Lady of Milkweed Manor (37 page)

“How do you do, sir.” Charlotte curtsied.

“Very well indeed. Pleased beyond reason to run into old Taylor here. We were at university together, did you know?”

Charlotte shook her head.

“Miss Lamb, you never saw poorer, sorrier excuses for candidates, I can tell you.”

“None poorer, I assure you,” Daniel agreed.

“Miss Lamb …” Kendall eyes lighted as he repeated her name. “Not the Miss Lamb, surely.”

Charlotte cocked her head to one side, uncertain. “I am not sure …

“Of Kent. Doddington, was it?” He looked at Daniel, whose face began to redden.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, uneasy.

“Taylor here spoke quite highly of you at Edinburgh, I can tell you.”

Daniel cleared his throat. “You have quite the memory, Kendall.”

“Yes. Helps me sort out my many patients and their various complaints.”

“I’m sure you do so admirably.”

“I try. Now do tell me exactly where you are staying. I probably know the place. Probably set a bone there or bled somebody nearby.” He smiled teasingly at Charlotte.

“It’s an old stone cottage west of here. Owned by the Lloyds.”

“Lloyd Lodge? On a cliff overlooking the sea? Yes, I know it! Well, Taylor, you must be doing well for yourself.”

“I am afraid not. I treated the Lloyd’s granddaughter, and in lieu of payment they let us have the cottage for the season.”

“Generous.”

“I suppose. Though by the looks of the place, it is evident they don’t use it much anymore. It has seen better days.”

“Haven’t we all? Still, when my patients are low on quid, I get mutton and codfish. I would say a seaside cottage is not too shabby-even if it is.”

Dr. Taylor smiled. “Well, come see for yourself, then. Yes, come for dinner, Kendall. You must.”

“I should be delighted. Just name the date.”

“Would Saturday week suit? That should give Lizette time to „ prepare.

“Lizette … ?”

“Yes. I hope you are not opposed to French cuisine, nor French wives.

“If she is your wife, I have no doubt she is all a lady should be.

“Indeed, she is very lovely,” Charlotte felt compelled to say.

“And will you be there, Miss Lamb? Or will your holiday conclude by then?”

“I … that is … I shall be there …” But not at a formal dinner! She looked at Daniel for help, but he was still smiling at his old friend.

“Then, I shall look forward to seeing you again as well,” Kendall said gallantly, offering another brief bow.

When they had bid Richard Kendall farewell and were walking alone again, Charlotte asked quietly, “Why did you not tell him I was your daughter’s nurse?”

“I did not think you would want me to. Did you?”

“No, but he will find out for himself when he comes for dinner. Then I shall feel doubly foolish.”

“I am not sure I follow…. But I am awfully sorry to have upset you.

“I should not have minded otherwise.”

“Otherwise?”

“Do you not see? He knows of the other Charlotte. Charlotte of Kent. The vicar’s daughter. The young lady you once spoke highly of …”

“But I still-“

“But I am not that person anymore,” Charlotte interrupted him. “And now I shall have to see your friend’s opinion of me undergo that awful transformation.” Charlotte sighed. “I shall have to fall all over again.”

Sally could not rouse the child. She removed his blanket, tickled his bare feet, stroked his cheek. No response. She picked him up gently, hoping the movement would wake him. He lay limp, his little arms drooping down and swaying as she swayed, bouncing as she bounced. She went to the pitcher and basin on the dressing table and dipped her fingers in, rubbing the cool water on his forehead and neck. Nothing.

Sally groaned. “And I haven’t even given you the stuff yet.” She had planned to give him one last feeding, with the laudanum, before she left, but the groggy biter couldn’t be bothered to wake up. She thought of getting dressed first, putting on the blue frock as Mary suggested, but she feared Edmund would spit up on it, or worse, that his nappy would leak and spoil it. Could she somehow get the stuff into his mouth without waking him? Then he could just go on sleeping. Shifting him into the crook of her left arm, she picked up the vial on the dressing table. She’d need both hands to uncork it. Setting the vial down, she went to return the child to his crib, then walked back to retrieve the vial. She uncorked it and peered down its narrow shaft. She pulled the silver teaspoon from her pocket-she had snatched it from the tea service on her way upstairs-and poured a bit of the liquid onto the spoon, until she reckoned it was halfway full. Should she try to get the spoon into his mouth? Small though the delicate utensil was, it seemed too large for Edmund’s little buttonhole mouth. Should she put the little vial itself into his mouth? But how, then, would she measure the amount? It would surely spill all over and she’d have to clean that up too before she could sneak out again.

She stood there with the teaspoon in her hand, debating. The image of Davey’s bonny brown eyes flashed in her memory. Such a handsome man, Davey was. And to think, he admired her! Just do it and be done, she bolstered herself.

But she hated the thought of letting the baby go hungry for so long. She looked at the mantel clock. She had only a half hour more before she should be on her way. She walked purposely to the cradle, spoon in hand. She looked down at the babe and was surprised to see the child’s eyes open, watching her. Charlotte’s eyes, she thought.

Daniel watched Lizette’s reflection in the dressing table mirror as she brushed the thick dark hair that fell past her shoulders.

“And how are you feeling tonight, my dear?”

“Do you ask as my husband or my physician?”

“Take your pick. Both are very happy to see you in such good health and spirits.”

“You seem happy as well, I would say. Happier than I have seen you in some time.”

He unfastened his collar, grinning. “Why should I not be? I have a beautiful wife I adore, a healthy daughter, a rent-free home by the sea …” He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Do not forget the nurse.”

“Hmm?” he asked, wrinkling his brow.

“I mean that Annette is so well looked after … all through the night.” She smiled, a suggestive lift to her eyebrows. Then she stood and leaned against him. She kissed his cheek, his chin, his mouth.

He kissed her back. He knew he should be thrilled. Physically, emotionally, he was thrilled. It had been so long. But his mind leapt to the potential consequences, the terrifying possibility of another pregnancy. Another nightmare.

He pulled gently away and cupped her exquisite face in his hands. He looked at her, relishing, delighting in her contented, loving expression. Before him was the woman he had fallen in love with.

“Come.” He sat on the bed and took her hand, slowly pulling her to lie next to him. He wrapped one arm around her, holding her tight to his side. With his free hand, he brushed the long dark hair from her face. When her hand began to caress his chest and then move lower, he clasped his hand over hers, stilling its path. He knew from painful experience that speaking of her condition directly would only stir up in his wife a cauldron of defensiveness, denial, and anger.

“I just want to hold you,” he murmured, bending his neck to kiss the top of her head.

The truth was much more complicated.

The practice of dosing young infants with proprietary medicines, usually containing opiates, increased during the nineteenth century….

VALERIE FILDES, WET NURSING: A HISTORY FROM ANTIQUITY TO THE PRESENT

CHAPTER 24

ally picked up little Edmund, his eyes now open, his drooling little mouth working, showing his pink gums, his soft fair cheeks plump with health. Going a few extra hours without a nursing wouldn’t harm a stout boy like him. She took him to the dressing table and changed him into a dry nappy. Back in her arms, his pleasant expression wrinkled in restlessness as he began rooting against her. Put a bit in his mouth, Mary had said, something like it anyway. Then follow with his feeding. He was definitely ready to nurse now.

Her thought should have been, finally the little biter’s awake. Now I can give him the stuff, nurse him, and be off for a night o’ fun with Davey. But it wasn’t. Instead she thought of her own Dickie. Had her sister ever done the likes to keep him quiet? She supposed it was possible, but she believed her sister had genuine feeling for the boy. They were relation after all. This boy was no relation to her, so why did she feel such a strong urge to protect him? She thought again of the embroidered blanket she’d stubbornly refused to toss on the rubbish heap. She knew why.

Sally sighed.

Still, she hated the thought of disappointing Davey. She longed to see him again. Perhaps if she hurried she could still catch Mary.

Sally ran down the lane as fast as she could, pressing her arm over her heavy bosom to protect herself from the jarring pace. Mary would be put out with her indeed, for she was a quarter hour late. Ahead, she saw her friend’s shape in the shadows of the moonlit hornbeam tree.

Mary must have heard her approaching and no wonder, she must sound like a big mule thundering down the hard packed road, eager to win some race.

“I’d about given up on you,” Mary called. “I was just now heading in without you.”

“Sorry, Mary.” Sally panted, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“I thought I told you to wear the blue,” she said peevishly. “You’re still in that same soiled dress?”

“I’m not goin’.”

“What?”

“I’m not goin’. Here.” She thrust the vial into Mary’s hand, making her take it.

“Whyever not?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

Mary expelled a loud humph, clearly vexed. “But I told you how.”

“I know.” Sally shook her head, already backing away. “Please tell Davey I am sorry and maybe we can meet up another time.”

“I shall tell him no such thing. If you don’t come with me right now, Sally, all bets are off. A man like that doesn’t stay unattached for long, and I’ll be hanged if I don’t take a try at him myself.”