“Tea. Please.” Lady Emily said, collapsing into a chair.
“I thought you were counselled—”
“Give me tea. The strong stuff. So dark it looks like tar.” Lady Emily was normally genteel, even under these circumstances, but today she looked like a woman pushed too far.
“Of course,” Ophelia said, pouring her a fresh cup and handing it to her because setting it on the table would render the cup inaccessible to Lady Emily. Her belly was nearly a third of her.
Lady Emily drank it down, no sweetener, no cream. She held out her cup. “Another.”
Ophelia poured again, careful not to drip on the rug. Lady Emily drank it down again. “Again.”
Ophelia stood by and poured yet again, until Lady Emily signaled she was ready to slow down. When she did, the teacup rested on top of her belly.
“Do you think it will be soon?” Ophelia asked, unsure of what to say in such a situation.
“I hope so,” Lady Emily said, wincing as she pulled herself up. “I cannot take much more of this. I feel like an over-filled hot air balloon.”
“Sounds dangerous.” Ophelia watched her carefully, noting the puffiness that Eleanor sought to avoid settling in around all of Lady Emily’s features.
“Arthur convinced me not to drink black tea, and now it is all I crave. Someone gave him a fool notion that it would hurt the baby, but if that makes this baby kick its way out, then I’ll take all I can stomach!”
“Of course,” Ophelia said, thinking they needed to more tea at this rate.
“Oh,” Lady Emily said, opening her eyes wide.
“What is it?” Ophelia watched as Lady Emily held her belly and winced.
“It worked. Oh God, Ophelia, it worked. Give me more of that tea.” Lady Emily rattled her teacup.
Ophelia sprang to her feet with the teapot and poured. “Is this a good idea? I’m not sure it’s the best thing—”
“Pour the goddamn tea, Ophelia.” Lady Emily’s voice was low and feral.
Ophelia obliged, pouring down to the dregs. “I will call for some more.” When Ferris arrived to wait on them, Lady Emily was visibly distressed. Ferris became visibly distressed at Lady Emily’s visible distress, and Ophelia was in favor of not being in charge.
She sent Ferris down for more tea, called for her mother, dashed a note off to Arthur, and found some pillows to make Lady Emily more comfortable. The comfort didn’t last long, and soon Lady Emily was up and pacing.
“The pacing is helping, but my goodness—” She bent over in pain.
Ophelia went to her, and Lady Emily squeezed her hand so hard that Ophelia wasn’t sure there was an ounce of blood left in it. “So you need to get your mind off of it?”
Lady Emily stood back up, breathing hard. “I need to talk.”
Ophelia nodded, and Lady Emily began speaking and didn’t stop for a very long time. She covered every topic from dinner menus to her childhood friends.
It was more than Ophelia had heard Lady Emily speak in all the time she’d known her. By the time Arthur arrived home, many hours later, Lady Emily was ensconced in her room, in the thick of childbirth with a midwife in attendance and a physician on his way.
And it was some hours after that when the baby finished making its way into the world. Ophelia stood by Lady Emily every step of the way, breathing and sweating and fetching more bedding and swapping out food trays, and always tea, Lady Emily swore by the tea. Lady Rascomb stayed out with Arthur, and so Ophelia also gave swift updates, as she was the go-between for servants as well.
Somewhere in the clamor, in the intensity, Lady Emily had gripped her hand and said, “You are better than anyone I’ve ever met at—” and then the pain ripped through her, and Ophelia was left to wonder what she was better at.
But Ophelia didn’t question it. She took care of everyone’s needs, helped with the physician and the midwife, as both were called in, and neither of them wanted to share the patient. At one point, she was told she had a visitor, but Ophelia was too tired to accept the note or see anyone.
By the end of the process, she was elated and tired. Watching Lady Emily hold her baby was magical to see, and then witnessing Arthur do the same was heartbreaking. It was one thing to see Lady Emily or Portia hold her baby, and Ophelia had seen plenty of young mothers holding their children, but it wasn’t the same kind of revelation to her as it was to watch her brother’s face shift from shock to joy, as he fell in love with a tiny person in a fraction of a second. And soon, Tristan would also have the experience.
Ophelia smiled. And it was all thanks to a strong cup of tea.
*
