A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) (35 page)

“No, he’s not a good man,” Belle returned softly. Damaris regarded her for a moment and concluded, rightfully, that Belle would give her no further information on the subject of her stepfather. She offered her old adversary another confidence instead.

“Strathmore didn’t love me when he married me,” she blurted out. “I thought it was you he loved and that he’d felt trapped into our marriage and had only married me out of pity. I blamed you for that as well, I’m afraid.”

Belle shrugged. “You heard what he said. The duke may not have known he loved you when he married you, Damaris – according to my friend Molly, men rarely know their own minds when it comes to love – but the man I saw in that parlor loves you a great deal.” Belle crossed the room to Damaris’ side. “I dare say he always has,” she said softly. “It's enough to make even a tired cynic like me envious. Men don’t marry women out of pity. Sometimes they marry out of a sense of obligation, but there's usually a way round that if they wish to escape. He could have found someone else to marry you, I’m sure, but I suspect he simply couldn’t stand the thought of you marrying any other man.”

“Probably,” Damaris agreed. “Our first year together was not a happy one, but we are very much in love now. And there’s the children, of course.” Her face shadowed and Belle wondered at the cause. She’d found it odd that during the entire day Damaris had never so much as mentioned her two sons until this moment, and even then she'd mentioned them merely in passing. Most mothers reveled in any opportunity to brag about their children, even their most mundane accomplishments, but Damaris was conspicuous by her omissions. The other woman grew an unsteady breath and motioned Belle towards the table were a stellar tea had been laid out for them. “It’s time to put old rivalries behind us, Belle,” she said.

“I hope we can, but in all honesty, Damaris, I don’t know why you’d want to bother.” It was Belle’s turn to lower her gaze, to look anywhere but at the woman that she’d wronged so terribly. Damaris reached out and touched her arm.

“You are important to Drew and to Michael too, of course.” Belle started to protest, but the other woman pressed on, bent on having her say. “Jules and Michael have been best friends since childhood,” she explained. “I consider Michael one of my dearest friends now as well. He came to see us yesterday. He was quite beside himself and he took us to task for our callous behavior towards you the day you told us about the war.”

“I don’t believe is was as bad as all that,” Belle demurred, as she accepted her tea cup from Damaris. Frankly, she was astounded Michael had been to see them, astounded and by no small amount, confused. If he'd taken the trouble to speak with them on her behalf why was he refusing to see her now?

“Michael believes it was and he’s not usually one to reconsider his own behavior. He acts in the way he deems best and it’s up to the rest of us to like it or not.” Belle could certainly agree with that. The duchess helped herself to cakes and took a seat by the fire. Belle followed suit. “You’ve changed his mind, Belle. That's not something that happens often nor is it easily accomplished. My friends call me, Mari, you know. I think you should too.”

Belle blinked back the tears threatening to form in her eyes. She'd never expected this much generosity from someone she'd hurt repeatedly. Lord knew Muriel Cathcart knew how to bear a grudge. “I am so terribly sorry for my behavior to you, Mari,” she began, her voice thick with regret for things she could never change. “If I could undo what I did to you please believe that I would.”

“I suspect that there was little enough you could do to alter your own circumstances, let alone protect me.” Belle’s face blanched of color and she quickly turned her face aside. Her actions told the duchess all she needed to know. “Does Michael know?” she continued softly.

Belle nodded and her cup began to tremble in her hands. “He does now. I didn't want to tell him, but Drew has known for years and I couldn't allow him to continue keeping secrets from his brother.” Belle took a sip of tea silently praying Damaris would not press the issue. The other woman had no knowledge of the matters concerning Michael and Branfel and Belle had no intention of telling her. Damaris would not only be furious with her brother and Michael, but Belle suspected she’d also blame herself for Ambrose's retribution.

“And the carriage accident?” Damaris continued. Her tone gently coaxing for answers. While Belle didn't wish to disclose all the unsavory details of her past to this woman, she did want to offer what explanations she could.

“I'm sure you can surmise what happened,” she answered evenly. “I thank God Duncan Gillian found me that night. He healed me and kept me safe from detection. I owe the man my life.”

Damaris leaned back in her chair and asked casually, “Are you in love with him?”

Belle's mouthful of tea went down the wrong way making her cough and sputter. In love with whom? Lord, don't let Damaris suspect she might still be in love... Belle wouldn't allow herself to finish that dangerous thought. Love was not in her cards. “Who?” she managed to squeak out once her coughing subsided.

The duchess eyed her astutely. “Dr. Gillian, of course. Who else could I mean?”

Belle shook her head. “No, but we are the best of friends, comrades, if you will. We've gone through a war together and seen one another at our best and at our worst. Besides, Duncan's heart is already claimed by one of my friends.”

“And yours?” Belle was spared the need to answer when the innkeeper, Mr. Ferris hurried into the room wringing his hands. The distraught man ignored the duchess’ presence and spoke directly to Belle.

“One of the maids said you were here, Miss, and I’m that grateful, I am. It’s our Mae. It’s her time and the doctor’s away. The old midwife died last month and there’s no one to help Mae but her Ma. Please, Miss, there’s something wrong and the babe won’t come. My wife and Thomas are frantic. We don’t know what to do.” The burly man’s chin quivered and tears rolled down from his face.

Belle set aside her tea and crossed the room to the distraught man. “Of course I’ll come, Mr. Ferris. Take me to them, please.” Belle paused in the doorway to turn back to Damaris. “Your Grace, I must take my leave. I’m certain you understand.”

Damaris’ looked pale and more than a little frightened, but surprisingly she shook her head. “I’ll stay here in case you need help. I can fetch and carry if nothing else.”

Belle smiled at her. She’d been right, Damaris Wentworth was no fainting flower. “I’d welcome your assistance, your grace.” Belle and Damaris hurried after Mr. Ferris.

Thomas sat in a hard wooden chair in the hallway outside the bedroom where Mae struggled to give birth. His eyes were red-rimmed from crying. He sprang to his feet at the sight of Belle and Damaris. He fixed his eyes on Belle, begging her to do something. Damaris moved to take his arm and spoke soothingly to him. Her kindness spoke volumes about her and Belle's admiration for the woman deepened.

Mae’s cries rang out from beyond the bedroom door and Thomas looked as though he were about to break through it and run to her side. Mr. Ferris forestalled him by seizing his arm in a firm grip. “Tis not our place, lad. Let the womenfolk help her,” he said.

Belle patted Thomas’ arm as she passed him. “I promise to do my best for your wife and child, Thomas.” Damaris and Belle quickly entered the bedroom.

Belle scrubbed her hands and set to work examining Mae. As she feared, the young woman was ready to deliver her child, but where Belle should have seen the crown of a head, she saw a pair of tiny feet. Suddenly, she was back in a stiflingly hot room in Tuscany trying to reassure both herself and an Italian nobleman his beautiful, English wife and her child would survive. Had it not been for Duncan Gillian’s skill that night, likely neither Sarah, nor her son would’ve seen the morning. Belle fervently prayed Mae’s situation proved less dire.

Duncan's training had been a godsend to Belle and she moved about the room collecting the items she would need for the birth. A large kettle boiled on a hook in the fireplace. She drew a calming breath and tried to recall every detail Duncan had shared with her about Dr. Semmelweis’ work at the Vienna Maternity Hospital. The man was a genius, Duncan claimed and he assured Belle that one day the doctor’s theories on preventing childbed infections would prove absolutely correct. Semmelweis suffered sneers from many of his compatriots for insisting that infections were carried from patient to patient because doctors and medical students didn’t wash their hands in between examinations. He believed medical students to be among the worst offenders. They routinely treated patients directly after examining cadavers without pausing to wash their hands or change their soiled surgical aprons.

“Ladies, would you please make good use of this excellent soap and scrub your hands and arms,” she instructed. Both women rushed to comply as Belle gathered up shears, twine and a small knife and placed them in the wash basin. She hurried to the fireplace to retrieve the kettle and poured the boiling water over the items in the bowl.

Mae cried out from the bed as she fruitlessly struggled to push the baby out. Belle grabbed a clean bath sheet and tied it around herself as Mrs. Ferris held tightly to Mae’s hand murmuring words of comfort. Damaris stood white-faced at the other side of the bed. She looked at Belle helplessly.

“Begin as you mean to go on,” Belle said quietly and offered her an encouraging smile. “Help me get Mae to the edge of the bed.” The young woman whimpered and pleaded for them to leave her be, to let her rest. While her mother and Damaris would have relented, “Hell’s Belle” would not. Mae was growing weaker and Belle knew that if she lost the strength needed to help them deliver her child there would be little any of them could do that wouldn’t put both mother and child at grave risk. Mae had to fight. “You’ll do as I tell you, Mae,” she said sharply. “It’s time we saw this baby born. Now, let’s set to work, shall we?” Mae whimpered a bit more, but gave no further protest.

If the other women were shocked by Belle’s stern demeanor, they wisely kept it to themselves. Within moments Mae knelt on hands and knees at the edge of the bed. The baby had already dropped into the birth canal so there would be no attempt to turn the baby at this point. Belle steeled herself to deliver the child in a breach position. Mae’s cries would have broken a heart of stone, but Belle forced her attention to remain on her task. Damaris tried her best to hold back her tears and Mrs. Ferris soothed her daughter as best she could. Belle imagined the terrible fear gnawing at the older woman as she tended her own child through a difficult and dangerous birth.

The other women helped Mae sit on the edge of the bed while Belle hastily spread pillows and clean sheets on the floor between the young woman’s legs. With assistance from the other women, Belle helped Mae squat over the pillows, then started rocking her gently back and forth. Belle prepared herself to guide the infant’s legs from the mother and knew the difficult part would be delivering the baby’s shoulders and head as Mae’s passage worked to contract over the largest part of her child.

Belle waited for the next contraction and then issued her commands. “Push, Mae, push. Concentrate on the pain and push for me, for your child. Come on!” She waited for the torso to appear and only then did she reach to guide to guide the infant’s arms and shoulders into the world. The rest happened quickly.

“It’s a boy!” Belle cried out, then dipped the child’s head down to encourage the first cry – not that the baby needed much encouragement. The tiny infant hollered gustily as the duchess and Mrs. Ferris eased Mae back onto the bed and both mother and daughter clung to each other and cried. Damaris sought out Belle’s gaze. Both of them had lost their own mother – another thing they had in common. Damaris gave Belle a watery smile. They were friends in truth now by sharing common ground and their own trial by fire. She smiled back at Damaris in understanding.

Belle gently cleaned the infant boy, giving thanks that he’d been no bigger and that he was Mae’s second child. Otherwise the day could have ended quite tragically. Thomas bolted through the door as soon as Mrs. Ferris opened it. He fell to his knees beside his wife’s bed, tears coursing down his cheeks as he told her how much he loved her. Soon Mr. Ferris joined them and there was a great deal of happy weeping from all members of the Ferris family. After a time, Belle shooed out the proud grandparents and Thomas, who cradled his tiny son in his arms, cooing softly to him as he went. She needed to examine Mae and make certain none of the birth sack remained inside her and that there was no excessive bleeding.

After the adults left, Belle spied little Bess clinging to the door frame, her eyes wide and fearful. Who'd let her slip in? Bess looked up at Belle with a quivering mouth. As much as Belle longed to hold the child and comfort her, she still had work to do to ensure her mother's recovery. She turned to Damaris. “Mari will you please take Bess to her grandmother. I’m afraid they’ve quite forgotten her in all the excitement and I’m sure she’d like to meet her new brother. Wouldn’t you love?” she asked Bess. “You can visit with your mama a little later after she's rested.” Belle glanced up at Damaris and her smile melted away. Damaris looked horrified at the prospect of even touching the little girl.

“Mari,” Belle repeated firmly. When that yielded no result, she raised her voice and sharpened her tone. “Mari, take Bess to Mrs. Ferris now.” Damaris flinched and turned tear- filled eyes on the child. She nodded stiffly and after a moment more, knelt down and offered her hand to the little girl. Bess reached out her hand tentatively. Damaris took it and rose, tears filling her eyes. She said nothing to Belle as she left the room with Bess toddling at her side.