Two weeks passed too quickly, and soon she was on her way to the country. She had arranged a small house for the time being, and had contacted the museum she had been working at while staying at Eaton Place. They were currently shipping all they could to the village where should would be staying, and were delighted for her help in the endeavor. Blanche thought it would be a relief to have one constant to throw herself into.
Dr. Piedmont had told her he suspected there would be quite a few families who would love to adopt the child, but Blanche had started coming to terms with being pregnant, and knew she wouldn't be able to part with her child. She was stable in her life, could support a baby, and she somehow felt less alone knowing she would be a mother.
A mother... a mother to a child of her own. She loved babies and children, yet she never thought she'd have her own. She had once imagined she might become a mother figure to Portia's children, but that shred of hope had been dashed when the woman broke Blanche's heart one final time.
Miraculously, Blanche had suffered no morning sickness, just utter exhaustion and a slight ache here and there. Her body was beginning to change; her lower abdomen was beginning to take on a rounded appearance. To passers by she would look like she was simply putting on weight, but not being a vain woman, her swelling abdomen didn't bother her.
She'd started taking vitamins to help herself and the growing baby, and the affect was apparent in her hair, helping to transform the wiry coils into smoother, shinier curls, and causing her nails to grow very quickly. She thought, as she surveyed herself in the mirror before work, she looked quite pretty. She laughed at herself for such a thought and headed out before any more could invade her mind.
Weeks turned into months, and she was throwing herself into work, fixing incorrectly labeled categories and recopying disintegrating records. A beloved colleague from the London museum stopped by every now and again bearing boxes of small items for storage, or cards of authenticity for larger pieces. He surprised her today with records to recopy, and a box of pastries. He had been taken aback when she had told him she was expecting, but he didn't press her for information she didn't readily volunteer.
"Hello Blanche! What is new with you, my dear?" He asked as he set the boxes down on her desk.
"Been busy. My belly's getting bigger." She peeked into the pastry box. "You evidently want me to put on even more weight, Jack." She said with a smile.
"I think a happy mum is a happy baby." He sat down in the chair facing her.
"How are things in London?" She passed over the pastries to the box of records, seeing what other artifacts were now safely out of harm's way.
"Certainly not as calm as things are out here. My daughter moved out with her children while her husband's away fighting."
"Oh, I'm sorry. That must be hard for her." She wondered briefly about Hallam. She'd not heard a word from her family since she'd been back. But then again, she hadn't let them know where she was, either.
"She's weathering it well. Strong girl, she is. My wife is going to join her to help with the kids."
"What about you?"
"A few more weeks in London to set affairs in order, then I'll join them." He smiled. "Don't fret, my dear. I'll be out here soon enough. You should see the museum! It's nearly bare, apart from the larger statues that would not budge." He reached into the pastry box and selected a berry scone. "I suspect this is the last we'll be seeing of sweets for now. So many rations are affecting businesses."
Blanche crossed her ankles and thought of the terrible darning job she had done on a run she made just that morning, when she'd snagged the fabric on her longer nails that she couldn't help biting when she was deep in thought. Too bad nylon was being rationed; she could use a few new pairs. She'd have to find someone who had the patience to repair hers.
How fitting it was that just as she was wondering if she ought to see if she should find someone to help round the house for all the domestic things she fell short at, that she received a phone call. Thinking it was Jack, she answered with a 'Hello?' rather than a more formal greeting.
"Blanche?" She recognized the voice immediately. "It's Agnes."
"Agnes! It's so good to hear your voice! How are you?"
"I'm well, thank you. Oh, Blanche, you should have let me know you were back in England!"
"I know I should have. I've just had a lot on my mind with all the records and specimens coming in from the museum. It completely slipped my mind, I'm so sorry."
"No matter, now that I know you're alright. Where are you staying?"
"I'm renting a cottage-"
"You must come and stay with us! Please, I insist you do. It would be so wonderful to have the family all together again. As much of the family as we can get together, that is." Blanche could hear the hidden pain in her voice. Wretched as her sister had been, and as abominably as Hallam behaved with her, she still loved them and missed their company.
"That's very kind of you Agnes, but I'm..." she looked down at her rounded abdomen. Six months gone -it would be interesting explaining it, but it was inevitable, "I'm afraid I-"
"Oh, I'm sure the museum would understand." Agnes cut her off.
They most certainly would. She concerned them with her desire to continue working, despite her pregnancy. The older woman, who owned the small library that had allowed the museum to take over a room, hovered over Blanche, worrying as she climbed on stools to search shelves of books, and lifted boxes of catalogued items. Blanche insisted that in her years spent abroad, it appeared that only England treated pregnant women as thought they were china dolls -and only if they were society at that. It hadn't stopped the woman from hovering.
"Alright." Blanche sighed, "Give me a few days to settle things, and I'll come and stay with you."
"Perfect!" Agnes said enthusiastically, and gave the address to Blanche, before reiterating how thrilled she was that they would all be together again.
"Oh, before you hang up... when I get there I have something to tell you."
"Why not over the phone?"
"It's big news. Better to tell in person." She ran her palm across her growing waistline as she waited for Agnes to answer.
"It's nothing serious, is it?"
"No, it's nothing bad."
"Well, that's a relief. Okay, I shall see you very soon, Blanche." And she was gone.
When she arrived on the doorstep of the house where Agnes and the children were staying, she rang the bell, uncertain as to who would answer.
"Mr. Amanjit." She hoped with her coat, shawl, and suitcases he wouldn't notice her belly.
"Dr. Mottershead, it's a pleasure to see you again." She remembered when they had detested each other. He had been trying to protect the memory of his mistress, Blanche's older half-sister, and Blanche had stomped all over it. They had eventually come together between taking care of refugee children, and Blanche's book scandal. It had lead to understanding, and loyalty to one another.
"You as well." She smiled in thanks as he took her suitcase from her, letting her hold onto the bag, which she used to shield her midsection.
"Lady Agnes is in the parlor." He showed her through. The house was not as grand as 165, but it was beautiful none the less, and the cottage she'd been renting could have fit in the foyer.
"Blanche!" Agnes cried and got up from the sofa to envelop her friend in a hug. Blanche dropped her bag and was embraced tightly by the taller woman. Agnes frowned at the awkward angle Blanche was standing at, and looked down to see if she had trapped the woman's travel bag between them.
"Agnes, there's something I must show you." Blanche said quickly as Agnes looked down quizzically at her swollen belly. Blanche pulled off her shawl and unbuttoned her coat, revealing the fabric covered bump.
Agnes stared at her belly, then back up to Blanche. True to her proper upbringing, Agnes chose her words carefully before speaking, "Oh, Blanche, why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I should have. It was wrong to keep it a secret for so long."
"Are you alright?" She asked with a concerned look. Blanche read the hidden meaning in her words.
"I'm fine. This was unexpected, but it is not the result of... violence, or anything."
"Sit. Have a drink."
"I'll just have a soda water, please." She smiled as Agnes went to retrieve it. "Mixing your own drinks, are you?" She asked as she removed her coat.
"We must all pull our own weight now. Pritchard is still in the city, helping the war effort any way he can. Somebody had to learn." She walked back and handed Blanche the glass, and sat next to her, tucking her legs underneath her body. "This isn't my business, but I thought you weren't interested in men. How did this happen?" She was being as gentle as she could.
"It's alright. Er, just over six months ago I had far too much to drink before leaving for Egypt. Things happened and lead to this."
"And you don't know the gentleman's name?"
"I'm afraid not. " She sighed. "It was just as uneventful as I had expected." Looking to Agnes, she offered a smile.
Agnes's mouth twitched in response, as though she wanted to smile, but had one last concern. "And are you alright with this? I mean, are you happy?"
Blanche unconsciously slid a hand across her stomach, "Yes I am. I feel for the first time in a long time that I won't be alone."
Now Agnes did smile, "A baby. Blanch, that is such a lovely thing in such a difficult time. She leaned forward to hug Blanche again, "I'm very happy for you. Oh! You'll have to try the clothes I kept from when I was expecting Veronica."
"Oh, I don't believe I'd fit into your clothing, dear." Not to mention, I'd look ridiculous in them she added mentally.
"Nonsense, they'll do beautifully!"
It was wonderful being back with Agnes, Pamela, and the children. With Hallam, Spargo, and Johnny away at war, and Pritchard in London, it was a house filled with females. Beryl had recovered from her injury, and was still being forced to take it easy with Mrs. Buck by Agnes. Mrs. Thack and Eunice carried about as usual, and Mr. Amanjit held the male authority figure in the house.
Later that afternoon Blanche hesitantly emerged in a pale blue blouse, and a grey skirt that Agnes insisted she try on. She had flat out refused the pink blouse!
"Don't you look lovely!" She exclaimed as Blanche took in her appearance in the mirror.
"Agnes, dear, I look like the pauper poorly wearing the prince's clothing."
"No, you look darling! It very much flatters you, and the blue looks wonderful with your eyes." Knowing Agnes wouldn't allow her not to accept the clothes, so she quickly thanked her. She did suppose they were much more flattering than the dresses she had found in a shop near her cottage. "You do look very beautiful, Blanche. I think you suit pregnancy very well. I looked simply dreadful." Though she wouldn't admit it aloud, Blanche did believe Agnes had looked awful while she was pregnant. But she was anemic and having a rough time, so it was no wonder.
"Well, thank you, but you look perfectly put together all the time and I never do. I suppose it evens out."
"You're very sweet" Agnes said as she selected another dress from her wardrobe and added it to the growing pile for Blanche.
The older woman brought a hand up to cradle her belly and felt the infant somersaulting. It was a strange, yet comforting feeling. She could sit and feel the movement for hours. Right now, however, she suddenly felt a push out against her palm. "Agnes," she said quietly, as though any loud noise might make the movement stop, "the baby pressed against my hand."
Agnes turned from her wardrobe and smiled, "Really?"
Blanche held out her hand, beckoning Agnes to her, "Feel it." She pressed her hand against the spot. Agnes knew the feeling, but remembered the awe she had felt the first time. "It feels so strange." Blanche breathed.
"It is strange, but lovely." She thought it best not to mention how it could wake you in the middle of the night, or make you almost double over when taking a swift kick to the rib -she'd find out later. She looked up at Blanche's glowing face and smiled; she truly did suit pregnancy, and it was wonderful seeing her so unashamedly happy. She thought if there was anyone who deserved to be so happy, it was her.