Rose’s arms were rail thin. Perhaps she had eaten nothing during her incarceration. With her swelling belly and skeletal frame, she resembled the photographs C.J. had seen of starving children in Biafra. “Lady Rose, what happened that you should end up in Bedlam?” Should she divulge her knowledge of Rose’s recent whereabouts, that the last time C.J. had seen her, Rose was the main attraction at a gang rape masquerading as a bawdy costume ball?
“Curse the day you were born a woman!” Rose hissed. She began to sway to and fro, picking up the thread of her tune.
Lord Featherstone could not live alone, cut by the ton and his family.
A babe on the way fair ruined his day, nor could he repair my virginity.
Lady Rose, shivering, scratched at her bare, scrawny legs. They were dotted with ugly sores. “Mrs. Lindsey was kind to me, so kind . . . until . . .” She clawed at her own belly.
“Until she could tell you were carrying a babe,” C.J. whispered.
Rose nodded. “I’m cold, so cold. Can you keep me warm, mistress?”
C.J. searched the confines of her cage for anything resembling a blanket, while Rose, dripping profusely with a cold sweat, tried to hum to herself to keep her teeth from chattering.
“I’m afraid I have nothing here, your ladyship,” C.J. said. That it should come to this. At least the poor young woman deserved to be addressed properly. The rest of her dignity already had been stripped away by degrees. “Come to me, Lady Rose.” C.J. crouched at the bottom of the cage and stretched her arms through the bars as far as she could reach.
Rose crawled over and nestled like an obedient child in the pungent straw matting while C.J. managed to cradle the head and shoulders of the unfortunate soul in her arms. Rose began to rock and sob, in between shivers, and for several minutes C.J. rocked with her, the cage swinging to and fro.
Rose’s flesh then began to grow cold to the touch; her singing stopped. The only noise C.J. heard was the cacophony of shrieks and cries from other inmates. To her mortification, she realized that Lady Rose was most likely at death’s door. C.J. cried herself hoarse calling for the doctors.
“SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!” Darlington raged, as he paced the carpet in Lady Dalrymple’s drawing room.
Lady Dalrymple put three lumps of highly taxed sugar in her tea. “Not only is Miss Welles perfectly sane, Percy, but she is carrying your child. You did believe her when she announced her condition at the Assembly Ball? Do you wish that horrible Dr. Squiffers to salve your conscience and subject her to further shame by verifying her condition? Heavens! What unmarried young woman would go to such risks? Was it a mad thing she did that night—or a brave one? My niece loves you, you foolish man. From the moment I saw Miss Welles, even in her ill-fitting servant’s garb, I thought that you and she would suit. She has a lively mind, Percy. You need that.”
“Well, ’tis true enough that the girl possesses an uncommon spirit.”
“One that will be utterly destroyed if she is permitted to languish in that asylum a moment longer. If she dies there, your child dies with her.” Her voice choked with emotion and anger. “So help me, Percy, that girl is my happiness—and yours—you damn fool. If we lose her forever, you will never again be welcome in my sight!”
“I am thoroughly aware of my own culpability in this affair. Let me be the responsible party here,” Darlington fumed. An afterthought overtook him. “Perhaps I drove Miss Welles to madness by abandoning her when I had all but offered for her.”
“Fie, Percy, you give yourself far too much credit! My niece is heartsick; that’s what’s the matter with her and you did indeed drive her to that, but she is no more mad than you or I, and you know it. I have my flights of fancy, to be sure,” the countess continued, aware of the deception she had perpetrated on her friends as well as on the rest of the gentry of Bath. How well she knew that the noblest among us are not always fortunate in having a noble birthright. “They have always served to entertain me . . . and will have to do so even more now that I am alone in the world.”
“You’re never alone, mum. You’ll always have me. I promise it,” Mary blurted earnestly. “I give you my solemn word that even if I do become a midwife, I shall see to your care for the rest of my days.”
“Midwife?” Darlington and Lady Dalrymple echoed.
“Forgive me for speakin’ so; I know it is not my place, but I have always dreamed of it. I have fancies too! Although I know that I cannot have thoughts above my station—and have no proper learnin’ besides—I was born on a farm, and babe or calf or foal, I know how to assist a female who is going to be a mum.”
Darlington tried to maintain a clear head. These women were plaguing him with the sort of circuitous logic that was peculiar to their sex. Talk of babes and midwifery and flights of fancy—while Cassandra was incarcerated in a madhouse! “Mary, I give you my pledge that if we manage to free Miss Welles from Bethlehem, I will permit you to be present when she is delivered of her babe. But for the nonce, we must see what can be done to effect her release from the asylum.”
“Precisely, Percy.” The countess rose from her seat and began to pace to and fro, nearly wearing a path in the carpet with her tread. Her front parlor was fast becoming its own Bedlam. “Wherever one wishes to lay blame, I remain certain that Cassandra does not belong in Bethlehem.” She leveled a stern gaze at
