Mrs Baird finds me stealing rags. ‘But you had your monthly only a week ago.’ She gazes at me, eyes kinder than I imagined. ‘Into my room with you. Here, stand on these.’ More rags, because the blood is still running.
Before I know it Nurse is with me. ‘Poor, poor chicken. Lie down. Let me see. No, no need to scream. I won’t touch you.’
Over my head, she and Mrs Baird speak quietly, but with such anger. I say, ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean. I wasn’t reading.’
‘The library. And someone found you there?’
I nod.
‘Who?’
I shake my head. ‘Mustn’t tell. Our secret.’
‘Only one man says that. But Dr Webster should see this.’
‘Can you imagine him keeping quiet?’ Nurse demands. ‘Granny Hughes, that’s who we need. She knows more about childbirth than any man I know, and she’ll know what to do with that nasty tear.’ She stroked my hair. ‘Now, my chicken, we’re going to make you a bit more comfortable, but before we do we’ll give you a drink of his lordship’s – hey, what’s all that about?’
Mrs Baird’s voice is tight and hard above my screams. ‘Can’t bear to hear his name, and who can blame her? We always knew he’d do it again someday. It’s my fault: I should never have let her in there. But I told her she must never let anyone find her there.’ She is crying. ‘If only I had some laudanum drops!’
‘Well, we haven’t, so go and find the cooking brandy. And some sugar and milk. The sooner she’s asleep the better, poor lamb.’