.
Catherine woke to sounds in her bed chamber and instinctively rolled over to reach for her husband, finding the bed empty. The curtains were drawn around her bed, but she could hear that she was not alone. She reached for her stomach, finding her womb empty, and the events of the past days rushed over her.
The house was too quiet.
“Excuse me,” she called into the room.
The curtains around the bed were pulled open to reveal Dawson.
Catherine pried herself up to a sitting position, which took some effort. She was in a fresh chemise, and it was clear that the linens had also been changed. She brushed the hair off her face to find it had been plaited.
“Dawson, it is you,” she said, her voice gravelly with under use. “Might I have something to drink?”
Her loyal maid made quick work of pouring a glass of barley water. The liquid eased the pain in her throat.
“Have I been sleeping long?” Catherine inquired.
“Yes, my lady. Some time.”
“Is the baby well?”
Dawson looked nervously at another part of the room, and Catherine wondered if someone else were present. Her maid was fidgeting and not looking her in the eye. It was unlike her.
“Are we alone?” Catherine asked cautiously.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Tell me then, what it is you mean to say.”
“You have been unwell, my lady. You lost a lot of blood during the birth. I have been watching you to ensure you do not have a fever.”
Childbed fever . No wonder Dawson was concerned. Catherine instinctively reached up to feel her own brow. It was clammy but not warm.
“Has a doctor been called?” Catherine asked, more assertively now.
“Yes and visited,” Dawson replied.
Catherine pursed her lips in frustration. It was moments like this when she wished her lady’s maid were more loose-lipped.
“And shall I be well?” Her voice was laden with irritation.
“Yes, my lady.”
“And the baby?”
“She is well. Small and mighty.”
That was a relief to hear. Still Dawson looked uneasy. And Catherine did not think she had the strength to pull the girl’s inner thoughts from her.
“Send my husband to me, if you will.” Lewis would tell her all.
Dawson nodded and quickly left the room.
It was a chore to find a comfortable position. Catherine was sore and fatigued. She drank the last of the liquid in her cup and kept still. She knew that strict rest was required for ladies after giving birth. It would be four to six weeks before she was churched, and before then, she would not even leave the house.
It was well worth it, she thought, since it had brought Lewis’s heir into this world.
She smiled at the thought. He was likely already coddling the little girl—or dreaming of ways to spoil her.
Catherine had only ever thought of the baby as a son. Most ladies did. It was heirs that their husbands wanted. Often daughters were never of so much consequence to a father. But Lewis had said from the beginning that a daughter could inherit all, and so she had delivered that to him. A legacy of their love and a new family formed.
Some little jealousy arose in her that everyone had seen her baby except for her.
And that thought left her worried. Was Dawson hiding something? Was the girl unwell? Lewis would tell her the truth—it was their way. If there were ill tidings, he would tell her, and they would work together on a solution. Theirs was a true partnership.
Luckily, Catherine did not have to sit with her dark thoughts long, for Lady Anne arrived and opened the curtains further to better see her sister.
“I cannot like how dark they keep it in here. Would you not like me to open the windows and let in some fresh air for you?”
Catherine replied, “It is not advised, as you know.”
Lady Anne seemed as uneasy as Dawson.
“Sit, Anne,” Catherine demanded. “And tell me the truth. Am I well? Is my baby well?”
Anne responded, “You lost some blood, but the midwife and local doctor agreed that you are strong and should survive it. You did not have a fever in the night, so that bodes well. You are ordered to keep to bed for at least three weeks, and after that, only small visits to the sofa or a nearby room. The midwife suggests you do not take dinner downstairs for six weeks total. She thinks you may be well enough to be churched at eight weeks.”
It was longer than expected. Catherine let out a sigh. She was not one to envy being out of doors, but neither did the idea of keeping to her bed for a month sound pleasing.
“I understand. And the baby?”
Anne smiled at that. “She is beautiful. Rather small, the midwife said. But hale. They did mention that her early birth could make her more susceptible to illness and recommended that she be kept at home as much as possible for the first year.”
Catherine nodded. Even healthy babies often perished of an illness in their first year. It would be difficult to not be overprotective of her with this knowledge. Sir Lewis would probably keep his daughter locked up at Rosings until her come out with this news. Catherine closed her eyes as the weight of the responsibilities of motherhood nudged her mind.
“Should you like to sleep?” Anne asked.
“No, I should think I have done enough of that. Please send Lewis to me,” Catherine said, pulling up the bedclothes to ensure some additional modesty.
Anne bit her lip and began twirling her hands.
“What is it?” Catherine questioned.
“I wonder if some sleep might be good for you now,” Anne said gently.
“ I wonder if you might stop neglecting to tell me what is amiss,” Catherine said, her voice raised. “Sir Lewis will not thank you for keeping him from me. Send him at once.”
“Perhaps you—”
Catherine cut her sister off. “Unless you would like me to crawl off of this bed and drag my sore body to his door myself, you will go find him. Now.”
“I cannot,” Anne said in a small voice.
“If he is away, just say so.”
“He is not away. There was an accident.”
That perked Catherine up rather more, and she began leaning around the bed curtains to better see further into the room. “Is he in his bed chamber? Is he very hurt? If you help me, I shall go to him.”
“You cannot.” Anne put her hand upon her sister’s. “He is not there.”
“Heaven and earth! Will you not tell me where he is?”
“He is dead, Catherine.”
The world must have turned on its side, shaking her from her place in existence and pouring her back down into a pile of rubble, for she did not feel whole. The shock of it rattled through her, pain unlike she had ever felt, and still she sat. The sob in her chest was waiting—praying she had heard wrongly.
She asked very quietly in a voice she did not recognize, “Where is he?”
“His body is laid out in the drawing room in the west wing. Callers have been visiting to pay their respects. But we did not want to bury him until you were well enough to say goodbye. Lady Rosamund will be here soon. She wants to see you, if you would welcome her visit.”
Catherine stared past her sister at a nearby wall. She was not looking at anything in particular but could not tear her gaze away.
Her entire world had come crumbling in around her.
She felt dead inside.
And cold.
And unfeeling.
And lost.
And so, all she said to her sister that day was, “Leave me.”
In the small, dark hours of the night, Lady Catherine de Bourgh called for a footman to carry her to her husband. He placed her in a chair next to her husband’s body, laid out upon a table, and she felt exceedingly small and alone in the world.
A woollen shroud was wrapped around the strong, capable body that had sheltered her and celebrated her and brought her to life. Only to abandon her merely a year later. He had built a world for her that she had never thought possible, and now she found herself returned to reality. A life without Sir Lewis de Bourgh was indeed not one Catherine particularly wanted to enjoy.
But this—this felt closer to the existence her mother had promised her. Marriages were alliances, and love was an evil blight ruining perfectly suitable matches. More fool her. She had allowed herself to fall victim to the first lesson her mother had taught her about such alliances. Reaching her majority and marrying well was supposed to be about duty and decorum—about following a strict diet of perfection.
Instead, she had succumbed to love—an emotion she had pitied other ladies for feeling.
Catherine sat next to Lewis for a long time, willing it all to be a dream—a nightmare more like. She wanted to shake him awake. She wanted to shake herself out of this truth entirely.
And for a while, it was only silence in her head—a deafening silence, worming its way into her soul.
In parallel to the stillness of her mind, she found herself screaming into the empty, dark room in defeat, loudly and fervently mourning the loss of the greatest man she had ever known.
She sat, her mind as empty as her heart. The sobs that racked her body poured out of her in long, unfamiliar moans. Physical laments emanated from her like a mournful knell, signalling the end of an existence she had come to cherish. She laid her head down upon the table and made two promises to Lewis—to ensure his legacy and keep his daughter safe—at whatever cost. She could do no less for the man who taught her to love.
She said a silent prayer over his body and stood. When the footman came to carry her, she simply raised her hand in defiance and told him she would walk on her own.
As she stood in the front hall of Rosings Park and took in the enormity of the house and its responsibilities and remembered that her baby girl slept somewhere within, she promised herself she would never succumb to emotion or passion ever again. She was empty of love, a heart once again orphaned, right at its infancy.
After climbing the stairs, she walked down the corridor to the nursery and found her baby sleeping within. She excused the wet nurse and placed her daughter into her arms.
It was hard not to resent the child resting in her arms—to not want to barter her for Lewis. But she knew better. Lewis would not want that. He wanted his legacy secured.
She sent another silent prayer up to the heavens, asking Lewis to watch over her sister, Eloise. And then she thanked God that Elinor’s advice had led her to Kent, and that Anne’s strong conviction had pulled Catherine from the daze of labouring and allowed her to be delivered of her daughter.
She looked down at the unknown girl, and said quietly, “Since you shall never have sisters of your own, I shall loan you mine and call you Anne Eloise Elinor de Bourgh.”