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The doctor rose from her chair, obliging John to stand as well. She went to her husband and murmured, “I’d like to stay for a few more hours. Why don’t you go, and send someone for me later—”

“Not on your blessed life.”

“But Ethan, I need to—”

“I’ll not have your health put at risk.” Ransom stared down at his wife’s determined face, while one of his hands settled at her waist. “Come hinder wi’ you,” he said, and bent to press a kiss on the top of her head. “I gave you no argument about coming here, and you’ve had your will. But I’ll be taking you home now.”

Reina’s eyes widened as she realized the cause for his concern: Dr. Gibson was expecting a child of her own. Her condition was disguised by her slenderness and the higher-cut waist of her dress, but the curve of her stomach was unmistakable.

“Dr. Gibson,” she said, rising to her feet, “we’re so grateful—forever indebted—but your husband is right. You must rest now.”

Mrs. Caswell had come from the bedroom to the threshold, the sleeping baby in her arms. “I’ll be staying the night, Doctor,” she said. “I’ll watch over her.”

Dr. Gibson nodded slowly and flexed her shoulders as if they ached. “I’ll give Tuppence a dose of morphine, then. And I’ll return tomorrow to check on the baby.”

“May the rest of the staff see Tuppence?” John asked. “To say their goodbyes?”

“Yes, certainly,” the doctor said. “One or two at a time would be best.” She hesitated. “It’s often said in the medical profession that the sense of hearing persists until the very end. Sometimes a patient has been known to react in small ways to sounds and voices. You could tell the others that she might be aware of them on some level.”

Reina’s gaze fell to the bundle in the midwife’s arms. How impossibly small the baby was, and what a disproportionately large change he might bring to her life.

A chill cascaded through her. She was facing too many challenges already. This felt like something that would ruin her.

Women were supposed to have a natural maternal instinct when it came to babies and children. But Reina had never felt anything of the sort. In fact, she’d always found children vaguely alarming, with their squeals, screams, and laughs. They always seemed a mere two or three seconds away from doing something dangerous. They put small objects up their noses or broke vases or ate things they shouldn’t. And while Reina had been perfectly willing to have a child under her roof so long as it was Tuppence’s, it was a far different matter for her to be responsible for one.

Primero lo primero. Prioritize the most important problems.

The baby would need milk.

“How will I find a wet nurse?” she managed to ask.

“I know of someone,” Mrs. Caswell volunteered. “A young woman who recently arrived from Spain. She has no situation, and her husband is missing. This would be a lifeline for her. She’s staying with Señora Isabel and Don Ramón while she seeks employment.”

“Thank God,” Reina said. “I hate to trouble them in the middle of the night, but I’m sure they’ll understand the urgency.”

“I’ll see to it, ma’am,” John said.

“In the meantime,” Dr. Gibson said, “I’d advise giving the baby drops of sweetened barley water as a temporary measure.”

“I’ll brew some up,” the midwife said, “if someone would . . .” She glanced at Reina.

“Yes,” Reina said evenly, “I’ll hold the baby and sit with Tuppence for now. Once the barley water is ready, I’ll take him elsewhere to feed him, so the rest of the staff can have a few minutes with Tuppence.”

In a few minutes, John and the others had left the housekeeper’s sitting room.

Reina washed her hands and entered the bedroom. She paused at the sight of the still figure on the bed. Tuppence was dressed in a fresh white nightgown, her light hair braided in a single neat plait over one shoulder. Her face had the pristine look of porcelain, except for the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the place on her lower lip where she’d bitten it. There was no sign of pain or distress now. She looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

Slowly Reina went to occupy the chair at Tuppence’s bedside. “I’ve never held a baby before,” she said as Mrs. Caswell approached with the infant.

“Never? Well, there’s not much to it. What’s important is, keep the head and neck supported. Make a cradle of your arms. Here he comes.” Mrs. Caswell lowered the infant carefully into her arms. “Yes, just like that. The closer to your heart you hold them, the more they like it.” She stood back and smiled slightly. “Just like holding a dolly, when you were a girl, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t hold my dolly like this,” Reina said. “I usually dragged her about by the leg.”

The midwife smiled. “That won’t work for this poppet.”

The baby was incredibly light. He didn’t look like the cherubic babies in advertisements for soap or custard powder. The wisps of light hair over his scalp were plastered down with a waxy film. His face was a bit crumpled, the mouth a sullen rosebud, and his eyes were swollen like a prizefighter’s.