Maude wouldn’t see her on the Lord’s day, so Alys would have to find an excuse to go down to the village during the week. But what if Maude wasn’t there when she called? Alys would have to speak to her come Sunday, and there was only one way to do that—to tell Will and Bess that she needed to ask for an herbal cure to relieve Mistress Ashcombe’s suffering. Perhaps Maude could sell her some ginger or peppermint to relieve the nausea Mistress Ashcombe experienced almost daily, or maybe give her a vial of lavender oil to daub on the pillow to soothe the invalid.
By the time Sunday came, Alys was worn out with worrying. She’d prayed for the bleeding to start, but nothing happened, just as she’d known it wouldn’t. She’d barely seen Jeremy since he’d gone to Chesterfield to visit some friends, something he did every so often in his desperation to get away from the closed atmosphere of the manor. He always stayed for at least two nights and returned feeling happier, his saddlebag full of parcels. Last time, he’d brought boiled sweets for Mistress Helmsley, who loved them, a book for himself, and lengths of cloth for Lady Marjorie, who’d begun sewing tiny gowns for the coming baby. He’d also purchased a plain woolen cloak for Alys, as he’d promised, and she was grateful for its warmth as she walked downhill to the village, praying Maude wouldn’t refuse to help her.
The church service seemed to go on forever, and then she had to sit through dinner with Will and Bess. Thankfully, Bess, who was due in the spring, talked nonstop, making it unnecessary for Alys to contribute much to the conversation. Will had put on weight these past few months, his lean face now rounder and flushed from the cheap wine he served at table. He looked at Bess indulgently, happy in his role as husband and father-to-be.
“It’s a boy,” Will said proudly. “I just know it. We’ll call him Daniel after Father.”
“And if it’s a girl?” Bess teased.
“Then we’ll call her whatever you like,” Will said. “But it will be a boy, and he’ll become my apprentice as soon as he’s old enough and help me in the forge.”
“He’s got it all planned,” Bess said, smiling at Will happily. “I could use a hand about the place too, so a girl would be just as useful.”
“You’ll have both,” Alys said, unable to bear another moment of this irritating banter. “I’m sorry, but I must be going. I need to stop at Old Maude’s for a physick for Mistress Ashcombe.”
“They say in the village she won’t last till Christmas,” Will said.
“Sometimes death is a blessing,” Bess said, her face now somber. “Maybe the good Lord will see fit to end her suffering.”
“Maybe,” Alys agreed. She’d never thought of death as a blessing, but having attended on Mistress Ashcombe these last two months, she could now understand how someone might long to leave this world, especially when there was no hope of improvement.
Alys kissed Bess and hugged Will before leaving the house and hurrying toward the outskirts of the village, where Maude lived. A thin plume of smoke curled from the chimney, and she could see the glow of candlelight through the window. Night came early at this time of year, and Alys would have to walk back in the dark if she tarried in the village any longer, but she couldn’t leave without speaking to Maude.
“Alys Bailey,” Maude said, nodding as if impressed with her ability to recall the name. “And what can I do for ye, my girl?”
Before, Maude’s house had been filled with dried herbs hanging from the rafters and permeating the tiny cottage with a pleasant smell, but all the herbs were gone, only darkened beams visible beneath the thatch. The rancid smell of the tallow filled the house, the candle doing little to dispel the encroaching darkness.
Alys had her speech all prepared, but as she looked into the old woman’s knowing gaze, hot tears spilled down her cheeks, her voice quivering as she whispered, “I think I’m with child.”
Maude nodded wisely. “Let’s take a look, shall we?”
“But it’s Sunday,” Alys protested.
Maude shrugged. “Ye think babies don’t get born on a Sunday? Midwifery is the Lord’s work, my girl. Ye go when ye’re needed.” She gestured toward a low cot by the wall. “Take off that fine cloak and lie down.”
Alys did as she was bid, her insides quivering with fear. She’d never been examined by anyone, not even when she was ill. Physicians were for the nobility, not for the likes of her, and no woman needed a midwife until she was properly wed. There hadn’t been a bastard born in the village in twenty years, at least.
Maud placed her hands on Alys’s belly and pressed hard, moving her hands this way and that until she was satisfied. She then pulled down Alys’s chemise, exposing her breasts. The cold air hit Alys’s skin and her nipples hardened, the way they did when Jeremy took them in his mouth and suckled them until she grew moist between the legs. Her cheeks heated with the memory and then with embarrassment as Maude cupped her breasts and lifted them, as if weighing them in her hands, then squeezed them, making Alys gasp.
“When was the last time ye had yer courses?” Maud asked.
“In early September, but they’ve never been regular.”
Maude released her breasts. “Fix yerself,” she said gruffly as Alys pulled up the chemise and adjusted her bodice. “Yer womb is swollen and yer paps are tender. Ye’re at least two months gone.”
“Please, don’t tell Will,” Alys begged. “He’ll be so angry.”
“My business is bringing babies into this world, not causing trouble for their mothers,” Maude said.
