“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.,CASE OFPUERPERALINSANITY,1877
CHAPTER26
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 needed 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.
