Of Noble Family

Nkiruka said, “Frances built a sundial on the wall of his house. Amey’s youngest boy can keep watch when the time comes.”

 

 

“Good.” Cloth rustled and the wooden bench creaked. “Mrs. Hamilton, you may look again. We are all decent now.”

 

Jane blushed, but turned.

 

The doctor smiled as she helped Amey lever her swollen figure off the litter. “My apologies, Mrs. Hamilton, for my brusque manner. I am sometimes too attentive to my work to be suited for polite society. I am grateful to you for arranging this visit.”

 

“Oh, well, Frank did all the arranging.”

 

“But you made the request. It has been months since I have been called here. Not since the last time the boiler blew.” She nodded towards Amey. “May I assume that you are willing to have me sent for when it is her time?”

 

“Absolutely. And with any of the other women who are approaching their lying-in. We will also see about an hospital.”

 

“Forgive me if I feel that would be too good to be true, but it does lead to an indisputable improvement in production. I honestly do not understand why plantation owners are so reluctant. Less sick time. More live births. Fewer permanent injuries.… It makes economic sense, even if they are indifferent in humane reasons.”

 

“All of which are irresistible arguments.” Jane took in a breath and held it for a moment. “Now … I must ask your assistance with a matter requiring some discretion.”

 

The doctor raised her eyebrows, waiting.

 

“May I ask you to examine me?”

 

Without a moment of hesitation, the doctor’s gaze dropped to Jane’s midriff and her eyes narrowed slightly. Looking back up, her expression was carefully blank. “The late earl kept a white surgeon on call, Sir Ronald. He might be more appropriate.”

 

The difficulty was in explaining why she did not wish to go to Sir Ronald, without mentioning that the late Lord Verbury was very much alive. Jane wet her lips and made an attempt. “For a variety of reasons, neither my husband nor I wish to consult with Sir Ronald. We also do not wish anyone to know that…” It had to be said, and the doctor had clearly guessed. “We wish to keep the fact that I am with child a secret for as long as possible.”

 

“Hence the long stays.”

 

“Correct.”

 

“I should advise against wearing them. The busk compresses the womb.”

 

Involuntarily, Jane put her hand to her stomach. Her heart gave a kick as though it were an infant lodged in her chest. “I have not hurt the baby, have I?”

 

“Likely not…” Dr. Jones looked at Jane’s middle again and appeared to make a decision. With a quick shake of her head, she gestured to the litter. “Well. Shall we see?”

 

With practised ease, she helped Jane out of her dress, petticoat, and the long stays until Jane stood in only her chemise. Without the confines of the boning, her stomach, though small compared to Amey’s, was still quite pronounced. With a glance at each other, Amey and her mother took up a station by the door, watching Louisa. Beads of sweat trickled down Jane’s back.

 

She swallowed. “I am grateful to you for your attention. We have been wanting medical advice, given my history, but with our travels it has been difficult.”

 

“Of course. Lie down, please, and let us see how things lie.” The doctor indicated the pallet.

 

Jane’s skin itched at the thought of touching the rumpled, dirty fabric. She reprimanded herself and sat on the edge of the pallet. This was where Amey slept, and Jane had not found that exceptional. The rough patchwork sheet itched against her bare arms as she lay back. Bits of dried grass found their way through the fabric to sting her skin. At least, she would prefer to believe that it was grass.

 

The doctor slid Jane’s chemise up, exposing her stomach to the open air. Gripping the sheet with both hands, Jane counted the wooden beams in the ceiling.

 

“Now, you said ‘your history’ … may I take it that you have had some difficulty?” The doctor’s hands were warm as she pressed against Jane’s sides.

 

“I—I miscarried some years ago.”

 

“How far along were you then?”

 

“Nearly five months. It was … we were in the Netherlands when Napoleon escaped from Elba. I had been running, and working glamour.” Jane bit her lip before continuing. “My husband and I have been devoted to our marital duties, but it has been nearly three years.”

 

“Hm…”

 

Her hands moved lower, and Jane discovered that in addition to the sixteen main supports, there were fifty-four smaller crossbeams holding up the thatch. “One of the questions we have is how far along I am. I was sick constantly with my first, and became ill again while we were at sea on the way here. I am not ordinarily prone to that, so we thought perhaps two to three months. But on Monday, the baby started kicking.”

 

“When was your last cycle?”

 

“It was while we were on the way to Vienna.… We were in Udine, so … December the first? I truly do not keep careful count, as I am quite irregular.”

 

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