Her aunt ushered the doctor and midwife to the hand basin in the corner of the room, then listened to his instructions before clearing the top of the dresser with some urgency. He set out his equipment before presenting himself at the foot of the bed, buttoning up his medical coat as he spoke. “Now, you’re not to worry, Mrs. Cotton, you’re in safe hands now.” His deep voice had a reassuring tone that she wanted to believe.

The midwife took her blood pressure as the doctor pulled up her nightdress and examined her without even telling her his name.

Hope looked on anxiously from the side of the room.

“You’re already fully dilated, so you need to push when we say,” the doctor said. “Do you understand?”

Alice nodded, her eyes involuntarily closing, the warmth draining from her face.

“Come on, dear, you’re nearly there,” she heard the midwife say.

“I’m so tired.”

“You can rest afterward,” the doctor said firmly. “First you’ve got a baby to deliver.”

“Can’t you give her something for the pain?” Hope asked.

“Not now. It’s too late for that.” Then he whispered something in the midwife’s ear.

“Is everything all right?” Alice said, startled.

“Everything is fine, just take a deep breath and get ready to push.”

Another contraction built, more intense than the others, the sheer force making her whole being tremble.

“Where’s Mum?” she said, reaching her hand out to Hope, her eyes wide with fear.

“She’s on her way. You know she wouldn’t miss the birth of her grandchild.”

Alice tried to look into her aunt’s eyes for reassurance, but Hope glanced toward the window.

Alice’s mouth dropped open, ready to wail, when the midwife leaned over and, with a firm voice, ordered her to pant. “Just like this,” she said, taking exaggerated breaths.

As Alice panted, she could feel the head crown with a burning sensation, her body stretching. There was a release of pressure and a rush of blood, and as Alice tipped her head backward, releasing an agonized groan, she heard an exquisite cry.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced, lifting up the blood-streaked alabaster body. His hands probed and patted, then he passed the baby to the midwife, who washed and swaddled her, endless minutes passing before she was handed back to Alice.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” said the midwife.

Alice took her baby in her arms, breathing her in, mesmerized by the smooth crimson face as she studied every part of it: the perfect lips, the faint arch of the brow, the tiny upturned nose and plume of golden hair. Alice fought off the temptation to judge the resemblance to Rupert; instead, forcing the thought of him from her mind, she examined her daughter’s fingers one by one.