Page 72 of The Widow of Falbrooke Court (Ladies of Devon 3)

Chapter 21

“Is he back yet?” Amelia asked, pacing before the cold hearth in Mrs. Halpert’s room and wringing her hands. She’d sent her footman out to retrieve Mrs. Fowler when it was clear that Andrew was long gone, but that had been more than half an hour before, and she’d expected them back by now. She’d have far preferred sending him for Andrew, but it was more dangerous to try and locate her brother on the Tuckers’ property than it was worth, and he would be home relatively soon anyway—she hoped.

Tabby shook her head. “He should be here soon. I’m certain he will be.” The maid spoke with far more confidence than Amelia felt.

Mrs. Halpert’s hairline beaded with sweat, her eyes closed and forehead creased. Amelia had assisted her brother in matters of health plenty of times, but she knew nothing about this. She did not know how to help a woman give birth, or what to do once the babe arrived.

And Mrs. Halpert’s condition was not healthy. She needed someone who knew what they were about, not an ignorant widow.

Pacing to the corridor, Amelia was debating the merits of riding out to the Tucker farm herself and carefully searching for her brother when horse hooves sounded outside. She jumped to the open window, searching the darkness for the horse. A gig came into view, and though it was too dark to make out the figures riding in it, it was clearly two people.

Amelia sagged against the open window sill, releasing a breath. At least she would not have to do this alone.

Mrs. Halpert’s cry rang from her room, and Amelia shot across the corridor and to the woman’s bedside. “What is it?”

Tabby looked up from where she perched on the edge of the mattress, holding Mrs. Halpert’s hand near the head of the bed. “It is nearly time.”

It did not take a great deal of effort to understand what the maid meant by that, and Amelia sent up a prayer of gratitude that someone had arrived in time to assist them. “The gig just returned.”

“Thank the heavens,” Tabby breathed.

Amelia gave a small smile. “I already have.” Turning, she ran from the room, raising her hem to avoid tripping as she rushed down the corridor and halted at the top of the stairs. Matthew held the front door open as a short, slender woman stepped into the house, her dark gray hair liberally sprinkled with white and pulled away from her face. She stepped with measured confidence and wore an expression of mild interest, and she wholly intimidated Amelia.

“Mrs. Fowler?” Amelia asked.

The woman looked up, and Amelia could see the wisdom in her timeworn eyes, softening her.

“It is time.” Amelia repeated Tabby’s words, hoping the woman took her meaning.

She seemed to, for Mrs. Fowler started toward her at once, steadily climbing the stairs with measured haste. Amelia wasn’t entirely sure what she had expected this woman to be, but so far she had been completely mistaken in her previous assumptions. With kind, knowing eyes, Mrs. Fowler appraised Amelia then passed her, following Mrs. Halpert’s cries into the proper chamber.

Amelia followed, unsure of what to do or how she could be of service.

“Mrs. Halpert?” Mrs. Fowler said, gliding into the room and setting her satchel on a chair near the bed. “I am Mrs. Fowler, and I’ve come to help you. I need you to listen to me, for my instructions will sound strange, but you can believe they will relieve some of the pain in your back. Ready?” Her voice was so calm and persuasive that Amelia felt inclined to lean forward and obey the woman’s demands as well.

“Yes,” Mrs. Halpert said hoarsely.

“Good.” Her voice soft and velvety, Mrs. Fowler continued, “Now, I need you to brace yourself on your hands and knees.”

Tabby looked to Amelia, and she merely smiled, feigning confidence even as she grew wary. Mrs. Fowler’s calm, authoritative voice drifted into the recesses of her mind as Amelia’s gaze fell on the dark window. The men had been gone for hours, and she’d hoped they would have returned by now. She could only pray that they were safe, and all was well. Perhaps it was taking so long because they were carefully delivering the stolen horses back to Mr. Green’s and Charles’s stables.

She couldn’t dare hope about her own Howard. Not yet.

Mrs. Fowler sent Tabby for hot water and more towels, but Amelia went in her stead, only too eager to help where she might actually be of assistance. By the time she returned upstairs with the towels, Matthew behind her with a pitcher of hot water, Mrs. Halpert’s cries could be heard throughout the entire house. Delivering the items to the midwife, Amelia stepped back as Tabby set to work laying towels on the writing desk, which had been dragged next to the bed, and setting the hot water beside a basin.

“Take her hand,” Mrs. Fowler commanded.

Amelia, uncomfortable with such proximity at this intimate time, swallowed her modesty and obeyed, moving to Mrs. Halpert’s side and drawing a chair near. She offered her hand, and Mrs. Halpert took it at once, squeezing with all of her strength. She released it after a minute, and Amelia fought the urge to shake the blood back into her fingers. That her friend possessed this strength at all was something to be grateful for.

Mrs. Fowler picked up a towel. “This is it, Mrs. Halpert. Now.”

The woman grit her teeth and squeezed Amelia’s fingers as hard as she could. Time seemed to pass slowly as Mrs. Fowler directed Mrs. Halpert to push. Amelia maintained her focus on the woman, allowing her to squeeze her fingers as tightly as she needed to as her cries rang out through the room.

The moment happened so fast Amelia nearly missed it, so intent was her focus on her friend’s expression—exhaustion mixed with hope. Amelia’s own heart mirrored those very things.

In all the time she’d had Mrs. Halpert under her roof, caring for her and worrying over her health, she had not considered the acute fear Mrs. Halpert must have held onto for every second since becoming ill—that she would lose this child. The hope that the end was near, that her babe would soon be in her arms, was too potent to be hidden in the lines of her face, and it overrode every bit of discomfort Amelia felt.

A soft, muted cry broke through the room, and Amelia snapped her head up to find Mrs. Fowler holding a tiny, writhing babe in her hands, wrapped in a length of towel.

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