Lady of Hay (21 page)

“There now. He’s nearly here, the boyo.” The birthing woman was rumbling beneath the sheet. “Another push or two, my lovely, and it’ll all be over. There’s brave, it is.” She smiled imperturbably as Matilda arched her back in another agonized contortion and a further spurt of blood soaked into the bedding. The rosary they had put in her fingers broke and the beads rolled across the floor. Horrified, Margaret crossed herself and it was left to Elen to twist a towel into a rope and give it to Matilda to grip as, with a final desperate convulsion, the girl’s body rid itself of its burden.

For a moment there was total silence. Then at last there was a feeble wail from the bloodstained scrap of life that lay between her legs. Matilda did not hear it. She was spinning away into exhausted sleep, her body still hunched against another pain.

“Is he all right?” Margaret peered fearfully at the baby as the woman produced her knife and severed the cord. None of them had even doubted Matilda’s prediction that it would be a boy. The baby, wildly waving its little arms in the air, let out another scream. It was unblemished.

“There, my lady, see. He’s beautiful.” Gently Elen laid the child in Matilda’s arms. “Look at him. He’s smiling.”

Fighting her exhaustion, Matilda pushed away the birthing woman, who had been trying roughly to massage her stomach. She dragged herself up onto her elbow, trying to gather her courage. The moment she had dreaded was here. Somehow she clawed her way back to wakefulness and with outward calm she received the baby and gazed down into the small puckered face. For a moment she could not breathe, then suddenly she felt a strange surge of love and protective joy for her firstborn. She forgot her fears. He was beautiful. She buried her face in the little shawl that had been wrapped around him and hugged him, holding him away from her again only to look long and lovingly at the deep blue-black eyes and tiny fringed lids, the button nose and pursed mouth, and the thatch of dark, bloodstained hair. But as she looked the child’s face grew hazy and blackened. She watched paralyzed as the tiny features became contorted with agony and she heard the child begin to scream again and again. They were not the screams of a child, but those of a grown man, ringing in her ears. In her arms she held a warm woven shawl no longer. She was clutching rags, and through the rags she could feel the bones of a living skeleton. After thrusting the body away from her with revulsion, she feverishly threw herself from the bed and collapsed weakly on her knees, retching, at the feet of the terrified women who had been tending her.

“Sweet Mary, Mother of God, save him and save me,” she breathed, clutching at the coverlet convulsively. Slowly the world around her began to swim. She saw the great bed rocking before her then a deep roaring filled her ears, cutting out all the other sounds, and slowly, helplessly, she slipped to the floor.

***

“Jo!” Nick reached her first. “Jo! It’s all right. Jo, please, Jo…” He gathered her limp form into his arms, cradling her head against his chest.

“Leave her, please.” Bennet knelt beside them. “Let me see her. Jo!” He snapped his fingers in her face. “Listen to me, Joanna. You are going to wake up now. Do you hear me. Now!”

There was a moment of total silence. Outside the sound of a police siren wailing in the Marylebone Road brought the twentieth century back into the room.

Jo stirred. She opened her eyes and lay looking up at Nick. The strain and anguish were slowly clearing from her face as she eased herself upright.

“Jo? Are you all right?” Nick’s voice was gentle. He still had his arm around her shoulders.

She frowned, staring around the room, looking first at Bennet and then at Sarah who was standing, whitefaced, by the desk. Then her gaze came back to Nick. She smiled weakly.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she said shakily.

“Jo, love—” Nick pulled her close, his face in her hair. “None of it happened. Nobody died—”

She stared at him. “Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was very weary. “I want to know the truth.” Her gaze traveled past Nick suddenly. “Archdeacon?” The room in Devonshire Place faded slightly as she peered toward the end of the bed. She was once again lying beneath the covers but now they were cleansed. Darkness had come outside and the room was lighted with a dozen torches. Gerald held a crucifix in his hand and he was praying quietly, his eyes occasionally flitting up to her passive face.

“The child is dead.” She heard her voice as a hollow whisper in the silence of the castle. Somewhere in the distance the police car still wailed. Her lips and tongue were dry as dust.

Gerald kissed the crucifix calmly and tucked it back into his girdle. Then he came to the side of her bed and put his cool hand on her brow. “Not at all,” he said cheerfully. “The child is squalling manfully. I’ve seen it. A fine healthy boy, my lady, to set all your fears at rest.” His grave eyes surveyed her carefully, taking in the disarrayed tangled hair all over the pillow, the pallid, damp skin, the quick, shallow breathing. “You have a touch of fever. Enough to cause some wandering of the mind in your overwrought condition, but there is nothing to fear, for the child or for yourself. I have ordered sleep-wort and poppy for you to take. A good night’s rest will set you right.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but sternly he put his fingers to his lips and pronounced a blessing over her. Then he stood by and watched as Margaret, looking pale and shaken, brought her the sleeping draught, after which she lay back, exhausted. Too tired to think, she let her mind go blessedly blank and drifted slowly into the welcome forgetfulness of sleep.

***

“Who was she talking to?” Nick found himself glancing over his shoulder as Jo settled once more into his arms, her eyes closed. His skin prickled uncomfortably.

Bennet shook his head. “She was still seeing her archdeacon,” he said slowly. “He must have spoken to her, reassured her. Look at the flush on her cheeks almost as if she were asleep—” Gently he picked up Jo’s wrist and felt her pulse.

Sarah covered her with a blanket and for a moment they all stood looking at her. Bennet took off his glasses. His hands were shaking. “The brandy, Sarah, if you please.”

“I hope you’re satisfied!” Nick rounded on him. “Didn’t you realize after last time how vulnerable she is? Didn’t it dawn on you it might be dangerous to play with this…this asinine previous time with Jo? She nearly died under hypnosis before in Edinburgh. Didn’t my brother tell you? She stopped breathing then!
Christ!
” He struck his fist onto his open palm. “You’re supposed to be a reputable practitioner! If Jo hasn’t got the sense to stay away from you, then surely to God you can say no to her yourself!”

“Nick?” Jo’s voice from the sofa was still very weak. “Nick. Don’t shout. Please.”

He swung around to look at her. Jo was struggling to sit up. “Please, don’t be angry. It’s not Carl’s fault. Everything went fine before. It was just that…that having a baby…” Tears began to trickle down her face.

Sarah tiptoed forward. She crouched beside Jo. “Here, have some of this. It will steady you.” She closed Jo’s fingers around the glass and helped guide it to her lips.

“My baby really is all right, isn’t he?” Jo asked after a moment as she pushed the glass away.

Nick and Bennet looked at each other.

“Jo.” Bennet waved Sarah away and sat down on the sofa next to her. He took her hands in his.

“What’s happened?” She glanced wildly from him to the others and back. “What’s wrong? It was some sort of hallucination, wasn’t it? That way he changed in my arms. That wasn’t real. Why don’t you tell me? My baby is all right?”

Bennet swallowed. He was still firmly holding her wrists. “Jo, my dear. There is no baby. That was all in the past. Another world. Another age. Another you. There is no baby here.” His face was full of compassion.

“But I gave birth to him! I held him…” Jo was crying openly now. She stared around, bewildered. “He was here…in my arms.”

Bennet held out his hand to Sarah for the glass. “Drink a little more of this, Jo. It will help to clear your mind. The experience was so real for you it is hard to imagine it did not happen, but you must try to put things in perspective.”

Behind him Nick and Sarah exchanged glances. Without a word she poured two more measures of brandy. Taking one for herself, she handed the other to Nick. He sat down heavily on the edge of the desk, his hand shaking as he raised it to his lips.

Bennet beckoned Sarah over. He stood up. “Sit here with her for a minute,” he said softly.

As Sarah took his place and put a comforting hand on Jo’s arm, he spoke to Nick in an undertone.

“Is there someone at home to look after her?”

Nick nodded grimly. “I’ll be there.”

“Then I suggest the best thing is for you to take her back and put her to bed. All she needs is a good night’s sleep. I’ll prescribe something.” He reached into his desk for his prescription pad. “You mentioned that she nearly died under hypnosis before. Do you know the circumstances? You must believe me, she did not tell me, and neither did your brother.”

“She doesn’t know.” Nick glanced at Jo. He lowered his voice still further. “I think you should speak to Sam. He was there.”

“Dr. Franklyn did try to contact me.” Bennet frowned. “But Joanna said I was not to confer with him. I must confess I did intend to speak to him. I suspected something must have occurred before, in spite of her protestations, but nothing like this!” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing.”

Nick scowled. “It is obviously time you and Sam got together, whatever Jo says. I’ll tell him to get in touch with you again. Meanwhile, can you be sure she is all right?”

Bennet glanced at Jo. “I’ll give you my home number. If anything happens over the weekend to worry you, call me. On Monday I have to fly to Chicago for ten days. It can’t be avoided—but I can give you the name of a colleague—”

“Don’t bother.” Nick stood up. “She won’t need to see anyone else. I’ll take care of her.”

It was another hour before Jo was well enough to stand. Helped by Sarah, Nick half carried her out to the waiting taxi. Thankfully he climbed in beside her and sat back, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Feeling okay now?”

She drew away slightly. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. I made a fool of myself in there.”

“It was hardly your fault.” He stared out of the window. “I’ve asked the driver to stop off at a late-opening drugstore.”

“Why?”

“Bennet’s prescribed something to help you sleep tonight.” He felt in his pocket for the prescription.

Jo snatched it out of his hand. “You know what I think of sleeping pills, Nick. Tell the driver to go straight to Cornwall Gardens.” She tore the paper into tiny pieces.

“You can drop me off and then go on back to Judy.”

“Jo.” Nick was reproachful.

“Well, that is where you were, presumably? She’s the only person who knew what I was doing this afternoon. I don’t know why I told her really.” She closed her eyes wearily, letting the scraps of the prescription flutter unnoticed onto the floor of the cab.

“You told her because you wanted me with you,” Nick said gently.

Jo did not reply.

Once they were back at her apartment, Nick guided Jo to the sofa and she collapsed onto it with a sigh. He frowned. “Shall I call Sam, Jo? He ought to come to look at you.”

“No!” With an effort she sat upright again. “I’ll be fine, Nick. I’m going to have a bath, then I’ll go to bed. There is no need for you to stay. Really.” She glanced at him. At Bennet’s and in the taxi she had been glad he was there, been reassured by his touch, but something had happened as he put his arm around her to help her up the stairs. She had been consumed with panic. It had obliterated every other feeling in her for a moment, even making her forget the baby. She had felt herself go rigid, her breath caught in a spasm of fear. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the feeling had disappeared, leaving her shaking like a leaf. She swallowed hard. “Please, Nick. I’d like to be alone.”

Nick frowned. “At least let me wait until you’re in bed,” he said at last. “I shan’t come near you, if that’s what is worrying you. But I ought to stay. Supposing you fainted in the bath or something?”

Jo hesitated. She had been on the point of protesting that she had never fainted in her life.

“Okay,” she said at last unwillingly. “Thank you.”

“Let me stay next door on the sofa.” He tried once more when she was at last in bed.

“No, Nick. Thanks, but no.” She took his hand.

“You won’t play the tape of what happened?”

“No. I’m going to sleep. Don’t worry about me, Nick.”

Nick looked at her for a moment, then he shrugged. “Right. I’ll be at my apartment. Promise you’ll call if you need me?”

“I promise. Now, please go.”

She sat unmoving until she finally heard the door bang behind him. Then at last she lay back on the pillows and allowed the tears to fall. How could she tell him how much she wanted him to stay? Or how much she was suddenly afraid of him?

She fell asleep at last with the bedside lamp on, unable to bring herself to face total darkness. Outside her window the night was hot and stuffy. Slowly the pubs in Gloucester Road emptied and the sound of talk and laughter echoed up from the mews as people strolled home, enjoying the heady magic of a London night. Restlessly she turned on her pillow, trying to find a cool spot for her head, half hearing the noise as she drifted further into sleep. Outside the street quietened. A stray breeze, carrying the scent of heliotrope from among the pleached limes of the sunken garden beside Kensington Palace, stirred the curtains, and somewhere a cat yowled and knocked over an empty milk bottle, which rolled down a flight of steps into the gutter.