Page 47 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

The moral character of the future man may be influenced by the treatment he receives at the breast and in the cradle.

A fter Sunday services a few weeks later, Thomas Cox caught up with Charlotte as she stepped through the churchyard gates into a fine summer’s day.

“Good morning.”

Charlotte smiled up at him. “Hello. How fare the lambs?”

“Very well, and how fares Miss Lamb?”

“Very well, I thank you.”

“I noticed Mrs. Beebe took pity on your poor shoulder this morning.”

“Yes. I was careful to refill her teacup twice at breakfast.”

He chuckled and they walked on.

“Miss Lamb!”

She was surprised to hear Mrs. Taylor call out to her. Lizette Taylor gestured for her to stay where she was and, taking her husband’s arm, all but pulled the man over to where Charlotte and Thomas waited.

When they drew near, Mrs. Taylor smiled brightly from Charlotte to Thomas. “Miss Lamb, you must introduce us to your new friend.”

“Of course. This is Thomas Cox. My employers, Dr. and Madame Taylor. And you know Anne.”

“Yes, of course. How do you do?” Thomas gave an awkward bow and a charming smile.

“Dr. Taylor is a physician, as I mentioned,” Charlotte said to him, then turned to Dr. Taylor. “Mr. Cox is very interested in your uses of milkweed.”

Thomas quickly added, “Oh, that and other plants as well, sir.”

“Mr. Cox is known as quite the local healer,” Charlotte explained.

“No, no,” he demurred, “purely amateur. I do what I can for my family. But I am interested in learning more.”

She noticed Dr. Taylor look from her to Thomas, then back again.

“Well, then, you must come by the cottage this afternoon and take tea with us. I shall tell you all I know, and you shall be left with the better part of that hour to enjoy Mrs. Beebe’s cakes.”

“Thank you, sir. But I should not like to intrude on your holiday.”

“No bother at all, Mr. Cox,” Dr. Taylor said.

“Of course you must come,” Mrs. Taylor added cheerfully.

Charlotte had hoped to arrange such a meeting but was a bit bewildered at how it had all come about so quickly. And with so much enthusiasm on the part of Mrs. Taylor.

Since Marie took her half-day on Sunday, Charlotte sat at the work table with Mrs. Beebe that afternoon, helping her arrange buns, biscuits, and small cakes on a silver plate.

Thomas, still wearing his Sunday suit, knocked on the kitchen door, hat in hand.

Rising, Mrs. Beebe wiped her hands on her apron and opened the door for him.

“Hello there, Thomas.”

“Mrs. Beebe.”

“I half expected you to come ’round to the front door.”

“And when have I ever?”

She returned to her work, tsking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Taking tea with the tenants. My, aren’t we rising in the world.”

“Now, now, Mrs. Beebe, you know I am only here for your apple tart.”

Mr. Beebe, drinking tea at the three-legged chop block, winked at him. “I figgered that was the way of it. Any time to help me with the hedges this week?”

“Would Tuesday suit?”

“That it would. Any time before two or after three.”

Mrs. Beebe shook her head. “Heaven forbid you should interrupt the old man’s nap.” She smiled begrudgingly at her husband, then nodded to Thomas. “Well, then, off with you into the parlor. But don’t expect me to call you ‘sir.’”

“I wouldn’t know who you were addressin’ if you did.”

Mrs. Beebe took his hat from him, then swatted his backside with it as he passed through the kitchen door.

Mrs. Taylor insisted that Charlotte join them for tea, which was a first. In many ways, Charlotte would have preferred to stay in the kitchen with the Beebes.

But Anne was still napping and she had no excuse to decline.

Besides, she would enjoy the time with Thomas and looked forward to witnessing his discussion with Dr. Taylor firsthand.

As she had imagined, the two had a great deal to talk about. Dr. Taylor gladly told him all about the medical uses for milkweed—as well as costmary, foxglove, wood sorrel, comfrey, candytuft, and several other plants.

Thomas asked question after question, and Dr. Taylor never seemed to tire of answering. Mrs. Taylor, however, tired of the conversation and soon rose and excused herself, saying not to get up, she would just go check on Anne.

Charlotte relaxed in Mrs. Taylor’s absence, knowing how closely the woman had been observing her and Thomas during the afternoon.

At one point, Charlotte interjected, “Tell Dr. Taylor about the poultices you made for your mother.”

Thomas reddened, embarrassed, but described the herbs and method he had used.

“Very well done,” Dr. Taylor said. “I could not have prescribed better.”

Thomas beamed with pleasure.

Two hours later, the men parted, shaking hands. Under his arm, Thomas carried two books that Dr. Taylor insisted he borrow.

“That’s quite a young man,” he said to Charlotte as the two stood near one another, watching from the window as Thomas walked away down the path.

“Yes,” Charlotte agreed.

Feeling his gaze on her profile, she added, “Though not so young, really. Only four years or so younger than you yourself.”

“Really? Feels like more. Some days I feel quite ancient.”

At week’s end, Lizette Taylor insisted Charlotte take the morning off—walk into the village or visit that “ très grand friend of yours.” She smiled meaningfully and Charlotte felt the need to correct her.

“He is not my particular friend.”

“Non? Tant pis .”

Too bad, she had said, though Charlotte had the distinct impression it was Mrs. Taylor herself who was disappointed. Charlotte admired Thomas and enjoyed his friendship, his easy acceptance, and their shared love of growing things—but friendship was all she felt for him. Wasn’t it?

“Are you certain you want me to go? You will be all right?”

“I do know how to care for my own child.”

“Of course you do. I only meant ... Well, she has been fed, so you should be fine.”

Thomas had mentioned he would be visiting cousins this day, so Charlotte didn’t take the sea path but instead walked into the village.

There, she walked from shop to shop, idly taking in the displays in the windows.

She planned to stay away from the end of the street where Dr. Kendall kept his offices.

Turning, she walked right into the man.

“Oh! Dr. Kendall, you startled me.”

“Miss Lamb.” He bowed. “Do forgive me.”

She dipped her head. “Good day, Dr. Kendall.” She turned her face back toward the milliner’s window, effectively dismissing him, allowing him to walk on without appearing rude.

She felt his gaze on her, but feigned interest in the bonnets, hats, and hair ornaments on display.

He stepped past her. After their last awkward encounter, he was no doubt relieved to have this unexpected meeting done with as quickly as possible.

His footsteps halted. “I say, Miss Lamb?”

Surprised, she turned toward him as he retraced his steps to stand before her.

“I am on my way to take tea at the little shop on the corner. I do not suppose you would care to join me?”

She pursed her lips, but her brain didn’t know quite what words to form. Finally, she managed, “Why?”

“I know things may be a bit awkward between us at present, but I see no need for us to continue so. Your current ... station ... in life might be somewhat of a shock to a proper Londoner, I suppose. But here, in this small village, well, such things are quite ordinary and need not form a barrier between us.”

She looked down at her hands, clasped before her.

“Come now, Miss Lamb. Have we not a dear friend in common? Are we not two educated gentlepeople, free to take tea together in a public place?”

“I wonder you did not miss your calling, Dr. Kendall. Politics would have suited you.” She could not keep a hint of a smile from softening her words.

“Is that a yes?”

“Very well.”

He grinned.

But before they had taken four steps, a young voice called out, “Dr. Kendall! Dr. Kendall!”

They turned and watched a young boy running toward them at full speed, panic evident in his features. “Mrs. Henning says come quick! She needs you something awful.”

Kendall’s expression grew grim. He turned briefly. “The midwife. Forgive me, Miss Lamb—perhaps another time.”

“Of course you must go.”

“Would you mind coming with me? I may need an extra pair of hands.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Collins, is it?” Dr. Kendall called out to the boy, who was already turning back.

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring this lady along, if you please.” And to Charlotte he said, “I’ll run on ahead.”

She nodded, but he was already jogging up the street.

“This way, miss,” the boy said.

They arrived at a small tidy cottage with thatched roof. The boy went in first, leaving the door open for her. When she stepped in, she was stunned to see Thomas there, holding a swaddled infant in his large hands. She thought instantly of the lambs.

“Bring another blanket, Freddie,” he said. “We’ve got to get your sister here warmed up.”

Thomas looked at the boy—her escort—then his gaze rose to her. “Miss Charlotte?”

“Dr. Kendall asked me to come along.”

“He’s in there with her now.” He shook his head, clearly worried. “She’s strugglin’, I’m afraid.”

“The mother?”

He nodded. “Twins. Seems they’re having a terrible time with the second one. Mrs. Henning handed this one to me and told me to keep her warm.”

Freddie jogged back into the room holding a wool blanket.

“Here, let me help.” Charlotte took it from the boy and helped Thomas wrap the blanket around the tiny baby.

She said, “I thought you were off visiting cousins today.”

“Betsy is my cousin.”

“Miss Lamb?” Dr. Kendall appeared in the doorway, rolling up his sleeves. “Please, if you will.”

She gave Thomas a look of empathy before following Dr. Kendall into the bedroom. In the bed, Betsy Collins looked exhausted. The midwife standing nearby did as well.

“Mrs. Henning. Do rest yourself,” Dr. Kendall admonished.

“But—” The grey-haired woman paused in her mopping of the patient’s brow and shoulders.