The Silk Weaver's Daughter (21 page)

“You must keep up your strength, Louise,” he told her. “I’m afraid this might be a difficult birth.”

“I don’t understand it,” she later confided to her mother. “My pregnancy with Alice was so easy. Of course, she was small. I can feel this baby is already quite large, even though I‘m thin. Did you ever have any problems like this, Maman? I don‘t remember.”

“Well, the birth of Claude and Catherine was rather gruelling. Maybe you are going to have twins. They say it runs in families. I got so large I hated even for your father to see me. But, I must say, every one of my children was worth all the tribulation.” She smiled fondly at her before continuing, “And the only problem I ever had with you was after you were born, trying to keep you down-to-earth all those years. That was the real challenge.”

Claudine hugged her and they laughed together. Still, Louise noted a look of concern on her mother’s face.

“I wish I could have kept on with the work at the church,” Louise said to Paul one spring morning at breakfast. “It meant so much to me to help the Huguenot strangers. They arrive with so little compared to my family. But I simply don’t have the energy.”

She regretted giving it up, but she found anything beyond managing the servants too much for her. Not only did she find the slightest exertion tiring, but also her back ached constantly even though she stayed in bed a great deal.

Paul didn’t reply but his face held a look of apprehension. He spent most of his spare time with her now, as if he were afraid what the future might hold. His concern rather frightened Louise when she remembered he had been through this several times with Diane, until it finally claimed her life. She tried to shake off the feeling of calamity, thinking it might not be good for the baby, but it persisted.

Chapter 29

London, 1689

I
t was mid-July when Louise went into labour. As she and Paul sat in the morning room having breakfast, she suddenly gave a startled cry. “Oh, Paul. A pain—a bad one. I think the baby is ready. I wonder if you should send for the midwife. Oh—oh.”

“You’d best get back to bed. I’ll send the coach driver immediately. Is that another one?” He took her arm and helped her out of the chair as her face twisted with pain again.

“Yes, ohh. They’re already strong and coming quite fast, Paul. She’d better come right away.”

“Don’t worry, dear. It won’t take long for Oliver to bring her. After that, I must get him to go for Rene, as well. I know the midwives don’t like doctors at the birthing, but I’ll feel better if he’s here on the scene, and he said he wanted to be. Your mother and father also wanted to be with us. You go right back to bed now.” He rang for Hannah, Louise’s personal maid, who came scurrying.

“Quickly, Hannah—help Madame upstairs to the confinement room. Her pains have started. I think it’s time.” Then he turned and ran swiftly towards the coach house to alert Oliver.

Contrary to what Louise had supposed, her labour was long and hard. Paul, Pierre, and Rene Martin had gathered in the library where Paul had opened a bottle of brandy to help settle their nerves. They each tried to read, but they could not ignore her groans and cries of pain, which carried all the way downstairs. Paul’s clothing was soaking wet with perspiration.

“Renee, can’t you do something? I can’t bear it when she screams. Do you think this is normal?”

Doctor Martin walked out into the hallway and looked up the stairs, shaking his head. “I’ll be honest, Paul, I don’t like the sound of it. But I don’t feel I can go up there until the women ask me to. It’s their domain.”

Paul went back to the library. “Dear God, please don’t let her die,” he whispered, cradling his head in his hands.

Finally, around the dinner hour, the midwife came downstairs and spoke to Dr. Renee. “I can’t think how to help her anymore, doctor,” she said. She’s in agony—her body just arches with the spasms, but the little one won’t come. I’m afraid it’s turned wrong.”

“Has she lost her water?” he asked.

“Yes—a long time ago. That baby should be coming by now, with the pain she’s had, but I can’t see a head. I think you’d better take a look, sir.”

“Yes, you are right. She should have had the child by now if everything were normal. I’ll come up.”

It was about fifteen minutes later, when Dr. Rene came hurriedly down the stairs to find Paul and Pierre still waiting in the library, growing more and more alarmed with each new session of shrieking.

“Rene, please tell us. What is happening? Has something gone wrong?” Paul asked frantically grasping his friend’s shoulders.

“The baby’s definitely turned the wrong way. It’s breeched. We can’t bring it out like that. It would kill her,” Dr Martin said grabbing up his cloak and sword.

“Why are you leaving then? What are you going to do?” Paul demanded.

“Generally we have to make a choice. We can save either the mother or the baby. Not both.

“Oh, dear lord. Please not again.” His head dropped to his hands.

“But don’t despair yet, Paul. I’ve thought of someone John Houblon told me about. He’s an associate of his who’s apparently something of a genius. For some reason, he’s working with John on the government’s new banking system, but he’s also a doctor. Medically trained in France, John told me, and apparently skilled in mid-wifery. He has some sort of apparatus, which helps in cases like this. I’m going to Houblon’s home now to see if we can find the man right away. I’ve given Louise an opiate to make her sleep and stop the contractions. It will work for a couple of hours, I think, but there’s no time to lose.”

The doctor rushed out of the house, leaving Paul and Pierre to console each other with their bottle of brandy. In spite of their anxiety, neither of them dared to go upstairs.

Two hours had passed before Rene returned with a strange man carrying a large, black bag. By that time, Paul was beside himself with worry. “Paul, this is Dr. Chamberlen,” the physician said. “He has recently returned from a hospital in Paris. It was fortunate John knew exactly where to find him.”

A sudden cry of anguish from upstairs proclaimed the fact Louise had woken from the effects of the drug. “We mustn’t waste any more time,” Renee said. “We’d better get upstairs and see what can be done.”

“First, though, Monsieur Thibault, you must immediately have your servants bring me up boiling water,” Dr. Chamberlen instructed Paul. “It’s extremely important.”

Both doctors rushed upstairs as Paul rang for a maid, who bustled out at his directions. It wasn’t long before she ushered two footmen up the stairs, each carrying a bucket of boiling water. Paul, along with his father-in-law, went with trepidation back to their vigil in the library.

It was after midnight when the high pitched, jerky wail of a newborn startled him out of his stupor. Louise’s agonizing cries had ceased some time ago and, terrified of her fate, he had sat helplessly, along with his father-in-law, waiting in the library. The maid brought them some food, which neither had the appetite to eat. Except to go to the water closet in the back of the house, neither man had left the library for the last twelve hours. Each cry from the upstairs room had been like a knife in Paul’s heart. Several times, he had stood up wanting to run upstairs, but Pierre had stopped him.

“They won’t let you near her, Paul. You know what these mid-wives think about men at a time like this.”

Now he didn’t believe he could face going upstairs. He sat at his desk with his head in his hands no longer pretending to read. His lips moved in silent prayer. Pierre lay back in a large chair with his eyes closed. After some time, a door above opened followed by the soft tread of feet on the carpeted staircase. Both men jumped up and hurried into the hallway, anxiously looking up as the two physicians descended the stairs to meet them.

“Well, my friend,” Rene Martin spoke first. “You have a big, sturdy son, and I’m delighted to tell you, they will both survive. He has a few marks on his face from the instrument, but they will go. Dr. Chamberlen has performed another one of his miracles.”

Paul wept openly at the news. “Louise, she is safe?” he managed to gasp.

“Yes, she will be fine, but you’ll have to take good care of her, Paul. I fear it will take a long time for her to heal mentally. It has been a terrible ordeal for her, and I’m afraid turning the baby damaged the womb. It is doubtful she could ever become pregnant again. In fact, even if it were possible I would certainly advise you to take steps against it. I have explained this to her. I’m afraid it’s made her quite unhappy so she’ll need your reassurance.”

“I have my son, and all that matters is that Louise will live. Thank you both so much,” he replied, emotion still chocking his voice. “I couldn‘t ask for anything more. There’s nothing I can do that would begin to show my gratitude for you, Monsieur Chamberlen. You must send me your bill.”

“I am so delighted to have been successful yet again, Monsieur. This apparatus has been handed down through our family from my great grandfather, but not too many are willing to risk it. I’m sure it could save the lives of numerous women and their babies. Well, at least I’m glad to have been able to help your family.”

Chamberlen looked up at the picture of Louise hanging on the wall beside one of Paul. It was a superb painting of her. Paul was particularly proud of it. The physician shook his head in admiration. “She is exceedingly lovely,” he continued, “and I’m happy we could save her. My great hope is someday the world will know what these forceps can do.”

He sighed. “Goodbye, Monsieur Thibault. Tell your servants to keep everything in the room spotlessly clean. Use boiling water. It stops the childbed fever—another of my little secrets they can’t seem to accept. God bless you and the little one. It’s been my pleasure to help.”

Picking up his bag holding the mysterious instrument, he left the house. Rene Martin shook Paul’s hand, clasping him on the shoulder, and followed the other physician out the door.

In spite of the difficult birth, Pierre Charles Thibault was a chubby, healthy infant with a soft down of blonde hair. He resembled Louise noticeably, and his father couldn’t be more delighted. He looked at the lovely, pale mother clasping her son to her breast. He could hardly believe they were both safe after their dreadful ordeal. He admitted to himself, he hadn’t expected either of them to survive, and he couldn’t imagine what his life would be like now without Louise in it.

“What a wonderful gift you have given me, sweetheart,” he spoke softly, trying not to wake the sleeping infant. “You have made my life perfect in every way. I only wish it hadn‘t been so gruelling on you. You must take it easy for a long time—until you get your strength back.”

“He’s worth all the agony. Oh, but, Paul, I wanted to have more babies for you. I’m so sorry.” There were tears of grief in her eyes.

“Don’t feel that way, dear. I am truly elated with this little fellow. To have a son of my own, after all this time—and our pretty, little Alice—and to have you safely beside me—it’s all I need in this life.”

She looked exhausted but smiled up at him and pulled his hand to her lips to kiss it. “But our little boy doesn’t look very French does he?” Paul continued. “It will be confusing to call him Pierre. However, your father might be hurt if we call him by my father’s name, Charles. I suggest we start calling him Peter immediately. I don’t think Pierre will mind the Anglicized version too much, do you?”

Louise nodded, nuzzling the top of her son’s head.

Paul looked down again at his new son with pride. “He looks too happy to be a banker—perhaps we need a lawyer in the family. We’ll work on it. Oh, Louse, this is the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. You, my darling, have made me complete.”