It was the Duchess who remembered that Owen should be fetched immediately. Caroline sent Timmy the maid to Scrilady Hall.
It was soon clear that it wouldn’t be an easy labor. Dr. Treath and Bess Treath rarely left Alice’s side even when Alice fell into a stupor, so weak even
the contractions couldn’t break through her exhaustion.
Owen paced outside the bedchamber like an expectant father, pale and drawn.
A pall fell over the house during the second day. Caroline, who’d flinched whenever she’d heard Alice cry out, now flinched because she couldn’t hear a thing. Alice was too weak and getting weaker.
North found her in the east wing on the top floor in the storage room where she’d found all the Nightingale women’s portraits. She was furiously cleaning the frames, afraid to touch the canvas, but the frames were shining.
He gently squeezed her shoulder. She stopped her frantic activity, looking up at him.
“I’m sorry, Caroline.”
“She’s dead?”
“No, not yet, but Dr. Treath sees no hope for her now. She birthed the baby, a little boy. He’s not as small as Dr. Treath had thought he would be. Indeed, he was simply too big for Alice to birth him.”
“Then how did she manage to birth him?”
“Dr. Treath pulled him out of her, there was no other choice, otherwise both of them would die. Do you want to make your good-byes?”
She closed her eyes, saying with such hopelessness that he wanted to howl with it, “Those men who raped her. They killed a young girl … just killed her and went on their drunken way. Dear God, I hope they rot in hell.”
Alice opened her eyes a few moments after Caroline sat down beside her. Caroline smiled down at her, saying, “You have a fine little boy, Alice. What do you want to name him?”
“He’s Owen,” Alice whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. Suddenly, with surprising strength, Alice clutched Caroline’s wrist, pulling her close. “Take care of him, Miss Caroline. Please.”
“Of course I will,” Caroline said as she wiped Alice’s forehead with a damp cloth. “And so will you. You will rest and get well again, Alice.”
“No, Miss Caroline, I won’t and you know it. Would you tell my son about me? That I loved him and I didn’t want to leave him, but—” She stopped and gave Caroline a heart-wrenching smile.
“Your son will never forget you, Alice, I swear it. You must see Owen now, he’s right here, just waiting to kiss you. What do you think about that?”
“Oh no, don’t let him see me like this, Miss Caroline. Make him go away. Oh, I never told him, but he was so nice to me, so nice. There was no time for us ever to be more than what we were, but he was so nice to me. No man was ever so nice to me as Owen was.”
“Then you should tell him right now. He cares mightily for you. He rarely left you, Alice—in fact, he’s here right now, here to see you. Would you like a drink of warm milk that Polgrain just fetched here for you?”
“Alice?” Owen eased himself down beside her. “Come, love, you’re going to drink the warm milk, all right?”
There was a very soft whisper that sounded like “love.”
Then there was nothing. Alice’s head was turned slightly away from Caroline and Owen. Her eyes were closed.
“It’s over,” Dr. Treath said, and gently moved Caroline and Owen out of the way.
“No!” Owen just stood there by the bed, staring down at Alice, shaking his head back and forth. “No,” he said again, “no, she’s so sweet, so innocent, God, it isn’t fair… isn’t fair.”
Caroline said, “Owen, come and kiss her good-bye. Let her go.” But even as she said the words, she felt something deep inside her turn cold and hard, then just as quickly she felt herself crumbling inward, sinking down into darkness that she welcomed, oh yes, she wanted that darkness and its deep shadows that hid the pain from her, that hid Alice’s young face, so calm in death, so very sweet, without life.
Caroline had never worn black in her life and she had no intention of doing it now. “Alice wasn’t quite fifteen years old. I will not honor her young life with black. I will wear white, white as pure and innocent as she was.” And Mrs. Mayhew simply nodded.
All the women from Mount Hawke wore white. When the vicar arrived with Mrs. Plumberry—uninvited—he looked from Caroline to Miss Mary Patricia, then at the rest of them, and said, “This is not right. Even though Alice was not worthy to continue her life of sin, still our black trappings are God’s idea, meant to honor Him, to show Him our respect, more than the one deceased.”
Caroline just stared at him for a very long moment.
“I suppose these others”—he jerked his head toward Evelyn and Miss Mary Patricia—“talked you into it, didn’t they? No piety, those two, just cheap little sluts with no sense of what is right and proper, and they’ve fooled you, my lady, and made you forget—”