At first it seemed impossible that this particular errand could really be constituted as an emergency-after all, it wasn't as if Calliope hadn't whelped before-but when Brandon got to the stables, he thanked his lucky stars that he'd arrived back at Delaford when he did.
Apparently at some point in the night, Calliope, his best hunting bitch and a loyal and sweet girl to boot, had begun what would be a very difficult labour; it was still happening. The veterinarian who lived two villages over had been sent for, but Jacobs, the boy who'd ridden out for him, had returned crestfallen-Lord Ashbury's stallion had just taken a bad fall and had a leg that needed setting, so there was not an ounce of help to be had from that front, the peer being of course a higher priority. So, Mr. Taylor, Brandon's kennelmaster, had sent Williston and Jacobs posthaste to find Brandon, whom he'd heard had just arrived, to apprise him of his options.
Brandon rushed into the kennel to the sound of Hephaestus, his big, bullish mutt, barking and howling at the highest volume where he stood in the corner of Calliope's pen. It was overwhelming. Making eye contact with the vaguely panicked kennelmaster who hovered outside of the pen, Brandon gritted his teeth, strode over to the pregnant pup's bowl of water, dunked a nearby rag in, and shook the rag at where Hephaestus stood, soaking him with water. The dog was shocked into silence. "Hush," Brandon reinforced. "Out." He pointed to the corridor that ran out to the door of the kennel, and, whimpering in protest, Hephaestus nevertheless obeyed-but Brandon could tell from the snuffling sounds he heard that the big dog was still nearby.
"Thank you. That mutt ought to be shot. He listens to no one, except you of course, master."
"Yes, well, let's hear it. What seems to be her state?"
Brandon knelt down, having taken off his coat and gloves and hung them over the half-open barn door. He rolled up his sleeves. Taylor explained that Calliope seemed to have given up-in the thirty or forty minutes it had taken him to step over to the stables and consult with Jacobs and Williston on the dog's elongated labour, sweet Callie had suddenly gone from a willing participant in the struggle to give birth to her pups, to a listless thing that looked near death.
Brandon quailed inwardly to think of his sweetest dog suffering so, but asked, for practicality's sake, "Has she born any pups yet?"
"Not yet."
Brandon cringed. "Then we must try to save them, at the least."
Over the next three or four hours, he and Taylor worried over Callie-trying to walk her, to coax her into contractions; rubbing her belly; offering her a few fingers of whiskey-until finally, with a great heave, she produced one pup-still in its caul. She simply stared at it, making no effort to remove it so that the tiny creature could breathe. Growing frightened for the pup's life, Brandon scrambled to remove the caul and free its head and body-a male, it was. As he did this, Taylor was preoccupied-there seemed to be another pup following immediately on the first one's heels. This one too was completely ignored by Callie, who simply lowered her head in agonized frustration. Brandon handed the newest pup to Taylor, who freed her from her sac, while Brandon lifted up Callie's head and put it in his lap. Stroking her, crooning at her, his heart nearly broke when she closed her eyes, and her breath left her. Calliope was gone.
Just then they heard a scramble at the door, and a great howl. Hephaestus was eager to get in. Did he know? It seemed, thought Brandon, that he knew. Feeling that it was no matter now, he called for the big dog, who came back into the pen and whimpered softly. He nuzzled at poor Callie, who lay calm and quiet after a hard night and day, at peace finally. Then, to Brandon's surprise, he went back to the same corner where he'd stood watch earlier. He began to bark again. Was he trying to tell them something?
Brandon lay Callie's head down, stroking her once more, and then walked over to where Hephaestus stood. The corner contained a bowl where Callie's food had been placed, as well as some brushes and other grooming tools in a large crate. Hephaestus was nosing around behind the crate, and Brandon shoved it to one side-
Somehow, between the two of them, Callie and Hephaestus had taken another pup, one that must have been born in the interim when Taylor had left the kennel to find help, and placed it here for safety, in the dark corner. Or maybe the little thing had crawled. Whatever the case, it was the smallest of the three-not even the length of Brandon's hand, and weak. Hephaestus licked it, trying to coax it into action, and it wiggled a little, but could not move much more than that. Brandon found his heart once more gripped with the ache of loss; first Callie, and now perhaps her pup would die as well. The two other whelps were fine and strong-they'd need to be nursed, since their mother passed, but they'd be fine, Taylor said. He and his wife would look after them, for they had a bitch at home who'd just whelped and would have milk to spare. But this one-it was not unlikely that it would soon join its mother.
"Go home, master. There's nothing you can do for this one. I'll begin digging a hole for Callie in the back-this one will join her soon. You ought to rest. You've just had a hard journey."
"No-we can bury Callie tomorrow. You go home, too. Mrs. Taylor will wonder where you are just as much as Mrs. Brandon will wonder about me. And-and I think I'll take this little one with me."
"With you?"
"Maybe... maybe with a little milk, some care-maybe…"
Taylor shook his head at the hopelessness of the situation, but agreed, and began to gather his coat and hat. "By the way-I suppose you know-these pups-"
"Yes. They're not purebred, I know. They're sired by Hephaestus."
The kennelmaster nodded. "Sorry-he must have gotten to her the day she escaped. I blame myself, entirely. They're worthless, I suppose," he reflected, bowing his head.
"No-not worthless," Brandon mumbled, looking at the tiny helpless thing in his hand. He grabbed his own coat-they'd used every spare cloth in the kennel in the process of helping Callie's last brave effort, and his coat was the only dry thing he could find-and used it to wrap up the pup so she wouldn't freeze on the walk back to the house. Nestling her close to his own body, he strode home in his shirtsleeves, waving goodbye to Taylor as he veered off toward his own cottage on the property.
Herriton opened the door for him, having been waiting-it was now almost eight at night, dark and cold and dreary-and saw him with his arms wrapped around something apparently living, but barely. He ordered a bowl of milk-and then, as an afterthought, ordered himself a dinner of bread and butter, and asked after Marianne, who had eaten, he was informed, and who was in the drawing room waiting on his return.
He was filthy, he knew, and thought a minute as to whether he should go up and change before intruding on his lovely wife's presence-but knew he owed her an explanation for his long absence, so he turned the door handle and opened it immediately.
Marianne lay there on the divan, fully dressed, with a blanket strewn over her legs and a book opened facedown on her breast which rose and fell in sleep. Once again, as had happened a thousand thousand times since he had met her, he was struck dumb by her beauty. The fact of their marriage acted as a balm on his hurting heart, so raw and tender with the loss of his dog, and he leaned against the doorframe as the breath caught in his lungs. He felt tears prickle at the edges of his eyes, and bent over the bundle in his arms, intent to do all he could to help the puppy-or at least ease her passing by making certain she was gently cared for in her last moments. Turning to go, however, he was stopped-
"Christopher?" Marianne's sleepy voice murmured. "Is everything alright? I have been worried sick."
"Marianne, I-" She began to sit up, and then saw the look of pained determination on his face.
"What has happened?"
He told her, and she came to him, and they sat on the rug by the fire together as she took the little bundle from his tired arms. The servants discovered that he had not taken to his rooms but had instead joined his wife here, and brought his supper along with the milk for the pup. Marianne asked for tea as well, and together they did their best for the little beast, taking turns tempting her with fingers dipped into milk. A jug of water was brought by the fire with some old rags, and Marianne dipped water into the heated liquid and mimicked the warmth of a mother's tongue, cleaning her off carefully and gently. They finally ascended the stairs. Brandon watched the pup while Marianne asked Bess to help her into her night things and to find an empty basket. Layering the basket with some thickly folded towels and an old shirt of Brandon's which would hold his comforting scent, Marianne made a little bed for the pup, where she laid her near the fire by Brandon's comfortable chairs and bookshelves in his bedroom.
"I'm sorry this has not been the intimate homecoming you'd wished for," he whispered, laying the little creature in her new basket and stroking her head gently.
"My love, all I want is your happiness. If there's anything else I can do-"
"No, Marianne. In fact-you ought to go to bed. You're exhausted. I'll stay up. I might try her on some more milk in a while. I'll go down and bring my collected post-I have a feeling I will have a lot to see to. I'll work in here, if you'd like to have the privacy of your own chamber, where it's darker, less busy"
"If it's all the same to you-I would rather remain in here with you."
"You would?"
"I might sleep, Christopher, but...but we haven't been apart, and-and I think I'd find it quite lonely."
Her honesty, and the sentiment she expressed, touched him. He kissed her forehead. "Then stay. I'll never ask you to leave unless you want to."
Kissing his lips, she walked over to his big white bed and crawled in, drawing the thick covers up around her. Within minutes she was asleep. Brandon waited to hear the change in her breathing, and then, leaving the small dog for the time being, tiptoed down to his study to the large pile of correspondence that awaited him. Gathering it up, he returned to his room where he worked the rest of the night, occasionally stopping to try the puppy on some more milk.
As dawn approached Marianne awoke, surprised to find herself in a bed that was familiar to her after so many nights of change. Sitting up, she saw her husband slumped in his chair in front of the half-dead fire. A few neat piles of letters were scattered on the table beside him. On his lap was a tiny puppy-and it was moving, blindly and hungrily investigating Brandon's torso for teats or some other thing that might provide food. It was very much alive.
Marianne delicately picked up the animal and brought her to the bowl of milk, where she allowed her to drink from her bare hands. Setting her down in her basket, she awakened her husband so she could lead him from the chair to the bed. Blinking awake, he cast about for the pup.
"She's alright," his wife assured him, smiling.
Relief slowly dawning on his face, he looked up at his wife who tugged his hand and allowed himself to be led to bed.
"Will she be alright in her basket there for now, you think?" he asked as he climbed in.
"I think so. She just took some milk. She is full and sleepy just now, I think. I lay down some towels for her, should she emerge from the basket to relieve herself."
"Thank you. Thank you, Marianne." He gathered his wife up into his arms, drowsiness coming back to him instantly now he was in the warm comfort of the bed. "I think she will never be as strong as her brother and sister."
"No-she is a delicate little thing, isn't she?"
"Quite." He yawned. "I thought...I thought you could name her, if she lived."
"Me?"
"Yes. If you like."
"I think...I think Daphne would suit her. Daphne was stronger than she seemed, too. Do you like it?"
He smiled against her shoulder. "I think you knew I would like it. You know about my penchant for those old Greek stories."
"You never stopped to think that I might like them too."
"I never did. Is that the name you choose?"
"Yes-it is."
"Then Daphne she shall be," he said, just before drifting off to sleep.