03 |
John came by at just before noon. "How are you today, sister?" he asked upon entering the morning room.
"You wouldn't wish to hear the details; believe me, John... Anyway, it is not me you've come to see, and so I had better excuse myself and rest for a bit. Will you stay for lunch?"
"No. Too busy, I'm afraid." He watched Fanny waddle out of the room closing the door behind her, before he turned to Margaret. She rose to accept his kiss which was sweet and tender. By unspoken consent they were reverting to the approved conduct for a newly engaged couple; busy and cheerful, and with desire suspended from their lives until their forthcoming wedding night. "How was your morning, love?"
"Let's forget about this whole wedding celebration business and elope! We could be at Gretna Green by tonight—"
"That bad, is it?" he chuckled.
"Well, I've only got myself to blame!" She sighed, exasperated. "And it's not even as if I didn't know what I was up against beforehand. After all, I was maid-of-honour at my cousin Edith's wedding! But somehow it seems worse now—possibly because I know that in my heart I don't care for any of this, and neither do you." She leant against his shoulder for a moment, then she stood back, assuming a—somewhat forced—smile. "Sorry, I've got a whole list of items I have to quiz you about—by your sister's orders."
"Can't this wait?" he asked, moving closer. But when he saw her stern look, he gave in with a sigh. "All right then, go ahead—"
"Firstly, groomsmen... Please tell me that you don't want any! Because, apparently, they come in even numbers, and they have to be matched with the same number of bridesmaids—and off the top of my head I don't know a single girl I could ask!"
"Right. 'I don't want any'."
"Good. Secondly, flower girls. I..."
"You don't want any. Agreed," John interrupted her.
"Actually, I do want flower girls. Or flower children... Six of them, to be precise." Margaret smiled at his puzzled expression. "I was thinking of all of the little Bouchers. It gives me a reason to present them with new clothes—and shoes. And Mary Higgins, too, because she'll have to look after them during the ceremony."
"All right," he laughed. "Have as many as you like! Anything else?"
"Yes. According to Fanny it is no longer in good taste for a gentleman to be married in his Sunday-best black coat, and therefore I have to impress upon you the importance to see your tailor. Apparently, the occasion calls for a blue coat, light grey trousers, white satin or silk waistcoat, ornamental tie, and white gloves... But I think that you look very distinguished in black, and so I shall leave the decision entirely to you."
"Thank you, my love. I shall consider my options... So, is that it?" He gave her a long-suffering look.
"Well, not quite... There is the slight matter of flowers yet to be solved—"
"Flowers?—But surely you can imagine that I don't know the first thing about flowers."
"It concerns yellow roses..."
"In that case I'm all for it! Plain fragrant yellow roses will be perfect."
"... only, your sister tells me that yellow roses are a little ambiguous. They stand for such diverse things as friendship, jealousy, infidelity—" She drew a breath. "—apology, a broken heart, intense emotion, undying love... and extreme betrayal." She shrugged helplessly.
"They stand for train stations and perfect moments. For first kisses," he softly reminded her. "They are just right." He enfolded her in his arms. "Can we move on to the really important matters now?" he murmured.
"Yes. Let's," she whispered as she stood on tiptoe to claim his lips.
It was not all flirtatious banter... Before John left again to see to his obligations, he told Margaret about his contemplated course of action regarding the mill. For the remainder of the week he would try to get in touch with former regular customers, and in particular with those who had wanted to place an order with Marlborough Mills just before it was closing down. Perhaps some of them had not yet taken their offers elsewhere and might be won over to do business again.
Williams would be back at the beginning of the following week, as would Higgins and some other experienced workers, ready to check and maintain the machinery after it had lain dormant for some weeks. And as for himself; he was on his way to see Mr Latimer at his bank, to agree on a date for a meeting, preferably on Monday afternoon when Margaret's lawyer would be present, and they could get the loan, due to be repaid by the end of the month, and the balance of his business account sorted out. And on Tuesday he would travel to Liverpool, to re-establish his line of supply for raw cotton. Thereto he would call on one broker in particular who was an important man at the Liverpool Cotton Exchange—
"—and I'm not looking forward to it, believe me," John said. "I had first refusal for a big consignment twice in the last year, and twice I had to turn him down at the very last minute. The first time it was because of the strike. The second time was not so long ago because I was forced out of business. He swore then that he would never deal with me again... But he said so to almost every Milton manufacturer at one time or another in the past. He's quite the choleric type."
"Isn't there another broker you can approach? There must be others who can serve as middlemen—"
"But none of them quite so well connected... No. Barlow is a business partner worth having, and so I shall try him first, and move on to someone else only if he refuses me to my face. I'm not scared of a temper—even though I don't enjoy dealing with it."
"You won't match temper with temper, will you?" Margaret said hesitantly.
John gave her a rueful look. "That blasted first impression! I've been afraid that you'd still hold me in some contempt for it."
"Not contempt, John—Never that!" she exclaimed. Then, more tentatively, she added, "To think of it makes me feel afraid—for you... that there may come a situation when your temper gets the better of you, and you'll end up in trouble for it."
"That incident at the time with that worker—Stephens—was different... uncharacteristic of me, I might add. Because it came altogether too close after I had been witness to a devastating fire... It was not in Milton but at a place in Yorkshire I had gone to look at some machinery—" And in brief, sober words he acquainted her with the bare facts of the tragedy; but it was as if he kept his emotions very tightly in check so as not to let them overwhelm him. "—The memory is fading these days; but some nights I still wake up in a cold sweat... The screams and flame still haunt my dreams." He jerked his head as if to shake off the thought. "Don't worry, Margaret. I haven't made a habit of beating up pathetic creatures." He gave her a lopsided smile.
"You don't scare me, John... but because I love you I shall always worry about you when you are away. I..." She broke off, stunned by his sudden brilliant smile. "What is it?"
"I believe that this is the first time that you've actually said it—"
"What?"
"—that you love me."
"I didn't say it before?" she said, crestfallen. "I must have thought that you'd just know—"
"I did know it. I've never doubted it, not after you came home with me," he reassured her. "It just makes me happy to finally hear you say the words."
"Then I will say them again. Often... I love you, John."
The next few days passed by quickly; with things to be taken care of both concerning the wedding and Marlborough Mills, everyone was assigned multiple tasks; sometimes they were seeing to them together, at other times independently.
Accompanied by Mrs Thornton Margaret went to see the dressmaker, and to the craftswoman's despair—not to mention her future mother-in-law's quiet disapproval—she decided on the plainest of plain dresses, made from simple ivory Dupioni silk, with long sleeves and a modest neckline. No lace, no embroidery, and showing no shoulder—not even any cleavage to speak of. Moreover, she decided to wear a bonnet and veil rather than a more modern wreath of orange blossoms.
To cheer herself up after this display of dour faces, Margaret took off to the Higgins family in Princeton immediately after her visit to the dressmaker. She wanted to acquaint Mary with her plan of having the young Bouchers as flower children at her wedding, Besides, hoping for Nicholas to be at home, she was looking forward to catch up with half a year's worth of Milton gossip.
Meanwhile, and for the rest of the week, Mrs Thornton—with her habitual efficiency—interviewed new servants and started to arrange for the wedding breakfast.
Following his sister's advice, John had asked his brother-in-law Robert Watson to take over such unavoidable duties which would otherwise be performed by a best man. Watson was employing a manager at his mill these days, and spent a lot of time—in between doing financial investments—at the Masters Club. He certainly had the time to spare... Besides, he was willing to take on any task that should take him out from under his wife's feet and the alarming events due anytime soon at his home.
And then there was the matter of the ring...
After a particularly bad night Fanny was resting in her room all morning on Saturday. Having found little comforts in dozing during the daytime hours, she was peevish, restless, and bored. So she had asked Margaret to keep her company for a while.
Margaret came and sat on an easy chair next to Fanny's bed. She was intrigued to see all the bulging and moving going on underneath Fanny's thin robe.
Noticing her look Fanny said wryly, "The little bean's restless whenever I lie back and recline. It doesn't seem to like it."
"I never knew that a baby's movements inside the womb can actually been seen from outside," Margaret said, a little embarrassed about being caught out staring. "Does it—hurt?"
"Not really. Some of the kicks are a bit unpleasant... but I'm always happy to feel it moving about. It's a little less energetic lately, however. I suppose there is not much room left inside to turn around. But the doctor said that's quite natural so close to my time."
"Will you have a doctor or a midwife to attend you?"
"Watson insists that there will be a doctor present—A lady should be attended by a proper doctor, he says." Fanny looked somewhat dubious at the thought.
"And how do you feel about it?"
"Well, I don't much like it when the doctor examines me 'down there'... but Doctor Pryce is a genuine obstetrician, and I suppose that my husband knows best—"
And how much experience would HE have with giving birth? Margaret was inclined to ask. But then she thought better of it because, after all, how much did she herself know about giving birth—apart from the fact that it would do more harm than good to further upset Fanny at this point about the presence of a man in her birthing chamber.
"Anyway," Fanny interrupted her thoughts, "now that you are here, Margaret, will you please fetch my jewellery box. It's inside the top drawer of my dressing table."
Slightly puzzled about the odd request Margaret went to do her bidding.
"Try on the rings," Fanny said. "See whichever fits best the ring finger of your left hand."
Realisation dawned. "Did John set you up to determine the correct size?" Margaret asked.
"No. Watson did—at John's instigation... But if you want to have a wedding ring that really fits you, you'd better feign ignorance and try on my rings, so that we can choose one as a model."
Later on Saturday a letter arrived, announcing Mr Henry Lennox's presence in Milton for Monday morning when he would call on Miss Hale and Mr Thornton at Marlborough Mills by ten o'clock.
"Henry!" Having seem him crossing the mill yard, Margaret had quickly come to the front door to greet him and—perhaps—exchange a few words in private. "Thank you for coming." She nearly added, "Despite the awkwardness," but then thought better of it. Why state the obvious?
"Considering that you set the date less than two weeks from now, and that we are talking about substantial assets in your case, I thought it better to see to it myself—" He hesitated, looking over Margaret's shoulder and to the far end of the hall where a door was being opened. John came towards them.
"Mr Lennox," the latter said, extending a hand. "Thank you for coming in person. I'm sorry that you've been required to come to Milton twice within a week. But I am sure that Miss Hale will be happy to have a trusted friend oversee her affairs... If you'll follow me to the dining room—"
Henry Lennox put a voluminous briefcase on the table and opened it to take out some folders while Margaret took a seat. But they both looked up in surprise when John went back to the door.
"Are you not staying, Mr Thornton?" Lennox said, giving his host a mystified look.
"I shall join you again later, Mr Lennox. I am aware of the fact that my fiancée is a wealthy woman, and I believe that there are a great many preliminary matters to be discussed under the terms of client-and-lawyer confidentiality." He turned towards Margaret. "I've got work waiting for me over at the main mill office... Have word sent to me, please, when you're ready to discuss the finances of Marlborough Mills."
Once the door had closed behind John, Margaret said, "Have you breakfasted already?... In any case I'll have some tea sent up here." She rang the bell by the door.
"Are you actually living here?" Henry asked, taken aback.
"Oh, no. I'm currently staying with the Watsons. With John's sister Fanny and her husband—the investment prodigy, remember?... Is there anything you wish to say to me before we get started, Henry?" she softly asked.
"You've made your choice, Margaret," he replied with a measure of bitterness. "This has been abundantly clear. What could I still say at this point?... I'm sorry, I haven't even congratulated you as yet," he added, a little deflated.
"I'm sorry, too, Henry... When you chose me as a love interest, you have chosen badly. But, believe me, you have chosen wisely when it comes to friends. I'll always be your friend, Henry; and I hope that—soon—there will come a time when you can love me in return—as a friend."
"I felt like such an idiot, sitting in the train and seeing you on the platform... with him."
"I must apologise to you for this, Henry—"
"Don't. You've found your match elsewhere, and I'm trying—very hard—to accept... Anyway, I can't feel more of a fool now than the moment after I chucked your hat out of the train compartment window!"
"Oh!"
"Let's get on with business," he said grumpily. "I know where I stand with business, at least."
Margaret gave Henry an outline of her intentions regarding her money and property, and how she meant to deal with her obligations after her wedding. The mill itself and the investments needed for a new start would not be part of any settlement. As her husband John would own them outright—"He has worked all his life for the mill; it's only his just deserts," she said, earning raised eyebrows as an only comment. But Mr Bell had given her other property in town, and in good locations, and so they discussed leases and value of land, in addition to assessing the money tied up in bonds and other long-term investments; and eventually they decided on what was to be settled on Margaret upon her marriage.
There were some financial obligations, such as small grants and contributions to charitable institutions at Oxford, originally set up by Mr Bell, and of course there was the ongoing inquiry into the mutiny Frederick had participated in—and trying to find proof and witnesses willing to swear on Captain Reid's insanity.
Eventually only Marlborough Mills remained to be discussed.
Margaret sent for John; when he finally joined them, he was—as before—very professional. No touches, no intimate looks. John was obviously trying to spare Henry's feelings for as much as possible under the circumstances. She was touched by so much forbearance in a situation when a lesser man would have indulged in a game of one-upmanship.
In the previous days John had got the figures up, and for the moment there were two main issues. There was the matter of the business account deep in the red; and, with the weekly pay for the workers who were already maintaining machinery coming up, this needed to be settled. Besides, he wouldn't have any credit with the suppliers of raw cotton at present. As someone just recovering from bankruptcy he would be expected to pay parts of it up front and the rest straight upon delivery.
But the main issue was the loan, already extended for half a year and due to be repaid within a fortnight. Originally taken out to buy new machinery, the looms were held by the bank as security.
"What would have happened if you hadn't been able to repay it?" Margaret asked out of curiosity.
"The looms would have been auctioned," John said curtly, "and my competitors would have fallen over themselves to deplete Marlborough Mills of its means of production."
Margaret stared at him in consternation. "I thought they were your friends."
"They are my acquaintances. They mostly play by the rules, and if it pleases them they can be quite amiable. But that's the extent of it... You don't make friends in business. You keep yourself to yourself, and you never show your hand."
"What a predatory world you live in, Mr Thornton," Henry Lennox said with a hint of sarcasm.
John shrugged. "Better the devil you know—"
The meeting at Marlborough Mills was followed—after a short and rather stiff lunch—by another one at the bank where they had an appointment with Mr Latimer. Eventually, after some discussions on minor details, it was agreed that the requisite paperwork would be ready to be signed one week hence, by which time Mr Lennox would return to Milton.
Back in the streets outside the bank they bid their farewells. Henry Lennox declared that he would be in very good time to catch the afternoon train back to London, and without further ado hailed a hackney which at this moment was passing by.
"Is he very bitter?" John asked Margaret as the cab pulled away from the kerb, heading towards Outwood station.
"I've never given him any hope, you know."
"You've never given me any hope—and still I hoped. And I presume you have been much more friendly with him than with me, most of the time."
"What do you mean?—'more friendly'?... Henry has been a good friend, besides having been my lawyer for quite a long time." She gave John a sideways glance. "You're not being jealous, are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I am not," he replied with a faint smile. "While in London you had all the time in the world to choose Henry Lennox. But you never did. So, why should he suddenly be of particular interest to you now that you've chosen me?"
"Mr Thornton, sometimes you are far too rational for your own good," she said, trying for a pout—and failing.
"You are not the sulking type, Miss Hale," John teased her, "Which is one of your—many—good qualities." And then, with the streets miraculously empty and Henry at a safe distance, he took her in his arms for a moment and kissed the crown of her head.
"This is our last evening before I'm off to Liverpool for the rest of the week," John at length reminded her. "How do you wish to spend it?"
"I want you to myself for a while—and without having to discuss finances, the wedding, or our respective relatives. Just you and me... How about a walk up Cemetery Hill and over to the far side?"
"Followed by dinner at Marlborough Mills?" he suggested. "It will be a slapdash affair since no-one is expecting us, but with any luck Mother will be held up by Fanny for another while and we'll be by ourselves—and afterwards I shall walk you back to the Watsons' place." He grimaced. "At times, being engaged feels like being homeless; going from place to place in search of privacy. But less than two weeks now, and all of Milton and my family combined can stop watching us and see to their own affairs again—It seems like an eternity!" he added with a sigh.
When Margaret came to the dining room the next morning, Fanny was already there, slowly pacing the length of it and rubbing her back.
"You are up early, Fanny. Are you unwell?" Margaret asked, concerned.
"Just a bit of a pain in my back sometimes... On and off," Fanny replied with a sigh. "For a while I thought that this was the beginning of labour pains, but now they seem to abate again—"
"If you are feeling better, how about some breakfast, and then you can rest and try to catch up on whatever sleep you've missed this morning?"
"I suppose, I might as well—" Laboriously Fanny took a seat and helped herself to some tea and toast. But after a short while she pushed her plate away and listlessly nibbled at some fruit instead. "We missed you at dinner last night... but Mother said that you might be detained due to sorting things out with your lawyer."
"It was indeed a long and tiring day. There was a lot to decide upon and set in motion, and eventually I ended up having dinner over at the mill... I hope you weren't waiting for me?"
Fanny just waved a dismissive hand. "In a society of manufacturers business takes precedence over virtually everything else... I grew up with this maxim—and you'd better get used to it, too." She pensively stroked the side of her belly. Margaret thought that she looked exhausted.
"Come, Fanny," she said. "I help you get back to bed. And then I must go and see the dressmaker for another fitting."
"Ah, I wished I could come with you and see the dress!"
"You'd be quite disappointed, I dare say! It is very plain... But I'll show you the bonnet and veil this afternoon, if you like."
Back in Fanny's bedroom—the spouses had adjacent rooms with a connecting door—Margaret helped her future sister-in-law out of her dress and to remove the monstrous corset, and then she tucked her in beneath the sheets before she went to draw the curtains.
"Is there anything else I can do for you? Some more tea, perhaps?" At Fanny's shake of the head, she said, "I'll tell the maids to give this room a wide berth so that nothing will disturb you." Making sure that the bell pull was well within reach from the bed, Margaret left and softly closed the door behind her.
It had been agreed upon that, once her son was on his way to Liverpool, Mrs Thornton would come and stay with the Watsons until the end of the week; she was due to arrive later in the morning. Margaret had a notion that Hannah Thornton's unflappable presence would be needed rather sooner than later.
Margaret had intended to visit the Higgins family after the fitting, but made uneasy by leaving Fanny alone in the house with just the servants to look after her, she decided to postpone her plans and return to York Street instead. She needn't have worried; true to her word Mrs Thornton had arrived in the meantime and was sitting in the drawing room—Fanny's particular pride, finished with Indian wallpaper from the Great Exhibition—patiently doing some needlework. Upon closer inspection Margaret realised that she was carefully unpicking initials from a stack of table napkins, undoing a 'G' and an 'H', so that only a 'T' remained. "I need to change the initials on our linen," the other woman explained without preamble. "They'll be yours and John's now..."
"Fanny's not been well this morning," Margaret interrupted her. "Maybe we should send for the doctor."
Hannah Thornton asked a few concise questions which Margaret answered to the best of her abilities. With a gentlewoman's upbringing and a mother who had been very reticent about the facts of life, childbirth was mostly a mystery to her which made it all the more alarming.
"We should better ask him to come round later in the afternoon; no need to disturb my daughter's sleep for a visit from some doctor."
"You think he isn't any good?" Margaret asked, disconcerted.
"I told Fanny that she would be better off with an experienced midwife," Mrs Thornton curtly replied. "Someone who takes their time and stays with her. But would she listen to me?—No... That self-proclaimed expert will more likely than not arrive at the last minute—if he comes at all!—and put everyone in a flutter at the most crucial time." She made a dismissive gesture. "All this was of course my son-in-law's idea... The best his money can buy; never mind if it is practical or not."
The doctor eventually arrived at four; at the same time as Mr Watson who had been in town all day on some unspecified 'business' and was only just returning. No-one in the house had known Watson's whereabouts during the day; a neglect of his domestic situation Margaret found equally inconsiderate and upsetting.
She wasn't much good at disguising her resentment because Mrs Thornton—standing next to Margaret in the drawing room door and watching the men's arrival and subsequent progress up the stairs towards Fanny's bedroom—said in a low voice, " Not all men are the same, Miss Hale. And not every woman is to receive the kind of solicitous attention that you can justly expect from John... But having said that much, Watson's a good enough sort, just a little too old and set in his own ways to adjust to the demands of a young wife—and all that comes with starting a family."
Soon enough Watson returned. Coming down the stairs and walking past them, he informed them that he would await the doctor's report in his study. "By-the-by, Fanny asked to see you afterwards," he told his mother-in-law, and then he shut the study door behind him.
Margaret lay curled up in her bed in the guestroom at the Watsons' home and was having a good cry. It was the early hours of the new day, and with the house finally returned to quiet and the strain of the previous hours ebbing with the happy outcome, tears of relief welled from her eyes...
Not two hours after the doctor's visit, Fanny's waters broke, and soon labour pains came on, albeit sporadically at first. Dr Pryce was sent for again. Within twenty minutes the footman returned with the message that the doctor was detained at another birth but hoped to come within the hour. An hour became two, and still the doctor hadn't arrived.
Too restless to lie on her bed, Fanny was pacing the length of her bedroom, and Margaret with her. Fanny had asked her future sister-in-law to keep her company and distract her by telling about her life prior to coming to Milton.
Soon the pains came thick and at increasingly shorter intervals, disrupting their progress across the room and breaking the flow of Margaret's tale. At first Fanny merely stopped, compressing her lips and breathing deeply, but soon she grabbed both her mother and Margaret's hands and bent over with a moan. In this slow, disrupted manner the three of them kept walking, with Margaret telling first of Harley Street life, and then of the time when she was living in Helstone as a little girl. When she mentioned her brother who had joined the Navy and who was exiled in Spain now, she saw out of the corner of her eyes how Mrs Thornton was raising her eyebrows in surprise.
Eventually, at half past nine, the doctor arrived, and no sooner had he entered the room than he ordered for more hot water to be brought, for different kinds of linen and towels, and that Mrs Watson was to retire to her bed immediately, so as not to be worn out by walking. For a while there was a flurry of servants rushing in and out of the room, fetching and taking away things while Mrs Thornton and the upstairs maid took Fanny behind a folding screen to help her change into a long nightshirt and robe.
Once Fanny was in bed and propped up against the cushions, Mrs Thornton came to Margaret. "You should leave now, Miss Hale," she said quietly.
"Shouldn't I better stay? Fanny seems to take comfort from my presence."
"I know it is kindly meant, but you shouldn't watch this—not while you haven't yet given birth yourself."
"But wouldn't it be better for me to know what to expect... eventually?"
"You must understand—Margaret—in a way it is worse to watch than to give birth yourself. Even though the pain is excruciating in the moment, it is forgotten as soon as your child is born and you hold it in your arms... It is much harder to forget the pain we see in others." And with these words she gently pushed her towards the door. "You've done well," she added as she closed it behind the girl.
For a while Margaret went outside, to the small back garden, savouring the brisk evening air. It soothed her to feel the early autumn chill after the close atmosphere of the upstairs bedroom. However, she couldn't stay out there forever, and so she went towards the drawing room and, seeing that it was well-lit, she entered.
Watson was there, standing by the window and staring at the darkness outside.
"Oh. Excuse me," Margaret said, meaning to withdraw.
"No!—please stay," Watson hurriedly replied. He looked anguished and ready to grasp at any distraction from his solitary waiting. "How is she?"
"The doctor says that she is making good progress..." Margaret was interrupted by a long drawn-out moan coming from upstairs.
Watson remained frozen for the length of it. When it ended he resumed his restless rounds of the room, stopping with a tortured expression on his face whenever sounds from upstairs spoke of the beginning of the next wave of pains. For once Margaret could sympathise with him. She found that Mrs Thornton had been wrong—it was worse to helplessly listen from afar than to be in the same room and give whatever help was in one's power.
"How much longer will this go on?" Watson exclaimed once another silence had returned.
"It's hard to tell, but possibly still a couple of hours—"
"A couple of hours?—I can't bear this!" He rushed towards the door as another moan—turning into a scream—could be heard from upstairs. "I'll be waiting at the club. It's ten minutes from here... Have the footman send for me, when... You know..." and off he went with Margaret staring after him, dumbfounded.
Time crawled by. At one point she heard the bedroom door upstairs being opened and rapid steps coming down the stairs. It was the maid who was looking hassled and worn. "The water's turned cold. I'm to replace it," she said as she rushed by.
When she returned from the kitchen, Margaret stopped her. "Give me that," she said, taking the ewer out of the maid's unresisting grip.
Upon entering the bedroom Margaret was met with a startling sight. The doctor sat by the foot end of the bed, with something that looked like a huge cape worn back-to-front attached to his neck and covering the lower part of Fanny's body.
So, this is how doctors mean to maintain modesty while assisting at a birth! Margaret thought. She acutely felt the awkwardness of the whole setup, and she just hoped that by this point Fanny would be too absorbed by birth pangs to mind.
Perceiving her standing in the doorway, Mrs Thornton gave her a frown, but instead of commenting she simply pointed towards a table where a washing bowl and linen were laid out. Then she said, "Come here, girl. Take Fanny's other hand."
Margaret took her place at the other side of the bed just as the next contraction came on. Fanny wildly grabbed her hand, and all Margaret could do was to brace herself while Fanny held on with startling strength, pulling herself up with a drawn-out grunting scream.
"Very good," the doctor said. "That's the crowning."
It seemed to last forever until Fanny finally slumped back again, drawing gulping breaths. Mrs Thornton had hardly time to sponge her daughter's forehead and neck with a cool damp cloth before it started all over again.
The doctor gave her the terse order to push hard. It took two more bouts of labour pains before he told Fanny to go easy again, and then, "Right. We've got delivery of the head... Just one more effort with the next pain, madam."
One final huge heave and scream, and, like a conjuror pulling a rabbit from a hat, the doctor held up the newborn baby from underneath the cloak towards Mrs Thornton who swaddled him—and it was definitely a 'him'—into a soft towel. For a moment all Margaret could do was stare in shock at the tiny wriggling body, smeared with blood and gruesome substances, and at the pulsing cord, before it was clamped and cut, and then the doctor held the infant upside down by his heels and gave him a slap on the backside. There was a loud indignant wail, and everybody, including Fanny, let out their breaths.
What came after only left a confusing memory. Later Margaret remembered that at some point there had been a bowl with some bloody substance being inspected by the doctor and then quickly covered, that Fanny's personal maid had been instructed by the doctor on how to care for her mistress in the following days, meanwhile—with more wailing—the baby had been given his first bath...
But there seemed to be no more pain, and Margaret felt lightheaded with relief. Suddenly she recalled that Mr Watson still had to be informed, and preferably before the new mother became aware of his absence, and so Margaret stealthily left the room to send out the footman.
At her return Fanny was propped up in bed, holding a clean and swaddled baby in her arms, and gazing at him in raptures. When she noticed Margaret by her bedside, she held out her hand. "Just look at him! Isn't he gorgeous?"
Margaret found that the tiny pinched face of young Master Watson, grumpily blinking at the light, disconcertingly looked like his father's. But, at such a moment, who was she to argue? "He's wonderful," she quietly said, with her voice catching in her throat.
Luckily, Mr Watson arrived with commendable speed, and upon his entering his wife's bedroom Margaret stole away to hers.
A/N:
Thank you, everyone, for your kind, lovely comments on chapter 2! :-* Please keep letting me know what you think about this story and how you liked this latest, quite eventful chapter of wedding preparations, business talk—and births.