beneath her. She felt it wouldn’t be much longer now and gave her a dose of the medicine Mog had supplied.
It was almost one in the morning when Miranda’s pains became really bad. Belle could sense the strength of them by the sweat on her brow and the way she arched her back and grimaced. But she didn’t scream out, only held tightly on to Belle’s hand.
By half past two Belle was exhausted herself, wondering just how much longer anyone could be in such terrible pain. ‘You are being very brave,’ she said as yet again she wiped Miranda’s face with cold water. She was writhing with the pain now, biting her bottom lip to stop crying out.
When she began to retch Belle quickly got a bowl and held it for her but with her spare hand she pushed back the sheet to look. There was a lot of fresh blood, and as Miranda once again retched, there was a rush of what looked like pieces of liver. Knowing what that meant made Belle want to retch too.
‘Is that it?’ Miranda gasped out.
Belle gathered up the bloody rags, placing clean ones beneath Miranda. She didn’t want to look closely, but felt she must before she put them in the bucket. But there was something pale and tadpole-shaped, and knowing that must be the baby, she couldn’t stop herself from crying. It was even more distressing to think she had a baby in her own womb which would be wanted and loved, while that poor little mite had to be destroyed.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she managed to get out through her tears. ‘Has the pain gone now?’
‘Yes, I just ache,’ Miranda whispered hoarsely. ‘What would I have done without you?’
Belle hoped that if she lived to be a hundred she’d never have to see something as hideous as that again. Silently she cursed Frank, wished he could see what his greed and wickedness had done tonight, and that he’d suffer because of it.
She washed Miranda all over and covered her up with the sheet. ‘Next time you meet a young man, you bring him to me to sound out,’ she whispered, and kissed her forehead. ‘Now I’ll make you some hot milk with some brandy in it. Then you can go to sleep.’
Chapter Four
Just after six in the morning Mog slipped in through the back gate to the shop yard. It was a beautiful morning, with the promise of another hot day ahead. Birds were singing, and at any other time she would have been reminded how lucky she was to have got away from Seven Dials and to have a loving, hard-working husband.
But she had barely slept with anxiety about Belle. Although back in the days when she worked as the maid in Annie’s brothel she had taken care of six or seven girls in exactly the same predicament as Miranda, it had never come easily to her. It was a foul, shameful business, and even worse for Belle to witness it when she was pregnant herself.
Mog wished with all her heart that there was an alternative for unmarried women who found themselves in this position. But if they didn’t go along with an abortion, without support from their families or the father of the child they were likely to find themselves cast out on to the streets, the workhouse the only place that would take them in. If their baby didn’t die from neglect during the birth, it was likely to be placed in an orphanage, or farmed out to someone who saw child rearing as a profitable business and showed no tender care.
But Mog’s main fear today was that if anything had gone wrong last night, Belle would be in serious trouble. The law might turn a blind eye to anyone helping a prostitute through such an ordeal, but not a lady of quality.
Women did die from these barbarous abortions, if not while it was happening, then later when infections set in. Belle might not be guilty of aiding and abetting what Miranda had done, but if the girl died, her family would need to blame someone and Belle would be their scapegoat.
All was quiet and the back door was open a little to let in air. Mog pushed it open a little further to look in.
It was almost one in the morning when Miranda’s pains became really bad. Belle could sense the strength of them by the sweat on her brow and the way she arched her back and grimaced. But she didn’t scream out, only held tightly on to Belle’s hand.
By half past two Belle was exhausted herself, wondering just how much longer anyone could be in such terrible pain. ‘You are being very brave,’ she said as yet again she wiped Miranda’s face with cold water. She was writhing with the pain now, biting her bottom lip to stop crying out.
When she began to retch Belle quickly got a bowl and held it for her but with her spare hand she pushed back the sheet to look. There was a lot of fresh blood, and as Miranda once again retched, there was a rush of what looked like pieces of liver. Knowing what that meant made Belle want to retch too.
‘Is that it?’ Miranda gasped out.
Belle gathered up the bloody rags, placing clean ones beneath Miranda. She didn’t want to look closely, but felt she must before she put them in the bucket. But there was something pale and tadpole-shaped, and knowing that must be the baby, she couldn’t stop herself from crying. It was even more distressing to think she had a baby in her own womb which would be wanted and loved, while that poor little mite had to be destroyed.
‘Yes, that’s it,’ she managed to get out through her tears. ‘Has the pain gone now?’
‘Yes, I just ache,’ Miranda whispered hoarsely. ‘What would I have done without you?’
Belle hoped that if she lived to be a hundred she’d never have to see something as hideous as that again. Silently she cursed Frank, wished he could see what his greed and wickedness had done tonight, and that he’d suffer because of it.
She washed Miranda all over and covered her up with the sheet. ‘Next time you meet a young man, you bring him to me to sound out,’ she whispered, and kissed her forehead. ‘Now I’ll make you some hot milk with some brandy in it. Then you can go to sleep.’
Chapter Four
Just after six in the morning Mog slipped in through the back gate to the shop yard. It was a beautiful morning, with the promise of another hot day ahead. Birds were singing, and at any other time she would have been reminded how lucky she was to have got away from Seven Dials and to have a loving, hard-working husband.
But she had barely slept with anxiety about Belle. Although back in the days when she worked as the maid in Annie’s brothel she had taken care of six or seven girls in exactly the same predicament as Miranda, it had never come easily to her. It was a foul, shameful business, and even worse for Belle to witness it when she was pregnant herself.
Mog wished with all her heart that there was an alternative for unmarried women who found themselves in this position. But if they didn’t go along with an abortion, without support from their families or the father of the child they were likely to find themselves cast out on to the streets, the workhouse the only place that would take them in. If their baby didn’t die from neglect during the birth, it was likely to be placed in an orphanage, or farmed out to someone who saw child rearing as a profitable business and showed no tender care.
But Mog’s main fear today was that if anything had gone wrong last night, Belle would be in serious trouble. The law might turn a blind eye to anyone helping a prostitute through such an ordeal, but not a lady of quality.
Women did die from these barbarous abortions, if not while it was happening, then later when infections set in. Belle might not be guilty of aiding and abetting what Miranda had done, but if the girl died, her family would need to blame someone and Belle would be their scapegoat.
All was quiet and the back door was open a little to let in air. Mog pushed it open a little further to look in.
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