The Witch Hunter's Tale(78)

The women laughed again, and I felt frustration rising within me. Susan saw this and took my arm. “It’s the Lord Mayor’s wife,” she whispered in my ear. “Like every other young man in the city, he’s besotted with Agnes Greenbury. The only difference is that he’s too doltish to hide it.”

I could not help feeling disappointed in the news. The fact that James had, yet again, fallen in love with the wrong woman would hardly help Will and Tree escape the city. I withdrew from the company and called for a glass of barley water. Grace’s final travail would begin soon, and I wanted to be ready. When Grace’s labor pangs became more frequent and regular, I summoned Martha, and soon after the child came bellowing into the world without any hindrance.

That was when the problems began.

Martha received the child—a baby girl—and the gossips started to help Grace from the stool to her bed, but Martha cried out in alarm.

“Put her back down,” she ordered. “Lady Bridget, come here!”

In an instant the room went silent save the cries of the child. The women lowered Grace back onto the birthing stool. Good cheer fled the room, and fear took its place.

“What is it?” I rushed to Martha’s side.

“The navel string is too short,” she replied. I took the child and found that Martha was right. She was so closely tethered to her mother that Grace could hardly move.

“We must cut it now,” I said. “If the cord pulls itself from the after-burthen—” I did not finish the sentence, nor did I need to.

“But what would happen if the string falls back inside?” Martha asked.

I shook my head. I had never seen a case such as this, and I had no ready answers.

Grace peered down at us, her eyes bright with fear, but she did not speak. After a moment, the answer came to me.

“Get a ribbon,” I said to the women behind me. “A fine one if you have it.” Within moments, one of Grace’s gossips had whipped one from her dress and handed it to me. I took my small knife from my apron.

“Grace,” I said. “The navel string is so short that it may fall back inside you when I cut it. I do not want to lose it, so I am tying this ribbon to it. Do you understand?”

Grace nodded, and as quickly as I could, I tied the ribbon and cut the string. One of the gossips took the child for washing and swaddling while Martha and I saw to Grace.

“Bring some hellebore,” I said to Martha. “I want to bring the after-burthen out as soon as we can.”

“I already have it,” she replied, handing me a small bag. Were the situation not so strange and dangerous, I might have commended her for her ready-handedness.

“Grace, I want you to cough. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have you breathe in this powder. It will hurt, but it also will help you bring forth the secundine.”

Grace coughed and coughed, but to no avail. When she took in the hellebore, her body twitched and flew, and I watched as the navel string drew back into her body. I gave thanks to God that I’d tied the ribbon, but I knew that Grace had not yet reached a safe harbor. I anointed my hands with oil of lilies, and as gently as I could I reached inside Grace. I knew that if I didn’t discover the problem, she could die before she’d even nursed her child.

To my dismay, I found the afterbirth still entirely attached to the side of Grace’s matrix. Not daring to remove it myself, I withdrew my hand and gestured for the gossips to lay Grace in her bed and give her the child. Grace looked up at me, the strain and fear of the day etched upon her face. She did not speak, but I knew her question.

“The after-burthen has not yet come,” I said. “It is best if we wait and allow it to be born on its own.” I did not tell her it held so fast to her matrix that we had little choice in the matter. If I tried to draw it forth myself, her matrix would flood, and she would bleed to death in mere minutes.

“For now, you should rest, and feed both the child and yourself,” I said. “If her cries are any sign, you will need all your strength to care for her.”

To my relief Grace laughed, and I smiled when she put the child to her breast. When the gossips had gathered around Grace, I took Martha by the arm and pulled her aside. She alone recognized the concern on my face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it. It is possible that she will deliver the afterbirth and all will be well, but it is quite unnatural.”

“What can we do?”

I ran through our choices in my head. I could try to deliver the afterbirth by hand or with a crotchet hook, but I was loath to be too rough with it. We could summon a surgeon, but with the child safely born there was nothing he could do that I could not.