Lady of Milkweed Manor

by Julie Klassen

  “There now, Betsy, relax. Everything’s going to be all right. Just relax now—ease those muscles.”

  Hunching low, one hand propped on the bed and the other reaching under the sheet, Thomas’s face was gripped in concentration.

  “Sorry, Betsy, won’t be long. Try to relax.”

  “All right, Thomas, all right,” Betsy panted.

  “There’s the little one. I feel his head and neck. Come on, little one, come on . . .”

  His expression tightened with the effort of tempered strength.

  Betsy cried out.

  “Not yet, not yet. Now push!”

  Betsy gritted her teeth and pushed.

  “Here he comes. Here he comes.”

  Thinking swiftly, Charlotte pulled out the bottom drawer of Betsy’s dresser and laid the first baby into it. Then she leapt forward to hand Thomas a clean sheet left there for this purpose.

  “That’s it—get ready to catch him, Miss Charlotte.”

  With a final cry, Betsy pushed and Thomas retracted his arm and together he and Charlotte guided the slick infant into the sheet.

  Relieved and revived, Mrs. Henning hurried over and helped Charlotte rub the infant dry and clean out her mouth and nose before handing her to Dr. Kendall.

  “It’s another girl, Betsy,” Mrs. Henning announced.

  “Is she all right? I don’t hear anything—is she breathing?”

  Dr. Kendall carefully turned the child upside down. When she didn’t respond, he swatted her gently on her bottom, then once again more smartly. The baby whined, then broke out in an angry cry. Dr. Kendall handed the child to Betsy, and her tears became those of joy.

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you, all.”

  Charlotte turned to look at Thomas. Dr. Kendall was staring at him too, clearly impressed. “How did you know to do that?” he asked.

  Thomas shrugged. “Works with sheep.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I’ll go brew some yarrow tea for Betsy,” Thomas said quickly and left the room.

  Dr. Kendall watched him go, amazement on his face.

  “Who is that young man?”

  “His name is Thomas Cox.”

  “Ah yes . . . I’ve heard of him. Friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has he ever considered the medical profession?”

  “I believe he has.”

  “I wonder if he would be interested in an apprenticeship.”

  “I believe Dr. Taylor wonders that as well.”

  Charlotte returned to Lloyd Lodge two hours later, only to hear the baby’s piercing cries before she had reached the door. Charlotte hurried inside. Mrs. Taylor was pacing the parlor, bouncing the child in an attempt to soothe her. Lizette’s face was flushed red, and it was clear both mother and daughter had been crying for quite some time.

  “Ici. Take her.” Mrs. Taylor thrust the child toward Charlotte. “I cannot make her stop crying. It seems only you have such power.”

  “No power, madame,” she said gently, taking the child in her arms. “Only milk.”

  “Non. It is clear my daughter prefers you. My husband as well . . .”

  “No, madame. Anne only wants me when she’s hungry.” She sat down and skillfully unfastened the hidden front flap of her nursing frock, discreetly allowing the child to nurse with minimum exposure of her person. “There you are.” She looked back up at Mrs. Taylor, hoping to assure her. “As for Dr. Taylor, he was a friend to my family long ago, and I appreciate his offer of employment. I am grateful to have a position with such a respectable family as you are.”

  New tears filled the woman’s eyes. “You say the right words. I know I should believe you. I should be thankful that you are here, taking care of my child. But I am not. I want to nurse her myself. But I cannot.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “My body, my mind, betray me. My husband . . .”

  “No, madame. Never your husband.”

  “Non? Then, why am I so angry? Je pleure de rage.”

  Lizette Taylor turned and strode from the room, the echo of her words capped with a sob. I am so angry I weep.

  After laying Anne down for her nap, Charlotte knocked softly on Dr. Taylor’s study door, her heart pounding painfully.

  “Yes?”

  She stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Lamb.”

  “Good afternoon.” She cleared her throat. “Dr. Taylor, I am afraid the time has come for me to leave your employ.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Do not think me ungrateful. I do appreciate all you have done for me. But it is time I moved on. I wonder if you might consider sending a messenger to find Sally? If you find her quickly, before she takes another position or her milk fades, she would serve you well, I have no doubt. Or if that does not suit, perhaps another nurse from the Manor.”

  “But why? Has Lizette said something?”

  “No. But I am certain Mrs. Taylor will understand my decision.”

  “Charlotte. You have done nothing wrong.”

  “Thank you. But I want you—both of you—to be happy, and I do not wish to be a hindrance to the peace of your family.”

  “You are not—”

  She lifted her hand to stop him. “Dr. Taylor, I know how your wife feels about me. In many ways, I understand her fears, her jealousy . . .”

  He looked at her, eyes wide. “You do?”

  But she was not referring to him. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she whispered, “I know what it feels like to have my child look at another woman as his mother.”

  He swallowed. “But this will be the case with any nurse.”

  “Dr. Taylor . . .”

  “Forgive me. Of course that is not entirely true. She has no doubt seen my . . . regard for you. Careful as I have been to conceal it. Have I not treated you with the utmost propriety?”

  “Utmost.”

  “I’m afraid Lizette is, by nature, a jealous person. I cannot deny I am concerned for your well-being, but of course, other aspects of our relationship are long over.”

  “Of course,” she echoed. “Still. I feel it would be best if I leave. As soon as possible.”

  He rubbed his hand over his eyebrows. “Do you think Sally would come?”

  “I do. And it would put my mind greatly at ease if she did.”

  “Very well. I shall do my best to find her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Charlotte walked from the room, still in control of her emotions. She walked quickly from the cottage to the seashore, where the waves could swallow her cries and a bit more salt water would not be noticed.

  She was melancholy and . . . dissatisfied with herself constantly,

  incapable of attending to anything, and entirely indifferent to things

  around her. She felt at times as if she were nobody, and would rather

  be dead than have that feeling.

  —L. SHAFER, M.D., C ASE OF P UERPERAL I NSANITY , 1877

  CHAPTER 26

  As soon as Dr. Taylor sent out his messenger, Charlotte began to regret her decision. She almost hoped he would not reach Sally or that she would be unable or unwilling to come. Charlotte doubted Dr. Taylor would strive to find another unknown nurse, though Mrs. Taylor might wish it, especially while they were in temporary lodgings. But even as Charlotte entertained such thoughts, she knew it was foolish to think staying would make her—or anyone—happy. She supposed it was the dark unknown future that caused her to long for things to remain as they were.

  When the return message arrived, Charlotte held her breath. She tried to find some small satisfaction in being right—as she had predicted, Sally would come. In fact her letter reached them just ahead of Sally herself, who wrote to say she would be arriving in Old Shoreham on the late afternoon coach.

  From Sally’s few hastily written lines, Dr. Taylor ascertained that he had located her the first place he tried—with the Harrises in Doddington. Mrs. Mead, it seemed, had need
ed a few more days to wean her own child and had arrived at Fawnwell the same day as Dr. Taylor’s messenger. Sally had secured passage on the next morning’s coach.

  Now that it was settled, Charlotte felt the block of sadness begin to break up and sift out through all the broken places in her heart, replaced with a numb pragmatism. There was nothing she could do about it now. It was the right thing, whether it felt like it or not.

  That afternoon, Charlotte took a basket of clean laundry to hang on the line outside. She had offered to help Marie, reasoning that keeping busy might take her mind off her impending departure. But as she began hanging little nappies and sweet little bed gowns, she realized she ought to have volunteered for some different task.

  Suddenly Thomas was there beside her, bending low and coming up with a pair of knitted socks barely large enough to cover his thumbs. She was immediately relieved the basket held none of her own undergarments.

  Charlotte watched as he hung the tiny socks in mock concentration. “Hello, Thomas. Here to help Mr. Beebe again?”

  “Why—are these his?”

  She shook her head, amused.

  “Actually, Miss Charlotte, I am here to ask you to take supper with us at the week end. Mother wants to meet you.”

  “She does?”

  “Well, Lizzy has been going on about you. And, I confess, I have as well.”

  She smiled quickly, then bit her lip. “Thank you, but I am afraid I will be gone by then.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes. I am leaving my post here. There’s to be a new nurse. In fact, she arrives today.”

  “But—” He stared down at her in dismay. “This is a blow. Is . . . is this what you want, Miss Charlotte, or . . .?”

  Mrs. Taylor appeared on the lawn, looking from Thomas to Charlotte and back again. “Good day, Mr. Cox. You have heard the news—Miss Lamb is leaving us?”

  “I have just.”

  “But you will still come to visit us, will you not?”

  “I—”

  “Of course you must. Now, I shall leave you to your farewells.” She returned to the cottage, humming a seaman’s tune.

  Thomas looked back at Charlotte, his eyes sparking with uncharacteristic emotion. Was it anger?

  Charlotte answered his question as though they had not been interrupted. “I am learning, Thomas, that what I want is not always the wisest course.”

  “Miss Charlotte . . .”

  She forced a bright smile. “Actually, it is quite a happy turn of events, for the new nurse is a friend of mine. I know you will like her. She was raised on a farm and will so enjoy all the things Lizzy enjoys. I am certain you will all get on famously.”

  Thomas had been looking down at the ground while she spoke but now glanced up at her earnestly. “You cannot be so easily replaced, Miss Charlotte.”

  Again she bit her lip. “Thank you. You are most kind.”

  “Might I at least accompany you into the village to meet the coach?”

  She hesitated. “I should not like to trouble you—haven’t you work waiting?”

  “The work will always be here, Miss Charlotte. You will not.”

  Mrs. Beebe insisted they take the gig to the inn. Leaving Anne with Marie, Charlotte and Thomas rode into Old Shoreham, halting only long enough to pay the shilling-per-horse toll to the boy at the bridge. When they arrived, Thomas helped her down in front of the Red Lion.

  “I’ll tie up Old Ned. You go on and greet your friend. I’ll be waiting when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you.”

  When the coach arrived, Charlotte stood back while the dust and horses settled and the innkeeper ran out to meet prospective guests. When she saw Sally’s fair head duck low to descend the carriage on the coachman’s hand, she stepped forward to meet her.

  “Miss Charlotte!” Sally cried as soon as she saw her, but she did not offer her usual toothy grin. Instead her long face looked forlorn and she clearly had difficulty meeting Charlotte’s gaze. “Please believe me, Miss Charlotte. I didn’t do it—I swear I didn’t. I would never even have thought of it if I’d known it might harm him.”

  “I believe you, Sally.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Charlotte. God bless you.” The two women embraced. Then Sally stood back, her hands on Charlotte’s shoulders, regarding her. “Now, tell me you haven’t gone and gotten yourself sacked too.”

  “Not exactly. But it is time for me to leave.”

  “A fussy one is she?”

  “No. Anne’s an angel.”

  Sally stuck her elbow into Charlotte’s side. “I meant the missus.” Sally’s smile was back, her front teeth protruding over her bottom lip.

  “Let us just say it might be best if she did not know you and I are so fond of one another.”

  Sally nodded her understanding.

  “I’ve told Mrs. Taylor I knew of you at the Manor and that she would be very pleased with you.”

  Thomas appeared, already bending low to pick up Sally’s two carpetbags before standing to his full height beside her. Sally’s gaze followed his upward movement with a slight opening of her mouth.

  “Sally, this is my friend Thomas Cox. Thomas, this is Miss Sally Mitchell.”

  Thomas gave an awkward bow, then looked at the newcomer. “A pleasure it is to meet you, Miss Sally.”

  Charlotte did not miss the admiration in his expression.

  Sally shook her head in wonder. “I’ll be bobbed, but you’re tall,” she said, then giggled, teeth splayed as she did so.

  Thomas smiled in return. “Yes, we have that in common.” He looked back at Charlotte beside him. “As well as a dear friend.”

  Charlotte pretended not to notice his blush nor the question in Sally’s eyes as she looked at them both.

  When they arrived back at Lloyd Lodge, Mrs. Taylor welcomed Sally warmly. As Charlotte had predicted, the mistress seemed very pleased with her replacement. There was something about the large, simple woman that seemed to put people, perhaps especially jealous wives, at ease.

  Charlotte helped Sally carry her carpetbags up to the room Charlotte had used. She moved her own packed bags off the dressing table to make room for Sally’s things.

  “You’re not leaving already, Charlotte, surely?”

  “Not today. Dr. Taylor said I might stay as long as I like.”

  “Stay, then. I don’t mind sharing.”

  “I shall stay just long enough to see you settled with the Beebes and the Taylors, and with little Anne, of course.”

  “Won’t it be difficult for you, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte chose to ignore the deeper implications of the question. “You have just arrived. Of course I want to spend a day or two with you before I go.”

  “Will you see Thomas again . . . after you leave, I mean.”

  “I shouldn’t think so. Why?”

  “You don’t, that is, the two of you are not . . .?”

  “No, Sally, we are not.”

  “You don’t . . . love him, then?”

  Charlotte took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She heard Anne, who had been napping, gurgling happily to herself in the next room.

  “She’s awake,” Charlotte said. “Please excuse me.” She walked to the nursery and picked up Anne.

  Sally followed her. “It’s all right if you do. I just want to know how things are between you.”

  Charlotte lifted Anne into her arms. “There is someone here for you to meet, Miss Anne.”

  “Isn’t she a gorgeous thing. And so much grown since I seen her last.”

  “Yes.” Charlotte stroked Anne’s cheek. Then she sighed and placed Anne into Sally’s arms. “I will miss Thomas and he will miss me, but that is the end of it.”

  “But I saw the way he looked at you.”

  Charlotte smiled gently at her friend. “And I saw the way he looked at you. Something tells me he will not be missing me for long.”

  Unlike Mrs. Taylor, young Anne was slower to hand over her loyalties. She w
ouldn’t nurse from Sally that first night and cried and reached for Charlotte. Charlotte sat in the rocking chair with her, nursing her and soothing her—and herself. She knew she ought to refuse and let off nursing all at once, but she felt unable to do so, unable to withstand Anne’s pitiful tears.

  Finally, when Anne awoke at dawn, crying to be fed, Charlotte laid her in bed at Sally’s side. While nurse and child were both only half awake, hunger won over and Anne nursed. Sally’s sleepy eyes filled with tears as she looked at Charlotte in silent understanding.

  Richard Kendall stood before the writing desk in the study that served as Daniel’s office.

  “Have you no objections, then, were I to offer her some . . . situation?” Daniel stared at the man, wanting very much to throttle him.

  Instead he said in controlled tones, “You will offend her.”

  “Quite possibly. Beyond that risk, have you no objections?” When Daniel made no answer, Richard continued. “You said yourself she has few options. That the man who should have made some recompense, should be providing for her, has failed to do so. You are not in a position to do so, but I am.”

  “Yet you do not offer marriage.”

  Kendall frowned and sighed. “No. I am afraid not. Not at this point. We are not so well acquainted.”

  “But acquainted enough to ask her to become your mistress?”

  “Well.” He cleared his throat. “The particulars are yet to be agreed upon, of course, and will be strictly between Miss Lamb and myself. You can be assured of my discretion.”

  “She will refuse you.”

  “I am aware of that possibility.”

  “I would ask that you dispense with this line of thinking altogether. But I have no authority to stop you.”

  “No, being merely her former employer . . .” He nodded thoughtfully. “Though I am beginning to understand why you chose not to tell Mrs. Taylor about your past regard for Miss Lamb.”

  Richard Kendall found Charlotte Lamb strolling along the path parallel to the sea, swinging a stick of driftwood in her hand. He fell into step beside her.

  “Where will you go now, Miss Lamb?”

  “To Crawley. I have a great-aunt there.”

  He nodded. “A pleasant prospect, then?”