A Love Laid Bare by Constance Hussey Page A

to
England. It is out of your control, so stop whining and go inside
before you freeze out here . Hissing softly under her breath,
she heaved herself upright, grasped the bucket handle, and opened
the latch.
    A steady blaze warmed the good-sized room, where most
activity took place, but the two smaller chambers were cold at this
time of day. Fortunately, Frances slept out here, next to the fire
that burned day and night. Humming softly, she set the bucket
beside the fireplace. She was ladling water into the large pot that
permanently rested on the wide hearth when a sudden acute pain made
her gasp. The ladle clattered to the floor and a warm liquid
trickled down her legs.
    The baby! The baby is coming—and Madame at a
neighbor’s! Frances folded her arms across her stomach and
straightened. Her heart racing and panic rising, she stumbled to a
chair. Calm yourself, Frances. Madame will be home soon and from
all you have heard these past months, babies rarely come
quickly . Another spasm gripped her. She bent over, clutched her
middle, and waited for it to pass. Everything was ready—swaddling
blankets for the infant, clean linens and bedclothes for her. There
was even a keen-edged knife, used for nothing other than birthing,
to cut the cord.
    Madame has delivered a dozen babies. Now get up and
walk as you’ve been told to do.
    She was between contractions, making another round of
the room, when Madame Fournier came home . Frances had
managed to remove her damp petticoats and gown and was clad only in
a chemise and nightdress.
    “Francine! Your time has come, oui ?” Madame
hung up her cloak, removed her gloves, and hurried to where Frances
had stopped to grip the back of a chair. “I am sorry I was not
here, but it cannot have gone on too long. Did you have the
water?”
    “Yes, some time ago,” Frances said with a gasp.
    “Good, good. Move as best you can while I light a
fire in my bedchamber. You need a proper bed for this. Then I will
tell Bette to send one of hers for Martine. The girl is young but
already shows a gift for nursing.” The Frenchwoman smiled kindly
and wiped the moisture from Frances’ forehead. “All will be well,
child,” she said, and darted off.
    Frances resumed her careful amble, dreading each
contraction but somehow enduring them in silence. Madame Fournier
was more than kind, but now she needed a familiar face. She wanted
Rose—she wanted to be home . If only she had never taken the
boat out! Never overheard Halcombe’s tryst with that woman. What if
she died here? Women died in childbirth all the time!
    What if horses could fly? You could soar right
across the water. Don’t be stupid, Frances. You are young and
healthy and you are not going to die .
    “It just feels like it,” she panted and staggered to
a nearby bench. No more walking or she might fall flat on her face. And given the size of you, it will take more than Madame to pick
you up!
    Then Madame was back, and Martine appeared soon
after. With the two of them beside her, voicing encouragement,
Frances managed a few more turns around the room before she was
settled on the Frenchwoman’s bed, propped up with pillows behind
her head and shoulders and thick pads of linen beneath her. Madame
pushed Frances’ gown up to her hips and tut-tutted her approval,
while Martine massaged Frances’ belly.
    “You are doing well, ma chère,” Martine said.
“Breathe with the pain—it will make it easier.” The Frenchwoman
chuckled at Frances’ look of disbelief. “It does not seem so, oui ? But I have seen it so and you have some time yet
before your little one makes an appearance.” She folded one of
Frances’ hands around a length of cloth tied to the bedpost.
    Frances gripped the cloth as if her life depended
upon it. The contractions came more and more frequently as the
hours passed. She felt as if her body was turning inside out and
pain was her whole existence. “I can’t do this!” she sobbed,
ashamed of her tears, but