She could not and would not throw it away.
And yet... The feelings overrode thought. She both wished that night, that kiss, had not happened and, conversely, found herself reliving the moment and holding on to each detail as one would something precious.
She was filled with new thoughts, new ideas and new feelings tangled together with horrid, niggling discontent and self-doubt, which was both new to her and decidedly out of character.
* * *
Her mother’s note came twenty-four hours after the delivery of Mrs Ebbs’s child. It informed Letty that Mrs Barton was established at the Dower House for two weeks and requested that her daughter visit that day.
Letty was drinking her breakfast tea when the missive arrived. She frowned, pushing her spectacles more firmly upon her nose, as she studied the didactic directive. She was in Miss Barton’s breakfast room, a small space lacking in character. She stared about its confines, trying to think of some possible, plausible excuse. Perhaps she could say that Archimedes was taken lame? Except her mother would merely send her own carriage.
Or she could say that she had another social engagement, but then Mrs Barton would pepper her with questions...
Besides, she could hardly avoid the visit for two weeks and, if she tried, her mother would appear again on her own doorstep.
Therefore, with breakfast over, she went upstairs and summoned Sarah.
‘It appears I must visit my mother,’ she said.
‘I thought that might have been a summons,’ Sarah said, nodding with apparent approval at her ability to foretell the future.
‘Can you ask Arnold to get Archimedes ready for noon?’
‘Yes, miss, and shall I do your hair?’
‘No—I—’ She had been about to refuse, but then remembered the rather pleasant feeling of having her hair in loose waves. ‘Perhaps we could try. And I will wear that new blue dress you insisted I purchase.’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Lady Elsie dressed me up the other night and it was rather odd. I felt—I felt a little more confident knowing that I looked quite well.’
Sarah chuckled. ‘Yes, miss, I believe the rest of the female population learned that while still in their nappies. Likely you would have, too, if you’d listened to me and if Mrs Barton had not been quite so enthusiastic about ruffles and colour.’
‘Well, let’s make me as presentable as possible and we’ll see if it helps me feel more confident with my mother. I wonder if Flo will be there?’
It was always more pleasant to spend time with her mother in Flo’s company. Perhaps she was relieved by the tangible proof that at least one of her children had made a suitable marriage.
‘I believe Mrs Barton went up with Mr Ramsey to London,’ Sarah said.
‘Right,’ Letty said.
‘But do try to get on with your mother. You know she only wants what is best for you.’
Letty shook her head. ‘I think she only wants what is best for the image of me—the daughter she would want to have. It is just she has never got to know the real “me”.’
‘Perhaps because you never gave her the opportunity?’
‘You mean if I were to explain how I masquerade as a man so that I can work as a doctor, she would embrace the notion?’
‘Well, perhaps not when you put it that way,’ Sarah said.
* * *
At the appointed hour, Arnold pulled to a stop in front of Dower House. It was much smaller than Oddsmore, a small brick structure with honeysuckle covering the walls and well-weeded rose gardens lining a small horseshoe-shaped drive.
Letty got out of the carriage, patted Archimedes’s rump as she walked past him and entered the somewhat narrow entrance way.
‘Don’t worry, Staples,’ she said to her mother’s stately butler whose expression always suggested that he was privy to impending disaster. ‘I can find my own way.’
She need not have bothered. As was his habit, Staples ignored this instruction, throwing open the doors on to the drawing room and announcing her arrival.
Her mother was alone, to Letty’s considerable relief. She’d half-wondered whether, in her desperation, her mother might have decided to invite yet another potential suitor. Visions of Mr Chester or some other worthy had unpleasantly peopled her imagination.
Her mother presented her cheek for Letty’s dutiful kiss.
‘Do sit down,’ she invited. ‘And would you like tea?’
‘Thank you,’ Letty said, sitting in the chair opposite.
Her mother rang for tea and then proceeded to the matter in hand, fixing Letty with her astute gaze.
‘I hear you acted very strangely at Beauchamp the other day.’
‘I did?’ The memory of those moments in Tony’s bed made her cheeks burn and her fingers move nervously across the fabric of her dress, scrunching it into tight balls.
‘I am glad you have the grace to blush. You are actually invited to a suitable establishment by a member of the local aristocracy and you choose to drag along an injured gentleman.’
‘I did not exactly choose to do so. What would you have me do—leave him bleeding on the path?’
Her mother appeared to consider this comment before stating, ‘Transportation was perhaps a necessity, but there was no requirement for you to become so involved once at Beauchamp. I heard you caused all manner of nuisance.’
‘I stopped his bleeding, largely considered beneficial for all concerned, particularly Mr Cummings.’
‘My cook heard from the cook at Beauchamp that...’ Her mother paused, lowering her voice as though she feared an eavesdropper within her drawing room ‘...that you applied the stitches yourself.’
‘Indeed, all that needlework came in handy after all.’
Irritation flickered across her mother’s face, visible in the tightening of her lips. ‘There are doctors and others paid to do such things.’
‘None was available.’
Her mother frowned, but apparently decided the effort to pursue this line of questioning was not worth the questioning. ‘And it is true, you have become friends with Lady Elsie Beauchamp?’
‘We are acquainted.’
‘Well, I am glad of that. It is appropriate...in fact, beneficial for you to be friends with Lady Beauchamp.’
At that moment, the door opened and Mrs Petch, the housekeeper, entered with the tea trolley.
They paused while this was set down and her mother busied herself in pouring the tea and handing around the pastries.
‘And what of Lord Anthony? I hear he was also present and that you dined with him?’
‘It was too late for me to return so Lady Beauchamp asked me to stay.’
‘And you dined with Lord Anthony?’ Her mother repeated the question.
Again she felt that irritating tell-tale flush. ‘Yes.’
‘It would be an excellent match. He is titled. How bad is his scarring and his infirmity?’
‘What?’ A flash of something close to fury flickered through her, stunning her with its intensity. ‘Lord Anthony is a hero. He fought for this country and you dissect him and analyse his wounds.’
Her mother sipped her tea, raising one well-shaped brow. ‘Such concern for someone you hardly know.’
‘Yes, well, I think we should all have care and show compassion for an individual injured in the service to this country. Anyway, he has a slight cut on his cheek and is still healing from a wound to his ribs, I believe,’ Letty said.
‘He should be able to sire children?’
Her cheeks crimsoned. ‘I would suppose so, but I cannot see what possible business it is of yours or mine.’
Her mother replaced her cup. ‘Oh, do stop being so foolish. It is completely obvious that you care for him and about time, if I may say so.’
‘I—I—’ Letty w
as about to say that she did not care, but something stopped her. Instead, she concluded somewhat lamely. ‘I have no intention of marrying Lord Anthony.’
‘Well, I suggest that you change your intentions. And quickly. This is an apt time. He may feel more needy now because of his medical afflictions.’
‘Grab him in a moment of weakness, you mean, when he might be more apt to settle for an inferior match?’
‘I would not be quite so crass. I would suggest that it is suitable and advantageous for both you and him. There will be other young ladies, you know, if you tarry.’
‘I hope so. I wish him well. However, I am everything he does not need in a wife. Indeed, I don’t know how you can be so—so cold and calculating.’
Her mother replaced her teacup. ‘I am calculating because I did not have the luxury to be otherwise. I was a housekeeper in a small establishment. I had to work for my living. I was still young and pretty so the women were jealous and the men—’
She stopped, as though suddenly remembering her audience.
‘And Father?’
‘Your father was kind and brilliant and a hopeless businessman. I told him that we should marry. I would escape a life of service and he would gain someone to run his house and ensure that some scurrilous businessman did not take advantage of his invention. It worked well enough. It was a union based on mutual respect and good sense.’
Letty watched the emotions flicker across her mother’s face. Usually, she was so guarded, seldom showing her feelings as though fearing they might be perceived as a sign of weakness, even to her family. ‘I never thought about how hard your life would have been as a housekeeper.’
‘And I did not want you to. I brought you up as a lady, not having to care about those things. I tried to give you the skills so that you could secure a level of ease and belonging in your life. Ramsey has made a good match and if you were to marry a lord—’
‘I would be hopeless. I watched you. I saw how you tried to be accepted. I saw how you tried to wear the right clothes and invite the right people and it never worked. I will never be accepted by society. At least you knew how to say the right things.’
‘Our situations are entirely different. I used to be a housekeeper. The gentry do not forget. But your father was a gentleman and you’d be married to a peer and related to Lady Elsie and Florence. Besides, I am certain you could learn to say the right things if you tried. It is your wilfulness which impedes you. If you can learn Greek and Latin and all that nonsense your father permitted, you could certainly retain the rudiments of a dance and say something of interest now and again.’
‘But I do say interesting things! It is just that they only interest me.’ The words burst from her. They were not loud, but their very impulsivity gave them weight and urgency.
Her mother made no response and the silence seemed heavy. A fly had had the temerity to enter the room and Letty could hear its drone. It was, she realised, one of the most honest conversations they’d had.
She leaned forward, almost wanting to touch her mother’s hand, seeking some tangible connection. For a moment, she wished she could confide about her being Dr Hatfield. Perhaps her mother might understand? Was her own drive to study medicine and her mother’s drive to escape servitude but different sides of the same coin?
But her mother spoke, breaking the silence. The fleeting moment evaporated. ‘Florence could help. Her conversational arts are exceptional. And I understand that Lady Elsie is well known for her style.’
‘I’m sure both Flo and Lady Elsie would try, but I cannot marry Lord Anthony or anyone because I do not have the skills or the motivation to be the type of wife a member of the aristocracy requires. It is different than with you and Father. You both benefitted. Lord Anthony and I would hurt each other. I have never been accepted by society. A marriage and lessons in fashion won’t change that. I would hate that life and I would be a quite dreadful wife. He needs someone able to help him take his place in society and accept the role inherited from his brother. I think it will be hard for him and he needs a helpmeet, not an added burden.’
‘You have thought a lot about this,’ her mother said, as their gazes met.
‘Yes.’
‘Very well,’ her mother said at length. ‘I just always hoped you would change.’
* * *
Letty heard the quickness of hooves striking the cobbles. She was reading by the light of a candle, having sent Sarah to bed. Her maid did not approve of such late-night reading, advising that it would result in either blindness or a house fire.
Rising quickly, Letty crossed the room and pushed open the curtain. This was not the lumbering gait of a farm horse or the rattle of a wagon or cart. In the darkness, she could see the dark bulk of a coach, illuminated by its twin lamps. It had stopped outside the doctor’s house and the footman had already dismounted. She could see the fast movement of his silhouette illuminated by the coach lamp. He raised his fist to the door, the knocking sharp and urgent within the night’s quiet.
The Beauchamp insignia was visible emblazoned on the coach.
Letty’s hand squeezed tight against the curtains. Elsie—it must be.
From the window, she saw Arnold open the doctor’s door. He held a candle. His nightcap was askew and the light from a candle flickered across his face.
Letty let the curtain fall into place, turning quickly. ‘Sarah!’ she shouted. ‘Wake up! Get me my doctor’s gear.’
She dressed quickly, pulling on her doctor’s trousers, coat, powdered wig and spectacles. Sarah brought in the bag and Letty glanced through its contents. Holding it tightly, she hastened out the back door of the house and through the doctor’s house into the waiting coach.
Usually she drove herself, so this comfortable transportation was an unusual luxury and certainly more expeditious than Archimedes. And yet she almost wished she was outside. Driving would have occupied her mind and this birth would have felt more routine. Instead, she was aware of a pent-energy and anxiety, far greater than was usual.
She rubbed her fingers against the plush velvet. What if Elsie had the fits...what if she was unable to deliver the child safely...what if she needed forceps or took the fever?
What if Elsie died?
She is all I have.
The pain in those words had touched her. Since hearing them, she’d become aware both of his vulnerability and her own. He was a desperate, hurt and powerful man. The loss of his sister on top of all else he had endured would either break him or make him determined to seek vengeance.
Or both.
She knew she was good. She knew she was competent, but she was no miracle worker and the practice of medicine came with no guarantees.
He would never forgive her if Elsie died on her watch. And if he recognised her...
Bother. She closed her eyes. She should rest. The birth of a first child could be a lengthy process and it was wise to slumber whenever possible. But sleep eluded her and it was a relief when she felt the coach turn up the drive, stopping abruptly.
She peered outside. Beauchamp looked different at night. It was even bigger, less civilised and more Gothic, a dark hulk outlined against the starry sky.
Within seconds of the coach’s arrival, the front door opened, yellow lamplight spilling into the evening. Tony stepped forward. Seeing him, his tall dark silhouette outlined within the light, caused a jolt of something: energy, apprehension, awareness, excitement.
She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on his speech. He was saying something. She saw his mouth moving even before she could hear the words.
The footman opened the carriage door and Letty clambered out.
‘The baby’s coming.’ Even in the dim light, he looked haggard. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. He seemed unnaturally pale and his injured hand hung limp.
She felt an urgent wish to comfort him.
&nbs
p; Pushing the thought away, she walked towards him, stiffening her spine and making her stride long and her voice gruff.
‘This way.’ Without further words or greeting, he turned sharply and disappeared into the house’s interior.
He said nothing more, leading her through the convoluted passages and stopping on the threshold of the confinement room. She entered. As was customary, it was stuffy. The windows and curtains were both tightly closed. The smell of sweat already laced the air and the fire burned bright, sparks crackling up the chimney. Elsie lay on the bed. Perspiration shone on her forehead. Her hair stuck damply to her skin in wet strands and her breath came in quick, uneven gasps, her eyes wide.
In that moment, the ‘what ifs’ that had been circling Letty’s mind stopped. It did not matter that these sheets were fine-quality linen. It did not matter that the bedchamber was part of this huge mausoleum of a palace or that Elsie likely spent more on a single gown than most of Letty’s patients spent in a lifetime.
All that mattered was this exhausted, spent woman with her wide, frightened eyes.
‘You are doing wonderfully,’ Letty said, approaching the bed and keeping her voice gruff, more for the maidservant than Elsie.
‘It hurts—so much. And it—it is too early,’ Elsie gasped.
‘A little, yes. But you are very close to your eighth month. The child might be small, but likely perfectly fine,’ she soothed.
‘Truly?’
‘Absolutely. How far are the pains apart?’ she asked, turning to the maid.
‘I don’t know, sir.’
‘You have not timed them?’
‘No.’ The maid shook her head to underscore the negative.
‘Do so now. And heat some water on that fire. I will wash my hands and do the examination.’
The maid turned to do so and Letty took a towel. She made it wet and then carefully wiped the sweat from Elsie’s forehead as her face again contorted in pain, her fingers twisting into the sheets.
When the contraction had passed, Letty plunged her hands into the hot water that the maid had prepared. She took the soap, cleaning carefully, even under the nails.
A Debutante in Disguise Page 13