Page 14 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

Gibbs led her down the corridor, through the workroom, and to the examination room.

She opened the door and announced without expression, “Miss Smith,” before stepping out and letting the door shut Charlotte into the room.

Charlotte saw Dr. Preston straightening from a slouched position in the desk chair.

He was a very handsome man, she could not deny.

His clothes were rumpled, however, as was his hair—even though it was but midmorning.

Had he slept in those clothes? She saw him lift the lid of a Smith & Co.

tin and pop a “curiously strong” mint into his mouth.

Charlotte found it ironic. She, who had grown up in a home that abstained from strong drink, might very well not have identified the odor, but the cure he had taken for it was a telltale sign.

He smoothed down each side of his moustache before rising.

It was not a dandy’s gesture, she judged, merely a very tired-looking man trying to smooth on a professional facade.

His next words, however, dispelled the image before it could fully form.

“Remove your frock, if you please.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “I beg your pardon.”

“Your frock. Remove it. Come, come. I haven’t all day.”

“But is that really quite necessary?”

“There’s no need to feign modesty with me, Miss Smith.”

“I am feigning nothing ...”

“I am a physician, Miss Smith. I assure you the female form holds no mysteries for me.”

No mystery she could well believe, but still!

“Perhaps I only imagined the pains. Really. I feel quite, quite well now.”

“Do not flatter yourself, Miss Smith. A female body in this distended shape does more to repulse a man than entice him, I assure you.”

Now she felt shame heaped atop her embarrassment and irritation. Did he really think she thought he might be interested in her as a woman?

He went on, “I have a beautiful wife at home with blond curls and an eighteen-inch waist.” Here he paused. “Of course she also has a tongue to rival King Arthur’s sword.”

“The two often go together, I find,” Charlotte murmured, thinking of Beatrice. She did not move but felt his eyes studying her.

“Do I know you, Miss Smith?”

“I do not believe so.”

“You seem familiar somehow. Where do you come from?”

“I ...” What had she told Mrs. Moorling? She realized he could check her file. “I am lately of Hertfordshire.”

“Hertfordshire? Hmm ... and we have not met before?”

“I do not believe so, no.”

“Ah well, it will come to me. Now, do you wish to know if your babe is all right or not?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing. “Oh, very well.” She reached around and began unfastening her buttons. Of all days to wear a frock that buttoned down the back.

“Here, here.” He walked up behind her and impatiently began working the buttons. “I’ll miss my hunt at this rate.”

At that moment, the door burst open and Dr. Taylor strode in. He stopped suddenly, clearly startled to see the room occupied. His bespectacled gaze went from Preston to Charlotte and back again. He frowned.

“What’s all this, then?”

“I should ask the same of you, barging in here.”

“Mrs. Moorling sent for me. Said you had yet to make it in.”

“Well, clearly she was mistaken. For here I am, seeing a patient.”

Dr. Taylor opened his mouth, then apparently thought better of what he was going to say. Instead, he tossed his case casually on the desk and said lightly, “I thought you were off hunting grouse today.”

“I depart this afternoon.”

“Well, why not leave early. Make a day of it.”

“But I have women to see. Patients.”

“I’ll see them for you. My day is already spoiled. No point in both of us being indoors on such a fine day as this.”

“Well, I—”

“Off with you, man. I’ll see to Miss Smith myself. I saw her when she first arrived.”

“I’ll wager you did.”

“Go on. Before I change my mind.”

“I shall. Before I change mine.”

Dr. Preston grabbed his bag from the desk, his coat from the back of the chair, and strode from the room without so much as a glance her way.

The slamming door punctuated the tension in the room, which didn’t fade as quickly as the sound.

Charlotte felt unaccountably guilty, awkwardly trying to reach around herself and refasten her frock.

Dr. Taylor stood there, staring at the desk. Then he looked at her, evidently unaware of her struggle.

“Why were you seeing Preston? I saw you only last week.”

“Mrs. Moorling insisted. I am having pains.”

Instantly his strained demeanor snapped into professional concern. “What sort of pains?”

“Cramping pains, here. And I ... I am ...” She could barely make herself say the word aloud to him.

“Any bleeding?”

She nodded, relieved to have it out. “A bit.”

“And the babe, when was the last time you felt movement?”

Charlotte felt tears fill her eyes. “Not once all day.”

“Do not be alarmed, probably just enjoying a bit of slumber. Still, I ought to give another listen.”

He again retrieved the wooden tube from his bag, and Charlotte sat on the table as she had before, but this time she was praying.

Please, God, please, God, please, God. ...

He pressed the tube to the center of her abdomen and stared blindly in concentration. Then he repositioned the tube to one side ... and the other. Charlotte studied his expression with growing trepidation.

“Do you hear anything?”

He moved the tube lower.

“Can you not hear it?” she tried again.

“Not with you talking.”

He moved the tube again.

“I suppose some would say I ought to be relieved, but I am not.”

“Of course not. Shh.”

Charlotte bit her lip. “Do you suppose this is God’s punishment?”

“Charlotte, please lie down on the table.” He ignored her question.

“I need to listen lower, but it’s difficult with you sitting up.

” When she complied, he pressed the tube very low indeed, where the underside of her rounded belly nearly met with her hipbones.

He listened intently, his face growing, she concluded, terribly grim.

Tears fell down Charlotte’s temples and into her hair.

He moved the tube above the opposite hip bone and pressed it in deep, nearly painfully so.

This time he closed his eyes as if to focus on his sense of hearing alone.

Or perhaps he was wincing, realizing the painful truth.

“Well, hello there.”

“What?”

“I hear your little lad a’way down here.”

“You do?”

He nodded, set his tube down, and lifted his hands above her abdomen. “May I?”

Charlotte appreciated his consideration. She guessed he would not ask permission before examining other patients who came to him. She swallowed but nodded. He put his hands firmly around the lower portion of her belly, feeling and gently pushing.

“Here is his little rump right here.”

“You can feel that?”

“He is all curled up down here, bottom side up. No wonder I had difficulty auscultating his heart.”

“He is all right, then?”

“Seems so. About the bleeding though.”

“It is only a little.”

“Yes, and it does not necessarily mean there are any problems. Still, I ought to examine you ... internally, to see if your body is readying to give birth.”

“But it is too soon!” She sat up on the table.

He looked at her quizzically, and Charlotte saw the question in his eyes. Too soon to examine you or too soon to give birth ? She looked away from his raised-brow gaze.

“Charlotte?”

She squeezed her eyes closed and reached behind herself again, attempting to undo the remaining buttons, unable to look at him as she did so.

Would it be less terrible to disrobe before Dr. Taylor than Dr. Preston—or worse? Eyes still winced shut, she was surprised to hear the door open. She looked and saw him standing at the threshold, his hand on the latch.

“There’s no need to remove your gown,” he said over his shoulder.

He called for Gibbs and whispered instructions to her in the corridor. In a few minutes she returned, Mrs. Krebs in tow.

Dr. Taylor said, “Mrs. Krebs will have a look at you, Char ... Miss Smith.”

“I will,” Mrs. Krebs grumbled, “but I’m no surgeon, mind.”

“A finer midwife I have never known.”

“That’s been a few years now, Dr. Taylor.”

“You remember the rudiments, no doubt.”

“I suspect so.”

To Charlotte he said, “If she sees anything worrisome, I will need to examine you myself, but if not, we shall wait a day or two and see if the bleeding ceases on its own. All right?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He left the room, and Charlotte wondered which of them was more relieved.

Mrs. Krebs found nothing amiss and helped Charlotte refasten the buttons she could not reach earlier. “Dr. Taylor must have taken a shine to you, miss,” she said.

“No! Nothing of the kind. It is only that he ... that he is known to my family. That is, when I was quite young. It is a bit awkward, is all.”

She tutted, then said, “As you say, miss.” She left the room, leaving Charlotte quite sure the woman didn’t believe a word she had said.