“Sir, the receipt from the contractor at the Banzzly Smelter has arrived.”

Noel, who was opening letters at the desk across the room, informed Ian.

Noel had returned to work last week. The stitches on his abdomen had healed well enough for him to resume earning a living.

“Calculate the quantity and cost of the timber and submit a report.”

“Understood.”

Noel replied briskly, pulling the abacus from the corner of his desk toward himself.

The office was filled with the clacking of abacus beads and the scratching of a pen nib dancing on paper. Amidst this clerical noise, the laughter of Ian’s wife, Laura, and Olivia Fairfax drifted in from the garden.

It was a peaceful afternoon. Ian looked down at the business cards, recalling the reputations of the lawyers he had investigated through various channels.

“Sir.”

Noel, flicking the abacus beads, spoke up from across the room.

“Have you been troubled by something lately?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem to sigh more often these days.”

“What could I possibly have to worry about? In a little while, I’ll be the father of adorable twins.”

“That’s true. I felt the same way when Barbara was full-term.”

Ian’s brow furrowed.

Why bring up his late wife here?

Judging by Noel’s tone, it wasn’t intentional. He had likely just blurted out something to agree with his employer.

But Ian’s mood plummeted as he recalled Barbara Finch, who had died giving birth at the same age as his wife, Laura.

Laura’s laughter, filtering through the window, filled the office’s silence.

“Noel.”

“What is it, sir?”

Noel, nose buried in paperwork, responded while his fingers fiddled.

“How much did your wife suffer before she passed?”

“Words can’t describe it, sir. She struggled for two days before she died.”

Two days?

“Was the baby caught in her pelvis or something?”

“It wasn’t the pelvis; it was the umbilical cord. The baby’s neck was tangled in it and already dead. Barbara exerted useless strength, spilling five buckets of blood before she passed. If only she had given up on the baby…”

Noel’s hand, which had been flying over the abacus, stopped. He looked up at the ceiling.

“I wonder if she’s up there, doing well with our child.”

Noel let out a heavy sigh and lowered his gaze to resume work. But as his eyes shifted toward the papers, they landed on Ian, sitting across from him.

Ian looked as if he might vomit at any moment.

Noel realized his mistake.

The butler told me to watch my words.

Near the end of his leave, at a modest dinner Noel had hosted, Remzwick, a guest, had warned him to avoid mentioning Barbara in front of the master.

“After hearing your story, the master has been in low spirits,” Remzwick had said. “He’s afraid the mistress might end up like Mrs. Finch. While you’re in Whitefield, keep Mrs. Finch buried in your heart. If you need to talk about her, come to me. Understood, Noel?”

Noel had readily agreed, even making a pinky promise with Remzwick.

And yet, he had brought up this story. Noel wanted to smack his own empty head.

I can’t exactly lie now and say Barbara ran off with the neighbor’s lad because she couldn’t stand my philandering.

Noel racked his brain, scraping together optimistic thoughts.

“S-sir, in my case, we had a terrible midwife. An illiterate old hag with no medical training. When the baby wouldn’t come out, do you know what she did? She muttered some incantations in Hindi over Barbara’s belly. I was such a fool for standing by and doing nothing. If it were now, I’d have brought in the local cattle rancher who’s used to delivering calves.”

But Ian, far from relaxing, bit his lip. Noel hurriedly continued.

“Compared to that, the mistress is in a very safe environment. With a lady doctor like Dr. Mackenzie nearby, no less. I’ve heard that, though she grumbles about being bothered in retirement, she spares no effort to save a mother. They say if God turns away, she’d borrow the devil’s power to bring her back. If Dr. Mackenzie had been our neighbor back then, surely…”

At that moment, Ian raised his index finger to his lips, signaling silence. Noel, who had been rambling, shut his mouth.

Ian didn’t seem to feel much better, but he no longer looked like he was about to retch.

Furrowed brows. Clenched lips. Taut jaw muscles. Trembling fingertips.

Noel, growing anxious, tried to pinpoint the cause and soon noticed something had changed.

Laura’s laughter was no longer audible.

Soon, the sound of people scurrying outside reached the office. One set of footsteps quickly approached the door.

The office door burst open.

Remzwick entered, his face as white as a sheet.

“Master, the mistress has gone into labor.”

Wasn’t the due date next month?

Noel glanced at Ian in shock. Ian was already putting on his hat for going out.

“Where’s Hannah?”

“She’s supporting the mistress and has gone with her to the birthing room.”

“Have Dewey saddled.”

Remzwick rushed out. Ian, though tense, had composed himself, no longer looking ill, and strode out with purpose.

“Good heavens.”

Noel set down his quill and walked to the window.

In less than five minutes, Dewey, a sturdy gray horse of fine Yorkshire lineage, stood saddled in front of the manor. Ian, wearing riding gloves, emerged from the entrance, took the whip from the butler, and leapt onto Dewey’s back.

Ian’s leather-clad foot spurred the horse’s flank. In an instant, he was gone.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Noel shouted out the window.

“Butler, where’s the master off to?”

Remzwick, staring in the direction Ian had gone, looked up at the office window.

“To Dr. Mackenzie’s cottage.”

“By himself, without sending the servants?”

“Mackenzie won’t budge unless it’s a dying mother.”

“Ah, so he’s gone to persuade her?”

“If persuasion works, all the better.”

What does that mean?

Before Noel could ask, Remzwick disappeared into the manor. Noel scratched his head and leaned against the windowsill.

If persuasion fails, does he plan to drag her here by force?

Noel let out a hollow laugh and shook his head.

“It’s not even an emergency. What a lovesick fool.”

But his laughter soon turned bitter. Memories of his late wife, Barbara, surfaced.

When Barbara was giving birth, Noel had been around Ian Dalton’s age now. Like Ian, it was his first child, and his love for his wife was no less. But as the delivery date approached, Noel had done nothing but leap about in excitement, unprepared. So when Barbara was dying, he hadn’t known what to do.

He was the only one who could have protected her.

The image of the black hearse carrying Barbara’s coffin came to mind. The sound of their son Billy sobbing in mourning clothes beside it. The day he trudged to the cemetery behind that hearse, marriage vanished from Noel’s life. So did the hope of children carrying his blood, or the joy of a family.

I’m sorry, Barbara. I loved you, but I wasn’t a good husband.

After a moment, Noel returned to his desk. Unlike the chaos outside, the office resumed its rhythm of clacking abacus beads and scratching pens.

There was no man more worthy of respect than one who protected his family. Noel resolved to do what he could for Ian Dalton. He would stand by his master as a land agent who kept the ledgers flawless, no matter how the world turned upside down.

Ian Dalton returned to the manor in less than two hours, with Dr. Mackenzie, medical bag in tow, riding behind him.

Dr. Mackenzie dismounted with a face that suggested she’d strangle anyone who crossed her path.

Thus, Remzwick, who had been pacing near the entrance waiting for Ian, had to summon considerable courage to address her.

“Welcome, Dr. Mackenzie.”

“How much faster do you expect me to hurry?”

Dr. Mackenzie, bristling with irritation, trudged into the manor. Remzwick guided her to the birthing room.

“My apologies, doctor. I spoke poorly out of gratitude.”

“Keep your gratitude and trade it for candy. Blast it, if I ever deal with another Dalton again, I’m no human.”

“Please, calm your anger. Once the delivery is safely over, the master will pay double the usual fee.”

“Have the finest bottle of liquor in this manor ready, too. I’ll get roaring drunk, smash up Whitefield Hall, and spew on Ian Dalton’s polished face.”