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He can feel her eyes boring in to him as he paces back and forth. He knows she wants to scold him, as if he's still a child and not a grown man of twenty, because he's going to wear a path in to the carpet. She tuts a few times and he imagines she's rolling her eyes, although he's not sure if that particular action would be aimed at him or the young woman screaming upstairs.
His wife. His beautiful, young, American wife. The wife he married to save this estate. The wife he came to love just days before they found out she was expecting. She's upstairs now, bringing his child into the world. His son, he's sure it's a boy. He can already picture him; a younger version of himself but with Cora's eyes- they're much more distinguished than his own.
His path has led him to the window overlooking his grounds. He can't quite focus on what he is seeing, all his other senses have somewhat left him blind to the view of the garden. He finds himself counting between her screams- they're much closer together now- and he just wants to do something! But he must wait. It would be inappropriate for him to see her in this state. Besides, she has her mother with her-(God knows she didn't want his!). He is sure she'll be infinitely more use than him.
There is one final, drawn out scream and then all he can hear is his own blood pounding in his ears and a "well it's about time", from somewhere behind him. He finds he cannot move from his place at the window and the longer he stands there, the more aware he becomes that something's not quite right. He knows he should go upstairs, but he can't move, this isn't right! He feels a hand gently press his arm and glances down into his mother's anxious face –my, did she look that old when she came in?- she's saying something but all he catches is, "I'm so sorry" and then he's rushing out of the room, passing Dr Clarkson and a maid whose name escapes him.
In what seems like an age, and almost no time at all, he reaches her bedroom door –their bedroom door- which opens before he can even bring himself to raise his fist and knock. His mother-in-law is on the other side, face pinched and pale. She ushers him in and guides him to the bed. His wife, his beautiful Cora, looks exhausted and much older than her twenty-one years. The babe in her arms is still, too still. Her icy blue eyes meet his and then they are both sobbing and he's clinging to her and their son, because he knows now it is a boy –his beautiful boy, their beautiful boy- and he feels as though his heart will burst with the pain of it.
