“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“Then we will take him to my washroom,” Madeline announced. She glanced at the maid. “Have the bath full of hot water, as hot as you can.”
“Are you going to put the baby in the hot water, Your Grace?” the maid gasped, her eyes widening.
Madeline sighed. “No, of course, I am not. We need steam, and lots of it. Bring up any other copper tubs you can find and fill them too. We want the room full of steam.”
“It will loosen the mucus in the baby’s lungs,” Joan added, brightening a little. “I can do this, Your Grace.”
“No, I want to do it,” Madeline insisted, clutching Adam to her chest. “He is my responsibility. I should not have left him. Let’s hurry.”
An hour later, the washroom was full of steam. It hung in the air, condensing on the walls, and dampened Madeline’s hair until ithung limply around her neck. Her dress stuck to her body, and sweat beaded on her forehead.
Joan was in very much the same position and constantly dabbed her face with a now-damp towel.
The door was kept firmly closed, and the maids knocked before entering. Madeline held Adam in her arms, murmuring reassuringly to him under her breath. The baby’s skin was damp and clammy, but already the warm steam seemed to ease his breathing. Every now and then, Joan took the baby from her and carefully held him in her arms so that his head pointed slightly downwards. She gently jiggled him, patting his back, and often Adam would cough.
It had occurred to Madeline, quite out of nowhere, that at one time this scene would have turned her stomach. Right now, however, that did not seem to matter one bit. She almost wanted to laugh.
“If you already knew it was croup, Joan, why did you not do this before we arrived?” Madeline asked after a while.
Joan sighed, lowering herself onto a stool. Already, Madeline knew that this was something surprising. Nobody seemed to sit in her presence anymore, and it made her feel—well, she felt estranged, as though she wasn’t a person anymore. She was aduchess, which was, of course, entirely different.
“It can be difficult being a nursemaid,” Joan said at last, wiping a hand across her face. “We nurses grow to love our chargesalmost as much as any parent. I hope you don’t think that I am referring to you, Your Grace, when I say that we nurses love our charges more, sometimes, than their own parents do. We love those children, but they are not ours. We are reminded every day that they are not ours, and we dare not overstep. I have been scolded before by my employers for offering a child a simple tincture, or even a lemon-and-honey tea, when they would rather I did not. I suppose I am afraid of overstepping.”
Madeline bit her lip. “I understand. But I would never have accused you of such a thing, Joan.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. When I saw the baby ill, I suppose I panicked. Not at all the sort of thing you’d want in a nurse.”
“You did not panic, Joan. See, Adam is recovering. This is working. All will be well.”
She reached out, placing a hand on the nurse’s broad shoulder. There was a misty look in Joan’s eyes now. The conversation flagged, but Madeline could not shake the thought that there was something else, something on the tip of Joan’s tongue.
She knew what it felt like to itch to speak, to say something, only to have to hold oneself back. In her case, what had held her back was her own reserve, her anxiety about speaking wrongly. In Joan’s case, the disparity between their stations was likely the cause. After all, one of them was a duchess, and the other was a nursemaid.
Not right now, though,Madeline thought determinedly.Right now, we are simply two women in a steam-filled washroom, praying equally hard for a child to survive.
“Joan?” she pressed after a moment. “You seem upset. What is it?”
Joan swallowed, not meeting her eyes.
“I had a baby myself, once,” she blurted out. “Many years ago.”
“I… I did not know you were married.”
Joan nodded. “I married young. Left service to wed him, and we had a baby right away. I was happy, Your Grace. Life was not easy, but it was full of joy. I lost my baby and my husband on the same night, can you believe it? A fever. It swept through our village and took them both. I should have recognized the signs of croup straightaway in little Master Adam, but I only saw the fever. In a moment, I was there again, in our little one-room cottage. I apologize, Your Grace. I was slow to act.”
“All is well, Joan,” Madeline reassured her, pulling up a stool to sit beside her. Joan held out her arms for Adam, and Madeline passed the baby over. Adam was growing in energy, it seemed, and the glazed look had gone from his eyes. He still coughed occasionally, but not as horribly as before. His lungs rattled less now, too.
Joan bit her lip, glancing away. “I am not unhappy, Your Grace. My life is good, and I have friends and family. People endure tragedy every day. I would rather have had my baby and lost her than to have never had my baby at all. When you have a child of your own, Your Grace, you’ll understand.”
Madeline swallowed. “I… I don’t intend to have children, Joan.”
She didn’t know what reaction she expected from the nursemaid. Surprise, at least. Perhaps disgust or even censure. Pity, even, or possibly Joan would simply brush aside her comment, telling her that she did not know what she was talking about.
Joan eyed her thoughtfully for a moment.
“I see,” she said at last. “Well, that is your decision and no one else’s, Your Grace.”
