Page 6 of Bernadette’s Dashing Doctor (The Bookshop Belles #4)
CHAPTER 6
A Thaw In Relations
T here was a tease of summer in the warm air as Bernadette headed back to the bookshop with a basket full of mint and lavender stems. She nodded to Louise as she took the stairs to the kitchen and found Crafty waddling around.
The moment the mint was on the table, Crafty leapt up - but only reached part way before the weight of her distended belly brought her straight back onto her paws. She’d grown so fat with her latest litter her belly nearly dragged on the ground. Bernadette took pity on her and stripped the leaves off a couple of stalks, then tossed the stalks on the floor. Crafty rolled her face in the herbs and wailed. She flopped onto the ground to really give herself a good scratch, but her belly rose like an uneven pie crust in the middle. Her abdomen was moving; the kittens would be here any day now.
With a sigh, Bernadette put the mint leaves in a cotton bag out of Crafty’s reach and headed downstairs, where Louise was moping behind the counter.
“I dare not do the sums, I’ll think too much about Shaun,” Louise said.
“And Father,” Bernadette goaded.
“Yes, yes, him too,” she agreed.
“At least Joshua hasn’t been stomping about,” Bernadette said, as she reached under the counter for the cash tin.
“Do not even utter his name,” Louise said with a noisy sigh.
They shared a dark laugh at that. In a few minutes, Bernadette had the last loan payment ready to go. The sisters had a world of troubles on their shoulders, but this at least was one less thing to worry about from today. “Should we have a toast to celebrate the end of Father’s loan?”
“Gosh, is that really the last payment?” Louise looked genuinely puzzled.
Her sister at least wasn’t crying the entire day, and was even capable of having short discussions with people before Ruth would step in and help.
“I’m proud of us,” Bernadette said. “I know Felix helped before he and Estelle left, and we could have called on Renwick’s man in London, but we did this, you and I. We kept it all going.”
“We did,” Louise managed a wistful smile that almost reached her eyes. “We certainly have a lot of news to impart to Papa when he gets home.”
“Yes, ‘when’ ,” Bernadette emphasised the possibility. “I’m sure he’s holed up somewhere and keeping out of trouble. I doubt anybody is getting any post at all from France at the moment.”
These were the supportive fictions they told each other to keep their spirits up. They had not heard from Papa since his last crate of books had arrived in January, nearly four months ago.
It was lovely hearing from Estelle in Ireland and Marie in Cumbria, but it was unlikely Shaun would have time to write, and even less likely that any letter from him or their father might reach them. They simply had to keep hoping things would turn out for the best.
The alternative did not bear thinking about.
And although the loan would soon be in the past, Bernadette couldn’t help but be suspicious of Cousin Joshua’s absence. They used to be able to set their watches on him storming into the bookshop at least once a week, with a fresh accusation or threat. It had been a while now. It might have been three weeks since he’d last come in with a list of ridiculous demands.
He had to be up to something. She would talk to Rosie about it, see if the maid had heard any gossip.
Glynn had a spring in his step and a smile on his face as he and Mrs Bell put a note on the door to say they were at the Hospital Committee Meeting at The Red Lion if anyone needed medical attention.
The assembly room at The Red Lion echoed with their footsteps as Mr and Mrs Haye moved tables and chairs together so they could all face each other. Mr Haye set out teapots brimming with fresh brew and Mrs Haye had a tray of cups, saucers and biscuits.
“Is this usual for a committee meeting?” Glynn asked, taking a seat. “To feed and water us so well?”
“Of course,” Mrs Haye said. “This isn’t The Swan.”
Glynn chuckled, having been warned from that establishment. It was natural that there would be rivalry between inns. He made a mental note that if The Swan did have a bedbug infestation problem as rumour said, he should examine the premises and the people. They could be unwittingly transmitting diseases, and that would not do under his watch.
He was pleased to see all three midwives of Hatfield in attendance, and Miss Yates, who would no doubt be Lord Ferndale’s eyes and ears. Mrs Poole was also here, and took a seat next to Miss Yates. As the rest of the members arrived and filled each seat, he was surprised young Bernadette was not joining them. Was this a snub, or was Mrs Poole her proxy?
He would ask later, when he had the time.
Mrs Millings, the Vicar’s wife, sat quietly on the other side of Miss Yates. He smiled and introduced himself, as he hadn’t had a chance to do so yet. She made a shy acknowledgement. Well, he’d much rather she be here than her husband.
Mrs Poole poured the tea while Miss Yates called the meeting to attention. Then she listed the items they would be discussing on the agenda, in a serious tone. Mrs Millings took notes and the midwives each took turns delivering their concise reports. He was impressed with the quality of their work and how seriously they were taking the issue of where a hospital might be built. The optimum position would be somewhere close to the High Street, but that could hamper the hospital’s growth in future because of existing buildings.
Miss Yates then asked if he had an opinion about where a hospital might go.
Goodness, he really lacked experience in this. “Well, I’ve only worked in field hospitals, and they were all temporary and hardly robust. But a temporary hospital could work to tide us over … There is a grain store on the High Street that appears large enough.”
The women nodded in thought, and then Mrs Bell said, “That’s the trick of Hatfield, some buildings are empty for a good part of the year, but after harvest they are packed to the rafters.”
Glynn nodded. “I wondered as much, you’re right. I have not been here long enough to see how the seasons play out. Thank you.”
Mrs Bell beamed.
In fact, they all smiled and appeared to relax at that. Had they thought he might refuse to listen to their counsel because they were all female? He was wiser than that.
Glynn rested his hands on the table and leaned forward, looking seriously at each woman in turn. “Ladies, I am here to learn. You know this town far better than I. Miss Yates, where do you think a hospital should be positioned? Does Lord Ferndale have any suitable vacant buildings, or an empty field in a location close enough to town?”
The discussion became lively as they shared their ideas around the table. Even Mrs Millings was encouraged to contribute. In a quiet voice she said, “I wondered whether the land beside the church residence could be used?”
“That’s brilliant,” Miss Yates said. “It’s an excellent location, and not in a spot where the graveyard could be expanded to it.”
“I think it was supposed to be a kitchen garden for the church. There were a few apple trees and such. Could they write to the bishop and request assistance? The Church owns the land, of course…”
Mrs Poole made a note and said, “I shall do just that, Mrs Millings. I can’t believe I never thought of it.”
“But please don’t use my name, I have not spoken of this to the Reverend.”
“Say no more,” Mrs Poole said. “I will write to the bishop on behalf of Miss Yates and the Hospital Committee, that is all.”
There was a supportive atmosphere to this meeting Glynn found fascinating. The women were working out the best way forward, together. Through their hard work, the town would benefit. While it was clear Miss Yates and Mrs Poole were the ones in charge, each attendee was treated with respect.
When they reached the part of the agenda where each midwife gave their reports for the last three months, he felt utterly humbled. A great many babes delivered, but so many losses.
“Is this the usual rate? To lose so many infants?” he asked. He knew babies delivered to camp followers of the army had an appallingly high death rate due to the conditions in which they lived, and often the poor health of their mothers. Somehow he had believed that was not the normal situation.
Miss Yates turned some pages back in her journal and checked her notes from a meeting at the same time last year, with a remark that more babies generally were lost in the winter months because of the cold conditions. “It’s a little less than this time last year, but it’s still not pleasant hearing,” she confirmed.
He kept quiet for the rest of the meeting, feeling as if he suddenly had so much more to learn about women’s work.
When the meeting came to an end, he thanked the women for including him and then walked home with Mrs Bell. He sat in her kitchen for a little while, not hungry or thirsty, just turning things over in his head.
“The losses surprise me, and vex me a little, if I’m honest.”
“They are a sad fact of life,” Mrs Bell said. “That’s why we started keeping notes in the first place, because we needed to know if things were getting better or worse. Some of the mothers are never right in themselves afterwards. It’s a terrible sorrow for them.”
In all his training, the topic of childbed, and the health of the mothers in the aftermath, truly hadn’t been covered. Delivering babes was seen as women’s work, not something for male doctors to get involved with.
He’d seen senseless deaths in field hospitals, but this had to be the cruelest loss of life for all concerned.
He wondered if the bookshop stocked any medical texts on childbed and the various ailments of women. And of infants, come to that; he’d treated few thus far. Perhaps he’d go over and take a look.
“Good afternoon, Dr Williams!” Bernadette said cheerfully as he entered the shop.
“Good afternoon.” He paused. “I had rather expected to see you at the hospital committee meeting this morning, Miss Baxter.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I do not have nearly enough seniority in this town to be involved in any of the committees.” Leaning in towards him with a conspiratorial air, she admitted, “Nor do I wish to, if I am honest. I leave all that sort of thing to Mrs Poole, she enjoys it.”
“I see. Well, it was very informative… and made me realise there are gaps in my education I should like to remedy. I’d like to browse your medical texts.”
“Of course.” She gestured him to the shelves in question, and returned to the counter to serve a lady who had followed him into the shop and was requesting some pamphlet or other.
The bookshop cat came by and rolled on Glynn’s feet as he was browsing the texts.
“Hullo, my lady.” He bent down to pet her, and frowned as he felt her grossly distended belly. “What is this, madam? Kittens on the way? I hope this is not a result of some disgraceful liaison after I accidentally let you out.”
“I wish I could tell you it wasn’t, but…” Bernadette said behind him, and he gave a half-laugh.
“Oh dear. My apologies.”
“Crafty is a naughty girl. Her kittens are excellent mousers, though… perhaps you would like one once you are able to move into the doctor’s residence?”
“I shall certainly take one of them off your hands,” Glynn promised, thinking that was the least he could do. He should rather like having a cat for company, anyway.
“And have you found what you were looking for?” Bernadette looked at the books he’d already tucked under his arm. “Is that… Burns’ Principles of Midwifery ?”
“And his Treatment of the Diseases of Women and Children .” He handed her the volumes. “Are there any other books you’d recommend on these specific topics?” Somehow, he was quite sure the shop wouldn’t be selling the books unless Bernadette agreed with the general principles contained within.
Her jaw was hanging open with shock. She shut her mouth with an audible click, looked from the books to his face and back again.
“I, ah. Perhaps Hamilton’s Management of Female Complaints ?”
“Excellent.” Spying the book among the other texts remaining on the shelf, he plucked it out and added it to the pile in Bernadette’s arms.
“You didn’t want to check the price?”
He grinned at her. “Put it on Lord Ferndale’s account. Among his many other generous allowances to me, he told me that I could purchase any medical texts I pleased here and he would pay for them.”
She laughed at that. “Of course he did. Dear Grandfather.”
“You are very fond of him, I think,” Glynn noted as they walked back to the counter together.
“Oh, indeed; even before Estelle married dear Mr Yates and he became family, Lord Ferndale has always been a dear friend to us.” Bernadette checked the pricing in each book and noted it down in a ledger. “Would you like them wrapped in paper?” she asked.
“No, I’m only going across the street. Thank you.”
As he left the bookshop with his new purchases tucked under his arm, Glynn reflected that it had been the first conversation he’d had with Miss Bernadette Baxter where one or the other of them hadn’t become annoyed or defensive. It had been… nice. And she was really very pretty when she smiled, her eyes sparkling…
Careful, Glynn . He caught himself. She’s a bit young for you, and socially way above your class besides.
Still, it was nice to appreciate a pretty young woman, and a clever one too, who had interesting things to say. Whistling quietly to himself, Glynn let himself back into Mrs Bell’s house and made his way upstairs, hoping for once not to be interrupted by any patients that afternoon.
He had some excellent reading to do!
The next morning, he watched a stream of customers going into the bookshop and knew Bernadette would be too busy helping them to discuss his theories. He had a busy morning himself, seeing a host of younger women who had vague symptoms and strange ailments that didn’t really match anything he’d heard of. The first woman, Miss Kilmartin, batted her eyes his way several times. The second, Miss Burton, the solicitor’s daughter, affected a swoon. He’d seen so much of this lately.
“I believe Miss Baxter has exactly what you need,” he said.
“Why would I need a herb woman?” She said the last two words in the same way a person might say pestilence .
“She is incredibly knowledgeable about these things, and has a far deeper understanding of the female condition,” he said. He wrote a note that he knew Bernadette would understand. They’d developed something of a code of late. She would doubtless have a laugh to herself later.
Miss Burton was unhappy but nevertheless walked over to the bookshop.
His next patient was Miss Barnstable, and as he wrote the name down to begin a new record, a delightfully dark thought popped in. She was the undertaker’s daughter, and if she thought they’d make a good alliance, she was sorely mistaken. Nobody in Hatfield could ever trust a doctor if he was married to an undertaker’s daughter. Too much temptation to grow the family business.
That’s what the women were here for, they were sizing him up as a potential husband: vague symptoms, smiling coquettishly at him and possibly catching up later to gossip about him.
He sent Miss Barnstable with a note to Bernadette as well.
After the general efficiency and pleasantry of the hospital committee meeting, Glynn was quite shocked by the town council meeting a few days later. Held in the same assembly room at the Red Lion, the only thing this meeting had in common with the other was the quality of the refreshments. The faces around the table were men, all prominent citizens, landowners and one or two professional gentlemen, including Reverend Millings, Glynn himself and Mr Burton, who was apparently a solicitor.
Lord Ferndale chaired the meeting, and it didn’t take Glynn long to realise that the town council was split into two distinct, opposing factions, headed by Lord Ferndale on one side and the Reverend Millings and Joshua Baxter on the other. One might have thought that the younger men would be more progressive, but in fact the opposite was the case. The elderly Lord Ferndale was all for change and innovation, while the much younger Baxter and Millings behaved like reactionary idiots frightened of any change at all, probably including the wind and the tide, Glynn thought!
Lord Ferndale was as gracious and charming as always, but Glynn could see his frustration as the council split on just about every matter, several men stubbornly voting with Baxter and Millings even when their own interests would clearly be better served by a different choice.
“And next, the hospital.” Lord Ferndale looked over his glasses at Glynn. “I have here a proposed budget for the fitting-out of the hospital; it is very comprehensive.” He held up a sheet of paper with a long list of items on it. “I will pass it around for everyone to look at, but I find it to be very reasonable and funds have already been raised sufficient to cover these items.”
“No point buying anything until there’s a building to put it in,” Reverend Millings said, folding his arms and refusing to accept the sheet of paper when Lord Ferndale tried to hand it to him.
“As to that,” Glynn said, “the hospital committee…”
Joshua Baxter snorted loudly. “Bunch of yammering women.”
“I will thank you to recall that my sister chairs the hospital committee, Mr Baxter,” Lord Ferndale said in chilly tones. “And Reverend Millings’ wife is a respected member of it, as is Mrs Burton, Mrs Platt, and Mrs Tinsley.” He nodded at several of the other men present. “Let us not refer to our wives and sisters as ‘yammering women’. And I will also thank you not to interrupt when Dr Williams is speaking.”
Baxter subsided, but Glynn could see the simmering fury on his face.
With a polite cough, Glynn resumed. “The hospital committee proposed a temporary solution of using a currently vacant cottage, until a new hospital can be built.” With a sideways glance at Reverend Millings, he decided not to mention that Miss Yates was writing to the bishop regarding the vacant land beside the vicarage. “The committee is in agreement that a purpose-built hospital is the ideal solution in the longer term, but we do need a facility now.”
“They are all women,” Reverend Millings said in tones of profound contempt. “What understanding could they possibly have of the matter?”
“I assure you that they have a very good understanding of how many of their number die in childbed, Reverend,” Glynn said, trying to keep the snap out of his voice, “and they are well informed, in my medically educated opinion, as to how best to address the problem!”
And one of them is your wife , he didn’t add, Lord Ferndale having already made the point. He quite saw why Mrs Millings was such a meek, terrified little mouse.
Glancing along the table, he met Lord Ferndale’s steady gaze. This is the kind of nonsense I have to deal with all the time, the old baron’s expression conveyed quite clearly.
“All in favour of the hospital being set up in the vacant cottage and the equipment purchased?” Lord Ferndale asked.
A few hands went up. Glynn counted quickly. Exactly half.
“Not you, Dr Williams?” Lord Ferndale asked, sounding surprised, and Glynn suddenly realised he’d not put his own hand up.
“I do beg your pardon. As I proposed the item, I thought I might not be eligible to vote on it.”
“Quite the contrary,” Lord Ferndale said firmly. “Else Mr Baxter would not have been able to be the deciding vote on the matter he brought to our attention today, now would he?”
“In that case.” Glynn put his hand up, and Lord Ferndale smiled.
“The motion is carried.”
The reverend and Joshua Baxter both looked absolutely enraged. Baxter was red in the face, but Millings looked rather yellow… Glynn paused beside him at the end of the meeting.
“Begging your pardon, Reverend, but you look a little jaundiced. May I recommend some medication?”
Too late, he recalled Bernadette mentioning the same thing after church a few weeks previously.
“I want no help from you, charlatan! The Lord takes care of his own!” Millings snarled before storming out.
“Kind of you, but all you’ve probably done is set yourself up as a target for his next fire-and-brimstone sermon,” Lord Ferndale observed dryly.
Glynn winced, before shrugging. “I’m not afraid of him. Besides, he targets the Baxter sisters often enough, and I do not see their business suffering. If he turns his ire upon me… people will still need a doctor when they are unwell.”
“A wise attitude,” Lord Ferndale said approvingly. “I’m glad you’re a sensible man, Dr Williams. Shaun Jackson chose well when he recruited you.” He sobered. “Talking of whom, I pray for his safety. Has Miss Louise chanced to receive a letter from him, would you happen to know?”
Glynn shook his head, expression grim. “So far as I know, she has not heard from him since he left for France.”
Lord Ferndale looked grave. “The reverend would be better served praying for the King’s brave soldiers rather than targeting our own. I’ll speak to him, not that I think it would do any good.”
“Perhaps the bishop…?” Glynn suggested tentatively.
“They will rarely remove a clergyman from his post for anything less than criminal conduct. A shame. He was a good man, a few years ago, but seems to have fallen into this strange mindset.” Lord Ferndale shook his head and sighed, before making a polite farewell and departing, leaving Glynn alone with his thoughts.