He was not an accomplished dancer. He lacked the fluid grace and practiced rhythm that had made Lydia so comfortable in Brig’s arms. She followed his fits and starts as best she could, but more than once she found herself trouncing his toes. Each time she apologized for her clumsiness. He said nothing. Lydia thought she heard him counting out the three-quarter time under his breath.
Against her better judgment she ventured a question. “How do you know my father?”
There was a pause several beats long before Nathan answered, confirming Lydia’s suspicions. “What?”
“You said you were going to find my father. How do you know him?”
“I met him a few weeks ago at the Silver Lady.”
“You’re a gambler?”
“On occasion.”
Lydia gasped softly.
Nathan frowned. “What’s wrong? Do you have something against gamblers?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, not at all. I…you…that is...” She did not want to call attention to the fact that his fingers were pressing painfully hard into her waist, or that the hand holding hers was grinding her knuckles together. His concentration was fierce, and unexpectedly Lydia found herself harboring a measure of admiration for his grit. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Please, go on.”
“There’s nothing much to add,” he said somewhat stiltedly. “I told you earlier this evening that I was on my way to an engagement. This is it. Your father invited me for the—”
“Poker game.” Lydia finished his sentence as her mother had before her. “Papa isn’t much for dancing.”
“I knew I liked him,” Nathan muttered under his breath.
“Pardon?” she asked politely.
“Your father seems to be a fine man. I’ve enjoyed his company on each occasion we’ve met.”
“I had no idea Papa frequented the Silver Lady.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Miss Chadwick. I only met Sam there once. We’ve seen each other at the Wells Fargo office, the Exchange, and at least one time riding in Golden Gate Park.”
“So you’re going to play cards with my father this evening.”
Nathan nodded, lost his timing, and caused Lydia to stumble as he changed his lead. He grimaced. “Forgive me. That was my fault that time.”
Which, Lydia supposed, was his way of saying all the other missteps had been her responsibility. She bit back the accusing words that came easily to mind. “I suppose Papa told you that all his winnings go to charity.”
“No, he didn’t mention it. I take it I’m expected to lose.”
“Don’t do it on my account, Mr. Hunter.”
Turning Lydia toward the ballroom entrance, Nathan stopped on the threshold. His hand was still tight on Lydia’s waist, but he dropped her hand. Without visible effort he pulled her closer so that she was forced to tilt her face toward him or bury it in his shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miss Chadwick,” he said coldly, hardened against the flash of pain in Lydia’s wide and wounded eyes. “I doubt I could be moved to do anything on your account again. If I lose money tonight it will be for the children.”
Lydia couldn’t think of anything to say. By the time she did, Nathan was gone.
James Early didn’t give Lydia time to think about her odd encounter with Nathan Hunter. With an eye toward the main chance, James swept Lydia back onto the dance floor and kept her thoughts occupied with light, inconsequential banter until Henry Bell stole her away. The evening progressed in such a manner, with Lydia pleading her cause for the orphanage and her suitors making their case for her hand.
Occasionally her mother would catch her eye and indicate approval or disapproval of a particular partner. Lydia ignored Madeline’s directives, and to demonstrate that romance had no part in what she had planned for the evening, Lydia spent most of her time on Father Patrick’s arm, mingling with the guests who were longtime family friends and could make significant contributions to St. Andrew’s.
When Mr. Hardy announced dinner Madeline led the way to the dining room. Lydia extricated herself from Henry Bell’s elbow with the excuse that she had to get her father and his guests away from the poker table. It was only a short reprieve, she thought, remembering her wager with her father: Henry on her left and James on her right. Given Madeline’s signals in the ballroom, Lydia was certain her mother would have arranged it.
There were five men huddled around the card table. Lydia had expected her father and Nathan Hunter, and it wasn’t too surprising to find Mr. Sullivan and Mr. Davis since their wives had remarked on their absence several times during the dancing, but Brigham Moore’s presence caught Lydia off guard. He was the first to look up when she entered the library, and his welcoming smile struck at Lydia’s young, vulnerable heart. She looked away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden wealth of feeling, certain everyone in the room would see it, understand, and know the cause.
One man did. When Lydia looked up, she caught Nathan Hunter watching her closely, studying her features with his remote, impenetrable gray eyes. She stared back a shade defiantly, and held his attention until his eyelids lowered, shuttering his glance. The insolent smirk on his mouth, however, was still very much in evidence.
Lydia went quickly to her father’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Papa, dinner’s been announced. Mama and our guests are on their way to the dining room now.”
Samuel reached over his shoulder and laid his hand over Lydia’s, patting her absently. Still studying his cards, he held them up for Lydia to see. “Brigham here has proposed a rather interesting wager,” he told her.
“Oh?” She was careful to keep her features composed. Her father had a full house: three sevens and two threes. She also noticed that he had very little in the way of winnings in front of him. Based on where the money lay, the lucky man at the table tonight was Brigham Moore. “And what wager is that?”
“As you can see, darling, my funds are quite low.” Everyone at the table understood that Samuel had access to a great deal more money, but at the beginning of play they had agreed on a limit. “If I want to see Brigham’s cards he’s suggesting I offer you up as part of my stake.”
“Papa!” Lydia blushed deeply, her composure shaken. “What can you be thinking? That’s barbaric!” But she wasn’t offended, she realized. She felt warm inside, and tingly.
Brigham laid his cards facedown on the table. “Your father hasn’t explained it very well, I’m afraid. My intentions are completely honorable. If I win this hand, then you’ll accompany me to the Cliff House tomorrow evening for dinner.”
“Well, Daughter?” Sam asked when Lydia didn’t respond.
“It’s improper, Papa,” she said softly, believing that she should make some sort of protest.
Samuel sighed, folding his hand. “Oh, well, perhaps it is. Hell of a time for you to come calling dinner. Another minute and the deed would have been done.” He dropped his hand from Lydia’s and leaned forward in his chair. “Brig was even willing to donate his winnings to your charity…that’s supposing he won at all.”
Lydia glanced shyly at Brigham. “You’d donate your winnings?” she asked.
“Of course.” The eager, boyish smile lit his green eyes.
“All right, Papa,” she said. “I suppose it’s not so improper a wager since the children will benefit.”
Nathan Hunter shifted in his chair, stretching his long legs in front of him. “By all means, Miss Chadwick, you must do it for the children.”
Lydia looked quickly around the table. No one else seemed to have heard the sarcasm in Nathan Hunter’s tone. They were simply taking his statement at face value, encouraging her with a nod or a smile to support her father’s wager. “Certainly I’ll do it,” she said firmly.
“There’s a girl,” Samuel said, pleased with her decision. He quickly scribbled out a marker and pushed it and his money toward the middle of the table. “Now we’ll all get to dinner on time.”
Lydia peered a little anxiously at Sam’s cards when he lifted them again. They hadn’t changed. He still held a full house. She tried not to show her disappointment as she realized that Brig’s cards would probably not hold up against her father’s. The children would win no matter how the hand played out, she thought. Only she could lose.
Samuel turned over his cards. “Sevens over threes,” he said, beaming at his fellow players. “You don’t think I’d bluff, do you?” He started to pull the money toward him, including his marker for Lydia, when Brigham stopped him.
“Tens and eights,” Brig said, fanning his cards across the table in front of him. “A better full house.” He glanced up at Lydia while he started to gather his winnings. “I wouldn’t bluff on a wager this important.”
He meant her, she thought giddily. He was saying she was important to him! She offered what she hoped was a cool, slightly indifferent smile, afraid he might perceive her as too young and overeager.
“Apparently none of us would,” Nathan Hunter said, cutting into Lydia’s reverie. “You must have forgotten that I hadn’t folded.”
Lydia gasped softly, her smile vanishing when she realized there were three players left in the hand, not two. Knowing what she would see as Nathan turned over his cards, Lydia struggled to hide her disappointment.
“Four sixes, gentlemen,” he said. Nathan waited until Brig withdrew his hand, then he picked up Sam’s paper marker for Lydia and put it in his vest pocket. He pushed the remainder of his winnings toward Sam. “For the children, I believe,” he said, coming to his feet.
Lydia wanted to scream. Instead, she inclined her head graciously and prayed he would not offer to escort her to the dining room. She worried needlessly. Nathan hung back to speak with Brig while her father took her arm.
“He’s probably consoling Mr. Moore,” Samuel said in a low voice.
“More like rubbing salt in an open wound.”
“What?” Sam wasn’t certain he’d heard correctly.
“Nothing, Papa. It wasn’t important.”
They entered the dining room just as the guests were being seated. Lydia immediately looked to James Early and Henry Bell to find her place. Sam saw the direction of her glance and chuckled under his breath. “Looks like I win, m’dear. They’ve got Miss Adams and Miss Henderson for company this evening.”
“I detect your fine hand in this,” Lydia said.
“Me? But that would be cheating.” He led her straight to her chair and pulled it out for her. “Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time.” With that parting shot, Samuel left Lydia to take his place at the head of the long table.
“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Brig said as he seated himself on Lydia’s left.
“It certainly is,” Nathan said on Lydia’s right.
Between them, Lydia smiled wanly. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to get through dinner with her nerves intact.
“Are you feeling well?” Madeline asked following dinner. “I can’t remember when I’ve seen you less animated.”
Lydia drew her mother closer to the shelter of two large potted palms. Chairs were being arranged in the ballroom in preparation of the after-dinner concert, and many of the guests had chosen to take a walk on the grounds. Those who remained behind were listening to Father Patrick’s colorful stories about his own wayward youth or studying the architect’s drawings for the orphanage.
“I’m feeling a little tired,” she admitted. “I hadn’t realized it was evident.”
“Evident?” Madeline took both of Lydia’s hands in her own. “Darling, you practically telegraphed your feelings to me. It was obvious that you were simply overwhelmed by the attention at dinner this evening. I don’t know how the mistake was made. I never intended you to be seated by Mr. Moore or Mr. Hunter. They’re too old, and, I suspect, far too experienced for you. James and Henry are so much more appropriate.”
“I’m sure you think so, Mother.”
Madeline’s eyes narrowed briefly. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Lydia said dully. “I’m simply tired.” She gently withdrew her hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go out for a breath of air.”
“I’m not sure—” She stopped as Lydia walked away from her. Madeline stood rooted for several seconds, stunned by her daughter’s uncharacteristically rude behavior, then she went in search of the soprano who was going to provide the entertainment.
Lydia stepped out onto the flagstone portico. The air was still damp from the earlier spring rain and fragrant with the scent of roses from the garden. She hadn’t thought to bring a shawl, and the skin on her bare forearms prickled as a cool breeze circled her. She walked over to the stone balustrade bordering the portico and watched her guests meander along the garden paths to the pond and the gazebo beyond. She would have an entertainment in the summer, she thought, with an outdoor concert and paper lanterns around the pond. She would manage the guest list completely alone the next time and make certain there were no surprises.
Dinner had been horrible for her. From the appetizer to the moment when the main course was served, Lydia was expected to converse almost exclusively with the companion on her left. She couldn’t enjoy her time with Brigham Moore, however, because she was dreading the time she would have to spend with Nathan Hunter. Throughout the meal her attempts at conversation were stilted and awkward, and the horrible knot in the pit of her stomach just kept growing. At one point she thought she was going to have to excuse herself or be sick in front of everyone.
Pei Ling’s soft voice interrupted her humiliating memories. “Miss Liddy,” the maid said, coming to stand at Lydia’s side. “Please come. Someone here to see you.”
“Tonight? Who is—”
“They say hurry. I ask them wait in library.” Pei Ling’s dark eyes were anxious. “Hurry, please. Before Mother sees them.”
Lydia was beginning to suspect who had come calling. She didn’t question Pei Ling’s insistence again. “You can wait here in the hallway,” she told her maid when they reached the library. “Warn me if Mother or Papa comes this way. This will only take a few minutes.”
Nathan had been standing on the portico, just out of reach of the ballroom’s chandelier light, when he saw Lydia walking toward the balustrade. He felt trapped in the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to himself by moving, not wanting to be thought a spy if he stayed and was seen. He watched her linger by the stone rail and wondered at the drift of her thoughts. Probably considering how to get out of her father’s wager, he decided. It was clear to him that she was unhappy by the turn of events at the poker table. Her civility was forced all through dinner, her comments monosyllabic or too sweet to be sincere.
In spite of the cool reception, Nathan persevered. He was used to being shown the door once women made Brig’s acquaintance and he’d never cared. This time, though, there was too much at stake to quit the chase. He patted Samuel’s marker in his vest pocket and thought about dinner at the Cliff House tomorrow evening. He still had another chance to set things right—this time without Brig’s presence.
He was thinking about where he might take Lydia after dinner, how he might explain himself to her, when he saw her being approached by a Chinese girl he took to be a house servant. They both disappeared into the house, and the next time Nathan saw Lydia, ten minutes had passed and she was leaving the mansion by a side door, alone and on foot, cloaked in a black, hooded cape and carrying a wicker basket in one arm.
Raking back his hair with his fingers, Nathan frowned, trying to imagine what could have taken Lydia Chadwick away from her own gala. He couldn’t. There was no woman in his experience to compare to Lydia. She was shy and defiant by turns, awkward then graceful, gracious and ill-mannered in a heartbeat. She had yet to thank him for his rescue this evening. Still, Nathan thought, she had danced with him and never once let on that she found him hopelessly inadequate as a partner.
Behind him, Nathan heard the musicians warming up again. A few chords were struck on the piano. The guests were being urged to come inside for the entertainment. At the edge of the pond he saw Brig take Madeline Chadwick’s arm and start toward the house. It was not an unexpected sight. Nathan remembered the first time he had seen Madeline. It had been nearly two months ago, shortly after he arrived in San Francisco, and she’d had Brigham Moore on her arm on that occasion as well.
Nathan wondered if Brig thought he could get to Lydia through her mother or if his interests lay in Madeline herself. Probably a little bit of both. Brig typically didn’t leave much to chance, and tonight’s poker game must have cut him on the raw. The memory of that game brought a smile to Nathan’s mouth. He was smiling as Brig and Madeline crossed the portico and entered the ballroom through the French doors, and he was still smiling as he went in search of the diminutive Chinese servant he’d seen with Lydia.
Nathan felt like the sneaksman he had been as he toured the first floor of the mansion looking for Pei Ling. He viewed three parlors, the private family dining room, and an art gallery before he surprised the maid in the solarium. She was in earnest, agitated conversation with Father Patrick and Nathan suspected it had something to do with Lydia’s abrupt departure.
Pei Ling and Father Patrick stopped talking and turned at the same time toward Nathan. Pei Ling made a short bow and started to back away. The priest stopped her and faced Nathan squarely, assuming the younger man was lost and gave him directions back to the ballroom.
Nathan closed the solarium doors. The room was warm, redolent with the scent of humus and hothouse flowers, and the floor-to-ceiling windows shimmered with tiny beads of moisture. “I’ve come to talk to the girl,” Nathan said.
Father Patrick took off his gold-rimmed spectacles and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. His thin, angular face was flushed and his wide forehead glistened with perspiration. He replaced his glasses and touched the handkerchief to his brow, then to the balding crown of his head. “You’re Mr. Hunter, aren’t you? Mr. Chadwick’s poker guest…the one who made the rather sizable contribution.”
Nathan nodded.
“Well, Mr. Hunter, I’d appreciate a few minutes more with Pei Ling before you speak to her. There is a matter of some importance which I—”
“This will only take a moment, Father,” Nathan interrupted. He took a chance that he had correctly divined the nature of their conversation and plunged in. “I saw Miss Chadwick leave here a short time ago. She appeared to be in a hurry and was rather secretive about her departure. I came to ask Pei Ling—” He paused, looking to the maid to see if he had caught her name correctly. At her quick nod he continued. “—if Miss Chadwick might benefit from an escort.”
Father Patrick raised his eyes heavenward and whispered a word of thanks. His prayers had been answered. “Yes indeed, my boy,” he said, eagerly stepping forward. He put an arm around Nathan’s shoulders and drew him into the room. “Pei Ling tells me Liddy’s gone to Miss Bailey’s.”
“Miss Bailey’s? But that’s—” He almost said that’s where she had been earlier in the evening, but he caught himself in time.
“A brothel,” the priest said, finishing the sentence he thought Nathan was too polite to complete. He threw up his hands and began pacing the tiled floor. “When Liddy gets something into her head, she can’t let go of it. She’s committed to the children, you see…no, you can’t see. I’m not explaining this very well at all.”
Pei Ling raised her head slightly. “I would explain, please. Two women come tonight for Miss Liddy. Say Charlotte is about to have baby. Miss Liddy go to help with delivery and take baby.”
“Take the baby?” asked Nathan. Lydia Chadwick wanted a child?
“To the orphanage,” Father Patrick broke in. “She’s gone to Miss Bailey’s to take Charlotte’s baby to the orphanage.”
“Charlotte doesn’t want baby,” Pei Ling went on. “Miss Liddy see it has good home.”
Surely this could have waited until the morning, Nathan thought. What made taking the baby out tonight so urgent?
“Miss Liddy afraid for baby,” Pei Ling said, answering Nathan’s unvoiced questions. “Doctor at whorehouse not very good. Miss Liddy doesn’t like. She say he drink too much. She think he might hurt Charlotte or baby. Miss Liddy go today to see Charlotte, but her time not come. Now it come and Miss Liddy go again.”
Nathan doubted Pei Ling had ever spoken so many sentences together in her life. She seemed surprised by her effrontery and quickly bent her head and studied the floor.
Father Patrick stopped pacing. “Well, Mr. Hunter? Could we press upon you to go after Lydia? She made Pei Ling promise not to tell her parents, which is why she came to me. I’m afraid my absence from the musicale is already cause for some comment. I can’t afford to be gone much longer.”
“Miss Chadwick must have already been missed by others,” Nathan said.
Pei Ling nodded. “I tell Father she not feel well and go to room. He want to see her but I say she not want to be disturbed. I could not find Missus.”
Nathan knew why that was so. “I’ll go after her. I don’t know why she didn’t leave with the women who came with the message. At least she’d have had an escort to Portsmouth Square.”
Father Patrick’s dark-red brows lifted slightly. “So you do know where Miss Bailey’s is.”
“Don’t take me to task for it, Father. Be happy that I do.”
It was drizzling by the time Lydia reached the brothel. She was happy to get out from under the rain and the thick cloud of fog and into the relative safety of Miss Bailey’s. Every noise between Nob Hill and Portsmouth Square quickened her heart and her pace until she was running through Chinatown on her way to Kearny Street. She took the side entrance to Miss Bailey’s and leaned against the door for several minutes to catch her breath.
“Here you are,” Ginny said, coming halfway down the narrow back staircase. “Me and Mara thought you changed your mind.”
Lydia unfastened the satin frog at her throat and hung her damp cloak by a hook near the door. “You could have waited for me,” she said, starting up the stairs with her basket. “It only took me a few minutes to get ready.”
Ginny’s bright yellow curls bobbed as her head came up suddenly. “Wait for you? You wouldn’t mind being seen with us?”
Remorse struck at Lydia’s heart. She had been berating them for leaving her to make the trip alone and they had only been thinking of her reputation. “Of course I wouldn’t mind.”
“Imagine that,” Ginny said. “And I was so sure you’d want us out of the house as quick as possible. Mara didn’t even want to go in. Wanted to pay a boy to give you the message and be done with it. I said we should try to look like we belong and deliver it personal.”
“You did the right thing. Has Charlotte had the baby yet?”
“Soon. I think she’s waiting for you. Won’t let Doc Franklin hardly touch her.”
At the top of the stairs they turned left and headed up another flight. Charlotte had been given a room in the attic for her delivery. In the event it was a hard labor, Ida Bailey didn’t want the customers complaining about Charlotte’s screaming.
“I’ll help what I can,” Ginny said as they entered Charlotte’s room. “Mara’s got someone with her, but I’m free.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Kind of a slow night. All the swells are at your place applying for sainthood.”
Lydia thought she was used to Ginny’s plain speaking, but that comment made her feel heat in her cheeks. She had never given a thought to the men who frequented Miss Bailey’s house. Now she wondered how many of them had danced with her this evening, played poker with her father, or made a pledge to Father Patrick. One of them might even be the father of Charlotte’s child. The thought disappointed her first and then made her angry, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it. Charlotte had cried out.
“I’m here now,” Lydia said, ignoring Dr. Franklin’s mumbled aside. She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Charlotte’s hand. There was a basin filled with water on the floor beside the bed. Lydia took the cloth lying over the rim of the basin, wet it, and gently wiped the perspiration off Charlotte’s pale face. “She could use a fresh gown, Ginny. This one’s soaked through. See what you can find.”
“She’s not changing her gown now,” Dr. Franklin said quellingly. “She’s about to give birth.”
“Then she’ll have it for later. Or were you going to let her lie here like this for the rest of the evening?” Lydia shivered. “And it’s cold in here. Why don’t you start a fire?”
Franklin sputtered and swayed a little on his feet. He attempted to level Lydia with a hard stare, but his eyes were slightly unfocused. “I’m the doctor.”
“Yes, well, there’s a mystery.” Her sharp retort raised a wan smile on Charlotte’s lips and captured Lydia’s attention. “Good. That’s all I wanted to see. You’re going to be fine, do you know that? And the baby’s going to be fine.” She smoothed back Charlotte’s ash-blond hair where it lay wetly against her forehead and placed the cloth across her brow. “Go ahead, you can squeeze my hand when it hurts. I don’t mind.” Lydia turned her anxious eyes in the direction of the doctor. “Isn’t there anything you can do for her? Should she be in so much pain?”
“It’s perfectly normal,” Franklin said. “Which proves my point that you shouldn’t be here at all. This is no place for you.”
“This is no place for any woman.” Lydia didn’t like the look of Dr. Franklin. His thin, slight body was hunched at the foot of the bed as though straightening would have pained him. His hands, when they weren’t jammed in the pockets of his jacket, trembled. His dark eyes were rheumy and he dabbed at them occasionally with a handkerchief. In the short time that Lydia had been in the room he had gone to his black satchel twice and raised something to his lips. Lydia was not so naive that she didn’t realize he was drinking.
Ginny entered the room carrying fresh linens and a nightgown. Without any prompting from Lydia, she built a fire and kept busy tending it. The tension between the doctor and Lydia was almost a tangible thing and Ginny didn’t want any part of it.
Lydia replaced the cloth on Charlotte’s forehead several times in the next half hour. Her hand was bruised where Charlotte held it in a tight grip each time she had a contraction. Lydia’s silent entreaties to the doctor went unanswered. Except to knock back a little drink, he didn’t leave the bed, and save for the few times he muttered something to himself, he didn’t speak.
Ida Bailey poked her head through the door once to inquire about Charlotte’s progress. That said, she stated her real mission for climbing the stairs. “Someone’s come for you, Lydia. He says Father Patrick sent him to make certain you arrived here safely and get home the same way.” Ida’s beringed fingers curled around the edge of the door and drummed lightly as she awaited Lydia’s response.
Lydia sighed. Pei Ling must have gone straight to the priest. “Did he tell you his name?” James or Henry, she thought. They would have been eager to make themselves useful where her safety was concerned.
“Nathan Hunter.”
“Mr. Hunter!”
Charlotte cried out again, her thin face contorting with pain. Lydia forgot about her own situation as the doctor announced the baby was indeed coming.
Impatient to be gone, Ida asked, “What do you want we should do with Mr. Hunter?”
“Entertain him,” Lydia said succinctly.
Ida’s rosebud mouth curved in a sly, catlike grin. “A pleasure.” She slipped back into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind her.
Dr. Franklin cleared his throat and caught Lydia’s eye. “It’s breech. I’m not sure I can—”
“You damn well better,” she whispered coldly. She turned back to Charlotte and soothed her with encouraging words and kindness. It wasn’t enough. Charlotte let out a scream of terror and pain as Franklin attempted to turn the baby.
“You’re going to have to hold her,” Franklin said. He motioned Ginny over to the bed. “Both of you. Make sure she keeps her knees up.”
“Don’t tell me you’re squeamish now,” Lydia warned Ginny.
“I’m not,” the prostitute said. “Well, not much. But you surprise me.”
Lydia shrugged as if it were unimportant. She wrung out the cloth in the basin and sponged off Charlotte’s neck and shoulders. The young girl’s breathing was quick and shallow and her heartbeat fluttered rapidly against her chest. “What are you doing to her, Franklin?” Lydia demanded. “Can’t you—”
Ginny broke in. “She’s passed out.”
Lydia glanced down at Charlotte. Her face was pasty white, her lips a bluish gray. There was no reason now for Lydia to mince her words. “What’s happening to her, Franklin? What in God’s name have you done?” She eased her hand out of Charlotte’s and went to the end of the bed where the doctor stood. Lydia blanched when she saw the blood. “My God! You’ve torn her. She’s hemorrhaging!”
“That baby’s not coming out,” Franklin said. He turned away and went for his satchel.
Lydia picked up the bloody forceps the doctor had been using and jammed them into the small of his back. “You take another drink and I swear I’ll force these down your throat.” She poked him again, harder this time, and when he turned around awkwardly, unsteady on his feet, she jabbed the forceps at his middle. “You damn drunkard. Do something for her! Make the bleeding stop!”
Franklin pushed the forceps away and took a step backward, holding his hands in front of him to ward Lydia off. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said without emotion.
“I don’t believe you,” Lydia said hoarsely. “There must be something you can do.”
“She’s going to die.”
“Damn you.”
He shrugged. “She’s just a whore.”
Enraged by his callousness, Lydia raised her arm to strike him. Ginny’s hand stayed her. “Don’t do it, Miss Lydia. Look at him. He can’t help Charlotte.”
Tears flooded Lydia’s dark blue eyes. She lowered her arm until it was pointing at the door. “Get him out of here, Ginny. Show him the door and tell Miss Bailey that I’ll need towels, menstrual cloths, and boiling water to sterilize these instruments. Also, get someone up here who thinks they can do something. Hurry, Ginny.” Lydia drew up her gown and knelt at the bottom edge of the bed. “I’m not giving up, even if he has.”
Lydia began by trying to stem the flow of blood. Using the linens that Ginny had brought earlier, she made packs and pressed them against Charlotte’s thighs. Charlotte went in and out of consciousness as the contractions came on more rapidly, and Lydia had no clear idea what to do with a breech birth. “Oh, please, Charlotte, you’ve got to help,” she whispered. “You’ve got to.”
The door opened behind Lydia. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Nathan Hunter walk into the room. He threw his jacket beside the doctor’s satchel and rolled up his shirtsleeves as he approached the bed.
“You!” Lydia cried. “What are you—”
Nathan did not answer. He simply picked Lydia up and moved her off the bed. Her legs unfolded under her and he set her on the floor. “Ginny’s bringing the things you asked for. Go help her.”
Lydia responded to the authority in Nathan’s tone and stopped questioning his presence or his right to order her around. She hurried off to lend her assistance to Ginny.
“Charlotte? That’s your name, isn’t it?” Nathan washed his hands at the bedside basin, then shook off the water droplets. “Well, Charlotte, I’m going to help you have your baby. You go ahead and scream if you have to, call me any name you want. It’s going to hurt because the first thing we have to do is turn your baby around.” He kept talking, a gentle litany of instructions and praise, as he worked between Charlotte’s bloody thighs. Sweat trickled down his spine and beaded on his brow.
Lydia returned to the room and set a kettle of water in the hearth. She dropped in the instruments Dr. Franklin had used, then stood beside Nathan at the foot of the bed. She watched him work in silence, his mouth tight with the force of his concentration, his jaw clenched. There was tension in his profile and a muscle worked rhythmically in his cheek. Lydia picked up a damp cloth and wiped his forehead.
“Thank you.”
It took Lydia a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She couldn’t think of anything to say. She simply nodded once in acknowledgment.
“Take her hand,” Nathan instructed. “Talk to her. Make her help. I’ve almost got the baby turned. Is Ginny here?”
“Right here, sir,” Ginny said as she walked into the room. “I’ve got the linens.”
“Find something to wrap the baby in and bring it over here.” He turned his attention back to Charlotte. “It’s all right to push now, Charlotte. Next contraction. That’s it. Come on, darlin’. I can feel the baby’s head. No, don’t stop. Don’t…Lydia, get me the forceps; Charlotte’s not pushing any longer.” Lydia retrieved them quickly from the kettle, almost burning her hands in the process. “Easy,” Nathan cautioned. “I can only do one patient at a time.”
“Are you a doctor?” Lydia asked when the instrument was cool enough to give him.
He shook his head.
“But how do you—”
“Sheep.”
Lydia’s lips parted in surprise. Ginny giggled nervously.
Nathan continued working. He eased the forceps around the baby’s head and pulled gently on the next contraction. Though nothing of his fear showed on his face, the amount of blood loss alarmed him. If he somehow managed to bring the baby out, he wasn’t at all confident he could do anything to save Charlotte.
He glanced at Lydia once. She was stroking Charlotte’s hair, her lips bent near the young whore’s ear. Her voice was softly encouraging, lilting and sweet. Her eyes though were infinitely sad, tear-washed, and so dark in her pale face they appeared to be black. She knows, thought Nathan. She knows we’re going to lose Charlotte.
Losing the baby, however, was the first pain to be borne. Nathan held the tiny child in his palms, his own eyes closed briefly against the ache of his failure and the loss of something so precious. “I’m sorry, Charlotte,” he said quietly. “He’s stillborn.”
Charlotte nodded weakly. A tear slipped between her closed lids and she bit down on her waxen lips. Groping blindly, she found Lydia’s hand and held on tightly.
Lydia sucked in her breath and smothered a sob with the back of her hand. It didn’t matter that Charlotte had vowed all along that she never wanted the child; Lydia knew it did little or nothing to lessen her anguish now.
“I’ll take him,” Ginny said, slipping her hands beneath Nathan’s. “We’ll need the scissors to cut the cord.” Nathan got those for her and snipped the cord quickly. Ginny carried the baby to the basin and began washing him off while Nathan went back to working on Charlotte.
A few minutes passed before Nathan had the placenta. He wrapped it in the newspaper that Lydia was quick to provide. “Do you embroider?” he asked Lydia as he examined the damage Dr. Franklin had done to his patient.
“What?” She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to know at a time like this.
Nathan didn’t answer her question directly. “Look in the doctor’s bag and see if he has a curved needle and surgical thread.”
Suddenly his query made sense. Lydia hesitated. She couldn’t possibly do what he was proposing. Yet when Nathan repeated his order, rapping it out impatiently this time, Lydia knew she would do whatever she had to.
She did. And in the end it still wasn’t enough.
Ginny laid the baby in the basket Lydia brought and put it beside Charlotte’s still body, then she closed Charlotte’s eyes. “There’s nothing more you can do,” she said quietly. “I’ll see to everything from now on.”
Lydia couldn’t move. Her fingers trembled with exhaustion and she pricked herself with the needle she held. Her eyes widened slightly at the pain, but that was her only reaction. She simply sat at the foot of the bed, limp with weariness, her eyes vacant, and stared at Charlotte’s serene, finely wrought features.
Nathan used his forearm to push back the damp strands of dark hair that had fallen across his brow. He looked around for a clean towel and grimaced when he couldn’t find one. “Is there someplace we can go to wash?” he asked, holding up his hands for Ginny to see.
“My room,” Ginny said. “One floor down. First door on the left. Lydia knows where it is.” She looked at Lydia, then back at Nathan. “Is she going to be all right, do you think?”
Nathan had been wondering the same thing, but he didn’t say so. “She’ll be fine. She got in a little over her head this time, I think.”
“That’s Miss Liddy.” There was a certain fondness in her voice that did not go unnoticed by Nathan. “She has the heart of a lion.”
And the straight-thinking sense of a jackaroo, Nathan thought disparagingly. Hell, a tenderfoot on a sheep ranch had more sense than Lydia Chadwick. Nathan took the needle from Lydia’s fingers and gripped her firmly around the wrist, pulling her to her feet in a single motion. She didn’t resist him, a turn of events which Nathan accepted with mixed feelings. He led her into the hallway and down the stairs to Ginny’s room.
The bedroom was warm thanks to a small coal stove tucked in one corner. Nathan watched in some amazement as Lydia meekly complied with his suggestion that she sit on the thickly padded footstool beside it. He poured water from a porcelain pitcher on Ginny’s bureau into the matching bowl and washed his own hands. He carried fresh water over to Lydia. In spite of the warmth, she was chilled through.
He knelt on the floor in front of her. “Here,” he said, lifting the basin to her lap. “Put your hands in here and I’ll wash them off.” He scrubbed her skin with a washcloth, noticing for the first time how small and soft her hands were in comparison to his. Yet he had seen for himself that they were capable hands, as deft and skilled as they were graceful. He thought of his own rum daddles, rough and calloused after more than a decade of hard labor, and realized how inadequate they had been to this evening’s task.
“You have beautiful hands,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.
Nathan self-consciously curled his long fingers into fists. He got to his feet quickly, picked up the basin, and emptied it. He rinsed his face at the bureau. Turning to Lydia, Nathan rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. “I left my jacket upstairs. While I’m getting it, I suggest you find something of Ginny’s to wear. You’re about the same size, I think.” When Lydia looked at him blankly, a frown furrowing her dark brows, he pointed to her yellow party gown. “It’s ruined.”
Lydia’s eyes dropped to her ruffled bodice. It was indeed ruined, stained with blood along the edge, at the waist, and where she had absently adjusted her short, puffed sleeves. There were handprints on the skirt of the gown, black now that the blood had had time to dry. “Yes,” she said, nodding once. “You’re right. It’s quite ruined. I can’t go home like this.”
She seemed at a loss as to what to do so Nathan repeated his suggestion.
“Oh, but I don’t think I could wear something of Ginny’s.”
Nathan frowned and asked sharply, “Why? Because it’s a whore’s dress?”
Lydia’s head jerked up. She was not adept at hiding her hurt, and it was there for Nathan to see in the dark blue depths of her eyes. “N-no. Of course not.” Ginny’s clothes won’t fit, she wanted to say, but was too embarrassed. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll think of something.”
Nathan wasn’t certain he trusted her. He opened Ginny’s wardrobe, selected a severely cut sapphire blue evening gown, and tossed it on the four-poster. “Put that on,” he said, brooking no argument. “I’ll ask Ginny just to make certain there’s no problem.” At the door he paused. “Be here when I get back, Miss Chadwick.”
In the attic he helped Ginny clean and dress Charlotte’s body, then take the bloody linens to the washroom in the cellar. Ginny was effusive in her thanks, but Nathan didn’t pay much attention. He hadn’t done anything as far as he was concerned and his motives weren’t as altruistic as Ginny made them sound. When he came to the attic Charlotte and her baby weren’t nearly as important as making himself less repugnant in Lydia’s eyes. He wondered if he had failed because of that. Maybe there was nothing to be gained by doing the right thing for the wrong reasons.
Thirty minutes after he left Lydia, Nathan found himself holding his breath while twisting the brass handle in Ginny’s door. He let it out slowly when he saw Lydia was still in the room. She was standing at the window, her back to him, dressed in the gown he had chosen. She didn’t move when he entered and he wasn’t sure she had even heard him. Yet when he came to stand behind her, her slender shoulders heaved once with a sob she couldn’t contain, and when she turned it was to step into his arms.
Lydia did not question that she should seek comfort and strength in the embrace of Nathan Hunter. For once she put her needs first and she needed someone to hold her now. It had never felt quite so important to have the touch of another human being. She required nothing of him save kindness. She could not know then it did not come easily to this man.
Nathan absorbed her shudders. He felt the damp stain of her tears through his shirt and the soft, silken strands of her hair against the underside of his chin. Her skin held the delicate scent of lilac and the freshness of her, the purity of her spirit touched him unexpectedly. He didn’t know what to do with her; he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He held her loosely, somewhat stiffly, not pressing the sudden advantage the evening’s odd events had given him. It was enough to hold her and let her imagine he was feeling her pain, when in fact he knew little about sharing any emotion.
He wasn’t any better than Brig, he thought, and perhaps he was worse. Lydia was a complete innocent. What chance did she have against either himself or Brigham Moore? Did she even understand the kind of careful calculation and planning that was being used to win her trust? He set Lydia away from him and handed her a handkerchief. “Take this, wipe your eyes, and blow.”
Confused by the harshness in Nathan’s tone, Lydia gave him a watery, tentative smile and thanked him. Just below the surface of her skin she was cold again, and in her heart she was aching with sadness. “We should go, I suppose,” she said finally when he didn’t say anything. She folded the handkerchief neatly and tucked it under the sleeve of her gown. The tatted edge of the handkerchief peeked out to decorate her wrist. “What time is it?”
Nathan consulted his pocket watch on the platinum fob. “Almost midnight.”
“I suppose Papa is beside himself with worry by now.”
“I think Pei Ling told him you were ill and indisposed to visitors. I’m fairly confident Father Patrick will keep your secret as well.”
“And you?”
“Your parents aren’t going to hear about tonight from me.” That would hardly win him a chance at her hand. The Chadwicks most likely frowned on their daughter delivering babies in brothels.
“Good.” She raised her chin a notch, a gesture that Nathan was beginning to recognize as Lydia’s challenging stance. “Then I don’t want to go home just yet,” she said.
Nathan didn’t so much as blink. He wasn’t surprised. Jackaroos did indeed have more sense than Lydia Chadwick. “What is it you want to do?”
“Get drunk.”
She made it seem perfectly reasonable. “Have you ever been drunk, Miss Chadwick?” he asked politely.
“No.”
“Do you even drink?”
She sniffed a shade haughtily. “Of course I do.”
“Wine with your dinner or perhaps you sneak a glass of port after the meal.”
“I drink sherry. In fact, I’ve already had some this evening.”
One of Nathan’s brows was lifted slightly, as was the corner of his mouth. The look of dry amusement was cool and remote on his features. “Oh?” he said blandly.
“You’re laughing at me,” Lydia said. “Go ahead. I don’t know why men can use any excuse to drink themselves silly and a woman can’t even do it when she’s witnessed two deaths in the space of an hour. Charlotte was not my friend, Mr. Hunter, but I had come to know her in these past few months and I think the world’s poorer for her passing. I wanted to offer her baby a good place to live, with people who care, and he never had even the tiniest chance. I couldn’t get a doctor who wasn’t a drunk to come here. I couldn’t make a difference.”
Raising her hand to her mouth, Lydia managed to hold back a harsh sob. She finished quietly. “Watching Charlotte go like that…the life just seeping out of her…just seeping out.” She forgot about the handkerchief and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Impatient with herself, angry about injustice, unfairness, and her own inadequacies, Lydia pushed past Nathan and headed for the door. “I’ll take myself home, thank you.”
Nathan stopped her, hooking his hand around her elbow and bringing her up short. “Oh, no. I promised Pei Ling and Father Patrick—” Lydia tried to shake him off, “—that I would bring you home safely. I don’t—” She yanked harder and found herself brought flush against Nathan’s hard body, “—don’t think it matters if I bring you home drunk.”
Lydia stopped struggling. Her eyes, when she looked up at him, seemed impossibly large for her face. They darted over Nathan’s face, trying to measure his sincerity. “Really?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t really know any places.”
Nathan eased his grip on her elbow. “Does it really matter where we go?”
She shook her head. “But I don’t want to stay here.”
“That wasn’t what I had in mind. What would you say to the Silver Lady?”
“In the gambling hall?”
“In my suite.”
Lydia didn’t say anything for a moment.
“Have you changed your mind?” Nathan asked. It was difficult to read the course of her thoughts as they played on her features now. “You can, you know.”
“No.” The chin was thrust forward again. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” She hesitated a beat, then said quickly, “I was embarrassed before…in the alley, when you…and then you insisted I go to your room…I didn’t…that is, I’ve never done anything like that before. I couldn’t imagine what you might think of me, or rather I could. That’s why I left. And then you showed up at my party—as my father’s guest. I was…mortified.” She closed her eyes a moment, reliving the memory. “That’s why I treated you so abominably. You’d seen me in that alley with those men. I thought you might believe I was—”
“Asking to be assaulted?” he finished for her.
“Something like that.”
“And you’re telling me now, that even though you’re going to accompany me back to the Silver Lady, it’s strictly because of your newfound interest in liquor.”
“I was?” She flushed a little. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
“What did you think you were saying?”
“Thank you,” she said. “I was trying to say thank you.”