Luckily, Nurse Newton had arrived the previous week and had set up a bedroom on the top floor for the confinement. Annabel was fortunate that her labour moved swiftly and her child was born in the early hours of the following day. The baby’s lusty cries woke the household, most of whom were awake anyway, awaiting its arrival. Dorothea lay rigid in her bed, determined not to leave her room. She would know soon enough, but the bedroom door opened and Theo stood there, his sturdy frame illuminated by the soft light from the landing. ‘There’s a baby crying, Mama. I can hear it.’ In the semi-darkness, Dorothea pursed her mouth, screwed her eyes tight shut and didn’t answer him. The boy moved closer to her bedside. ‘Mama, I said—’ Dorothea’s eyes flew open. ‘I heard what you said,’ she snapped. The boy flinched and took a step backwards. The door behind him opened wider and Elizabeth, dressed in only her nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders, tiptoed into the room.
