“Well, I—”
“Off with you, man. I’ll see to Miss Smith myself. I saw her when she first arrived.”
“I’ll wager you did.”
“Go on. Before I change my mind.”
“I shall. Before I change mine.”
Dr. Preston grabbed his bag from the desk, his coat from the back of the chair, and strode from the room without so much as a glance her way. The slamming door punctuated the tension in the room, which didn’t fade as quickly as the sound. Charlotte felt unaccountably guilty, awkwardly trying to reach around herself and refasten her frock.
Dr. Taylor stood there, staring at the desk. Then he looked at her, evidently unaware of her struggle.
“Why were you seeing Preston? I saw you only last week.”
“Mrs. Moorling insisted. I am having pains.”
Instantly his strained demeanor snapped into professional concern. “What sort of pains?”
“Cramping pains, here. And I ... I am ...” She could barely make herself say the word aloud to him.
“Any bleeding?”
She nodded, relieved to have it out. “A bit.”
“And the babe, when was the last time you felt movement?”
Charlotte felt tears fill her eyes. “Not once all day.”
“Do not be alarmed, probably just enjoying a bit of slumber. Still, I ought to give another listen.”
He again retrieved the wooden tube from his bag, and Charlotte sat on the table as she had before, but this time she was praying.
Please, God, please, God, please, God....
He pressed the tube to the center of her abdomen and stared blindly in concentration. Then he repositioned the tube to one side ... and the other. Charlotte studied his expression with growing trepidation.
“Do you hear anything?”
He moved the tube lower.
“Can you not hear it?” she tried again.
“Not with you talking.”
He moved the tube again.
“I suppose some would say I ought to be relieved, but I am not.”
“Of course not. Shh.”
Charlotte bit her lip. “Do you suppose this is God’s punishment?”
“Charlotte, please lie down on the table.” He ignored her question. “I need to listen lower, but it’s difficult with you sitting up.” When she complied, he pressed the tube very low indeed, where the underside of her rounded belly nearly met with her hipbones. He listened intently, his face growing, she concluded, terribly grim. Tears fell down Charlotte’s temples and into her hair. He moved the tube above the opposite hip bone and pressed it in deep, nearly painfully so. This time he closed his eyes as if to focus on his sense of hearing alone. Or perhaps he was wincing, realizing the painful truth.
“Well, hello there.”
“What?”
