“Yes,” he told her. “For most women it is the clearest early sign that they are pregnant.”
“How long does it last?”
“There is no fixed rule. In most cases it doesn’t last longer than six weeks.”
“I am going to throw up every day for the next six weeks?”
“Yes. More likely eight weeks or even longer, but it should start getting better in six weeks.”
“When will the baby come, do you think?”
“Probably at the beginning of October, but it could be many days on either side of that. But I have to warn you that there is a chance that you may lose it before that, in fact quite soon.”
“Oh, no. why?”
“I don’t know, just that it happens quite often.”
“Oh. How can I prevent it?”
“I don’t know. The best approach seems to be to just keep doing what you would normally do until the baby is about to be born. When your water breaks, you can go to your room and summon some help. A midwife or me – I am what is called a male midwife.”
“What do you mean by my ‘water breaks’?”
Jackson spent the next several minutes trying to rectify Daphne’s almost total lack of understanding of what it meant to be with child. He ended with some admonitions.
“First, keep on doing everything you normally would, until it becomes too uncomfortable. Second, call on me if anything seems to be wrong, except what I have told you is normal. Don’t wear stays. Luckily they are not in fashion now, thank heavens, but some ladies try to hide their condition by tight lacing.”
“Can I still go for walks and rides?”
“Of course. That would probably be good for you and the baby. Just don’t try to ride Dark Paul side-saddle. That would not hurt the baby, but you might fall off again and break your neck, which would not be good for you or your baby”
Elsie had been listening to everything that was said with full attention. Much of what Mr. Jackson was saying was new to her, since she had lost her own mother when she was ten, had no older sisters, and had entered service when she was thirteen. She was now worried about how long she could keep working and how she would look after herself until Carstairs could make provision. Her mind was somewhat set at ease after Mr. Jackson had examined her as well and confirmed that she also was pregnant.
“How long can I keep working? I know that ladies don’t want servants when their condition shows.”
“I suppose they don’t. I hope that doesn’t apply to you, Daphne. No, Elsie, if Lady Giles will let you, you should keep working until it becomes too much for you. For some that would be after about six months, others wouldn’t need to stop until the baby decided it was time to arrive. Just as I want Daphne to stay as active as possible until the end of the period, I want the same for you, but whether or not you can keep on working is, of course, up to Lady Giles here.”
Mr. Jackson left, but Daphne remained seated for many minutes reflecting on what she had learned. He had long been Daphne’s mentor and the repository of her secrets when she was growing up. She couldn’t very well go against what he suggested, though she knew most ladies might. Thank heavens that Elsie and Carstairs had got married when it was possible that they would have a child! With Carstairs as devoted to Richard as Elsie was to Daphne, Elsie could keep working until it was impossible. If that meant that others would have to take up some of her duties when Elsie’s time approached, well, so be it. The servants all had good positions. The housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, might not be happy. She would probably want Elsie to be dismissed immediately. Well, Mrs. Wilson was getting uppity and it would do no harm to put her in her place.
Daphne was glad that Mr. Jackson had said that she should remain active until the baby came. She had never liked sitting around the house engaged in needle work, which she hated, or other activities that involved little movement. But what about when the baby came? How long would she have to stay in bed? How long before she could resume her normal life? What about breast feeding? She had seen how her tenants’ wives often nursed their offspring for a long time after they were born. Would she have to and for how long? The new mothers she had visited among the gentry seemed to stay inactive for some time after being delivered of a child, but she had never known them to nurse their babies. They had mentioned something about wet nurses, but Daphne didn’t really know what was meant by the term. She didn’t know anyone to ask about nursing, since she didn’t really like talking to Mr. Jackson about distinctly women’s matters, but she supposed that she would have to ask him anyway.
Then there was Richard. They had always presumed that there would be children, but they had not made any plans about when it would come about. Somehow, children had always been something to think about later. Would he be happy? She thought he would be. Would he be interested in the child? She knew that many, maybe most, aristocratic fathers did not seem to be really interested in their offspring. She hoped that wouldn’t be true of Richard. She would, of course, write to him at once to tell him about the news. But then there was the chance that she might not carry the baby to term; indeed, Mr. Jackson had indicated that she might not carry it very much longer. Should she wait to tell him until she was more certain that her condition would continue? Probably not. If the baby did disappear – and what did that involve? – he would find out, and would be just as hurt by her losing the baby and he would be disappointed that she had not told him.
The baby wasn’t due for a long time – more than seven months. There was lots of time to plan for it and for now she should just keep on with what she was doing. Would she be able to hunt next season? Now she was being silly. That wasn’t important. But it did suggest to her that she might not be able to do much supervising of the building of the new stables. The latest letter from Richard had approved the plans, though with some suggestions and the thought that she should consult Mr. Edwards about an architect. He had couched it as a thought for her to consider. However, Daphne knew an order when she saw it. Even so, it was a good idea. And his letter had enthusiastically suggested that Mr. Griffiths try to buy at least four mares at the upcoming auctions. He had named several sales that he knew were coming up which usually had good stock and wondered if Mr. Griffiths was thinking of attending them. Daphne was aware that if Mr. Griffiths had not been intending to go to those events, he was now bound to be present at each of them.
Daphne snapped out of her reverie to descend to her room to write letters. First a long one gave Richard the news. She also suggested that he tell Carstairs the news about Elsie. Her maid, she knew, could hardly write and would find it a chore to get the news of her child to Carstairs by herself. Next she wrote a letter to Mr. Edwards about an architect and to see what his advice might be on someone to help plan the expanded grounds of Dipton Hall. That done, she still had time to seek out Mr. Griffiths and convey to him not only the good news about building the stables, but also Giles’s instructions about the auctions. He in return reported that he had determined which horse he thought was Moonbeam’s sire, saying it was easy since three of the horses were geldings. He suggested that, if Mr. Moorhouse agreed, they should have Moonshine serviced by that stallion in May with the expectation of getting a foal in April.
Things returned to normal after the flurry of activity resulting from the news that Daphne was with child. February slipped into March and March into April. The big event was the Hunt Ball, but the fact that it was not the first ball at Dipton Hall that Daphne and her servants had put on made it almost a routine part of the life of the house.
The three women with whom she shared the house were not nearly as nonchalant about the event. They seemed to spend endless hours discussing what would be the best way to enhance their gowns and how their hair could be best arranged. They would be far too busy on the day itself to even contemplate joining the hunt itself, even for a short period.
Daphne was so relaxed about holding the celebration marking the end of hunting season that there was never any question th
at she would participate in the hunt itself. Serene Masham surpassed herself on this occasion, keeping up with the dogs seemingly without effort. Daphne had learned that giving the mare a minimum of guidance produced the best result, and Daphne was again in at the kill. So, for once, was Major Stoner.
“You have a magnificent bottom, Lady Giles,” he roared at Daphne. “And a splendid horse. Got her at Salton Masham Grange, didn’t you? Pity they closed.”
“It is. However, Captain Giles is going to start a stud farm at Dipton Hall. We have hired Mr. Griffiths to run it. He was the stable master at Salton Masham when they were breeding hunters.”
“Have you, by George! Put my name down for one of your first horses, what. Free to Ride, here, my horse, is not a patch on yours and he is getting a bit old.”
Major Stoner seemed to have forgotten his earlier opinion of women in the hunt. If it were not that on this occasion the activities would be capped by the Ball, she thought he would invite her to the Hunt Dinner. Not that she would want to go anymore: Lord David’s description had quite removed her fascination with the event.
Daphne had made sure that her ball would be superior to the usual balls held by other Hunts. That would really establish her position in the community! The minuets which she had included in her previous ball had provided elegance, but few people had danced them and none of the younger people. She was intending to surprise them all on this occasion by including several waltzes among the more usual country dances. This dance was considered very daring among the more staid members of Dipton society. Daphne had read that the waltz was very popular in London. Many of the younger ladies in the Dipton area had found out how to perform the dance from their elder brothers and they had then imparted that skill to the less fortunate of their peers. Daphne would drag Dipton’s conservative ways into the nineteenth century.
Everything went smoothly on the day of the Ball itself. The weather was mild with no rain to make the transition from coach to Hall awkward. Everyone was prepared to have a good time, Greetings were exchanged enthusiastically and various groups formed depending on their interests, be it talking, playing cards, watching or dancing. All went well with the dancing until the second waltz was coming to an end. The final notes were overshadowed by a ringing slap, delivered by Lydia Crocker on Lieutenant Charles’s face. All the dancing stopped as Lydia glared at her partner, still so annoyed that she did not realize the magnitude of her offense, while he looked more angry than embarrassed. Everyone on the dance floor was horrified at this turn of events and extremely curious about the reason for it. Whether or not they found out, they all knew that here was the prime topic of gossip in Dipton and Ameschester for weeks to come.
Lydia was turning away, presumably to rush from the ball room in tears when Thomas Dimster, the elder son of Sir Thomas Dimster, stepped forward. “I say, Charles, old man, I think that you had better leave since you have so distressed Miss Lydia.”
“It’s none of your business, Dimster. You were a prig at Cambridge and you are a prig now.”
That produced a horrified gasp among the onlookers. Would this lead to a duel? Everyone had heard of duels, but none of them had witnessed one or even the cause of one.
“Nonsense, Charles. It just won’t do, causing a scene like this.”
Lieutenant Charles seemed about to explode when Lord David stepped in. “That’s enough, Charles, old boy. As Dimster here said, we are not at Cambridge anymore and you have distressed my niece. Now come along.”
Lord David rather forcibly linked his arm in Lieutenant Charles’s and guided him from the ball room. Apparently Lord David had known each of them at Cambridge and could serve as a peace-maker.
Mr. Dimster presented his arm to Lydia Crocker and guided her towards a corner of the room. She seemed to have quite recovered from the incident, even though she clung very tightly to Mr. Dimster’s arm. Before they reached the corner, Major Stoner came up to them. “Well done, young man, well done! Couldn’t have handled it better myself. I can tell you, if he had been in my regiment, there would be consequences. It is all right, Lady Marianne,” he continued addressing Lydia’s mother who had come over to see what was amiss with her daughter, “all seems well, thanks to this young man.”
“But what was the fuss all about, Lydia?” Lady Marianne asked.
“Mother, he made a most improper suggestion to me and, when I objected, he made one that was even more rude.”
“How awful for you,” interjected Mr. Dimster, “I am afraid that Charles was very wild at Cambridge. Sent down for much more serious offenses than I was. You did absolutely the right thing, Miss Lydia. He had it coming.”
The little group broke up, with Mr. Dimster taking Lydia to a corner where they would not have to be bothered about other people. Major Stoner accompanied Lady Marianne to the side lines. It was notable that for the rest of the evening, Mr. Dimster quite monopolized Lydia, apparently completely to her delight, while Major Stoner appeared to find it necessary to smooth Lady Marianne’s ruffled feathers.
Daphne was quite relieved at this turn of events. She had encouraged the match between Lieutenant Charles and her step-niece, but she had become steadily more concerned about how many glaring weaknesses he had exhibited as a potential husband. Much as she would like to see Lydia married, she did not want her step-niece to be miserable in her choice.
There were no more serious incidents at the Ball and everyone seemed to have a good time, except possibly some young ladies whose dance cards had not filled up at with either the speed or the names they had hoped for. Daphne’s own card was full, and she discovered that two of Lord Mosley’s officers knew how to waltz in a very proper manner while still providing her with the excitement of whirling about the ballroom floor. Her father had taken her into dinner, no crises had arisen about the musicians, the food and drink, or the adequacy of the service. Mr. Summers thanked her most fulsomely for hosting the Ball, hinted that he hoped she would do it again, and then, at the last minute, remembered to add how very much he hoped that Captain Giles would be present on the next occasion. That was a sentiment that Daphne fully endorsed. For her, the whole evening had been tinged with sadness that her husband was not present.
Major Stoner’s thanks were more direct. “Good show, Lady Giles, good show! Pukka Ball! Pukka Ball! I told Summers that you wouldn’t be able to have the ball, not with Captain Giles absent. No one to organize it properly, what? But you proved me wrong! Yes, indeed! Indeed! When I am wrong, I admit it! Very good evening! Excellent!”
Since the lead-up to the ball had been so easy, Daphne felt very little let down when it was over, and found her nieces’ constant rehashing of it grew tiresome quickly. Lydia clearly was in no way distressed with having Lieutenant Charles removed from the picture. Mr. Dimster had ridden over to Dipton Hall every day since the ball, and it seemed that Lady Marianne had taken up reading so that she could fulfill her chaperone duties while not dying of boredom. Daphne was more concerned about Catherine. Captain Hicks seemed to be losing interest. That was just as well in Daphne’s opinion since Catherine seemed to be dreading a future filled with nothing but discussion of horses and banking. However, while several quite eligible young men had shown interest in her during the ball, and two of them had even accompanied their mothers to Dipton Hall for the calls to rehash the Ball, nothing had really developed from these encounters.
A few days later, when Daphne returned from giving Serene a run. Steves met her to announce that Mr. Dimster was in the drawing room and would like to see her. The butler’s manner indicated that very serious matters were at hand and that Daphne might be happier if she changed out of her riding clothes first. Since she had to change anyway, Daphne took Steves’s unspoken hint and went up to her dressing room immediately. Elsie also indicated by her manner that she regarded the forthcoming interview as being of the greatest importance, though Daphne could not extract from her the reason for her strange attitude. It did not matter. Daphne guessed that, like her, the
y wondered if this had something to do with Lydia’s hand. She had already heard that young Mr. Dimster had spent a great deal of time at Dipton Hall while her attention had been on other matters over Christmas.
Daphne decided that, for an interview of this importance, she should use her own room. It was not nearly as Spartan as it had been when first she started using it to go over the accounts of the estates. But a place of business it still clearly was. Daphne had also learned from Richard’s tales of how he was greeted by the Admiral that there was an unquestioned advantage to having her back to the light during an interview involving business.
At Daphne’s request, Steves showed in a very nervous young man. Daphne directed him to sit in a comfortable chair in front of her working table.
“Steves tells me you want to see me.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Mr. Dimster lapsed into silence.
Dear me, thought Daphne. Am I going to have to pry this out of him?
“About what, Mr. Dimster?” she enquired.
“Well… Miss Lydia and I …”
“Yes?”
“We have been seeing quite a good deal of each other, especially since the Ball, but also before that…”
“I’ve noticed.” Daphne could have bitten her tongue. Sarcasm was not likely to speed up this interview.
“And … and … and… we want to get married.”
“Do you? And so?”
“I understand that Captain Giles is Lydia’s guardian.”
“He is.”
“And we would need his permission to get married.”
“Yes, you would.”
“He’s away and, Lydia says, you don’t know when he will return.”
Daphne had to bite off another utterance of, “I’ve noticed.” Instead, she contented herself with saying, “that is correct. Captain Giles is serving with the North Sea Fleet.”
“I … that is, we … well, we wondered if you could write to him to get his permission.”
“I suppose I could, but I would have to know quite a bit more about you before I could do that. All the things that Captain Giles would need to understand before he would even contemplate giving you his permission.”
A Continuing War_At Home and at Sea, 1803-1804 Page 23