Ida Bailey poked her head through the door once to inquire about Charlotte’s progress. That said, she stated her real mission for climbing the stairs. “Someone’s come for you, Lydia. He says Father Patrick sent him to make certain you arrived here safely and get home the same way.” Ida’s beringed fingers curled around the edge of the door and drummed lightly as she awaited Lydia’s response.
Lydia sighed. Pei Ling must have gone straight to the priest. “Did he tell you his name?” James or Henry, she thought. They would have been eager to make themselves useful where her safety was concerned.
“Nathan Hunter.”
“Mr. Hunter!”
Charlotte cried out again, her thin face contorting with pain. Lydia forgot about her own situation as the doctor announced the baby was indeed coming.
Impatient to be gone, Ida asked, “What do you want we should do with Mr. Hunter?”
“Entertain him,” Lydia said succinctly.
Ida’s rosebud mouth curved in a sly, catlike grin. “A pleasure.” She slipped back into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind her.
Dr. Franklin cleared his throat and caught Lydia’s eye. “It’s breech. I’m not sure I can—”
“You damn well better,” she whispered coldly. She turned back to Charlotte and soothed her with encouraging words and kindness. It wasn’t enough. Charlotte let out a scream of terror and pain as Franklin attempted to turn the baby.
“You’re going to have to hold her,” Franklin said. He motioned Ginny over to the bed. “Both of you. Make sure she keeps her knees up.”
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish now,” Lydia warned Ginny.
“I’m not,” the prostitute said. “Well, not much. But you surprise me.”
Lydia shrugged as if it were unimportant. She wrung out the cloth in the basin and sponged off Charlotte’s neck and shoulders. The young girl’s breathing was quick and shallow and her heartbeat fluttered rapidly against her chest. “What are you doing to her, Franklin?” Lydia demanded. “Can’t you—”
Ginny broke in. “She’s passed out.”
Lydia glanced down at Charlotte. Her face was pasty white, her lips a bluish gray. There was no reason now for Lydia to mince her words. “What’s happening to her, Franklin? What in God’s name have you done?” She eased her hand out of Charlotte’s and went to the end of the bed where the doctor stood. Lydia blanched when she saw the blood. “My God! You’ve torn her. She’s hemorrhaging!”
“That baby’s not coming out,” Franklin said. He turned away and went for his satchel.
Lydia picked up the bloody forceps the doctor had been using and jammed them into the small of his back. “You take another drink and I swear I’ll force these down your throat.” She poked him again, harder this time, and when he turned around awkwardly, unsteady on his feet, she jabbed the forceps at his middle. “You damn drunkard. Do something for her! Make the bleeding stop!”
Franklin pushed the forceps away and took a step backward, holding his hands in front of him to ward Lydia off. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said without emotion.
“I don’t believe you,” Lydia said hoarsely. “There must be something you can do.”
“She’s going to die.”
“Damn you.”
He shrugged. “She’s just a whore.”
Enraged by his callousness, Lydia raised her arm to strike him. Ginny’s hand stayed her. “Don’t do it, Miss Lydia. Look at him. He can’t help Charlotte.”
Tears flooded Lydia’s dark blue eyes. She lowered her arm until it was pointing at the door. “Get him out of here, Ginny. Show him the door and tell Miss Bailey that I’ll need towels, menstrual cloths, and boiling water to sterilize these instruments. Also, get someone up here who thinks theycando something. Hurry, Ginny.” Lydia drew up her gown and knelt at the bottom edge of the bed. “I’m not giving up, even if he has.”
Lydia began by trying to stem the flow of blood. Using the linens that Ginny had brought earlier, she made packs and pressed them against Charlotte’s thighs. Charlotte went in and out of consciousness as the contractions came on more rapidly, and Lydia had no clear idea what to do with a breech birth. “Oh, please, Charlotte, you’ve got to help,” she whispered. “You’ve got to.”
The door opened behind Lydia. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Nathan Hunter walk into the room. He threw his jacket beside the doctor’s satchel and rolled up his shirtsleeves as he approached the bed.
“You!” Lydia cried. “What are you—”
Nathan did not answer. He simply picked Lydia up and moved her off the bed. Her legs unfolded under her and he set her on the floor. “Ginny’s bringing the things you asked for. Go help her.”
Lydia responded to the authority in Nathan’s tone and stopped questioning his presence or his right to order her around. She hurried off to lend her assistance to Ginny.
