Page 53 of Lady of Milkweed Manor

Women turned against their husbands, neglected themselves and the household, bullied their servants, broke the china .

.. displayed an overt sexuality, making vulgar and suggestive comments to complete strangers.

Yet so common was this disorder ... that it came to be seen as an almost anticipated accompaniment of the process of giving birth.

— D R. H ILARY M ARLAND, D ANGEROUS M OTHERHOOD

A fter dinner, Lizette began scratching her arm, then her neck.

He watched calmly at first, but when she began scratching with great vigor, he rose to his feet and took her by the arms to still her.

Already she bore long streaks of red down her white neck.

“Come, I shall give you something for that.”

“Nothing helps.”

“I shall find something. Come.”

Pausing to pick up his medical bag, he led her upstairs to their bedroom and closed the door. She flounced down on the bed while he set the bag on the dresser and began looking through its contents. “Here we are.”

He sat on the bed beside her and began applying the ointment to her neck, lowering her gown from one shoulder to avoid getting the sticky medicine on the fine material.

He smoothed the ointment onto her throat, then bent to kiss her bare shoulder.

She had been trying to seduce him for weeks.

Now, the damage done, why not enjoy his wife while he could?

He kissed her clavicle and slid the gown off her other shoulder, his hand moving lower to stroke her exposed skin. His lips moved lower as well.

“Non.”

She shoved him with startling strength and he fell away from her. Stunned, he looked up at her, surprised to see tears streaming down her face.

“Can you not see how I suffer? And yet you force yourself on me!”

“I ... I thought you wanted ... I am sorry.”

“Yes, you are sorry indeed.”

The next night, Daniel found Lizette sitting alone in the dark parlor, weeping. He lit a lamp, forcing optimism into his voice. “Dr. Kendall sent this tea for you. He thinks it might help.”

“There is no use in doing anything, as I shall die soon.”

“Please do not say that. Think of Anne.”

“Why? Is it not she who ruined my body and my mind?”

“Lizette. It isn’t her fault.”

“Nor is it mine! You behave as though it is all in my mind. As though I am insane!”

“Shh ... calm yourself. I know what ails you is real. And you are not the only woman to suffer from it.”

“Do you think that helps me? Do you think that makes me want to live?”

“No, you live for us, for Anne and for me and for the babe to come.”

“I do not care about any of you.” She rubbed her forehead roughly. “I just want this to end.”

“My dear. I think it’s time we thought about returning to London.”

“ Non! I will not go back to that place. That hospital, that dark little room.”

“Only until the baby comes.”

“ Non! Please, Daniel, I beg you. I shall be fine. I will get better. I like it here by the sea. I can breathe here. I can smell France.”

Daniel looked at her beautiful, pleading face. “Very well. For now. But you must try to calm down, to control yourself.”

“ Oui, mon amour . I shall.”

But a few days later, Daniel heard Lizette and Marie shouting and swearing in French. He leapt up from his desk and sprinted into the parlor.

His wife held a large brass candelabra in her hand and was about to strike the windowpane. Marie tried to wrest it from her.

“Lizette! Put that down!” he shouted.

“It will not open. I need air.”

“Then ask me to help you.”

“I can help myself.”

“Allow me.” He took the candelabra from her and placed it on the table, then tried pulling and shoving at the old window. “It is painted shut.”

Marie nodded, “ Oui, monsieur. Zat is what I tell madame.”

“I am trapped in this old ruin of a place,” Lizette cried. “I need air!”

“Take hold of yourself! Calm down.”

“I am so sick of those words—that patronizing way you speak to me! You are not my father. Do not speak to me as if I were a child.”

“You are acting like one.”

“ Non . Having a child is making me this way. I cannot stand it. I want out of this body ... this skin!”

He gave up on the window and took hold of his wife’s elbows, motioning the maid out of the room with a lift of his chin. “Lizette.”

“It is my life, non? ”

“No,” he said gently, shaking his head. “You are not God.”

“Well, neither are you. Some great physician you are, Doctor Taylor. You cannot even heal your own wife.”

“I am trying. I am doing all I know to do.”

“It is not enough!” She pulled away, grabbed the candelabra and threw it across the room, shattering the gilt mirror over the fireplace mantel.

He froze.

Marie reappeared in the doorway and hesitated there, frowning at the broken mirror and then at him.

“Stay with her, please,” he instructed. Then he dashed from the room, leapt the stairs three at a time, and knocked on the nursery door. Sally opened it, white faced. She had obviously heard the commotion from below.

“Sally, please collect Anne and whatever things you need. I am taking you into the village. I want you to stay at the Red Lion. Here—” He pulled several bank notes from his wallet and handed them to her. “That should do for a night or two.”

“Yes, sir.”

After seeing Sally and Anne safely to the inn, he drove the carriage to Kendall’s office.

“Richard,” he began, hat in hand before his friend’s desk, “I do not know what to do. I am at my wits’ end. Lizette has begged me not to take her back to the Manor Home, but now with Anne to think of ... I may even have to find a more equipped asylum.”

“There are one or two I might recommend.”

“Please. Come one more time. See if there is anything I have left undone.”

“Of course.” Richard rose and followed him outside.

But the scene that greeted them was not at all what either gentleman expected.

The cottage had been restored to rights.

Although the mirror was missing, the glass shards had been taken down and discarded, and the late afternoon sun lit the room in a peaceful, golden glow.

Lizette looked up at them from a pristine table laid with a full tea service, as well as plates of sandwiches and cakes.

Lizette herself looked serene and lovely, dressed in a pink silk gown, her hair done up properly, her face powdered.

She even had the strand of pearls around her neck that Daniel had long ago given her but she seldom wore.

She greeted them warmly. “Welcome, gentlemen.” Dumbly, Daniel stepped forward, Kendall close behind.

“Hello, darling.” She rose and smiled at him as he approached, eyes glowing, then reached up and kissed his cheek.

“Dr. Kendall, how pleased I am to see you again. Do sit down.”

Both men were speechless. They laid their hats aside and sat as they were bade, watching in awe as Lizette poured tea with practiced precision and grace.

“Dr. Kendall, how do you take your tea?”

“Uh ... milk will do nicely, thank you.”

She complied and handed him the cup and saucer with a steady hand.

“And I know my husband likes sugar in his. There you are, my dear.”

“Thank you.”

Daniel stared at her, and then he and Kendall exchanged a look, brows raised. Hopes too.

“It does happen,” Kendall said to him later, behind the closed doors of the study. “Some remedy creates a delayed effect or a woman’s balance somehow restores itself on its own.”

“But will it last?”

“I don’t know. But it seems quite possible.”

“Thank God.”

“Indeed.”

“Will you do me a favor and stop by the inn and let Sally Mitchell know she may return?”

Kendall paused, then nodded. “Of course. I shall tell her she may return ... in the morning.” Kendall smiled at him and turned on his heel, donning his hat.

For an unmarried man, Kendall was quite astute.