Weeks spent wearing the clothes Agnes had loaned her did nothing to diminish how awkward she thought she made them look. The elegant materials, and delicate cuts and designs made her feel as thought she were masquerading as a lady of society in a wardrobe loaned by a big sister. She wished Agnes wasn't so sweetly insistent; she knew the woman had only the best intentions, so Blanche humored her. One afternoon, while squatting down to inspect book titles on the bottom bookshelf, the hem of her skirt caught on her heel. If she hadn't been pregnant, she would have shot up, and damaged the garment, but her slower movements allowed her to feel the resistance and pull of the hem. Carefully she released her heel from the stitching, and stood to inspect the damage. Nothing serious, but nothing she could fix and make look decent. She sought out Eunice who was carrying fresh linens to the bathroom.
"I can hem that right quick, ma'am. Let me go and get needle and thread, and I'll be back."
Blanche stood as still as possible to avoid herself or the young girl falling victim to a stab with a wayward needle. "All set. Looks better than before, if I do say so myself."
"Thank you, Eunice."
"If you don't mind my asking, how did you pull the hem down?" Eunice asked as she replaced the tools back in the small sewing box.
"The skirt belongs to Agnes, and she's taller than I am. I was kneeling down to look at something and it caught on my shoe."
"You oughta be careful. You could have taken a nasty fall, ma'am." She said kindly.
"I suppose I should be more careful, shouldn't I?"
"You can always just call one of us if you need something out of reach. Anything else I can get for you?"
"Thank you, I'm fine now." She looked down when Eunice left and realized with great irritation that she hadn't grabbed the book. With a sigh of trepidation, she decided to select a different title on a more manageable shelf.
Mrs. Thack, who had originally criticized Blanche's vegetarian diet, was very glad indeed for one less mouth to feed a meat-based cuisine. She found it easy to stretch Blanche's meals, and tried to find the heartiest grains available, and the freshest vegetables for her and the baby.
Because Agnes was learning that class and the things it demanded of you might not make sense in all areas of the world (and that it seemed useless in wartime) she encouraged the staff and family to dine together. It made her feel better, as though everyone she could keep an eye on were safe. At first, the staff found it unsettling, but slowly with Mr. Amanjit's encouragement, and Agnes's insistence, they all came together. Blanche couldn't help but wonder what would happen when the war ended.
At a table mostly dominated by women, the conversations were wide and varied. Blanche was occasionally bored, not knowing every topic from the tabloids. Sometimes she'd strike up a conversation with Mr. Amanjit, Hector, or Pamela. Her favorite conversations lately were with Veronica. Closing in on two-years-old, she was quite an individual; prone to the occasional tantrum, she always behaved for Blanche. She was fascinated with the encyclopedia and coffee-table books Blanche had been showing to her. She'd snuggle up against her aunt, and listen with wide eyes to stories from all these distant lands. To her, they were merely fairy tales, accompanied by big pictures, sometimes in color, and usually very detailed.
The pair took turns telling stories these days, Veronica telling hers in short compounded sentences and made up words from a language all her own. She was delighted that Blanche would pay her such close attention.
Tonight at dinner, she was restless and Agnes told her, "Veronica, dear, it's a privilege to sit at the table, and I expect you to behave." Blanche knew that would make little to no impression on the small girl, yet it made Hector sit up more properly.
As she was engaging in a conversation with Mr. Amanjit, she kept being distracted by Veronica, who's babbling had been growing steadily louder and more cranky. Agnes wanted the staff to put aside their responsibilities during dinner time, and so Nanny let her quietly admonish the girl for not being polite. Blanche flinched suddenly as a small silver cup was chucked up into the air and landed with a devastating splash in the gravy in front of her. She had the good reflex to quickly cover her face as the thick warm goo spattered her. A commotion broke out as Mrs. Buck and Mr. Amanjit rose quickly to offer their napkins to Blanche. Beryl and Eunice caught eyes and looked down at their plates to avoid spontaneous laughter. Mrs. Thack, after processing the accident, sighed and passed her napkin down the table as well. That had been a good gravy, she lamented.
Agnes gasped and turned to her daughter in shock, before turning to Blanche who had taken the napkins and was wiping the sauce from her hands, trying not to think of the fact that she was essentially covered in boiled animal fat. She looked down at herself; her front was spattered, and she worried she had just ruined Agnes's dress. She was just about to apologize when she looked up and saw Agnes rounding on her disobedient daughter.
"Veronica!" She began sternly.
"Agnes, no," Blanche interrupted quickly as she could, startling the woman, "don't embarrass her in front of everyone."
"But she-"
"I'm fine."
Agnes sighed and picked up her daughter, who began to protest loudly, and carried her to the next room.
When she had left, Blanche looked across the table at Hector. His face was so reminiscent of a young Hallam, but the twitch in the corner of his mouth was all his own. They looked at each other and dissolved into giggles. The tension at the table broke, and Agnes returned a while later after putting Veronica to bed.
Later that night when Blanche had changed into her nightgown and housecoat, and taken a chair in the study, there was a soft knock on the door.
"Blanche? Someone has something important to say to you." Agnes motioned for Veronica to come in, and the small blonde haired girl toddled in carrying a blanket in one hand, and wiping at streaming eyes with the other.
"I sorry, Ahnee." Blanche's heart melted at the teary apology and the attempt at "auntie." Veronica hiccoughed sadly, and walked closer, holding her arms up.
"Oh, darling," Blanche set her book aside and leaned forward with a bit of difficulty to pick up the girl, who wrapped her arms around Blanche's neck, "it's alright. I forgive you." She stroked her back and rocked her soothingly.
"Not mad?"
"No, I'm not mad. But you must remember to be a good girl, and do as Mummy asks."
"Yes, Ahnee."
Agnes observed Blanche and Veronica and sighed -not even a mother yet, and Blanche seemed to understand children better than she. It seemed to come naturally to the other woman, whereas Agnes hadn't understood the full responsibilities of motherhood until she'd had Hector. Even then, many of the harder responsibilities for both her children had been taken over by Nanny. Here Blanche sat, not letting her own pregnancy stop her from cuddling and comforting another child. Hallam hadn't let Agnes pick up Hector when she was pregnant, and had told the small boy to be a gentleman and sit beside Mummy, and take care of her.
"I habe book?"
"You'll have to ask nicely."
"Mumma, I habe book, please?"
Agnes looked at her daughter clinging to Blanche, begging for a bedtime story. "Very well."
"Fanks, Mumma." Veronica carefully climbed off Blanche's lap and waited for the woman to heave herself to her feet, before grabbing the hem of her robe, and tugging her toward the door, eager to fall asleep hearing about the wonders of made-up worlds.
Her hips hurt. The baby had taken up residence in a ball along her left side, and she ached. Blanche was exhausted, not getting much sleep as the baby's kicks, which were often endearing during the daytime, were disastrous to a decent night of sleep. Add that to the tossing and turning, and she was craving a solid night of uninterrupted sleep.
Agnes caught her dozing in one of the overstuffed chairs, with her book splayed across her belly. She'd asked if she would rather nap in a more comfortable spot, and Blanche confessed this was one of the first times she'd felt comfortable enough to sleep. Agnes quickly discovered her friend was uncomfortable, her belly getting too large to find a good sleeping position, and putting stress on her back. She showed the tired woman the trick she had learned from her mother-in-law, and helped Blanche to place a pillow under the swell to give support.
Too tired to care her glasses were still resting on the bridge of her nose, she murmured her relief and thanks to Agnes.
"I can find no energy to move." She gave an attempt at a laugh.
"You poor dear. You know, Hallam used to massage my back. I could do it for you -it will relax you and the baby."
Any hesitation Blanche may have had were overshadowed by the prospect of some of the knots in her back being seen to. She gratefully obliged and it did indeed relax her. She brought her hand up to where the baby was settling down, as thought her touch could provide added comfort to the infant. "You're going to put me to sleep." Blanche's voice was thick with exhaustion.
"It feels alright, then?" She asked gently.
"Amazing." Blanche murmured as she nuzzled her face deeper into the pillow. "Thank you."
"My pleasure." And with that, Blanche began to drift off into a truly satisfying sleep.
"You haven't told me any names you've been thinking of." Agnes said as she saw Blanche composing a short list in her diary.
"I haven't come up with many worth sharing yet. I'm afraid my favorite girl's name was taken by an ex-lover. Some sort of twisted homage to me." She said bitterly as she dotted an 'i' a bit too forcefully.
"Did she really?" Agnes asked starchily. "Isis is your favorite girl's name?" She remembered the article on Portia Alresford and her children.
"I suppose I have to find another if it's a girl."
"What if it's a boy? Any ideas there?"
"A fair few. Nothing pinned down just yet."
"You're carrying awfully high for it to be a boy. I think it's a girl."
"Does the way you carry really determine gender? I thought that was an old wive's tale."
"Perhaps, but it is fun to speculate. Are you thinking it's a boy? Or a girl?"
"Honestly, I am just hoping the baby is healthy. And that I'll be a good enough mother."
"You'll be the best. You're so natural. This will be the luckiest baby."
Blanche was touched and ran her hand down the length of her belly. "Thank you." She set aside her diary and thumbed through her favorite book of Egyptian mythology. "I really loved the name Isis. I wish I'd never told Portia. My heart sank when I found out."
"I don't see why you couldn't call her that. It's a beautiful name, really. And I bet the story behind it is just as lovely."
For a moment, Blanche imagined having a daughter called Isis, and then she felt a flash of anger -she'd always think of her former lover if she used the name, and she didn't want her to have that much control over her life. It would give her too much satisfaction.
"No, I'll find something. Something better suited for my child." She turned the page a little too roughly, and heard a small tearing noise. She had been feeling a little off that morning and she suspected hormones. The soft 'ffftt' of ripping paper set her off. She felt tears start and sniffed quietly.
"Blanche, are you alright?" Agnes watched as her friend dissolved into sobs, figuring neither knew the cause. "Ohh, Blanche."
"I'm sorry," Blanche reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, "I haven't thought about... the affair in so long. I tried to lock it away, but I think... I think-" She broke off, not knowing what she was thinking, only that she was feeling upset now.
"You're just feeling a bit fragile, is all. Thinking about Lady Alresford, and the name she took from you hurts. I understand."
"Something like that." Blanche said sadly, and wiped at the tears running down her cheeks. "I am feeling fragile today." She sniffed.
"It's alright, darling, it happens."
Blanche sighed and placed her glasses back on, "I feel a bit better." She drew a hitched breath and examined the minimal damage she had done to her book.
"Isn't it amazing, those mood swings? So strong, but usually short-lived."
"It's certainly something. I really don't appreciate them. Thankfully they don't happen too often." She flattened her hand against where the baby pushed, and felt more at ease. The baby had a calming affect on her in moments like this, and she was grateful to the tiny life she was carrying, already helping Mum feel more safe and comforted.