THEHAPPYDELIVERIE OFWOMEN
CHAPTER16
Afew days after the birth of little Anne Taylor, a knock sounded on the door of Charlotte’s bedchamber. She rose gingerly from bed and opened it.
“Hello, Dr. Taylor.”
“You needn’t have gotten up.”
“I do not mind.”
“Most physicians insist on a full month’s recovery. But I see it as a good sign that you are up and about already.”
She nodded, briefly attempting a smile. “I suppose you are wanting your daughter?” Charlotte retreated back into the room toward the cradle. “Let me bring her to you. Mrs. Krebs asked me to nurse her or I should never have presumed ...”
“Nonsense. I am most grateful.”
“Your wife. She is ...?”
“No better, I’m afraid. I regret you had to see her in that state. But that is not why I am here.”
Charlotte lifted wide eyes and waited.
“I thought you would like to know. Mrs. Harris wants a wet nurse for your ... for the newborn child.”
A swell of hope rose within Charlotte, which she immediately realized was vain and foolish. She could not apply to nurse her own son. Katherine would know the truth at once.
“Mr. Harris has asked me to recommend someone,” Dr. Taylor continued. “Have you a preference?”
She smiled gratefully. “Indeed I do.”
There was comfort, at least, in choosing someone to care for Edmund.
“Oh, no, Miss Charlotte,” Sally protested. “I’d never get hired in such a great house, not the likes of me.”
“But you have the kindest heart of anyone I know, Sally. If I were choosing a nurse, you would be my very first choice.”
“Thank you, miss. But them likes the pretty, genteel girls, not some big baggage like me.”
“Nonsense. I shall help you. I shall show you exactly what to say and how to act. Please, you must at least try! It would mean the world to me to know you were there, looking out for him.”
“Are they family to you, miss?”
Charlotte swallowed. “Only distantly ... but if I could help them, I would.”
“I don’t know ...”
“Dr. Taylor has a list of qualifications for a wet nurse. He will let us borrow the pamphlet and we shall have you ready in no time.”
“Oh, very well, Miss Charlotte.” Sally smiled, her front teeth protruding as always. “I’m afraid I’m a beetle-headed burdock, but I shall give it me best try.”
Charlotte stood outside the door to Mrs. Moorling’s office, waiting while the matron made the introductions inside.
“Well, I shall leave you to it,” she heard Mrs. Moorling conclude. Then she exited the room. Seeing Charlotte there, Mrs. Moorling left the door ajar. She knew Charlotte had helped Sally prepare for this interview but not the reason why. Charlotte smiled her gratitude and took up sentry at the narrow opening, watching the proceedings with nervous hope.
Katherine Harris sat with perfect posture, her back to the door. Charlotte could see her profile as she turned to whisper something to her husband seated beside her. Charles Harris nodded stiffly and shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. Before them stood Sally, petrified into stony stillness. She was dressed in one of Charlotte’s gowns, its hem lengthened with six inches of material taken from forgotten curtains in the unused room at the end of the corridor. Hugh Palmer, the man-midwife, stood beside Sally, facing the Harrises. In his hand, he carried a small booklet, which he held open, referring to it as he spoke.
“First, concerning lineage,” Hugh Palmer began, in his somewhat nasally voice. “Have any of your kindred, whether it be parents, grandfather, or grandmother, ever been stained, or spotted, either in body or mind?”
