The Wild Princess

Thirty-two



Osborne House, Isle of Wight, 1866

Louise threw her head back against the sweat-soaked pillows and screamed as the contraction climaxed. The pain pressed up through her belly, hardening the muscle in a wave that rounded into her lower back. When she opened her eyes as the discomfort lessened, she saw the doctor, holding a cloth in one hand and an amber bottle of ether in the other.

“No!” she gasped. “Take it away.” She pushed herself halfway up from where she lay on the mattress, bracing herself on her elbows.

“But, Princess,” his wife coaxed, “it will ease the pain.”

“Your mother ordered it for you,” Dr. Charles Locock said. “She asked for ether when her last two children were born. She swears by it.”

“No. You’ll make me lose consciousness.”

“Would that be so bad?” cooed the woman. “When you wake up, it will all be over. Just like a bad dream.” The doctor took a step forward; the ether cloth came at her again.

Louise kicked with both feet, sending the couple stumbling back out of range. “Stay away from me!” she cried. “Stay away from my baby.”

The doctor and his wife exchanged looks. She knew what they were thinking, knew what they intended to do.

“We just want to help you,” Locock said. “You can’t give birth on your own like a squaw.”

“After the baby is born, if it is healthy . . . if it survives the birth, it’s better if you don’t see it,” his wife said, her voice softly coaxing. “You know you can’t possibly keep it. I will carry it to a couple in the village who are waiting for it. It will have a loving family to care for it.”

“Liars!” Louise screamed on the rise of another contraction. She panted to catch her breath, portioning out words between inhalations. “I saw . . . the letter . . . she sent. My mother wants . . . to kill my baby.”

The doctor’s wife reached out as if to brush a hand over Louise’s sweat-damp hair, but stopped short of touching her. “Oh, no, dear. What a terrible thing to say. The queen is so worried about you. She wants what’s best for you, and the babe will be—”

While the pain eased, Louise spilled out her proof. “She said in the letter, ‘Do what you must.’ That’s what she said. She didn’t say to find my baby a home. She didn’t say to— Oh, God!” She felt herself tearing then the hardness of the baby’s head pushing between her thighs, and she fell back against the tangled linens, unable to gather enough strength to hold herself up any longer.

They were right. She needed help. She couldn’t do this on her own.

She felt the doctor’s hands guiding the baby out of her as his wife encouraged her to push. The woman stood beside her, holding her hand, smoothing a cool hand over her forehead, whispering, “It will be all right, Your Highness. It’s all going to be just fine. You’ll see. Now the worst is over. The babe’s out. Rest now. We’ll take care of everything.”

Despite refusing the ether, Louise suddenly felt so very tired, so sleepy, she could hardly keep her eyes open. “My baby,” she whispered. “Please, give him to me.” They hadn’t told her it was a boy, but somehow she knew.

“Now dear—”

Tears pooled in Louise’s eyes, blurring the room around her. “Please, please don’t take him from me.”

She could hear them talking in hushed voices on the far side of the room. Water was being poured, she imagined to clean away the birth blood. A lusty cry broke the silence as the babe took his first breath. Her heart sang. Her son was alive.

But before she could reach for him, there came a sudden splashing sound, and the cry stopped.

“No!” Louise shrieked.

“What are you doing?” The doctor’s voice. “Not here, woman. Get it out of the room!”

And then she knew for certain, there was no village couple.

“Stop!” Louise pushed herself up on one arm despite the searing pain the slightest movement caused. To her relief, the woman had stepped back from the tub of water with the writhing, wet infant in her hands. “If you harm that baby . . . if you take one step out of this room with him,” Louise vowed, “I shall tell the world you have murdered the grandchild of Queen Victoria.”

The doctor and his wife exchanged worried glances.

Locock took a step toward her. “Princess. Please, let us take care of this complication for you. The scandal would kill your poor mother.”

Nothing on God’s green earth has the power to kill that woman, she thought. Nothing. She’ll die when she’s good and ready.

“Give me the baby,” Louise commanded.

Neither of them moved. But the wrinkled pink newborn, lying like a pagan offering, still unswaddled in the woman’s open hands, suddenly began flailing and wailing furiously. He was probably just cold. Louise knew that. But to her ears, there had never been a more beautiful sound. Her son was calling to her.

“Go! For godsakes get out of here!” the doctor shouted. “She’s bluffing.”

The doctor’s wife looked down at the baby in her hands then at Louise. There was a flash of pity in the older woman’s eyes.

“If you kill my child,” Louise warned, her voice crackling with white-hot rage, “I swear to you, I will go to the police, but first I will tell every newspaper in London what you have done. You will both be charged with murder and found guilty, because my mother will deny knowledge of your wicked deed. She will protect the Crown, while all of England calls you monsters and applauds your execution.”

As if launched by a spring, the doctor’s wife rushed toward the bed and nearly tossed the squalling infant at its mother. Louise tenderly rested the babe across her belly and pulled the bloodstained linens up over them both for a bit of warmth.

“In the morning, you will see things differently,” Locock said, his eyes grim, lips tucked in tight. “You will realize you have no choice but to—”

“There are always choices,” Louise said, giving in to her exhaustion and closing her eyes as she cradled the baby to her body. “Go. Leave us.”

That night, as tired as Louise was, she forced herself to stay awake. A few hours later, the doctor’s wife slipped into the room. Before Louise could warn her off, the woman pressed a finger over her lips. “Hush, Your Highness, I won’t hurt you or the child. I’ve brought clean sheets and blankets for you. Let me wash you and check to make sure you’re not hemorrhaging.”

The woman was efficient and gentle, but so silent in her ministrations that Louise knew she had come without her husband’s knowledge.

“Thank you,” Louise whispered.

“I have a son too,” the woman said, her eyes kind. “A fine grown son. You fought for your babe’s life tonight. I would have done the same.”