Drawing in a deep breath, Hettie grabbed hold of her resolve and took the plunge. “Enough, Mrs. Baxter. You need to leave. I insist. You are distressing Charity, and I will not have it.”
Mouth hanging open, Mrs. Baxter gaped at her. “You will not have it? Who are you to say anything? You do not belong here.”
“What is going on?”
Four little words and Hettie felt the ground drop out from beneath her. It was bad enough to face down Mrs. Baxter, but when the lady’s husband appeared in the doorway with Mr. Goswick on his heels, dread settled into her stomach, weighing her down.
“Are you causing trouble?” asked young Mr. Baxter, his gaze boring into Hettie.
From her bed, Charity stared at the gathering group, her breaths coming faster as she surrendered to another pain. Gripping her middle, she curled in on herself, and Hettie hurried to her bed, sitting on the edge as she took Charity’s hand in hers.
“She is distressing Charity and demanding that I leave,” said Mrs. Baxter, jabbing a finger toward Hettie.
The trio began speaking over one another, oblivious to Charity’s pain. Hettie could hardly catch one word in three, though she wished she couldn’t understand that much, for none of it was complimentary to either the speaker or the object of their ire. Baxter peered into the room from behind them, but they formed a veritable wall, blocking him. Hettie saw his lips moving, but his words were swallowed up in the cacophony.
“Stop that this instant!” shouted Charity.
Mrs. Baxter quickly moved to her side, attempting to push Hettie away. The noise doubled as voices shouted over one another, demanding and conjecturing in a flurry of hard sounds. Hettie tried to hold onto her equanimity, but when Charity met her gaze once more, her eyes pleading for assistance, Hettie’s patience fractured into a dozen little pieces.
Whatever the cost to her, she had to help Charity.
“Enough!” Hettie’s voice boomed above the fracas like the blast of a cannon, stunning everyone enough that silence fell. With a glance at Mrs. Johnson, who moved to take her place once vacated, Hettie rose to face the rest of them.
“Leave! Now!” Hettie pointed toward the door, and the others watched her with varying degrees of shock and horror.
“How dare you,” said Mrs. Baxter. “Charity wishes me here—”
“She asked me and Mrs. Johnson to manage things. You can wait with the others in the library,” replied Hettie.
Mrs. Baxter looked to Charity, but if she expected support, she found none.
“Go, Camilla. I am tired and just wish for this all to be over. Leave me to it. Now.”
Gaping, Mrs. Baxter turned a hard gaze to Hettie. “You have poisoned my sister-in-law against me. Charity is not in her right mind, and you’ve used that to worm your way into her good opinion.”
Pride sparked in Hettie’s heart, burning hot and wild as it demanded that she level the truth on Mrs. Baxter’s irritating shoulders—it was she who had earned her ejection from the lying-in room—but it would do no good, and the only thing that mattered was Charity’s comfort.
“Leave. Now,” repeated Hettie, stepping forward to herd them out. The rest of them stared at her, and she shouted once more, “Out!”
With unyielding steps, she nudged Mrs. Baxter toward the door. The lady mounted more objections, but for all Mrs. Baxter’s bluster, Hettie was certain the truth was blazing in her hard gaze. At this juncture, Hettie was quite ready to fall into a scrap with the woman if she didn’t move, and Mrs. Baxter wasn’t determined enough to face down a heftier lady.
Hettie sent a silent prayer of thanks for Baxter as he forced the group back into the library. The sounds of their discontent echoed through the door, but once it was closed, the sound was muffled enough that Hettie could breathe again. Her fingers felt weak, as though all shouting and anger still reverberated through her, and she kept her hand on the door handle, allowing herself a moment to gather her nerves.
Chapter 22
Asob shattered Hettie’s fledgling peace, and she turned to see Charity covering her face. Hurrying to her side, she helped Mrs. Johnson adjust the pillows and blankets into their proper spots, all while she tried to think of something soothing to say.
“All is well,” she finally managed. “Do not let them upset you.”
Charity’s breaths came in ragged gasps, and she frowned at herself. “I am not usually so overwrought, but I cannot bear another moment of this. I hurt from head to toe, this stubborn baby will not come, and my family is being absolutely wretched!”
Seized with another pain, she moaned, and Hettie quickly returned to her seat, taking hold of Charity’s hand. The grip tightened around her fingers until Hettie was certain one of her fingers might break, yet she kept her expression calm and impassible. Charity’s eyes were squeezed shut as she fought through this bout, but Hettie still maintained the facade, counting the seconds until Charity relaxed once more.
Falling back into the pillows, she lifted her free hand to pinch her nose. The pains were lasting longer and coming quicker, so surely Charity was drawing nearer to the end, though it was still some ways off. Hettie only prayed that it would come faster for everyone’s sake.
Charity’s breaths were ragged, and Hettie patted her hand, drawing the lady’s attention. Taking in a deep lungful of air, she urged the anxious mother to do the same. Though Charity scowled for a moment, she did as she was bidden, and with several long inhales, they were able to slow her breathing once more. But even when she was calmed, the lady’s gaze was bleak as she watched Hettie.
“I apologize for my family, and thank you for not leaving me—though you have every reason to wish the lot of us to Hades. They are so terrible to you.”
