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blades.
    Being the daughter of the much sought after London physician, Dr. Charles Thomas Willoughby, Tess had heard similar cries of distress coming from the many pregnant patients her father attended to. She had, on several occasions, accompanied him into the bed chambers of these laboring women for their deliveries, handing him whatever linens, medical potions, and tools that he required. However, this time, the screams burst forth from her mother, and it was horrifyingly different.
    Elizabeth Willoughby lay on the cot, her nightshift pasted with sweat to her chest. A thin sheet draped her lower body. As her eyes slowly opened, she fixed Tess in a glassy stare. She breathed a series of shallow gasps behind chattering teeth.
    “C’mon, Mum,” Tess encouraged, in a voice that she hoped did not relay her own fear. “Squeeze my hand and bite down on this linen when the next pain comes–”
    Another wrenching scream cut Tess off as her mother’s body tensed then arched with the fury of the contraction.
    Something is very wrong!
    Tess again mopped the sweat from her mother’s forehead, and wiped a sliver of drool which slid down from the corner of her mother’s mouth. She tried to keep her voice low and soothing.
    “Cassie’s gone to find Father! Father went to tend to a mishap down on the docks but they’ll be back any minute.”
    Cassie would be able to find Dr Willoughby as quickly as anyone, but being labeled a “nigger servant”, she might have been subject to interference by any number of London’s citizens. Tess fervently hoped that Cassie had been able to make her way to the waterfront unimpeded.
    “Any minute now, they’ll be here–do you hear me? Elizabeth Willoughby, answer me!” she scolded, but her mother did not respond. Not even to the use of her formal name.
    “Packing, Tess.” Her mother’s cracked whisper was barely audible.
    What did she say?
    “Packing? But you’ve not had the child yet, Mum–” Tess stopped short as her mother weakly pulled back the sheet covering her abdomen. Tess’s eyes widened in fright. A dark spreading stain was seeping along the bedding between her mother’s legs.
    “Oh my God, Mum!” Tess shrieked and sprang to her feet. She raced across the room to the barrel that held the cleaned battings of raw cotton. Jamming an armful of the yellow fluff between her mother’s thighs she pressed with both hands.
    “Father says steady pressure is the key to stopping any bleeding,” she gasped. “You’ll be alright, you’ll see, Mum!’
    What is keeping Father? He should have been back by now! How long can bleeding like this continue? Tess sent up a silent prayer. Please, God, don’t let her die! Don’t let them die!
    She felt stiff with building panic. She wasn’t sure if it was being fuelled by her mother’s impending doom or the thought of bearing the brunt of her father’s quick temper. She adjusted her pressure on the cotton wad and felt a small hard knob push back into the palm of her hand.
    What is that?
    Sweat dripped freely from the tip of Tess’s nose and chin now; droplets slid from her forehead and burned her eyes as she blinked fiercely to clear the sting.
    It feels like a –it can’t be! Please, Dear God, don’t let it be!
    Tess pulled the edge of the sodden cotton bundle back and quickly felt for the knob again.
    There it is! A heel! Slippery with warm blood and birth fluids, it was definitely a tiny foot.
    Dear Mary in Heaven, the baby is coming the wrong way!
    A sanguineous effluence announced another contraction’s arrival, but this time her mother was silent.
    “Mum?” Tess anxiously scanned her mother’s face. No reply.
    “Mum! ” It was Tess’s turn to scream. “Don’t you leave me! Father’s coming! This baby needs you! Stay with me!”
    What to do? What to do? Her thoughts crashed and collided with each other. Get the baby out! a voice inside her instructed. It sounded vaguely detached yet familiar and comforting.
    Tess