01. A Labour-Intensive Evening

"Faster! Faster!"

The icy voice of billionaire business mogul Rikkard Ambrose echoed off the corridor's walls, sending his employees running in a flurry of activity. By itself not an unusual occurrence at Empire House, the aptly named headquarters of his international industrial empire. What was an unusual thing, however, was my limp figure being rolled through the hallways on a gurney, pregnant belly bulging.

"I said faster, you fools! If we don't reach the doctor in time, I will ensure you won't find a job anywhere north of Antarctica!"

"Trying to organise a foot race in the office, husband dear?" I wheezed as my body twitched from the latest contraction. "How unprofessional."

"Shut up and contract!"

Ah, yes. That was my darling husband as I knew and loved him.

"Would you like me to sign a contract, too?" I squeezed out, one corner of my mouth twitching up. I had a feeling I was going to do that a lot in the near future. Squeezing, I meant, not smirking. "So you can sue me if I don't do this job right?"

I felt a hand squeeze mine, and the gurney sped up. Somewhere above me, I saw a flash of ice-cold eyes. "If you do not do this job correctly, Mrs Ambrose, you will have worse things to worry about than being sued!"

"Oh woe is me," I managed to get out as a powerful tremor shook me and an ache appeared in my lower back. "Will you try and sack me again? Or worse, jump into the sack with me? I'm t-trembling in f-fear. I—aaagh!"

"Mrs Ambrose?" The grip on my hand abruptly tightened. "Mrs Ambrose! Is everything all right?"

"D-don't worry." Shifting into a slightly less uncomfortable position on the gurney, something suddenly occurred to me. I glanced down. "Say...why exactly do you have a gurney in your office building? For staff who collapse from overwork?"

At that, he seemed almost insulted. "Don't be ridiculous, Mrs Ambrose! They can crawl out by themselves."

"Ha! Haha—aaah! D-don't make me laugh, you icy bastard! It hurts!"

His fierce gaze bored into me from above. "Do I look like I am in the mood for telling jokes, Mrs Ambrose? Now cease prevaricating! Answer me! Are. You. All. Right?"

I opened my mouth to say...what? I wasn't exactly sure. Oh, sure I'm all right! After all, I'm only about to squeeze a melon through a pea-sized hole. In my body. Thanks to you getting me pregnant, Mister!

That probably wasn't what he was hoping to hear, though. Not that it really mattered, because before I could get a single word out, the walls of the corridor to my left and right vanished, and I was suddenly surrounded by an entire hall full of people. Frozen people, staring at me.

The staff hurrying through the huge entrance hall of Empire House were probably used to seeing all sorts of things. But judging by their incredulous expressions as they stood there staring at me, pregnant women on gurneys were not among them. Mr Pearson, the receptionist, sat at his desk like a particularly pasty pillar of salt, not noticing the ink that was dropping from his quill and leaving a nice polka dot pattern on his important documents. Somewhere farther in the back, a person who had been sorting money into neat piles was now absent-mindedly sorting gold sovereigns into a paper bin. A bit to his left, someone was frozen in mid-motion with a stamp in his hand, not noticing the fly that was currently trying to crawl up his nose. Throughout the hall, people with piles of documents, briefcases and crates of shapes and sizes stood unmoving, staring straight at us.

Something that Mr Rikkard Ambrose apparently did not appreciate in the current situation.

"What are you waiting for?" he barked, gesturing to his pregnant wife beside him. "Get moving!"

Everyone's instincts kicked in, and they all raced to get back to whatever they had been doing.

"Not back to work! Out of the way, you halfwits!"

Everyone froze again, turning to stare at my dear husband in confusion.

A muscle in my dear husband's cheek twitched.

"Mwhahahaha!"

"Stop. Laughing. Mrs. Ambrose."

"I cahahahahan't—ouch! Blast you, do you think I—ow!—want to be laughing right now? Mwahahaha!"

"I. Said. Stop. Laughing. And you!" Mr Rikkard Ambrose stabbed a finger at the unfortunate souls that would soon envy the damned in the lowest circle of hell—or, in other words, his employees. "Get out of my way now!"

I had always believed humans were incapable of teleporting. Either Mr Ambrose's employees had just proven me wrong, or they had moved faster than my eye could see. In a blink, they had formed a corridor in the middle of the hall. Instantly, my husband moved forward, pushing my gurney through the entrance hall and...past the exit?

"Err...where are we going?" Trying to turn and miserably failing, I waved in the direction of the front door. "The hospital is that way!"

"Hospital?" Mr Ambrose snorted. "Those are for the poor and desperate!"

"So...in other words for people who don't spend any money?" Smirking through the pain, I cocked my head. "Why aren't you already heading there?"

When he met my gaze, there was a ferocious look in his eyes. "Because it's about you."

That shut me up more effectively than any pain could.

"You! You!" Mr Ambrose stabbed his fingers at two hapless victims nearby. "Help me push the gurney! We need to go faster!"

"Y-you do know that there's no need to hurry, right? Delivering a child usually t-takes a few hours, right? Days even, I've been told."

"No reason to cut it close."

I opened my mouth and...

And closed it again.

Because, honestly, what was there to say to that? He was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Wasting time was strictly forbidden under any circumstances. Why would that inviolable truth be changed by a pesky little thing like pregnancy?

"Um...where to, Sir?"

I was abruptly torn from my thoughts by the anxious voice of one of the unfortunate minions Mr Ambrose had recruited for pregnant-lady-transportation duty.

"Down that corridor. Go, chop chop!"

Suddenly, I jerked forward, my speed doubling, then tripling. Was it just my imagination, or was the gurney actually going faster than Mr Ambrose's old carriage horse?

"Err...where now? There's more than one way ahead, Sir."

"Left!"

A moment later, the gurney swerved, and we raced around a corner. I was unable to keep the grin off my face.

"Woo-hee! Hey, this is fun! We should do this again when I'm back on my feet."

"Dream on, Mrs Ambrose."

"You're no fun, you know?"

"A fact I am sincerely proud of. Turn right! Turn right!"

"I'm afraid I'm not steering this thing, darling."

"I am not talking to you, Mrs Ambrose!"

Before I could find a nice comeback, we swerved around another corner. At the end of the corridor, I saw a brilliant light.

Let's hope it's not the bright end at the end of the tunnel I've heard the vicar talk about in church...

No!

Instinctively, I clenched my hand and hugged my belly.

That wouldn't happen. I wouldn't let it happen! I would get through this. We would get through this!

Soon, my worries dispersed as the light up ahead came into focus. Turns out it wasn't the entrance to heaven, nor the gates to hell illuminated by cheerfully flickering flames. No, it was something far stranger. We entered an area of Empire House I had never seen before. The corridors, usually the grey of bare stone, were suddenly covered in bright, white paint. Above me, shiny chandeliers filled with fresh candles filled my field of view. What the...!

Mr Ambrose never lit more than one candle at a time. What kind of monstrous aberration of a place were we about to enter?

That question was answered a moment later when a large set of double-doors at the edge of my vision was swept open, and I was pushed into a room the like of which I would never have expected to find in a building owned by Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

The entire place was immaculate, as if an army of cleaners had scrubbed every inch of it for a month. In the hearth, a fire was crackling—yes, an actual fire for heating the room, which cost money! Various medical supplies and implements were arranged along one wall. The other walls, painted in cheerful pastel colours, were covered with beautiful landscape paintings that radiated a sense of peace and contentment.

The gurney...the room...all these things...

None of these were for his employees. They were all for me. And he hadn't said a word to me. That dastardly son of a bachelor! The moment I got my hands on him, I would—

—kiss the life out of him?

Well, yes, that as well. But only after kicking his butt. I missed kicking butt. It was so much harder with a belly the size of a hot air balloon.

"Aaagh!"

A sudden jolt of pain shot through my lower back. Mr Ambrose's figure appeared in a flash, hovering over me.

"Lillian! Lillian, are you all right?"

"P-perfectly f-fine! Isn't it obvious that this is just my rheumatism acting up?"

"You there!" He snapped his finger at one of his underlings. "Help me get her on the bed!"

The poor man jerked as if electrocuted. He rushed over till he stood at the foot of the gurney and lifted it.

"Careful!"

"Y-yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

"And you—!" Mr Ambrose speared the other man with his gaze. "What are you still standing there for? Fetch the doctor! The best doctor in London!"

"Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"

Once again demonstrating his astounding talent for teleportation, the minion vanished from the room, leaving the double-door swinging behind him. As for me, I let myself be deposited on the surprisingly soft mattress. Sighing, I closed my eyes and tried to relax. When I opened my eyes again, I still saw Mr Ambrose standing at the foot of the bed.

"What are you still doing here?"

That familiar, cold gaze found my face. "Staying, obviously."

I quirked an eyebrow. "You do remember I told you this was going to take several hours, right? Hours that, if you stay, you would have to spend just sitting around. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that would be an outrageous waste of precious time. Time that could be used for working."

Silence.

"Don't tell me..." I raised my hand to my mouth in shock. "...you're actually staying because you are concerned for me?"

In answer, I received more silence. Lots of silence. However, I also received a strong hand, grabbing my own and squeezing hard. And although his hand was the only part of him I was touching, I swore I could feel the hammering of his heart.

Are you sure it isn't your own, Lilly?

No, definitely not! Because I wasn't nervous at all!

...

Ugh. Why did I have to be so bad at lying to myself?

I swallowed. "Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Stay with me. Please?"

"Always."

I swallowed. Single word answers could be so beautiful sometimes.

Yet I didn't have long to dwell on the beauty of disyllabic responses. The door to the room flew open, and a pair of men, followed by my husband's minion and a diminutive nurse, rushed into the room. To judge by the white coats they were wearing, the two unknown men were either doctors or polar bears. My amazing female intuition told me the former was just a little bit more likely.

"Well, well, no need to worry anymore, everyone," the older doctor at the front announced with a jovial smile. "Your man told me there was a medical emergency? Well, have no fear, for I have arrived, and everything will be all right. Now, what seems to be the trouble?"

Both Mr Rikkard Ambrose and I glanced at my visibly bulging belly before exchanging a look. Then he directed an icy stare at his poor minion. "Are you sure you went to fetch the best doctor in London?"

The man went as pale as a pail full of milk. "Y-yes, Sir! This is Dr Fesperman, a highly decorated physician from the Imperial College, along with his assistant Doctor Wilmut and Nurse Selby."

"Hm." Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed infinitesimally. "Is that so?"

"It is indeed, my good Sir!" Dr Fesperman boomed, completely oblivious of the way Mr Rikkard Ambrose was trying to skewer him with his gaze. "You have the good fortune of having acquired the services of the most sought-after physician in the entirety of Great Britain! So, you may relax!"

In answer to that, Mr Rikkard Ambrose continued to stare frosty daggers at the man, his back as stiff as an iron rod.

"Ehem, well...let's get to it, shall we?" Clearing his throat, Dr Fesperman strode over to my bedside, his younger assistant following in his wake. "So, what can I do for you, Miss...?"

"Mrs," Mr Rikkard Ambrose corrected, his voice as cold as an arctic night. "Mrs Ambrose."

"Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Mrs Ambrose?"

I cocked an eyebrow at the man. "Get me a vagina-enlarger?"

The good doctor's face flushed, and he cleared his throat. "Ah, ehem, yes...your pregnancy. I see. I'm afraid, though, I can't provide you with a vagi—well, something like you mentioned. Aside from that, can I do anything for you? How about I explain to you what is about to happen?"

"Oh..." Cocking an eyebrow, I glanced at my bulging belly. "I'm fairly certain I already know."

"In detail, I mean. If you will forgive me for my assumption, I believe this is the first time you are to give birth, is it not?" He reached out and patted my shoulder in what was probably supposed to be a comforting bedside manner. "Inexperienced mothers are often anxious about what problems might occur during delivery. In order to put your mind at rest, I could explain to you the stages of labour, and all the various issues that might occur, such as excessive blood loss to the point of bleeding out, puerperal sepsis, stillbirth and many, many more."

"Why, thank you, Doctor!" I gave the man my best imitation of a smile, while wondering whether strangling doctors was bad for my health. "I'm sure a talk with you would do a lot to allay my fears about potential deadly problems I hadn't even heard of before you mentioned them."

"Excellent!" Dr Fesperman clapped his hands and grabbed himself a chair. "Then let's get started, shall we? Now, blood loss is most often the cause of death of a mother-to-be if—"

And thus, over the next hour or so, I was treated to an extensive lecture on the manifold manners in which I might die over the next couple of hours. Honestly, taking into account the look of increasing murderlust on Mr Rikkard Ambrose's face as the doctor gave his little speech, it was almost funny.

Almost.

If it weren't about me. About my child.

To be honest, I was rather impressed that Mr Rikkard Ambrose had not thrown the fellow out yet. But then again...it probably was for the same reason I had not. No matter how unpleasant this information was to listen to, I needed to know. It might give me nightmares—but nightmares were survivable. Deadly complications during delivery were not.

Thus, time passed. And the longer we waited, the more I realised that the things the doctor had so kindly described to me were coming. The contractions came in more and more rapid bursts, the pain in my back increasing with every time. It became harder and harder to breathe, even as I tried to not let the pain show on my face.

"Mrs Ambrose..." Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned over me. "Stop. Pretending."

"Oh, I don't...know," I wheezed. "You can keep your face unmoving like a rock for hours on end. How can I...start crying like a baby just because...of a little twinge?"

"This is not a competition!"

"Says who?" I batted my eyelashes at him. "For the next contest, we can see who can pop out the prettier baby. I bet a hundred quid I'll win!"

A muscle in Mr Ambrose's cheek twitched.

"What? You scared, Darling? How about fifty quid? You can afford that mu—aagh!"

I tried to suppress the groan of pain. I really did. But it was in vain. A tremor shook my body, and sweat started pouring down my forehead.

"S-sorry, Sir. I'm afraid I won't be able to compete with your stone face after all."

"That is not what I am concerned about at the current moment!"

"Ah, of course. There are more important matters right now. Like...how about those fifty pounds?"

That muscle in his cheek twitched again. "Doctor? Something for the pain. Now!"

"F-for me or for you?" I panted. "Like, for the one in your arse?"

"Are you trying to distract me from the situation by being as enervating as humanly possible, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Is it working?"

"Doctor! Pain reliever, now!"

"I'm afraid I cannot oblige you, Mr Ambrose."

In the silence that followed that statement, you could have heard a pin drop on a satin cushion. Slowly, very slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned around to face the doctor.

"My wife is in pain. So, before you speak, I would advise you to think very clearly about your answer to this question: why?"

Dr Wilmut took a step back. Nurse Selby, who was apparently a very intelligent woman, had already taken cover behind a shelf.

"And if your answer isn't 'I want to save money on pain relievers'," I added helpfully, "you had better start running,"

Dr Fesperman gave us a kind, grandfatherly smile. "I am a firm believer in the traditional teachings of the church, Sir. My vicar has always said that women are meant to suffer during childbirth, as said in the—"

That was about as far as he got. Before he could get another word out, Mr Ambrose was at his side, hands gripping the doctor's lapels. In a blink, my dear husband had lifted the good doctor off his feet and carried him to the window.

The open window.

"M-Mr Ambrose? Pray, unhand me Sir! Sir, what do you think you are doi—aaaah!"

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Well, here it is! The first chapter of "Silence No More"! I hope you enjoyed it. I have to admit, I rarely did as much research for a chapter as I did for the start of this book, in order to accurately portray the birth scene.

If you were surprised regarding my dispariging remarks about hospitals - it is, in fact, historically correct that, during the nineteenth century, hospitals were mostly used by those who could not afford to pay a doctor to visit them at home. The reason for this is that, due to high risks of infection (which was not yet known to be a cause of sickness), hospitals were virtual death traps. The risk of dying from hospital doctors was as high or higher than the risk of dying from an actual illness, especially if operations were involved, because hospital doctors often did not even bother to wash their hands or clean their instruments between different patients.

In regard to the length of a delivery mentioned by Lilly, I have a little bit of horrifying trivia—the longest labour ever recorded is said to have lasted for seventy-five days. My respect to the woman who went through this and remained sane.

Last but not least, the doctor's attitude towards pain relievers, as stupid as it might seem, is also historically correct. Through much of history, the idea that women are meant to suffer during childbirth truly was a belief held by many Christians. The clergy back then (coincidentally consisting exclusively of men) proclaimed it was a "just punishment" for the so-called sin of Eve, who, in the story of the garden of Eden, was the first to listen to the devil and eat the forbidden fruit against God's orders. This is the reason why, when anaesthesia was first developed, many religious doctors refused to provide it to women who were giving birth.

I hope you have a nice holiday season!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Disyllabic—an adjective meaning "consisting of two syllables".