Nora leaned closer. “But Dr. Adams has examined you?”
“Yes, he calls every week, pays particular attention to my sleep and my diet.” Her face twisted, and her hand clutched tightly around Ruth’s, provoking a wince.
Ruth didn’t draw back. “Squeeze my fingers. It’ll pass.”
But Mrs. Roland was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, writhing against the sheets.
“You don’t need to be quiet, love,” Ruth said, and Mrs. Roland let out a piteous gasp.
“Everything’s wrong. I feel all wrong.” Her voice rose, high and panicked.
“Not everything,” Nora said wryly, but only Ruth could hear. “Check her fundus…I mean, the height of her womb.”
The contraction passed, and Ruth’s hands traced the same path Nora’s had, her eyes widening.
“Seven months?” She snorted. “This babe’s full grown.”
“When you bled last, was it the same? The usual amount of blood, the same number of days?” Nora asked.
Mrs. Roland looked at her helplessly, her breaths still coming fast.
“No,” Gladys filled in. “The bleeding was milder, both times.”
Nora nodded. She was confident in her assessment, but just in case… “When Dr. Adams came, did he touch you? Inside or on your belly?”
Gladys looked horrified and vigorously shook her head. “That wasn’t needed. He listened for the babe’s heart, but there was no reason to put his hands on her.”
Ruth barked a laugh. “No reason?” But she stopped, intercepting Nora’s look.
“I didn’t wish it,” Mrs. Roland confirmed. “So uncomfortable.” She was too red and sweaty to blush, but shifted uneasily against the sheet.
“Well, there are certain things we can verify by feeling your middle,” Nora said gently. “Such as how far along you are.”
She rested the edge of her hand at the top of the uterus. “So unless you’re carrying twins, I’d say this baby is coming right on time. You are just the right size to be nine months along.”
“Sometimes there’s still some bleeding early on,” Ruth added. “Doesn’t mean your child isn’t there, growing.”
Mrs. Roland licked her lips. “Then—”
Gladys intervened, pressing a glass of wine to Mrs. Roland’s lips. “You’re thirsty, ma’am. Wet your throat first.”
She complied, downing two quick sips. “You’re saying my baby’s ready? I don’t need to stop it?”
“You couldn’t even if you tried,” Ruth said.
“And we’re going to help you,” Nora said. “This is the right time.”
While Gladys ran to share the good news with Lady Woodbine and alert the household, Nora used the intervals between contractions to complete her exam.
“How many fingers?” Mrs. Franklin asked Nora.
“Five or six. She’s very elastic. Hard to say.”
Mrs. Roland’s nose flickered, and then she squeezed her eyes closed, the muscles in her neck tightening. After a long minute, she breathed again. “That was the worst one. Lord, my back is going to break.” She raised a hand to her mouth, the color draining from her face.
Ruth moved to her side with the chamber pot just as she vomited.
“It’s the exam,” Ruth explained, moments later, as she sponged Mrs. Roland’s face. “Some women’s bodies react more to being touched during labor.”
