Page 6 of My Highland Rogue
“Are you very certain that this isn’t a new cradle, Lady Jennifer?”
Jennifer directed the footman to place the cradle in the corner of the room, bit back a sigh, and turned to the midwife.
“Yes, Mrs. Farmer. It’s the Adaire cradle. It was the one I was put into.”
She hoped Mrs. Farmer didn’t inquire further about the cradle. The midwife didn’t need to know the tragic history of Adaire Hall.
When her brother was an infant, a fire destroyed the north wing where the nursery was located. A nursery maid had died in the fire and her mother had been severely injured and nearly blinded attempting to save her son. She bore the scars from that night for the rest of her life.
“It’s just that it’s bad luck for the child to be placed into a new cradle.”
She knew that, but she’d been placed in a new cradle. It hadn’t done her any harm.
The midwife had a range of strange beliefs, including her request that a live hen be placed in the empty cradle to ensure that the child was a boy. Jennifer absolutely refused to carry a chicken into Lauren’s suite. The laundress had hand-washed the lace adorning the cradle and, per the Adaire custom, Jennifer had placed a silver coin under the pillow.
She had ordered a wheel of cheese, to be cut by Mrs. Farmer after the baby was born. In addition, she’d given orders to the cook and her staff to prepare a selection of currant loaves. One loaf, along with a bottle of Adaire whiskey, would be given to each visitor to the Hall for a month after the child’s birth.
A great many other traditions—or superstitions, depending on your opinion—accompanied the birth of a baby.
Mrs. Farmer, being the renowned midwife that she was, should depend less on superstition and more on her medical expertise. That wasnot, however, a comment Jennifer was going to say to the esteemed lady. Mrs. Farmer also had a temper.
The woman excused herself, no doubt to go and badger the cook or Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper.
Lauren had dropped off to sleep again, being nearly to term. She slept a great deal, which was, according to Mrs. Farmer, a good sign for a propitious birth. Jennifer had every intention of leaving the room without disturbing her sister-in-law, but when she reached the doorway, Lauren spoke.
“Are you going to leave me to Mrs. Farmer?”
Jennifer glanced back at the bed, then at the doorway.
Mrs. Farmer had unexpectedly shown up on their doorstep two weeks ago and announced that Hamish Campbell, Lauren’s father, had hired her to care for his daughter. Since Jennifer had been under the impression that Mr. Campbell was in America, she’d been surprised, at least until talking to Lauren.
“My father plans everything,” she said. “He leaves absolutely nothing to chance.” She’d smiled down at her burgeoning stomach. “Not even his grandchild.”
That is how Mrs. Farmer had come to rule their days and nights. Both Jennifer and Lauren were somewhat in awe of the woman, who didn’t seem to understand the wordno. Nor did she accept excuses, regardless of the topic. Therefore, it was just easier—for Jennifer—to avoid the woman.
Poor Lauren had no such escape.
Jennifer walked toward the bed. Lauren scooted over so she could sit on the edge of the mattress.
Her sister-in-law was petite, nearly dwarfed in the massive four-poster. Her hair, black and normally lustrous, had dulled in the past few months. Her distinctive blue eyes were rarely filled with laughter now.
Jennifer put that down to Harrison’s absence. It had been obvious from the beginning that Lauren adored her husband. Unfortunately, it had been as telling that Harrison barely tolerated his bride.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Lauren smiled. “Like I’m all baby and nothing else.”
“Mrs. Farmer said that the baby should be born shortly.”
Lauren sighed. “I do hope so, if for no other reason than not to disappoint her.” She levered herself up, then swung her legs off the bed. “I feel that everything I do is somehow wrong.”
“Nonsense, you’re perfect. I’m the one who gets lectured every hour of the day. Adaire Hall is too large, too sprawling, too cold, too hot, too isolated, too filled with strange noises. We have creatures, in her words. Animals creeping past her window all hours of the night.”
“She’s in the room next to me,” Lauren said, her brow furrowing.
“Exactly. How can anything creep past her window on the second floor?”
Lauren’s smile was delightful to see. “Maybe it’s a bat.”
