Free Kitty Bennet's Diary (Pride and Prejudice Chronicles) by Anna Elliott

linen towel and the carafe of water on the dressing table and wiped her forehead.
    After that, there was nothing to do but wait.  I did not want to speak much, for fear of waking little Amelia, so I sat beside Jane and held her hand through three more of the pains.
    It seemed an eternity, but at last there was a light tap on the door and Georgiana came in, her face pale with concern.  She was followed by a tall, bearded man of sixty or so, whom she introduced as Mr. Foster, an eminent physician who had happened to be one of the guests tonight.
    Not that—eminent physician or no—Mr. Foster was able to contribute anything terribly useful to the situation.  He took Jane’s pulse and said that he could try bleeding her, though he doubted it would do good.  He decreed that she must stay absolutely quiet and not on any account get up from the bed—and then hemmed and hawed and went on for some time, saying essentially that either Jane’s birthing pains would stop or they would not, and there was no way of determining beforehand which it would be.
    And then he left.  Jane’s eyes were shut by then, and she seemed to have fallen into an uneasy doze, so Georgiana and I moved to the far side of the room and spoke in whispers.
    “I’ll stay with her,” I said.  “If that is all right with you, of course.  I can sit in the armchair, so you needn’t give me a bed.”
    “Of course it is all right,” Georgiana said.  “I’ll see that you have blankets and tea—and anything else you would like.”  She looked behind me to where Jane lay, pale and exhausted-looking on the bed.  “I expect Jane would rather have you here than anyone else.  But call me if there is any sign the baby truly is coming tonight?  I wouldn’t know what to do if there was a true emergency, but I was there last Christmas with Elizabeth when baby James was born.”
    I said that of course I would call her if need be.  And then, with a jolt, I recollected that Mary was downstairs without any idea of what was happening.
    “Will you tell Mary for me?” I asked.  “Don’t frighten her, though.  There is no sense in both of us being alarmed.  Just say that Jane is feeling a trifle unwell, and I am staying with her?  She can take the carriage home to my aunt and uncle’s by herself.”
    Georgiana agreed, and when she had gone out, I settled down into the chair at Jane’s bedside.
    I have thought before—last summer in Brussels, for example, when we were waiting to hear whether the battle was lost or won—that the most exquisite torture in the world is a combination of fear and boredom.  I was frightened for Jane; worry sat in my stomach like a block of ice, preventing me from dozing off, tired as I was.  But there was nothing to do but sit and wait … and wait and wait.
    Jane still slept, though she half-woke from time to time with a gasp or a groan, so I knew the pains had not ceased.  Downstairs, I could hear the strains of music from the ball.  I suppose it must have been an hour or two later that little Amelia abruptly woke up and let out a loud wail of “Mama!”
    Jane jolted fully awake, then, and struggled to sit up.  But I pushed her back.  “No, you are absolutely not to get out of bed.  Didn’t you hear what Mr. Foster said about your staying quiet?  I’ll see to Amelia.”
    I went into the little dressing room.  I am usually quite good at calming unhappy children—a small talent, but goodness knows I have had practice between all Aunt Gardiner’s brood.  But nothing I tried tonight seemed to work with Amelia.  She wanted her mother and no one else.  And her small face turned red, her hands bunching into fists and her mouth opening in a bellow of pure two-year-old rage.  “Mama!  Mama!  Maaaamaaaa!”
    I finally scooped her up—she was still kicking and shrieking—and carried her over to the bed and let her see Jane.  I was afraid to set her down on the mattress beside Jane, for fear she might kick