The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (37 page)

“No,” she said. “Of course not.” She pushed firmly to the back of her mind the desire she had once had to punch Anne, before she had realised the woman deserved sympathy, not anger.

“Really?” he said, reaching out and pulling her to him. “Not even a wee bit?”

“No,” she said. “Not even a wee bit.”

“You’re lying,” he said confidently, bending to kiss her. “I can tell.”

“How could you tell I was lying?” she asked some considerable time later, after they had both washed off the rouge and white paint they had become liberally smeared with, had raided the pantry, and repaired to bed for an extremely early night.

“If I tell ye that, ye’ll be as wise as me,” he said, straightening the bedclothes, which had become somewhat disarranged following the recent activity. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“What for?”

“For appeasing Cumberland without giving anything in return. That was quite a feat. What would ye have done if he
had
proposed marriage?”

“Hung myself,” she said. “I think it might be better if I don’t go to the palace with you for a while, though. If we meet anywhere else and he comments on it, I can always say that I was too distressed to meet him, or something like that.”

“And it saves you the tedium of listening to the Elector spout on about war for hours on end,” Alex said.

“Yes it does, doesn’t it?” said Beth with a grin. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You’re lying again,” he remarked.

“No, I’m not!” she protested. She wasn’t, and he knew it, although she still didn’t know how.

“Interesting what he let slip, though,” mused Alex. “Are ye sure he didna mean you to know?”

“Yes,” she said. “Because not a minute before he inadvertently revealed he was going to have command of the forces in Flanders, he told me that he was only hoping to play a part. Is it important?”

“Who gets command of the army? Of course it is.”

“Do you think it’ll be a good thing or not?”

“For us? I’m no’ sure, but I can think of a lot of people I’d sooner have in command than Cumberland.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because what he tellt ye is right. The British Army is one of the best in the world. But it’s often undisciplined, and badly trained. If Cumberland succeeds in bringing them into line, it’ll make them harder to beat. Especially for the clans, who’ll never be disciplined. But there are some points in our favour, too.”

“Such as?”

“Cumberland’s young and inexperienced. He showed bravery at Dettingen, and he’s got the authority of royalty, but he’ll have to tread carefully if he’s no’ to ruffle the feathers of the old men he’ll be superior to. Hell, I dinna ken if he’ll be a good commander or no’. I’ve got other things on my mind right now.”

“Like what?” Beth said, leaning precariously out of bed to reach for the wine and inadvertently displaying her bare back and one firm white buttock.

“Like this,” he said, making a lunge for the exposed part, causing her to shriek and miss her grab for the wine, almost tumbling out of bed altogether. He caught her neatly round the waist and gathered her back under the sheets.

“Don’t you need to replenish your strength, after the last time?” she said, giggling.

“Christ, woman, d’ye take me for a man in his dotage?” he said indignantly, pinioning her to the mattress beneath him and demonstrating comprehensively that he was well and truly replenished. “That was a full half hour ago. I havena even warmed up yet.”

Things had started to become extremely warm, to say the least, when there was a knock at the door, and before Alex or Beth could tell whoever it was to go away in no uncertain terms, the door opened and Iain walked in.

They both looked at him, stilled by his expression. He had barely noticed what they were doing and how comprehensively he was intruding, and his face was white and drawn.

“It’s Maggie,” he said, before they could ask. “She’s started her pains.”

“It’s too soon,” said Maggie despairingly when Beth appeared in the bedroom dressed only in her shift, closely followed by Iain. Maggie, to Beth’s surprise, was pacing up and down the room, consciously making an effort to breathe slowly and steadily, small beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Beth had expected her to be lying down in bed, clutching the bedpost and screaming in agony.

I have no idea what to expect, really,
she thought, panicking, realising that her expectations of what she would find in the room were based solely on Caroline’s amusing retrospective account of Freddie’s birth, which she said had mainly consisted of her screaming her head off, threatening to kill Edwin if he ever came within ten yards of her again, and uttering language that would have made a soldier blush. After which a small, slimy squirming creature had been placed carefully in her arms by the midwife, and her heart had immediately melted.

The midwife.

“Get the midwife,” Beth said to Iain, who was hovering uncertainly in the doorway of his own bedroom, which had suddenly become alien territory to him. He nodded once, cast a worried glance at his wife and shot off, grateful to have a reason to leave. Beth, who wanted nothing more than to follow him, instead moved a few steps into the room, just as Maggie halted in her pacing and clutched her stomach, her face contorting as the spasm passed over her.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” said Beth.

“It’s wet,” explained Maggie when the pain had receded. “My waters broke. I thought I’d wet myself at first. And it’s better if ye move about while ye can.” She looked at the other woman, her green eyes dark with anguish, “It’s too soon, Beth. I canna have it now, it’s too soon. It’s no’ due for another ten weeks or so.”

Beth, completely at a loss for what to say to comfort her friend, instead turned to practicalities.

“I’ll change the bed,” she said briskly, pulling the wet bedclothes off the mattress and piling them in a corner. She patted the mattress, which was also wet. “There are clean sheets in our room,” she said. “Will you be all right alone for a minute while I fetch them?”

Maggie attempted a smile, which turned into a grimace.

“Aye,” she said. “The pains are no’ close together yet. But they’re getting stronger. Dinna be too long.”

When Beth arrived back in her bedroom she found it full of male MacGregors. Duncan was already dressed, and was buttoning his waistcoat. Alex was sitting at the dressing table in his shirtsleeves, spreading white paint over his face, and Angus, dressed only in black woollen breeches, was rummaging in the wardrobe. Of Iain there was no sign.

“Has Iain gone for the midwife?” Beth asked.

“No,” said Duncan. “He’s gone to make some tea.”

“
Tea!
” cried Beth. “To hell with tea! We need the midwife, now!”

Alex paused in his cosmetic endeavours, recognising the fear in his wife’s voice.

“He has to stay here Beth, in case he’s needed,” he said, with a calmness of tone that made her want to hit him, even though she knew he was adopting it for her benefit. “And the midwife’d no’ come out at this time of night for a servant. Iain’s too upset to express himself properly. Likely he’d threaten to cut her throat if she refused, and land himself in jail.” He went back to his preparations, smearing two spots of rouge on his cheeks, before standing and donning a lilac brocade waistcoat that Angus handed to him. He smiled at her reassuringly.

“I’ll cut her throat myself if she refuses to come out,” said Beth grimly.

Alex crammed his wig on his head, stuffing his feet into his shoes at the same time.

“There’ll be no need for that, my dear,” he said in a crisp English accent. “Who could refuse Sir Anthony Peters, when he smiles so winningly?” He gave a grotesque grin that ordinarily would have made Beth laugh. “And if that doesn’t work,” he finished, buckling on his sword, “my bottomless purse should.”

He moved past her towards the door, followed by Duncan. Beth grabbed at his sleeve.

“For God’s sake hurry, Alex,” she said desperately. “I need you. I don’t know what to do. You know a lot more about childbirth than I do.”

He looked down at her, not without sympathy, and shook his head.

“No, Beth,” he said gently. “I know a lot more about
children
than you do. About childbirth I know as much, if not less than you.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “Just follow your instincts.”

And then he was gone and Beth was left with Angus, who smiled helplessly at her. She remembered why she had come to the room and turned to the wooden chest, dragging two sheets out, and wondering how it was possible for Alex to know less than her about childbirth, when she knew nothing, nothing at all.

“I’ll away off and help Iain wi’ the tea then, shall I?” said Angus hopefully, preparing to flee.

Beth gritted her teeth in anger. It was ridiculous. All these grown men, who would cheerfully face ten attackers armed only with their fists, were reduced to jelly at the thought of the imminent arrival of a tiny baby. Why should it be assumed that she knew better than them what to do just because she was a woman? At that moment she would happily have faced ten men herself rather than cope with what was to come.

“No,” she said. “You can come with me.” She watched with malicious satisfaction as Angus’s eyes widened in terror. “The mattress is wet and needs turning.”

She had never seen a task accomplished with such speed in her life. Angus worked with the strength of a man possessed, turning the heavy mattress as though it were a feather, his muscles bulging with the strain. Then he vanished, and Beth was left alone with the pregnant woman. She changed the sheets quickly and helped Maggie into a clean nightgown. Then she waited helplessly while another spasm of pain doubled Maggie up, before assisting her gently into bed. Her face was as white as the pillow, her dark auburn hair as red as blood in the candlelight. Beth sat down carefully on the side of the bed.

“Maggie,” she said, wondering how to explain that she had no idea what to do without panicking the young woman. She had to say something, though; she could not bluff her way through this, as she had through so much else in her life.

“Aye, I know,” said Maggie, reading her thoughts. “Ye dinna ken what tae do. Ye’ve no experience wi’ bairns. Dinna fash yourself, Beth, I think it’ll be a while yet. Wi’ luck the midwife’ll be here by then.”

The look of relief on Beth’s face was so immense that Maggie laughed, in spite of her fear.

“I’m sorry, Maggie,” Beth said. “I’ll do anything you ask, but you’ll have to tell me what to do.”

“Pray,” said Maggie, although she knew in her heart it was futile. “Pray as hard as you can that these are false pains. Because I want this bairn so much, Beth, and he canna live if he’s born tonight. He’s not ready.” Tears trickled down her face. “I’ve waited so long,” she cried. “Oh God, I’ve waited so long.”

Beth leaned across and took the despairing woman in her arms, and they clung together, praying for a miracle that they both knew would not be granted.

“She ain’t here,” the sleepy voice called down from the window in answer to Sir Anthony’s frantic banging on his door.

“What do you mean, she’s not here?” cried Sir Anthony indignantly, clearly suspecting that the man was lying. “She must be here. I need her services, immediately. I’m willing to pay very handsomely for her trouble.”

“Even if you was to offer twenty sovs, guv’nor, it wouldn’t do no good,” said the man disrespectfully, eyeing the dandy with disgust. “I told you, she ain’t here. She’s away over the river somewhere delivering twins.”

“Where exactly over the river is she?” said the baronet impatiently.

“I’ve no idea,” came the reply. “But I’ll tell her you called when she gets back, in the morning, prob’ly.”

“Ah. I see,” said Sir Anthony. “Well, do you know of any other midwives in the area, my good man?”

“No,” said the man curtly, annoyed at the term of address. He was nobody’s ‘good man’, particularly not this powdered molly’s. “That is, there’s Sally Morgan in St. Giles, but I wouldn’t trust her to deliver pups, let alone littl’uns, drunken old cow. And there’s Ann O’Neill, but I know for a fact she’s out, too. Uncommon night for babies.” He withdrew his head, preparing to close the window, but stopped at the pleasant sound of coins jingling together. A great many coins, by the look of the leather bag which had appeared in the fop’s hand as if by magic.

“What a shame,” Sir Anthony said regretfully, turning away. “I was of course, prepared to pay up to fifty sovs, as you so enchantingly call them. I have twenty here, on account. But if you don't know where your good lady wife is, there’s nothing to be done. Where exactly does Mrs Morgan live?”

The man leaned so far out of the window he was in danger of falling out of it.

“Now let us not be so hasty, my lord,” he said, quickly revising his opinion of the gentleman below. “You woke me out of a deep sleep, and I was a little fuddled. But I remember now. I’ll get dressed directly.” The head disappeared and within moments a light came on in the room.

“Remarkable how refreshing to the memory gold can be,” remarked Sir Anthony to his manservant.

It was remarkable how refreshing it could be to thieves, too. Especially in the maze of less than salubrious streets around Westminster Abbey. Three emerging shadowy figures faded quickly back into the darkness at the sight of Duncan flexing his broad shoulders and half-drawing his sword. They would go for reinforcements.

“We canna stay here,” he whispered urgently to his brother just as the midwife’s husband appeared at the door, somewhat haphazardly attired, but respectable at least.

“I quite agree, Murdo,” replied the baronet. “It will take my boy at least a day to remove the filth from my shoes. And my stockings are utterly ruined!”

The man’s look of contempt transformed itself into an unctuous smile as the baronet looked up from his contemplation of his bespattered hose.

“Now, my good man,” said Sir Anthony. “I am sure I can entrust you with this purse, if you will just ride like the very devil to fetch your wife!”

“Er, no thank you, my lord,” said the man, who, though his fingers were itching to count the bag’s contents, knew the area and that his chances of leaving it in possession of such a sum were nil. “I am sure I can trust a gen’leman such as yourself to pay up fair and square later. I’ll fetch my wife to your house directly, sir.”