Page 62 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
There was nothing comforting about the room, but Enid had assured her that she had borne all her children in a similarly equipped chamber.
Her back ached so badly it felt like it was breaking. Was such a thing normal? Pain stretched across the width of her stomach, as if to wake her quiescent son. Had he been quiet in the last few hours to store up energy for his birth?
According to Enid, someone would sit with her during a long night, no doubt read the Bible. Were there any uplifting verses in the Bible? Was there something about the joy of childbirth? Or must she be told all those depressing stories?
Would she be brave? Would she be silent and stoic? She rather doubted it. When she was a little girl and cut herself, or fell down the steps, she wanted people to know she hurt.
What if she screamed? Perhaps she should, if for no other reason than to take advantage of this perfect opportunity to be less than demure and restrained. She could voice all the anger she had for Lawrence and all the grief about Macrath.
She wished Macrath were here. If he sat with her, holding her hand, she would be brave. She would be silent and stoic.
The pain tightened around her, threatening to cut her in two.
“Your ladyship.”
Thank God Hannah was here. She opened her eyes and tried to smile.
“I think it’s time, Hannah.”
Her maid said something but she couldn’t hear anything, her attention focused on the pain.
Now she was in the belly of the beast and its roaring took away her hearing and the crimson walls stripped everything from her sight. Even her child, the cause of this tearing, ripping agony, was secondary to this. She bowed down before it, gave it obeisance, allowed it to claim dominion over her, and when it retreated she lay gasping.
“Oh my dear girl,” Enid said from beyond the pain. “You’ve hours more of this.”
She wouldn’t be able to bear it.
Her mother-in-law sat beside the bed, patting Virginia’s hand, which meant she was being conciliatory and otherwise ignoring her.
“You don’t understand, Enid,” she said, trying to concentrate on the words above the pain. “I believe the child will be born soon.” With great difficulty she focused on her mother-in-law’s face.
“Nonsense, Virginia,” Enid said, her round face softening. “You can look forward to a day or more of labor. With Eudora, it was nearly three days for me.”
Was she supposed to endure this for three days? It didn’t seem possible that any woman could survive that.
“You must submit to my greater knowledge, Virginia. I’ve given birth three times.”
She nodded as another wave of pain sliced her in two, taking her breath and her thoughts.
“It’s hours before we need to fetch the midwife.” Enid stood, looking down at her. “We should get you to the third floor, though.” Glancing at Hannah, she said, “You’ll help your mistress.”
Hannah nodded.
Virginia kept silent, recognizing Enid’s stubbornness. Whatever her mother-in-law wanted she normally got, by sheer dint of her will and personality.
In this matter, however, Enid was wrong.
Her mother had died in childbirth. Would she, too? Would Macrath miss her?
Did he ever think of her?
She was about to bring the eleventh Earl of Barrett into the world, but his true father was on the other side of the earth. Would Macrath know, somehow, that an event of momentous import was about to happen?
Sydney, Australia
March, 1870
“Are you going to participate in the race, Mr. Sinclair?”
