Beyond Rubies (Daughters of Sin 4)

Araminta didn’t open her eyes until she was set down upon a very hard surface, and when she did take in her surroundings, she was horrified by the lowliness of the room. The damp was palpable; the thick dust on the windowsill immediately caused her to sneeze, and her scream in the midst of another contraction was extended when a large spider web drifted from the ceiling to brush her cheek.

When she’d recovered, she could only stare about her with horror. This was Miss La Bijou’s dwelling? The roof seemed to bear down on her; the cold and damp rose up from the bare wooden boards, but then the horror was tinged with something else. The realization that, perhaps, this was the best that could have happened. Oblivion. Anonymity.

The woman, whom Araminta had heard Kitty address as Mrs. Mobbs, filled the doorway as she put her plump hands on her ample hips. Her gown was open at the throat, and Araminta could see her sweaty, blotchy skin, which at first made her recoil, until it occurred to her that this lower-class woman, who in all likelihood had little contact with society circles, might well be the most valuable assistant she could wish for.

She certainly seemed capable. “Kitty! Fetch all the linen yer can find so we might assist ‘er ladyship!” the woman shouted. “Water! I need water! Yer’ll ‘ave to go ter the pump. I’ve none left. I’ll see ter the fire. Warm water is wot we need. ‘Urry now!”

There was a moment of relief when Mrs. Mobbs covered Araminta with a blanket, but the wool was coarse and then the pain came again, and she screamed, instinctively drawing up her knees.

Pieces of sharp straw jabbed at her, pricking through the narrow, stuffed mattress though dimly she acknowledged that was the least of her problems. The force of the creature within threatened to breach her, rip her in two, and she couldn’t bear it.

“Get it out! Get rid of it!” she muttered between clenched teeth, breathing short, shallow

breaths, vaguely conscious of the woman returning to the room. “Get it out! By God, I hate it!”

Mrs. Mobbs dabbed at her forehead with a dirty piece of linen. “Now that’s not charitable. ‘Ate yer own babe?”

“Yes, I do! I hate it! It’s come too early!” she sobbed before she realized the words were out, turning her head to add mutinously, “It’ll ruin my life! It’s already ruined my life!” She opened one eye defiantly, ready to repudiate whatever else Mrs. Mobbs might have to say about that; however, the woman merely smiled as she settled her large bulk on a stool and pushed a greasy strand of hair beneath her grubby mob cap.

Thank the lord she was in this hovel and not lying in state in Debenham’s townhouse or country estate or, God forbid, at Hetty’s with Lord Ludbridge in the next room listening to her birthing pangs and frowning as he calculated the months, just as Debenham would be doing.

“Me good lady, I am indeed troubled to ‘ear this. Why, yer ‘usband will be only too delighted when yer return ‘ome an’ present ‘im with a fine bonny...well, whatever it is. There now, breathe ’ard. It’s goin’ ter come fast, this one.”

“Not fast enough,” Araminta muttered. “If I never have another it’ll be too soon.”

“Ah well, some of us are made fer pleasure and some made fer breeding.”

“Breeding is not for me. It’s ruined my figure but...” Araminta gave a sob, “I’m a married woman with a brutish husband, and I’m fated to do this...oh god, once a year.”

“Course not, luvvey. Ah, Kitty, yer’ve brought us ‘ot water. Wot a good girl. We’ll need plenty more, now. ‘Elp me sponge down our fine lady an’ then go an’ fetch another pail. That’s a good girl.”

Araminta felt the gravitational pull down in her lower regions, together with a desperate wave of pain. She truly didn’t think she could bear it this time. She tried to draw in her breath, but couldn’t. The sweat was pouring from every pore, it felt, and she was more a prisoner than she’d ever felt.

The woman sponged her forehead, the warm water small relief before another wave of pain swamped her. “Get...it...out!” she shrieked.

“Breathe in...an’ out...bite on this.” The woman stuffed a filthy strip of leather into Araminta’s mouth which Araminta immediately spat out, glaring, before suddenly she felt a sucking, heaving, slithering motion.

“Push!” shouted the woman. “Push!”

Instinctively, Araminta did as she was bid. She felt as if she were expelling a monster, but the relief was almost instant, and the woman’s satisfied cry bore out her success.

“Lordy, it’s a boy! I’ve neva seen a babe come so quickly!”

The sound of a quick slap was followed by a lusty cry, and then the babe was placed on Araminta’s chest.

Araminta looked down at the wrinkled, waxy, loathsome creature and turned her head away, curling her lip in disgust.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered, the words ending in a sob; the relief of pushing out the baby followed by the catharsis of uttering the truth. “May God forgive me, but what can I do?”

The woman put her face close to Araminta’s and pushed her hair back. “Yer is a grand lady and now a mother. Yer don’t know what yer sayin’, m’lady. Course yer want it. Yer ‘usband wants a son, to be sure ‘e does. A fine, lusty son. Yer’ve done yer duty and provided ‘im wiv an ‘eir fer I can tell this is yer first. Now, let’s clean yer both up a bit. My, but wot a fine ‘ead o’ ‘air ‘e has. The devil’s crown, eh? Black, wiv a streak of white. No doubt it runs in yer ‘usband’s family? ‘Is Lordship will be proud.”

Araminta, who’d been about to utter another moan of despair, felt the breath leave her in a rush. Horror deafened her to everything but the silent shrieking inside her head. Finally, she croaked, “What did you say?” She struggled up onto her elbows and stared, horrified at the bundle of...devil’s spawn. The hair—thick and black cut through with a swathe of white at the right temple— was a trademark of Sir Aubrey’s lineage and no mistake. Feverishly she ran her hands over the child’s springy crown. A fine head of hair, indeed! A head of hair that would see her spend the rest of her days locked up, or paying in a myriad of other ways for her deceit. The baby’s mouth was gaping like a fish. The woman pushed the child toward her nipple, and it latched on like an alien creature.

“Get it off me!” Araminta wept, pushing away the child. Immediately, it began to scream.

“Fine pair o’ lungs. What a ‘ealthy child! Oh m’lady, we need ter send a message ter yer ‘usband ‘lettin ‘im know of the strange an’ unexpected events t’night.”

“No!” Panicked, Araminta’s gaze roamed over the grubby walls, the dust-laden windowsill, the bloodied, filthy linen tangled up about her legs, the straw that was scratching her. “My husband must never know!”