A Debutante in Disguise

by Eleanor Webster

  Very gently, she lifted Elsie’s nightgown. With careful hands, she felt the baby’s form through the woman’s tightly stretched skin. Not breeched, thank goodness. Indeed, given Elsie’s tendency to swelling, this early birth was likely the best thing to prevent the fits.

  ‘The baby seems in an excellent position,’ she said, her words interrupted by Elsie’s cries as another contraction struck her.

  Letty again dampened the towel, wiping away the sweat. Elsie relaxed, the hurried pants of her breath slowing as the pain lessened.

  ‘That is good. Take advantage of the lull between the pains,’ Letty said.

  ‘They are too short... There is no rest...’

  ‘I know. But it means you will soon hold your son or daughter in your arms.’ Letty again touched Elsie’s forehead with the damp cloth.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re quite gentle for a man.’

  Letty froze, her hand clenched around the cloth. Did Elsie guess? Suspect? Her glance darted to the maid, but she appeared not to have heard.

  Before anything more could be said, Elsie again contorted with pain and, once the contraction had dissipated, was too spent to question Letty further.

  ‘In the next pause between pains, I will complete an internal exam, but I am certain you are making most excellent progress,’ Letty said.

  Elsie nodded.

  Just after she had completed this examination Letty heard a rap on the outer door of Elsie’s sitting room, which was attached to the bedchamber. The maid answered, quickly returning.

  ‘Dr Hatfield, sir. It is His Lordship, sir. He is that worried. He wondered if you could give him an update, sir?’

  ‘I am somewhat busy,’ Letty said. She did not particularly wish to see His Lordship. She not only feared he might recognise her, but also felt a complexity of emotion which interfered with the clarity of her thoughts. ‘Tell him—’

  ‘Go—go to him. Just for a moment,’ Elsie said, her words punctuated with gasps. ‘He pretends not—to fear losing me—but I know it—it haunts him. Please.’

  ‘I...’ Letty paused, but nodded as she felt the tight clutch of Elsie’s hands against her own. ‘Of course, if it will provide comfort.’

  ‘He’s waiting in the corridor, sir,’ the maid explained.

  Letty left the chamber and went through the outer sitting room and into the hallway, allowing the door to close.

  Tony was pacing with his back to her. He swung around immediately as she exited the room, striding quickly forward. ‘How is she?’ His voice was raw, his face haggard and his hair rumpled as though he had been running his hands through it.

  ‘Strong and healthy. Everything is proceeding well,’ she said.

  ‘I worry...’ He paused. The candlelight enlarged and darkened the circles under his eyes. ‘I can’t lose her.’

  ‘I will do everything possible. I promise.’

  Perhaps his obvious pain made her gentle her voice and add those last words. Or maybe it was another trick of the candles, the golden light touching her face in such a way that it softened her features.

  Confusion, followed by a quick flash of disbelief, flickered across his face. His straight dark brows pulled sharply together, his grey-blue eyes darkened.

  ‘Dr Hatfield?’

  ‘Indeed.’ She deepened her voice so that even to her own ears she sounded like a child in a theatrical production. The effect was heightened by the nervous tremor in her tone.

  Disbelief shifted to sudden understanding and fury.

  ‘Miss Barton...?’ He paused, his gaze scrutinising her face while his hand lifted as though to pull off the dreadful wig. ‘Is it you?’

  He did not remove the wig, instead letting his hand drop with a soft thwack against his leg. But she knew it was too late. Wig or no wig, he knew the truth. The quick protective movement of her hand and trembling voice had said it all.

  Heat flushed into her cheeks. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue cleaving to its roof. She swallowed. Months earlier she’d devised practised excuses. She’d say Dr Hatfield had a twin sister or some such tall tale, but none of that came to her now. Instead, she merely gaped, entrapped by the fury in his eyes.

  From the room behind her, she heard Elsie’s cry.

  ‘I need to go—’ Letty said, not bothering to deepen her voice.

  Anger contorted his features. ‘No.’ He put his hand on her forearm. She felt the outline of his fingers. ‘I do not want you within twenty miles of my sister. You are a fraud. You are a fraud and a trickster. I thought you were honest. I trusted you. You lied to me.’

  ‘I didn’t want to. Besides, right now this has nothing to do with you. It is Elsie—’

  ‘I offered to marry you.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with this.’ Again, she heard Elsie’s muffled cry. ‘I must go. She needs—’

  ‘Not you. She—does—not—need—you. She—does—not—need—lies.’ He stepped forward, blocking her progress back into the room. He had removed his hand from her arm and now gripped her shoulders. His face was inches from her own. She felt his heat, his breath, his anger. She backed from him. He stepped forward, following her retreat, so that they moved in an odd, menacing dance.

  Elsie screamed again.

  Briefly, her cry stilled both their movement.

  With an effort that seemed huge, Letty squared her shoulders, pulling herself to her full height. She was tall, but even so the top of her head only grazed his chin. She shook off his grasp.

  ‘Right now your sister needs help. I need to help her. You have to put your anger and outrage aside. I can help her and I will help her. She is my patient. Not you.’

  Their gazes locked. Something snaked between them; anger and something else.

  At last, his gaze dropped. He stepped away, letting her pass.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Stay with Elsie. I will send for a proper doctor. Don’t deliver the baby until he arrives.’

  ‘I will inform both child and mother of your instructions,’ she retorted, before stalking past him towards her patient.

  Chapter Eight

  Throughout the night and into the next day, Elsie’s needs occupied Letty’s mind. She’d always had an ability to focus, excluding all distractions, and it served her well now. She rubbed Elsie’s back. She supported her as she paced the room, making low guttural groans which seemed to come from some primal source deep in her belly. She helped her to squat on the birthing stool, stroking her shoulders and back. She wiped her sweat and held her hand until her own fingers felt numb.

  ‘You are doing so well,’ she said.

  Elsie stared at her, almost sightless with pain. Then, as the pain eased slightly, she moved again, pacing, as though by moving she could outdistance the pain.

  Thankfully, Tony had said nothing to Elsie, likely intelligent enough to know that distrust in her physician would only place Elsie at greater risk, although she knew from the maid that Jeffers had been summoned.

  Sometimes Letty heard the pace of Tony’s footsteps in the hallway outside and felt the fear tighten, making her stomach leaden. He could tell everyone. Florence would be implicated. Her mother. Ramsey.

  But there was time enough for that. Right now, she needed to focus on Elsie as they worked in tandem, helping her find her strength and courage for what was yet to come.

  Night turned into day and the chamber brightened, sunlight pushing through the gaps within the drawn curtaining. Elsie’s pains came more frequently now. ‘That means your child will be born soon,’ she assured the exhausted mother.

  * * *

  Hours passed. The sun set, glimmerings of the red sky just visible. And then, at last, with a final, low, excruciating primal sound, the child was born.

  Letty held the child, as always filled with that mix of emotions: joy, relief and worry. For a moment, he di
d not cry. The worry grew. Carefully, she cut the cord. He was so tiny, red and wizened, with tufts of dark hair.

  She lay him gently on the towel, carefully massaging his tiny, fragile chest.

  ‘Is he—is he all right?’ Elsie gasped.

  Letty held her breath as she continued to pump the tiny fragile ribcage.

  At last his red wizened, newborn face contorted. He took his first breath, crying lustily.

  Letty exhaled. Then they both laughed and cried and Letty saw the joy, relief and pain mirrored in the other woman’s eyes.

  ‘He’s perfect,’ Letty said.

  ‘Can I see him and hold him?’ Elsie asked, reaching forward, her face glistening wet with a mix of sweat and tears.

  ‘Of course, you can. Elsie—Lady Beauchamp—he is so beautiful. So perfect.’

  Gently, she swaddled the infant, handing him to Elsie. She watched as the young woman took him, gazing down with a look that touched something deep in Letty’s heart, making her eyes sting as a lump formed in her throat.

  ‘Thank you,’ Elsie whispered. Gently, with shaking tentative fingers, she touched his small head.

  Letty swallowed. ‘You did all the work.’

  ‘You helped.’ Tears trickled down Elsie’s cheeks so that they hung pendulous at her chin. Her blonde hair lay in lank curls about her.

  She looked beautiful.

  ‘He isn’t too small?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you hear that lusty cry? He is small, but strong.’ Letty paused, savouring the moment. This was the best part of her life—a mother’s joy and the scream of new life dwarfed all else.

  ‘And Tony? You’ll tell him?’ Elsie asked. ‘Please, as soon as possible. I know he has been worried.’

  Reality thudded back. Letty’s stomach tightened. She tasted bile.

  ‘Yes.’ Very slowly, barely conscious of her movement, she tidied the soiled clothes, sheets and blankets. She went to the bowl and washed her hands. The blood swirled from her fingers, mixing into the clear water. She stared at it, watching the water’s movement and the flicker of the candlelight against its surface. In that moment she saw her hopes, her dreams, her carefully constructed life, swirl away.

  She’d always dreaded this.

  ‘Dr Hatfield,’ Elsie said from bed. ‘Can you tell him now? Tell him he is a proud uncle to a beautiful, beautiful boy. Tell him to come.’

  ‘Yes, I will tell him,’ Letty said.

  She had always known the risk. Intellectually, she’d known that at some point she could—would—be caught.

  But she’d hoped...she’d hoped to have a few more years.

  A brisk knock startled her. She jerked up, swinging towards the sitting room. Water dripped from her hands and on to her trousers. The door opened.

  A maid entered. ‘Dr Jeffers has arrived.’ she said.

  The man entered. Letty knew him by sight. He was short, portly and walked with a swagger, visible even in his first few steps. His clothes appeared to be of good material, but grubby, his complexion was pallid except for his nose which was overly red. His hair was thinning and slightly oily, combed sideways as though to hide his balding head.

  ‘Dr Hatfield, Lord Anthony summoned me. I am sorry it took me so long. I was attending another medical matter. However, I am here now and ready to provide you with my considerable expertise,’ the little man announced, striding with that swagger towards the bed.

  ‘The child has been delivered already,’ Letty said.

  ‘Oh.’ There was a momentary pause. ‘And the afterbirth?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I will examine the patient immediately.’

  ‘Lady Beauchamp. Her name is Lady Beauchamp,’ Letty said dully.

  ‘Quite so. Well, I am here. Lady Beauchamp, we’ll just have a look see, shall we?’ He rolled up his sleeves.

  ‘You have not washed,’ Letty said.

  He glanced back as though confused by her presence or statement. ‘You are my maid now?’

  ‘No, but Lady Beauchamp is still my patient.’

  Letty stepped back so that she was between the doctor and the lying-in bed on which Elsie reclined, almost oblivious to them both as she still held the child, staring down with doting adoration.

  ‘Maria, clean out the water and refill the bowl with fresh, hot water and soap so the doctor can wash,’ Letty directed.

  ‘What? What nonsense are you spouting now, man?’ Jeffers asked.

  Man—so Tony had not told him either. A wave of relief, gratitude even, washed over her.

  ‘I am suggesting that you clean your hands before examining Lady Beauchamp,’ she said, energy piercing the dullness.

  ‘That introduces unnecessary delay.’

  ‘Lady Beauchamp is in no distress. The child is born. We are just waiting for the afterbirth. Therefore, there is no need for a delay to worry you.’

  The man stared. His mouth opened. His chest expanded as his cheeks flushed, puffing slightly with the intake of air. ‘I have been practising for twenty years. Twenty years! You are a—a young pup. A boy. You dare to lecture me?’

  ‘Yes, when your practice accounts for more childbirth fatalities than any other doctor or midwife in the area.’

  ‘I—what?’ The man’s eyes appeared to bulge, his face now purpling. ‘Are you suggesting a lack of competence on my part?’

  ‘It wasn’t a suggestion.’

  There was a brief moment of silence. His eyes opened, his jaw slackening, as though he could hardly believe the words and did not know how to react. ‘You—you—you upstart!’ he exploded. ‘My God, I should take you out by the shirt tails and trounce you thoroughly. Get out of my way.’

  ‘Wash your hands and I will do so.’

  Just then the door from the outer hallway swung open. It banged against the wall and a draught of cooler air whistled inwards. Tony stood on the threshold, a huge, dark angry figure.

  ‘I am summoned to see my sister and nephew and all I can hear are you two brawling as though in a tavern.’

  He did not shout, but Elsie must have heard her brother’s voice. ‘Tony! Tony! Come in, I am quite decent and want so much to introduce you to your nephew. And please encourage Dr Hatfield to stay. He has been so wonderful. I really do not think I need any other physician.’

  If possible, Tony glowered even more, fixing Letty with his angry stare. ‘He has, hasn’t he,’ he muttered, adding more loudly for Elsie’s benefit, ‘Dr Hatfield is lacking credentials. Dr Jeffers will provide your medical care. He has more experience. Dr Hatfield will step aside.’

  He fixed Letty with his angry glare. She met his gaze but did not move.

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed equitably. ‘Provided Dr Jeffers washes his hands.’

  * * *

  The woman stood in her ridiculous man’s garb with her chin outthrust, green eyes huge behind smeared glasses, wig askew with several damp, red curls protruding from under the yellowed hair piece.

  He could not imagine a less impressive sight. And the ludicrous woman still wanted to set the rules and prevent Jeffers from doing his job.

  And he had trusted this fraud. This imposter.

  And as for Miss Barton—he’d thought her odd, eccentric but honest. Oh, yes, he’d even admired her forthright bluntness. In a society known for double-entendre and façade, he had thought her the exception.

  And all the while, she’d been keeping this secret and he had allowed himself to feel...something.

  ‘Tony.’ Elsie’s voice, faint but also laced with joy, jolted him from his reverie.

  He swung around from the puppet of a doctor. He was an uncle. His sister had survived the birth and the child was also healthy.

  He would not let this person take that from him. Striding forward, he went to Elsie. She looked tired but, despite her pallid countenance and
the dark circles under her eyes, a smile lit up her face.

  A happiness, almost frightening in its intensity flared through him, dwarfing all else to insignificance.

  He knelt beside the bed.

  ‘Meet Theodore George Edgar. Isn’t he beautiful?’ Elsie whispered.

  He looked down at the tiny bundle held so carefully to her chest. He was not quite certain if beautiful was the right word to describe the squashed, red face with the surprising mop of dark hair, but he felt something: a warmth, a softening, a joy, a hope...

  ‘A rather long name for such a small mite,’ he said, gazing down at both mother and child. ‘But I like it. And he is a miracle.’

  He pressed a kiss to Elsie’s forehead. The skin felt damp but cool. He watched as the infant’s tiny hand, pink and fragile as a bird’s wing, escaped from the swaddling blanket. The infant stretched each tiny finger, the movement strangely slow, purposeful and delicate. Tony placed his finger between the tiny digits and felt their instinctive clutch.

  ‘His grip is strong,’ he said, aware of a mix of laughter and tears threading his voice. His happiness felt fragile as though it might disappear like a soap bubble, gone within the moment.

  ‘Strong and beautiful and wonderful,’ Elsie said. ‘I wish George could know he had a son.’

  He watched as the other hand escaped from the swaddling blanket. The tiny fingers seemed almost impossibly small with nails which looked as thin and delicate as a butterfly’s wing.

  ‘We will make certain that Theodore George Edgar knows he had the most wonderful, brave, kind and loving father.’

  Elsie smiled, but he saw her lids growing heavy. He removed his hand from the tiny fingers, stepping back. ‘Elsie, you should get some rest. We can get the nanny and the nurse to help.’

  ‘Not yet, I just want to hold him and look at him,’ she said.

  Tony knew a similar feeling. He had been immutably altered by this tiny newcomer and was aware of a peculiar prickling fear which made him want to both hold the child and mother and alternatively flee from the room.

  At that moment, Dr Jeffers cleared his throat and Tony turned sharply, momentarily surprised by the man’s presence.