The Curse of Wetherley House Page 6

  “Steady,” the doctor says, still holing me firmly. “You mustn't push yourself.”

  “Where do you wish to perform the examination?” Eve asks.

  “I want Doctor Forbes,” I stammer, as I feel a cold, prickly sweat breaking across my forehead. “I only trust Doctor Forbes.”

  “Doctor Forbes is in Edinburgh,” Eve says yet again, “and -”

  “I know he's in Edinburgh!” I gasp, trying to take a step forward but feeling, for a moment, as if I am already leaning at an alarming angle toward the floor. Attempting to steady myself, I turn to Doctor Edge, but somehow I cannot quite focus on his face, and I am starting to feel extremely nauseous. Finally, even though I want to go up to my room, I find myself leaning back and slumping into the armchair. The doctor supports me all the way down, and then he presses two fingers against the side of my neck, checking my pulse.

  “Has she been given anything to help her sleep?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I try to whisper, but I'm not sure the words come out. “I was worried about the baby.”

  “Only the supplements you recommended,” Eve explains. “I slipped them into her drinks.”

  “What?” I gasp, as I feel cold sweat starting to run down my face.

  “I think I got here not a moment too soon,” the doctor mutters. “This woman is almost ready to give birth.”

  “Can you perform the initial examination there in the chair,” Eve asks, as I feel myself slipping into unconsciousness, “or do you need me to help carry her to the bed?”

  “Stop!” I gurgle, trying but failing to reach out and steady myself.

  “Calm down, you silly thing,” Eve says, leaning toward me with a smile. “I know what's best for the child, Marguerite. And for you, too. After all, you're family now, and I always take very good care of my family.”

  ***

  “No, I want Doctor Forbes!” I gasp, suddenly opening my eyes and trying to sit up, only to find that thick restraints are tying me to the bed.

  “Don't strain yourself,” Eve says. “You're doing just fine.”

  Startled, I turn to see that she's sitting next to me, holding a cloth and a metal pan of water. Dipping the cloth into the water for a moment, she wrings it out and then uses it to wipe my forehead. I try to pull away, but I'm powerless to stop her, even as cold drops run down the side of my face.

  “You're going into labor,” she explains. “Doctor Edge was most insistent that it would be unsafe for you to give birth while still sedated. I'm sorry, but I can't overrule him. He is a man of medicine, after all.”

  “What are you doing to me?” I stammer, looking down and seeing that I have been stripped naked. My enormous belly is still protruding, glistening as if some kind of waxy substance has been rubbed across the tight flesh, and when I try to move my legs I find that my ankles have been securely tied to the bed posts, leaving my legs wide apart with my knees poking up.

  “Don't strain,” Eve says again. “It might not be good for the baby.”

  “Why am I tied down?” I shout, trying not to panic.

  “So that you don't do anything foolish. Don't be such a silly goose.”

  “Where's Doctor Forbes?”

  “I told you, he -”

  “Where's -”

  I catch myself just in time, as I realize that there's nobody else to call for. Robert is gone and Doctor Forbes has evidently departed for Edinburgh, which means that I'm all alone here. My parents and siblings are still in France, and I have lived a sheltered life here at Wetherley House ever since I arrived. I have made no friends and precious few acquaintances, and it's extremely clear to me now that I cannot possibly hope for anyone to come and help me. Instead, I try pulling on the restraints, only to find that they're tied uncommonly tight, and that the fibers are already starting to burn my wrists as I struggle to get free.

  “It's going to be a boy,” Eve continues after a moment. “I can feel it.”

  “I want to get off this bed!” I say firmly, turning to her.

  “A big, strong boy.”

  “Untie me!”

  Staring at my belly, she seems lost in thought for a moment.

  “This family needs a boy,” she whispers finally. “I know Robert humored you, Marguerite, and said that a girl would be fine, but deep down he wanted a son. Someone who could take over the family business, someone who could keep the family name in a good light. A girl would be acceptable, I suppose, but not as desirable as a boy.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask. “I'm not -”

  Before I can finish, however, I notice that there is now a second bed in the room, right behind her.

  “What's that for?” I stammer.

  “What's what for?” she replies innocently.

  “There's another bed in here!”

  “Oh, that?” She calmly looks at the other bed for a moment, before turning back to me. “Well, that's for me, silly.”

  “For you?”

  “Just have a little patience,” she continues, reaching over and wiping my forehead once again, “and everything will become clear in time. Believe me, this has all been thought through very carefully, and no corners have been cut. Doctor Edge is one of the very few men in England who possesses the necessary skills to deliver your child in the required manner, and -”

  “Required manner?” I gasp. “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you're so sweaty,” she mutters, wiping my forehead yet again, even though I try to turn away. “It's not very attractive, you know. Not very ladylike. If I were you, I'd try very hard to keep from screaming during the birth. You don't want the little boy's first moments in this world to be so utterly terrifying, do you? I always feel that a woman has a duty to usher her child into life with as much decorum as possible. These things can really affect the -”

  “Help!” I scream suddenly, turning to the window as I realize that Eve must have lost her mind. “Somebody help me!”

  “Whoever do you think can hear you?” she asks.

  “Help!” I scream again, pulling on the restraints and causing the bed's frame to rattle against the wall, making a little extra noise. With tears streaming down my face, I know full well that there's likely no-one around for miles, but I have to get out of here. “For the love of God, somebody help me!”

  I continue to cry out for several minutes, trying to make as much noise as possible. My throat is already beginning to hurt, but I know I cannot stop yet, I know I must hope that by some miracle I shall be heard. Finally, however, I slump back down against the bed, breathless and exhausted, trying to think of some other way out of here.

  “There, now,” Eve says, “does it feel good to get all of that out of your system?”

  “Dear Lord,” I whisper, “I pray that you will -”

  Before I can get another word out, Eve starts laughing.

  “I pray,” I continue, “that you will deliver me from this nightmare and help me ensure that my child is born safely and properly. I am your humble servant, your child in this life, and I want nothing more than to safeguard my child. If I have to give up my own life, then so be it, but -”

  “God's not going to pay any attention to you,” Eve says firmly, setting the bowl of water aside and getting to her feet. “You're French!”

  “Why are you doing this?” I gasp, turning to her and watching as she calmly walks toward the door.

  “Robert and I made a pact when we were children,” she replies, stopping and turning to me with a curious smile on her lips. “Did he ever tell you about our childhood days here at the house? He and I used to play together in the forest, away from the prying eyes of our dear, late parents. We used to play with each other in the most delightful ways, and we used to talk about continuing the family in the most intimate manner possible. But then shortly after he turned eighteen, Robert suddenly decided that what we'd been doing was wrong, and he shunned me. He said our pact had been a childhood folly, but he was wrong. The pact was for life, and it's
going to come true, one way or another.”

  “What are you talking about?” I stammer.

  “Such a shame about his accident,” she continues, “but then, he should have been more careful around the horses. It's astonishing how much damage a hoof can cause, isn't it? The brutish thing must have stamped on his head repeatedly, which seems almost impossible to believe. It's almost as if something else caused the injury. The blade of a shovel, perhaps.”

  “No,” I whisper, as her smile grows. “You couldn't have...”

  “I must prepare,” she adds, turning and heading out to the landing. “This is going to be a very trying ordeal, I'm afraid. For both of us.” She hesitates, before glancing back at me. “By the way, did Robert ever tell you what happened to our parents? They were both poisoned by mushrooms from the forest. Such rotten luck.”

  With that, she swings the door shut.

  “No!” I scream, pulling harder than ever on the restraints, even as they begin to wear through my wrists and as blood trickles down my flesh. “Help me! Somebody get me out of here! Please, help me!”

  Marguerite

  “Okay, young lady,” Doctor Edge says calmly, as I continue to pull desperately on the restraints, “this might hurt a little, but you must keep a stiff upper lip. That's how we do things in England, you see. Remember to remain ladylike and calm throughout the birthing process, and all will be well.”

  Marguerite

  A second pair of hands pushes the flap of skin aside and reaches deep into my belly, sending a searing, agonizing burst of pain through my gut. I can feel every single one of those fingers – twenty, five from each hand – arranging and rearranging my bloodied innards as they try to dislodge the child, and a moment later I feel the blade of scalpel cutting through some other part of me that's getting in their way.

  The blade hits bone, scraping my pelvis.

  I try to look down at my body, to see the horror, but the hand on my forehead pushes my head firmly back against the pillow. Crying out as sweat and tears run down my face, I feel several convulsing waves of pain starting to pulse up through my chest, causing me to clench my jaw so tight that I fear my teeth must surely shatter. When this does nothing whatsoever to alleviate the pain, I try turning my head to one side. The hand on my forehead slips slightly, thanks to the sweat, and I look over at the next bed as a groan of agony slips from my mouth. I just hope and pray that the pain is all mine, and that my child is okay.

  Eve is watching me from the other bed, with those calm, expectant eyes of hers.

  “Put a sheet up,” she says as soon as we make eye contact, quickly turning to one of the nurses. “Now!”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” I try to gasp, although all that emerges from my lips is a series of throttled, spitty gasps. I can taste blood in the back of my throat, and I'm not even able to focus my eyes properly. I can see two of Eve, almost three, and everything seems to be spinning around me.

  A moment later, two nurses hold up a clean white linen sheet, keeping me from seeing Eve at all.

  “What are you doing to me?” I try to scream, before the hand on my forehead is joined by another on my cheek, and my head is forced around until I'm once more looking at the ceiling. How many nurses are there? Two? Four? Looking up, I see several blurred faces, but they might all be one person.

  And still those fingers are wriggling like fat maggots, intruding in the depths of my belly as they cut and scrape and tear. When they manage to shift the child, I feel a torrent of blood bursting from some part of me, spattering down into some other part at the bottom of the cavity these monsters are trying to make. Then I hear a faint, muffled discussion of some obstruction, before several fingers take hold of a lower section of my rib-cage. I try to flinch, but not quite in time, as one of the ribs is cracked and pulled away. Another jolt of pain shudders through my body, and I open my mouth to scream once more, but then another sound fills the room and stills my agony.

  A child is crying.

  “Hurry!” Doctor Edge hisses somewhere nearby. “No, leave that! Don't cut it yet!”

  “What are you doing to her?” I groan, with blood on my lips. I instinctively try to move my hands down to my ripped-open belly, but the restraints are too tight. Still, I try again and again, as if my hands refuse to accept that they cannot touch the child.

  “Let me hold her,” I whimper. “Please...”

  As I continue to struggle, I can hear the child's cries as she's lifted slowly from my belly and then moved away. A moment later, I feel something warm and wet bumping against one edge of my vast, torn wound, and I realize the umbilical cord hasn't been cut yet.

  “Okay, now!” Doctor Edge shouts suddenly.

  “Do it!” Eve screams, her voice filled with urgent frustration. “Hurry! Do it!”

  “Give her to me!” I sob, turning my head first one way and then the other, trying to slip free of the greasy hands that are trying to hold my face in place. “Give me my child! Give -”

  Before I can finish, another scream rings out, a woman's voice. I turn and look to my left, but the white sheet is still being held in place, although it's shaking violently and when I look up at one of the nurses, I see that her hands are trembling as she looks down at whatever is happening on the other bed.

  “Please,” I whimper, hoping against hope that they might suddenly take pity on me, “let me hold my child.”

  The baby's cries are still filling the room, accompanied by a scream that I now realize is coming from Eve herself. I can see the faintest hints of shadows on the white sheet, but I can't even begin to imagine what is happening on the other side. I can hear people shuffling around, and muffled voices too, and something very urgent seems to be taking place. Already my thoughts are becoming thinner somehow, as if I'm being dragged down into unconsciousness, but I know I have to stay awake for my child. Even now, as she cries just a few feet away, I feel certain that she's a girl, and that she's healthy and that I just need to hold her and make sure that everything is alright. She cannot spend her first minutes in this world, her first minutes of life, in the hands of these barbarians. She needs her mother.

  “Give her to me!” I sneer, as a rising sense of anger begins to fill my ravaged body. “I swear, you will give her to me right now.”

  “Careful!” Doctor Edge calls out from the other side of the sheet. “Gently. That's right. Gently.”

  “What are you doing to her?” I scream, pulling harder than ever on the leather restraints that bind my wrists to this cursed bed. “Leave her alone! Let me have her!”

  “Careful, now,” he continues. “Careful. That's perfect.”

  Pulling on the restraints, I start rattling the bed furiously, and now the hands on my head are finding it harder to hold me in place. I can feel blood cascading down the sides of my ruptured belly, but sheer panic and anger are driving me to keep pulling and pulling, trying to find some way off this bed. My child is still screaming, just a couple of feet away on the other side of the white sheet that's now spattered with blood. I have to get to her, I have to rescue her. I'm her mother. I cannot let her experience the cruelties of the world so soon.

  “Robert!” I scream. “Give me strength! For our -”

  Suddenly the restraint around my right wrist breaks. Startled, I immediately sit up and reach over, grabbing the white sheet and ripping it from the hands of the nurses. As the sheet falls away, I'm horrified to see Eve naked on the other bed with blood running down the sides of her belly, and it appears that she has been cut open. Several nurses are assisting Doctor Edge, and for a moment I cannot comprehend – nor really make out – what I am seeing. There is blood on their hands, and Doctor Edge is attending to the hole in Eve's belly. The twisted, knotted umbilical cord is held tight, running from my carved-open belly and directly into the mess of Eve's belly, and with a sudden jolt of horror I realize that while my child is still attached to me, she has been taken from my body and directly placed inside Eve's.

  “Stop!�
�� I scream, lunging toward them and almost tipping the bed straight over. Several pairs of hands grab me and try to hold me back, but I manage to reach over and take hold of Eve's arm. “She's mine! She's -”

  Before I can finish, I see that there's another figure in the room. The naked old woman is at the head of the second bed, leaning down and watching me with a smile as she whispers directly into Eve's ear.

  “No!” I shout, reaching toward them. “Leave us alone! Get away from here!”

  “Restrain that hysterical woman!” Doctor Edge shouts. “Get on with it! Earn your money!”

  My hand is pulled away from Eve's arm and I'm forced back onto my bed. Horrified, I watch as Eve smiles through her tears, resting her hands on the side of her belly as my child is slowly raised screaming from her blood. And then, as I cry out again, the bloodied white sheet is raised once more and a pair of scissors flashes past my face, and the umbilical cord is cut. I cry out again and again, but several pairs of hands are now holding me firmly, and I can feel somebody once again rearranging the mess in my belly. A moment later, a thick metal needle slides into the side of my neck and I feel a stinging liquid being injected into my body. Even before the needle is pulled out, I can feel my thoughts slipping away, but I have to stay awake for my child.

  She's screaming.

  I have to go to her.

  I can't let them take her away.

  A moment later, I hear the sound of metal against metal. I turn and watch as another nurse carries what looks like a saw around behind the sheet, toward the other other bed. A moment later I hear the most horrific sound I have ever heard in my life. Somebody is sawing through bone.

  ***

  “Marguerite. Marguerite, wake up. I'm sorry, but you have to be awake for this part.”

  I hear the voice, but at first I don't know what it means. And then something presses against my closed eyes, and the lids are forced open by pairs of tongs, and light flood my vision. My mouth opens slightly, even though my lips were slightly dried together, and I try to blink even though I find I cannot. Finally, slowly, as the rush of light begins to subside, I see a blurry figure standing over me.