After drinking, the other sank back against the pillows. “Thank ye, miss. The pain comes in waves, but it’s passed fer now.”
“I’m glad. And, please, call me Rosie. You are…?”
“Name’s Sally, miss.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sally.” She went back to the washstand, returning with a wet towel, which she placed on the other’s sweaty forehead. “Is that better?”
“Yes, and ’aving company ’elps, Wish me ma were ’ere, but she passed.” Sally’s hazel eyes turned rueful. “Though she might turn in ’er grave if she knew I were in this pickle.”
Knowing a thing or two about maternal disapproval, Rosie squeezed the other’s hand in silent empathy.
Apparently eager to chat, Sally went on, “’Ave you known our Mr. Corbett long?”
“Most of my life,” Rosie said honestly.
“Fine gent, ain’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“And the best employer I ever ’ad. I didn’t catch this,”—she pointed to her sheet-covered belly—“from Corbett’s, you know. It were from another establishment. The minute they found out me condition, I was shown the door. Found myself in dire straits, I did, and it were a miracle Mr. Corbett took me in. ’E wanted to put me in the kitchens, but I told ’im,Scrubbin’ pots ain’t fer me. I got other talents.” She winked. “Turns out some coves’ll pay extra for a wenchwifextra, if ye catch me meaning.”
“Oh… well.” Flummoxed at how to respond to that, Rosie changed the subject. “So, um, if your mama were here, what would she do for you?”
“She’d sing. Whene’er me or one o’ my brothers or sisters were ill, she’d give us a tune, and it’d make things—ooh.” Her grip on Rosie’s hand tightened like a vise. “Oh, Lord, it’s comin’ again.”
“Shall I fetch someone?” Rosie said quickly.
“No, don’t leave me.” Sally broke off, her face contorting.
Screams came from across the hall, and Rosie knew that Andrew had his hands full. Desperation filled her as she looked at the woman groaning in the bed, the hand clutching hers. What could she do to help?
Impulse took over; she sang the first lines that came to her:
What's this dull town to me
When Robin’s not near
What was't I wish'd to see
What wish'd to hear
When she paused, Sally panted, “That’s pretty, miss. Give us another verse, then.”
So she did. When she finished the ballad, Sally asked for more, so she sang a Scottish air. Then another song. Her recital was accompanied by Sally’s heavy breaths and occasional groans. She’d gone through half her repertoire and was starting to feel like Scheherazade when Sally bit out, “Ye got to get ’old of the babe now.”
“Pardon?” Rosie squeaked.
“Grab the babe—it’s comin’ out.” Sally grimaced, shoving off the sheet and revealing her shift-clad body. “Me water came a few songs back, and I’ve been pushing since. The babe’sready.”
The last word came out in a howl, propelling Rosie to her feet. “I’ll go get Mr. Corbett—”
“Ain’t no time,” Sally yelled. “Get itnow.”
Panicked, Rosie dashed to the end of the bed.Dear Lord.
The babywascoming out of Sally. There was no time to faint, to do anything but act. She reached out and caught the wet slippery head as it slipped out.
“I’ve got the head,” she managed.
