wet.”
“As far as I am concerned,” Colonel Forbes said, “there is enough rain outside. We do not need to admit any to the indoors.” No one argued with him.
They all began to think of what they would have been doing on that day if only they had had the fortune or wisdom to travel earlier and had reached their destinations. But the images of elegant and comfortable homes and of relatives and friends and all the sights and sounds and smells of Christmas did not bear dwelling upon.
Lord Birkin went back upstairs with his wife when she appeared briefly early in the afternoon to fetch more water from the kitchen. She had reported to all the gathered guests that there was no further progress upstairs. Poor Lisa was suffering cruelly, but appeared no nearer to being delivered than she had done that morning.
Lord Birkin took his wife by the arm when they reached the top of the stairs and steered her past Lisa’s room and into their own.
“Sally,” he said, “you are going to tire yourself out. Do you not think you have done enough? Should it not be Mrs. Palmer’s turn? Or Mrs.
Forbes’s?”
She sat down on the edge of the bed and he seated himself beside her.
“Mrs. Palmer is frightened by the very thought of becoming involved,” she said. “I can tell. That is why she is keeping so busy with other things. And Mrs. Forbes is quite inept. Well-meaning but inept. The few times she has come inside the room she has stood close to the door and nodded sweetly and clearly not known what she should do.”
“And you do know?” he said.
She smiled. “Some things come by instinct,” she said. “Don’t worry about me, Henry.”
“But I do worry,” he said, taking her hand and holding it in both of his. “And I blame myself for not bringing you from London sooner than I did. This is Christmas Eve, Sally. Have you realized that? You should be with Lady Middleton and all your friends and acquaintances now. You should be in comfort. The partying should have begun- the feasting and caroling and dancing. Instead we are stuck here. Not only stuck, but somehow involved with a girl who is giving birth. This is no Christmas for you.”
“Or for you,” she said. “It really does not seem like Christmas at all, does it? But we cannot do anything about it. Here we are and here Lisa is. I must return to her.”
“What is going to happen when it comes time for her to deliver?” he asked.
He had struck a nerve. There was fear in her eyes for a brief unguarded moment. “We will jump that hurdle when we come to it,” she said.
“You are afraid, Sally?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” she said briskly. But then she looked down at their clasped hands and nodded quickly. Her voice was breathless when she spoke again. “I am afraid that in my ignorance I will cause her death or the baby’s.”
He released her hand, set an arm about her shoulders, and drew her toward him. She sagged against him in grateful surprise and set her head on his shoulder.
“Without you and Miss Wilder,” he said, “she would be alone in the stable with the hysterical Tom. You are being very good to her, Sally.
You must remember that, whatever happens. I wish I could take you away from here. I wish I had not got you into this predicament.”
She nestled her head on his shoulder and felt wonderfully comforted. If this had not happened, they would be caught up in the gaiety of Christmas at this very moment, surrounded by friends. Except that they would not be together. As like as not, he would be off somewhere with some of the other gentlemen, playing billiards, probably, since the weather would not permit shooting.
“Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “Besides, it is not so very bad, is it? If we were not here, I fear that Pamela would have to cope alone.
That would be too heavy a burden on her shoulders. She is wonderful, Henry. So calm and brave, so kind to Lisa. Just as if she knew exactly what she was doing.”
“You sound like two of a kind, then,” he said.
She looked up at him in further surprise. His face was very close. “Do you think so?” she said. “What a lovely thing to say-and very reassuring. I feel quite inadequate, you see.”
He dipped his head and kissed her-swiftly and firmly and almost fiercely. And then raised his head and looked into her eyes as she nestled her head against his shoulder again. He very rarely kissed her.
She ached with a sudden longing and put it from her.
“I must go back,” she said. “Pamela will be alone with Lisa.”
“If there is anything I can do,” he said, “call me. Will you?”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement suddenly. “You will spend the rest of the day in fear and trembling that perhaps I will take you at your word,” she said.
He chuckled, and she realized how rarely he did so these days. She had almost forgotten that it was his smile and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed that had first attracted her to him. “You are probably right,” he said.
He escorted her back to Lisa’s room, though he did not go inside with her. She felt refreshed, almost as if she had lain down and slept for a few hours. Pamela was leaning over a moaning Lisa, dabbing at her brow with a cool, damp cloth. She looked around at Lady Birkin.
“Two minutes,” she said. “The pains have been two minutes apart for more than an hour now. It must be close, don’t you think, Sally?”
But it was not really close at all. There were several more hours of closely paced contractions and pain to live through.
Everyone moved from the taproom into the dining room for afternoon tea, just so that they might have a welcome change of scenery, Colonel Forbes said with a short bark of laughter. Lord Birkin, strolling to the window, announced that the rain appeared to be easing and that he hesitated to say it aloud but the western horizon looked almost bright.
“But it is happening too late, my lord,” Miss Amelia Horn said.
“Christmas has been ruined already.”
Mrs. Forbes sighed and nodded her agreement.
And yet they were all making an effort to put aside their own personal disappointments over a lost Christmas. They were all thinking of the baby who was about to be born and of the child’s destitute parents. Miss Eugenia Horn was still busy knitting baby boots. Mrs. Forbes, having recalled that she had no fewer than eight flannel nightgowns in her trunk, flannel being the only sensible fabric to be worn during winter nights, declared that she did not need nearly as many. She was cutting up four of them into squares and hemming them so that the baby would have warm and comfortable nappies to wear. Miss Amelia Horn was cutting up a fifth to make into small nightshirts. She had already painstakingly unpicked the lace from one of her favorite caps to trim the tiny garments.
Even the gentlemen were not unaffected by the impending event. Colonel Forbes was thinking of a certain shirt of which he had never been overly fond. It would surely fit Tom and keep him warm, too. By good fortune the garment was in the trunk upstairs-for the simple reason that it was one of his wife’s favorites. Lord Birkin thought of the staff at his London house and on his country estate. There really was no room for an extra worker. His wife had already foisted some strays upon him. He was definitely overstaffed. Perhaps some banknotes would help, though giving money in charity always seemed rather too easy. The Marquess of Lytton turned a gold signet ring on his little finger. It was no heirloom. He had bought it himself in Madrid. But it had some sentimental value. Not that he was a sentimentalist, of course. He drew it slowly from his finger and dropped it into a pocket. Sold or pawned, it would provide a family of three with a goodly number of meals. The quiet gentleman withdrew to the stable after tea to stretch his legs and breathe some fresh air into his lungs.
Pamela Wilder appeared in the dining room doorway when tea was over and immediately became the focus of attention. But she could give no news other than that Lisa was very tired and finding it harder to bear the pains. Miss Wilder looked tired, too, the Marquess of Lytton thought, gazing at her pale and lovely face and her rather untidy hair. Lady Birkin had sent her downstairs for a half-hour break, having had one herself earlier.
“The tea is cold, dear,” Miss Eugenia Horn said. “Let me get you a fresh pot. There is no point in ringing for service. One might wait all day and all night too if one did that.”
