Page 76 of The Lady's Last Mistake
He’d spent the rest of Monday in his home surgery, seeing a few patients whose ailments battled for his attention,though barely triumphed. He told himself to be thankful for the work. Otherwise, he might have devised a way to meet with Cassie again. Getting through the night, alone in his bed, had been a study in torture. He could have gone out, to the Fallen Arch or another club, but it would not have helped. In fact, it might have made things worse, especially if Martha was there to drape herself over him. He wanted no one and nothing but Cassie.
Tuesday, he could not stay at home while his blood continued to boil, so he’d taken himself to the boxing club to replace his unchecked desire with blunt pain. It had worked. Somewhat.
But it was the urgent message Patrick carried with him from Hope House that had successfully dashed away every lingering carnal thought, replacing them with cold trepidation.
Grant knocked twice on the back door, then thrice more after a two-second pause. The door opened an inch, and the face he had not been able to expunge from his mind stared up at him, her blue eyes pleading.
“You came,” Cassie breathed out in a rush, allowing him into the kitchen. She shut and locked the door behind her.
“Did you expect me not to?”
At Cassie’s flinch, he realized it had come out more harshly than necessary.
“It is only that I know you don’t attend births,” she replied, her strain evident in the crease between her brows. Curls of hair had come loose around her face, too.
Had anyone else called on him to attend a birth, he would have directed them to some other doctor. However, itwas Cassie asking, and Patrick had said she was alone at Hope House. That had spurred him on ever faster.
“What has happened?” Grant asked. “Where is Miss Khan?”
Cassie led him from the kitchen, toward the slim corridor and stairs. He noted that the door leading to the staged accountant’s office at the front of the building had a new second bolt lock. Good. They’d taken action following Mr. Youngdale’s attack.
“Elyse left a few hours ago for her dinner with Madame Archambeau and Miss Stone.”
“That is tonight?” The benefactresses had sent him an invitation in which to pass along to Hope House’s organizer, and he had. But he’d lost track of the days since then.
“I’ve sent a messenger to her there, but I don’t know how long it will take. And Mabel has been out for another birth. Everything was fine when they left,” Cassie explained as she started up the stairs. “But then one of the residents went into labor, and it’s progressing quickly. Faster than usual, and it’s only me and Sister Agnes here, and I didn’t know who else to turn to?—”
Grant reached for her hand sliding up the railing and stilled her. She turned, eyes wide and a bit wild. “Breathe, Cassie. Everything will be fine. You’re not alone now.”
She exhaled, visibly attempting to calm. Then, more evenly, she told him what the problem was. “Mrs. Rawling has four children. This is her fifth. She says something is wrong.”
Panic started thumping at the base of his skull, but Grant stopped it in its tracks. Cassie was already in distress; hewouldn’t add to it. She’d called on him. Needed him to be strong. As did Mrs. Rawling.
“Take me to her.”
Cassie led him to a small room. Well-furnished and comfortable, the room was simple but cozy. The woman on the bed, however, was in supreme discomfort. Red-cheeked and glistening with sweat, she grimaced as she held her round abdomen. Sister Agnes stood to greet him, appearing frazzled.
“I never learned a thing about birthing babies,” she said. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Doctor Brown.”
Grant shed his greatcoat and jacket and got to work. He’d attended several births before Sarah’s death and like most things having to do with the practice of medicine, the knowledge came back to him without delay. A swift birth was normal for a woman who had already borne several children, and Mrs. Rawling was fully dilated and ready to push. But after an examination, Grant understood what she had meant about something being wrong.
The constriction around his throat set in again. He met the mother’s imploring eyes, and then Cassie’s.
“The baby is transverse. That means it’s in a crosswise position. It should be facing head down by now.” Mrs. Rawling closed her eyes. She knew what this meant. “Were any of your other children breech?”
She shook her head. “Oh, Mother Mary, help me.”
Cassie took her hand and looked to Grant. “What can you do?”
Most babies stuck in the breech position and thus, unable to come down the birth canal did not live. Neither did their mothers. But with Cassie looking at him, expectantand hopeful that he had some answer, he would do anything not to let her down.
“It means we need to turn the baby into the correct position,” he said. “I’ve seen it done a few times, and it can be successful.” He removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves. “Sister Agnes, we need more hot water. Bring several basins, bathing soap, and linens. Miss Banks, do you have any laudanum on hand?”
Cassie released the woman’s hand and stood, nodding. “I think so.”
“Good. I don’t generally like opium, but turning the baby is going to be painful. A small dose would relax you, Mrs. Rawling, making the turning easier.”
The woman nodded, eager for anything that might help. Cassie found the medicine in Miss Khan’s office, and within minutes of administering no more than five drops, Grant began to press the woman’s abdomen in the fashion he’d seen from a few of the more progressive male midwives at university. Applying pressure against the womb to influence the baby to turn was complicated, but if external manipulation was successful, he may not require the forceps he had placed into his bag. The device would often kill the baby while sparing the mother. It would be a last option.
