A Lady Most Lovely (37 page)

It broke his heart, day after day, to keep these secrets. He was paying dearly for it, having a wife who was so tantalizingly near and yet entirely inaccessible. He stifled a groan, feeling the surge of unrequited longing. No wonder he was unable to sleep.

He lay pondering these things until daybreak. Then he slipped quietly out of the bed, dressed quickly, and left the room. As he came down the stairs, he was surprised to see Geoffrey already in the front hall putting on his coat.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Geoffrey said. “I was hoping to see you before I left.”

“Are you really leaving so early? I thought the service didn’t begin until eleven.”

Geoffrey nodded as he finished buttoning his coat. “With these crowds, getting to Saint Paul’s may take hours. The muddy streets will not help matters.” He paused before reaching for his hat and gloves. “Take good care of Lizzie today, Tom.”

“I should think that would go without saying.”

“Of course. But I’m concerned about her. She keeps insisting that she is comfortable, but I am not so sure. The look on Martha’s face this morning told me otherwise. She didn’t even want me to enter Lizzie’s room. She claimed Lizzie was getting some much-needed rest and that I mustn’t disturb her. But I hate to leave without saying good-bye.”

“What a man in love you are,” Tom chided. “She’ll be fine. Maggie and I will see to that.”

His gentle ribbing gleaned a small smile from Geoffrey. He shook Tom’s hand vigorously. “Well, then, I leave it in the Lord’s hands. And yours,” he added, seeing that Tom was about to lodge another protest.

Tom watched as Geoffrey dashed through the rain and into the waiting carriage. He wondered how far they would get before Geoffrey would be forced to complete the trip on foot. It was a miserable day, and Tom was not sorry that he had promised to remain here.

He went to the breakfast room, but found the servants were still laying out the dishes and were not yet ready to receive him. He was considering waiting in the library, where a book might distract him from his growling stomach, when he saw Martha hurrying by. A maid followed her with a tea tray. “Martha, what news? Is Lizzie awake? Is anything wrong?”

Martha paused only briefly. “She’s a bit uncomfortable, but it’s just gas pains, I expect. I’ve made this special herb tea for her, and soon she’ll be right as rain. If you’ll excuse me, sir.” She went up the stairs, with the maid close behind her, before Tom could ask any more questions.

Tom followed them upstairs and watched as they disappeared into Lizzie’s room. It was all he could do to keep from busting the door down and demanding entrance. These women had continually been frustrating his efforts to see his sister. He’d seen so little of her in the past few days that he might just as well have been in Australia.

It occurred to him that even if he could not enter her room, they might allow Margaret to do so. He went swiftly to the bedchamber, where he found Margaret seated at the vanity table and brushing her hair. She looked pale, and dark circles under her eyes showed she had been missing sleep, even as he had. He closed the door gently behind him. “Margaret, how quickly can you get dressed? I need to know what is happening with Lizzie, and the nurse refuses to let me in.”

Margaret set down her brush and stood up. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I need you to find out.”

*

Martha started up out of her chair as Margaret opened the door, and then relaxed when she saw who it was.

Lizzie was sitting up, sipping tea. Her hands were shaking as she brought the cup to her lips. She gave Margaret a wan smile. “Good morning.”

Margaret took the chair next to the bed. “How are you?” she asked, concerned by Lizzie’s pallor and the thin film of sweat on her forehead.

“I have had a bit of cramping, but Martha says these herbs will help.” She took another sip of tea, but a grimace shot across her face. She set down the cup with a clatter.

“Are you all right?” Margaret asked, now genuinely alarmed. Surely cramping could not be a good thing.

“It’s nothing,” Lizzie insisted. “I’m afraid these herbs are somewhat bitter.” She turned to Martha. “Would you be so good as to have some toast brought up for me? That will help me get the rest of this tea down, I think.”

Seeing Martha’s hesitant expression, Margaret said, “I’ll stay here with Lizzie.”

“Very well,” Martha said reluctantly. “I shan’t be gone long.”

When she was gone, Lizzie sighed deeply and said, “To tell you the truth, Margaret, I am afraid.”

She said this so quietly that Margaret did not think she had heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Geoffrey and Tom refuse to acknowledge that anything could go wrong. They won’t even allow me to speak of such a possibility. But you see, I’ve only ever attended one birth—that of my poor half sister, Ria. Her child was stillborn, and—” Her voice cracked. “Ria died a few months later.”

“Surely you don’t believe the same thing will happen to you?” Margaret asked.

Lizzie looked down at the blanket covering her large belly. “All I know,” she said, her voice trembling, “is that I have been experiencing the very same troubles Ria had. Those final days with her… they are burned into my
memory forever. It’s so hard not to imagine what might happen when my time comes.” She raised large, troubled eyes to Margaret, fear plainly written across her face.

“I have heard that all women go through trials at this time,” Margaret stammered. In truth, she had absolutely no experience with childbirth at all, but she was searching for a comforting answer. “Not all births end in… that is, most end well. Besides, you are getting the best possible medical care.”

This last remark had the opposite effect from what Margaret intended. Lizzie’s expression grew even more distressed. “Dr. Layton is giving me the very same instructions that the physician in Bathurst gave to Ria—but she died! Don’t you see? Either they are wrong, or else there is nothing they can do!” She began to sob, clutching the blanket as though for dear life. She must have been holding these fears for quite a long time, desperate to unburden herself. “It’s not only fears for myself,” she choked out. “It’s Geoffrey. And our child—”

Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and placed an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. “Everything will be fine,” she soothed. “You’ll see.” She continued offering such words until finally, after several long minutes, Lizzie’s cries subsided, and her shoulders no longer shook.

Lizzie wiped her eyes and gave another rattling sort of sigh. “I’m glad that Tom is settled, at any rate. That way, I know that he has someone, just in case something should happen to me.”

“Nonsense,” Margaret said, with more conviction than she felt. Lizzie’s fears were beginning to settle onto her as well. “Nothing will happen to you. For one thing, you know that Geoffrey would never allow it.”

Lizzie sniffled and tried to smile. “Geoffrey has been petitioning the Lord quite vigorously on my behalf. He says the Bible instructs us to pray without ceasing. Do you pray, Margaret?”

Prayer might not have been Margaret’s solution, but she was not surprised to hear that Geoffrey would take this approach. “Tom quotes that verse, too, and I think he does quite enough praying for us both.”

“He didn’t used to be that way, you know,” Lizzie said. “He never was religious. He used to positively rail at God. Especially after—” She broke off as the door opened and Martha entered with the toast. “Well, I’m sure he’s told you all about it,” she finished quietly.

In fact, Margaret did not know. Tom had never completely shared his past with her, and Margaret had many questions. However, with Lizzie in such a fragile state, now was not the time to ask.

Lizzie took a few bites of toast, then drank some more tea. She seemed calmer now. Margaret was beginning to breathe easier herself, when suddenly Lizzie cried out, spilling the tea as she dropped the cup and clutched at her stomach. This time she fairly screamed in agony.

“What’s happening?” Margaret shrieked as Martha raced over to the bed and began to pull back the blankets.

“Merciful heavens,” Martha said. “She’s going into labor.”

“No,” Lizzie protested. “I can’t be. The baby’s not due—aah!” She screamed again, and this time the bedroom door opened and Tom said, “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Poole, don’t come in, I beg you,” Martha said. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Proper be damned,” Tom said, rushing to his sister’s
side as Martha hastily replaced the blankets. Lizzie moaned again, grabbing his arm and looking at him with terrified eyes.

“Martha says I am going into labor,” she gasped. “But that can’t be. It’s not due for weeks yet.”

“A baby comes when it decides it’s ready,” Martha said, “not when we think it will. Mr. Poole, will you go and fetch the doctor?”

Tom didn’t answer, and Margaret could see his desire to stay with Lizzie was warring with the need to get help. “We could send a servant,” Margaret offered. She was as eager as Lizzie was for Tom’s presence. She did not want to be left to care for Lizzie without his support.

But Tom shook his head. “Getting the doctor will be difficult. The roads are nearly impassable due to the crowds. I can’t trust anyone else to go.” He took both of Lizzie’s hands and looked at her earnestly. “Lizzie, I’m going for Dr. Layton. You must be brave. Margaret and Martha will be here to look after you.”

Lizzie nodded, trying to stifle another cry as a spasm of pain hit her again.

“Don’t you worry, sir,” Martha said. “We’ll keep her comfortable until the doctor comes.”

“Thank you,” Tom said. “I know I can count on you both.”

Margaret knew this was her cue to nod and give a reassuring smile. In the end, it didn’t matter that she could not, for without even glancing in her direction, Tom turned and hurried from the room.

T
he rain was tapering off, but the streets were thick with icy mud. It was slow going. The Somerville house was located north of the route planned for the funeral procession, and the doctor’s house was even farther north. This meant that Tom was traveling against the crowd of people who were walking south to find a view along the route.

The procession had already begun its long crawl from Buckingham Palace to Saint Paul’s Cathedral. The beating of drums and the music of the death march was carried along on the biting wind, drawing late-arriving spectators to the sound. Tom’s cab kept pressing north. It was only as they drew near the doctor’s home that Tom allowed himself to even consider the possibility that Dr. Layton might not be there. He might be watching the procession or on his way to attend the service at Saint Paul’s.

Tom rang the bell for several minutes, growing more worried. At last an elderly lady who identified herself as
the housekeeper answered the door and informed Tom that the doctor had gone out.

“Can you tell me where he is?” Tom asked anxiously. “It’s vital that I reach him right away.”

“He was invited to Lord Morrissey’s home in Pall Mall to watch the procession,” the housekeeper said. “His lordship’s home lies directly along the route.”

Tom thanked her and set off once again, praying with all his might as the cab headed south, directly into the fray. He kept repeating to himself a verse from Psalms: “Our help cometh from the Lord, who made heaven and earth…”

The traffic thickened, and finally the cab was forced to a halt. “I’m sorry, sir,” the cabbie told Tom. “We can’t go no further.”

Tom got out and paid the driver. He would have to go the rest of the way on foot.

The army regiments marched along Pall Mall, ten thousand strong and interspersed with the carriages of dignitaries. Tom could see no end to it in either direction. The streets were barricaded to hold back the people, who were everywhere—climbing lampposts and statues and any building that might offer a ledge or a foothold for a better view. But there were not the usual sounds one associates with such a crowd. Everyone was reverent and quiet. Tom asked a man if he knew which was Lord Morrissey’s house.

“Indeed I do,” the man said. He pointed straight ahead, past the crowds and the barricades and the never-ending stream of soldiers and royal carriages to a stately mansion on the opposite side of the avenue.

All of Tom’s prayers dissolved into the frigid air as
he realized the impossibility of his situation. Dr. Layton may as well have been on the moon.

*

The room was stifling hot.

Margaret longed to throw open a window, if only for a moment, to clear her head. But that was impossible. She sat cradling Lizzie in her arms, trying to soothe her as she continued to moan in pain.

Tom had been gone for hours. Where was he? If the doctor was lost amid the teeming masses, how could Tom hope to find him? Margaret tried to clear her head of such dire thoughts. “Surely there is something we can do?” she asked Martha, who was just finishing the task of changing the bed linens out from underneath Lizzie.

Martha straightened and gave the soiled sheets to a maid, who took them away. Her brow creased as she studied Lizzie. “I do have a mind to try something. My grandmother always said the best thing to do was to get the lady up and walking.”