The two women stared at each other for a full ten seconds before Kitty said weakly, ‘She’s his sister, lass, an’ blood’s thicker than water. Anyway, you can’t do nowt and likely she’ll be as right as rain in a day or two. Now drink your tea an’ then go and clear the breakfast things in the dining room before you see to the twins.’
John and Matthew were considered old enough by their mother to dress themselves and join their parents for breakfast every morning, but it was one of Bridget’s many jobs to wake David and Patience, change their nappies and get them ready for the day before giving them their morning bottles and bowls of porridge. Bridget didn’t mind that as the family had grown, so had her duties, which meant she now rose at five o’clock every morning and was rarely in bed before midnight. She loved the children, who were all very well-behaved and docile – all but Patience, that was. Even at a year old the little girl had the upper hand with her twin and a far stronger will than John and Matthew had ever shown.
Swigging down her tea in a few gulps, Bridget rose to her feet. She’d see to the bairns same as normal and carry out the rest of the day’s tasks, but that wouldn’t stop her popping her head round Mrs Lemaire’s door every so often and asking if she wanted anything. Her mam was a great one for believing the best in folk, she’d make excuses for Old Nick himself, would her mam, but Bridget wasn’t so sure about the master and mistress in all of this. They might have taken Mrs Lemaire in but they hadn’t done it willingly, and she couldn’t see them putting themselves out for the poor soul. Aye, she’d keep an eye on her today, just to be sure.
In spite of her good intentions it was nearly eleven o’clock before Bridget knocked on the door of the guest room. David and Patience had been fractious first thing; the twins had heavy colds and seeing to them had taken twice as long as usual, and although she had hurried through her chores she felt as though she had been chasing her tail non-stop. It was her mother, who had prepared an elevenses tray with teacakes warm from the oven and a glass of hot milk, who alerted her to the lateness of the morning. ‘Leave that ironin’, lass,’ Kitty called into the scullery where Bridget was tackling a basketful of the children’s clothes, ‘and take a bite up to the master’s sister. She didn’t have but a mouthful of porridge this mornin’ and she didn’t touch the bacon and eggs as far as I could see.’
Bridget knocked gently on the bedroom door. The twins were having their long morning nap and John and Matthew were at their lessons in the schoolroom with their tutor, who had battled through the snow for the first time in a week, but the master and mistress, although ensconced in the morning room, had ears like cuddy’s lugs and she would prefer not to attract their attention.
She knocked twice before she heard a weak, ‘Come in,’ and when she opened the door Mrs Lemaire was not in the chair by the window but in bed. Even from the doorway Bridget could see her face looked colourless. She hadn’t appeared well that morning, but now she seemed ten times worse.
Crossing the room rapidly, Bridget placed the tray on the bedside table and bent over the still figure. ‘What is it, ma’am? Shall I call the mistress?’
‘No.’ Esther reached out her hand and caught that of the maid’s, holding it with a strength that belied her appearance. ‘I think sitting by the window for a while wasn’t such a good idea. I’m tired, that’s all, and the chair has made my back ache.’
‘Do you think you could eat a little, ma’am?’
‘Not just at the moment, thank you, Bridget. I’ll sleep and maybe have some lunch later.’
Once the maid had left the room, Esther found she couldn’t sleep though. She was suffering some sort of cramping seizure in her back and felt strangely uncomfortable. When Bridget returned with her lunch an hour or two later she still managed to put on a brave face, but by evening the pains had moved round to her stomach and she knew the baby was coming. It was three weeks early by her reckoning, but such was the ferocity of the pains she knew there was no doubt, and when Bridget insisted the mistress must be told, she did not protest.
By midnight the baby still hadn’t been born and Esther was in a state of collapse, drifting in and out of consciousness between the pains which were racking her body with relentless regularity. She was aware of very little besides her agony, but she knew Bridget was kneeling by the side of the bed and holding tight to her hand. At one point she thought she heard the little maid arguing with Mary and demanding that a doctor be called to the house, but then she told herself she must have imagined it. Bridget wouldn’t dare to tell her mistress what to do.