Isabella forced herself to breath slowly and deeply. It was imperative that she gain control of her emotions and her queasy stomach, she thought ruefully. Maggie needed her.
Isabella stared at the earl in the shimmering candlelight. Very slowly she nodded her head in agreement.
“Wait outside,” she said softly. “It will only take a moment for me to dress.” With obvious relief, the earl turned from her and walked to the door. As his hand touched the brass handle, Isabella whispered from the shadows of the bed.
“When this is all over, sir, and, the good Lord willing, Maggie is safely delivered of her babe, I expect you to explain precisely what you were doing in here before I awoke.”
Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately, the scene that greeted Isabella and Damien when they entered Maggie’s bedchamber was not as gruesome as Isabella’s active imagination anticipated. Maggie, dressed in a loose flowing nightgown, was pacing the room slowly while her husband, Fred, impatiently watched. Fran was fussing over the bed, smoothing down the sheets, arranging and rearranging the pillows. Jenkins was hunched over the fireplace, methodically adding logs to an already blazing fire.
“It was very good of you to come, Miss Browning,” Fred said the moment he spied Isabella.
Isabella smiled nervously at Maggie’s husband. Although he was outwardly calm, she observed the sporadic twitching of Fred’s hands. His eyes darted constantly to his wife, and Isabella saw him wince visibly as Maggie suddenly ceased her pacing and bowed her head in pain.
“Well, Maggie, I am told the moment is upon us at last,” Isabella proclaimed brightly. She gave the maid a look that she hoped conveyed the confidence and reassurance she was far from experiencing. “If you gentlemen will excuse us, I believe Maggie and I can handle things from this point on.”
The men shuffled silently out the door, and Fran hovered expectantly by the bed, clearly torn between her desire to go and feelings of loyalty to remain. “It is best if you leave too, Fran. I promise I shall call if I need you.”
Fran hesitated a moment, then bestowed a wavering smile on Maggie. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Would you please see to Fred for me?” Maggie requested. “I know he is trying to be brave for my sake, but I swear he turned paler each time a pain gripped me. I’d feel much better knowing you were watching out for him.”
“Of course, Maggie,” Fran replied, clearly thankful to be able to perform at least some useful task for her friend.
The room turned eerily quiet after Fran left. Maggie took a tentative step toward Isabella, but stopped short when a strong contraction overtook her body.
“Is it true the bridge is flooded, Miss Browning? The midwife won’t be coming?”
“Yes, the bridge is impassable,” Isabella confirmed quietly. She reached out and tenderly brushed the hair from Maggie’s face. The maid looked so frail and frightened and alone. “But I’m here, Maggie. And I’m going to help you. Did I ever tell you my ... father was a doctor?”
“I recall Mr. Jenkins mentioning it once.” Maggie cautiously straightened her body and pressed a fist into her aching back. Isabella watched her every movement.
“You learn things growing up in a physician’s household,” Isabella lied baldly. “I have more experience than you might think.” There was no point in scaring Maggie any further. What she needed was reassurance. As far as Isabella was concerned, a white lie at this point certainly seemed in order.
“What should I do?”
Isabella felt a tiny stirring of relief. Maggie accepted her. Isabella looked at the young girl hugging her cramping abdomen and prayed she was up to the task. “Does walking help ease the pain?”
“Some.”
“Good. Then let’s keep at it.” Isabella moved next to Maggie and placed a comforting arm around her. “I’ll help you.”
The next few hours passed slowly for the two women. Maggie’s pains were obviously increasing, though she made a gallant effort to hide it. When Isabella noticed Maggie tiring, she insisted they abandon the pacing in favor of the bed. She wiped the maid’s face with a cool, damp rag and tightly held her hand when the contractions grasped Maggie’s body. And Isabella talked. Endlessly.
She’d gotten it into her head that keeping up a constant stream of inane chatter would distract Maggie from her pain. So Isabella told amusing, and for the most part fictitious, stories from her childhood. She talked until her voice was nearly hoarse and her throat felt dry and raw.
It seemed to work for a while, but after a time Isabella noted a marked change. Maggie’s contractions came closer together, and Isabella could tell by the way Maggie clenched her teeth that they were fierce and violent.
Isabella reached out a comforting hand and rested it on Maggie’s abdomen. She could feel the intense tightening of the womb through the nightgown as the babe within lurched and quivered. As the pain washed over her, Maggie dug her heels into the mattress, arched her back and lifted her convulsing body off the bed.
“It hurts, oh, how it hurts.” Maggie winced, twisting her head from side to side.
It was nearly unbearable to watch Maggie suffer so intensely, but Isabella forced down her own fright. Her torment was nothing compared to the agony Maggie now endured. Helplessly, Isabella pushed back Maggie’s dark, sweat-dampened hair.
“Have courage, Maggie,” Isabella whispered. “It will all be over soon.”
For the thousandth time, Isabella again reviewed in her mind the few birthing instructions she knew. Over and over the stern voice echoed in her head, a memory of that long-ago day in her childhood when she had witnessed that awful birth.You must push as hard as you can when the head appears, you must push as hard as you can when the head appears.
