She laid the babe at the foot of the bed, near her sleeping mother, and loosed her swaddling cloth. There was no visible trauma to the baby, except some bruises not uncommon after a long labor, the swollen eye and lip.

“I’ve treated the black-and-blue with an ointment of chamomile and hog’s grease,” she said, anticipating Poignand’s questions.

“Any evidence it swallowed meconium?”

“Not that I could tell. But I’ll give her honey and castor oil when she’s strong enough.” Mrs. B didn’t like him calling the infant an ‘it.’ She was a girl, even if she didn’t yet have a name.

“You cleaned out its nose?”

“I did.” Of course she’d done this thing and that thing, and more, as she had for years and years, probably before Poignand was born.

Poignand looked around the room, searching for something else, no doubt, to judge. “Why is the window open? And no fire lit?”

“Because it’s August.”

“It’s September, Blenkinsop.”

“The missus likes the open air. She can’t breathe.”

“It’s not her breathing that worries me.”

He pressed his ear to the baby’s chest. Mrs. B hadn’t told the anxious parents that when she was washing their newborn with warm wine, it seemed the child had stopped breathing altogether. She’d scrubbed her little feet with a rough cloth, sprinkled wine in her face, eyes, nostrils, ears, and, feeling her own heart pounding, blown puffs of breath into the baby’s mouth and lungs until she let out a squeak and seemed to breathe again on her own.

After assuring Mr. Godwin that mother and child would no doubt gain strength with each passing hour, Poignand asked that Mrs. B see him to the door. He was all put back together, leather bag under his arm, but something in him seemed unsettled.

“For god’s sake, the woman needs some rest. Remove the child to another room, and no visitors at all. She must not be disturbed, except to suckle, only if she insists.”

“She did mention it, sir. No spoons or papboats for the little one. Mary made me promise. Like the laudanum.”

“You call her Mary?”

Mrs. B tightened her jaw. “She told me to.”

“Well, formalities fall away, I suppose. But so do promises, when necessary.” Poignand wiped his sleeve across his forehead and looked up at the ceiling. “I feel certain I got it all,” he said, as if reassuring himself.

“I’ll keep watch, sir.”

“And don’t forget yourself, Blenkinsop. They need your strength.”

“I take care of myself, sir, and drink porter like any fishwoman.”