Page 20 of Lady of Milkweed Manor
Harris howled and reared back. He released Daniel’s hand and pulled back his arm, thick hand clenched in a fist.
“Mr. Harris!” A young manservant ran up the salon steps, clearly panicked.
Mr. Harris faltered and swung around to face the newcomer. “What is it, Jones?”
“It’s her ladyship, sir. The babe’s come early, and she’s having a hard time of it. That man-midwife says something isn’t right.”
Fight forgotten, Harris winced. “I told her to have a physician. But she insisted on Hugh Palmer, some accoucheur popular with her friends.”
“Please, sir,” the servant Jones begged. “He says come at once.”
Harris paled. Clasping Daniel’s arm he urged, “Taylor, I know you despise me, but please, for my wife’s sake ...”
“Of course.”
They arrived to screaming. Charles Harris cringed and his expression faded to an ashen mask of panic. “Good heavens.” He swiveled to face Daniel. “Please help her.”
Daniel took the stairs by threes, his medical bag swinging with each upward lunge. Harris followed close behind.
Hugh Palmer, an elfin-faced beauty of a man, met them at the door, his expression grim. “You are too late.”
“Too late!” Harris exploded.
“The child has come,” the accoucheur announced, “after much struggle.”
Daniel noticed the blood on the man’s hands and the fatalism in his voice.
Harris cringed again. “Then, why is she still screaming?”
“The child is ... I did my best to revive him, but I fear he is not long for this world.”
“No.” Harris bolted past the accoucheur, through the sitting room and into the lying-in room. Daniel followed. A monthly nurse was trying to keep a wild-faced Lady Katherine from leaping from her delivery cot.
“Where is my baby? Give me my baby! Charles! Oh, thank God you are here. They have taken our baby, Charles. They have taken our baby!”
Harris rushed to his wife’s side, and Daniel looked around the room.
The nurse nodded toward a table near the door.
Daniel jogged over and laid his ear on the chest of the swaddled babe.
The skin was warm but he could hear no heartbeat.
He struck the soles of the infant’s feet to stimulate crying, to no avail.
He began blowing small puffs of air into the tiny mouth and lungs.
Laying his long hand on the child’s abdomen, he applied gentle pressure at regular intervals to mimic exhalation.
“What is he doing? Is that my baby? What is he doing to him?”
“Hush, Katherine. Lie back. That is Dr. Taylor. He’s an excellent physician. Everything is going to be fine.”
Daniel doubted the words.
The nurse approached and quietly suggested they move the baby to the sitting room, out of view of the missus. Daniel complied.
“The physician is going to examine the babe in the other room, missus,” the nurse soothed. “He’ll be back soon.”
Daniel carried the newborn to the sitting room and took a chair near the fire to keep the babe warm.
He continued his attempts to rouse the child.
There was little hope of success, but he had to try.
For the devastated mother, for Harris even, and for himself.
Daniel bitterly assumed the male midwife had disappeared, far from the wrath of father and misery of mother.
He wondered if the man even had any hospital training.
Accoucheurs were all the rage with the aristocracy, and Daniel, like most physicians, found them a threat—to their own practices, yes, but also to the medical hierarchy and standards of care.
The nurse paused in the doorway. “Shall I give her some laudanum, sir?”
Daniel paused momentarily in his task and sighed. “Please do. And do not be stingy.”
The nurse disappeared into the other room, and a short time later Lady Katherine’s heartrending shrieks quieted to pitiful sobs.
Harris joined him. “Well?”
Daniel shook his head. “Only the faintest of heartbeats. I am afraid we are losing him.”
Harris stared blindly at him. “Dear God, no.”
The accoucheur reappeared in the doorway, leather bag in hand. “Do not blame providence. I find women who live in affluence and luxury often endure prolonged suffering and more difficult births than the lower orders of women.”
“How dare you ...”
Harris lurched forward, raising his arm to strike the man, but Daniel called out, “Harris, don’t.”
Slowly, Harris lowered his fist and his voice. “Get out of my house this instant,” he growled.
The young man inclined his nose, turned on his heel, and left the room.
Daniel continued his ministrations on the child. “If we were at the lying-in hospital with my warming crib and stimulants, maybe, but in any case, there is so little I can do.”
“Go then, in my carriage. Or send my man for whatever you need. Spare no expense.”
When Daniel did not move, Harris exclaimed, “Good heavens, man, why do you sit there?”
The nurse reappeared. “Her ladyship will sleep ’til morning I’d wager. I gave her a hefty dose. Poor lamb.”
Charles Harris swung his gaze to Daniel, steely resolve and desperation flinting in the candlelight. “Take my son to that hospital of yours, Taylor. Take us both.”