The Devil's Workshop

“I would prefer to take you to a hospital,” he said. He turned from the window and scowled at Claire. Her hair was sweaty and plastered to her neck. She sucked in her breath as a contraction hit, then relaxed a bit as it passed. “You’re moving ahead earlier than I’d like.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Claire said.

“No, of course not. Babies come when they’re ready to come, and we have little say in the matter. You’ll have the child right here and it will be fine.”

“Will it, though? Is everything all right? It hurts and there’s blood and I don’t feel very good.”

“No, you don’t feel very good. You’re having a baby. It’s not meant to be a picnic.”

“But is anything wrong?”

“There is only a small amount of blood, and you mustn’t let it alarm you. It’s perfectly normal and I should have told you to expect it. We doctors call it the ‘bloody show,’ and that’s frankly an apt description of the entire process.”

“Father,” Fiona said, “she’s scared.”

Kingsley sighed. Childbirth was always a risky proposition. His record was good, better than that of any other doctor in London. He had helped in the delivery of nearly a hundred babies and had lost only seven of them. Only three of the women had died. He remembered them all and they haunted him still, but he knew the numbers were regarded as acceptable. Years ago, after the first young mother’s death, he had learned to keep them all at arm’s length. He did his work and he did it well, but he did not need to be a friend to these women. He was their doctor, and if they died… well, people died. He did his best and he hoped they would not die, but he could not control the process as well as he would prefer. There were too many things that could go wrong in an instant.

But Claire Day was already a friend, and there was no way he could maintain his usual formal distance.

“Fiona, would you please go find as many towels and blankets as you can find? And I saw two small occasional tables in the hallway downstairs. Please ask the young man to bring them up here. I need more surfaces.”

Fiona turned to the door. He could see the frustration on her face.

“Wait,” he said. “Take this, will you? It’s ruined. Throw it out.”

He gathered the sticky coverlet from the bed and bundled it up, handed it over to his daughter, and guided her out the door by her elbow. He shut it after her and turned to Claire. She had stood and was pacing restlessly around the room. Her nightgown was spotted with the evidence of her ordeal. Kingsley guided her back to the bed, then dragged a chair over from the corner. He sat next to Claire, where she wouldn’t have to strain to see him, but where he could avert his eyes so as to allow her some modesty at this stage.

“Here are the facts,” he said. “This is advancing weeks earlier than expected. That is not a good sign. But it is not the worst.”

“Have I lost him?”

“The baby, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“No. I don’t know why you call it ‘him.’ There’s no way to know what gender the child will be. But there is a heartbeat, and that means your baby is alive inside you.”

Claire smiled weakly.

“Claire, your baby is alive and it wants to come out here and meet you. It is our job — mostly yours, but I’ll help where I can — it’s our job to allow the baby to do just that. To allow him or her to come out and be your child. And that’s what we’re going to do now, you and I together. You are not alone and, although it will not be an entirely easy process, it’s a process that countless other women have endured. My mother did it, and your mother did it, and everybody’s mother has done it. And you will do it, too.”

“It hurts.”

He nodded. “It does hurt, and it will hurt even more. And then it will all be over and you will forget how much it hurt and you won’t even care about that anymore because you’ll have a new baby.”

“Have you ever seen anybody die doing this?”

He nodded again. He wanted to lie to her, but lying was not a thing he was in the habit of doing and he didn’t know how to start.

“I have, Claire. But not many times. And for the most part those women were older than you are and they were poor and unhealthy. I do not anticipate that you will have the same problems they did. Have you been eating lots of butter and eggs, like I told you to?”

Claire gasped and her fists clenched as she felt another contraction. When it passed, she whispered into her closed fist, “I want Walter to come home. I want him here.”

“He’ll come as soon as he can come. He’s trying to make things safe for your baby. Isn’t that good? I’m sure he’s thinking of you and the baby even now.”

“I just wish he were here.”

“Well.” Kingsley let out a deep breath and stood, pushing down on his knees to help himself up. He went around to the back of the chair and dragged it to the foot of the bed. “Let’s see how this is progressing. Maybe you can surprise him with the new arrival when he does get here. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

He paused, his hands on the back of the chair.

“Claire, I am a very good doctor. Do you believe that?”

She nodded.