Neither of them waited for her to finish.
CHAPTER 8
Cecily gathered her skirts and moved.
Isadora was already ahead of her, the gravel loud under her shoes. The back door was closer than it had any right to be, then it was suddenly behind her as she burst into the corridor and turned toward the stairs without breaking stride.
The sound reached her before she reached the nursery. It was not the full-throated cries of a healthy, furious baby—she knew that sound by now. This was different. Thinner. The weak, effortful sound of a baby working too hard at something that should not require work at all.
Her chest tightened.
She bolted up the last flight of stairs and burst through the nursery door to find chaos.
The nurse was at the window with her hands pressed together at her mouth, her face the color of old linen. Two maids hovered near the door with the desperate looks of people who wanted to help and had nothing to offer.
The cradle had been moved to the center of the room—someone’s instinct, she supposed—and the lamp had been turned up high so the light was sharp and unsparing.
James was standing beside the cradle. The sight of him stopped her for a half beat before she made herself move again. He was still in his dinner clothes, his cravat pulled loose, and was standing with both hands gripping the edge of the cradle.
His face was… She had no word for it. She had never seen it like that.
He looked up when she came in.
“Where is the physician?” His voice was barely controlled.
“Sent for twenty minutes ago, Your Grace,” one of the maids answered.
“That is not what I asked.” He looked at her. “Where is he?”
“He—The footman only just?—”
“Send another footman.” He turned back to the cradle. “Send two.”
The maid fled.
Isadora crossed the room. The baby was lying on her back in the cradle, her small chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. Her face was flushed, her eyes were half-open and unfocused, and the sound she was making seemed to require enormous effort.
“How long has she been like this?” Isadora asked, panic evident in her voice.
“The nurse found her twenty minutes ago.” James did not look up from Violet. “She was crying normally when I checked on her at eight. And then—” He stopped. “Twenty minutes.”
“Has anyone held her?”
“I…”
She could hear what he did not say.I tried, and I did not know if I was helping or making it worse.
“She became more distressed when I held her, so I put her back.”
Isadora reached into the cradle.
“Careful,” James warned sharply.
“I know.” She kept her voice even. “I have her.”
She lifted Violet slowly and cradled her against her chest, turning her slightly so she was more upright. The baby’s breathing was shallow, each inhale a struggle, and her cries were raspy and exhausted, like those of a child who had been frightened and could not stop.
“It is all right,” Isadora soothed. “I have you. You’re all right.”
