Howard Pendragon waved his comment aside. ‘It has been three years and she has not fallen yet. Besides, he needs a male heir as a daughter is of no use. A female cannot inherit the title leaving me or my son next in line. As for Carrack, my brother would never allow a woman to own and run the estate. Even he would not allow the bad feeling between us to overshadow his views on a woman’s capability.’
Another cry echoed through the cut crystal prisms of the chandelier above. ‘Your wife is in need of my services, Mr Pendragon . . . Howard,’ the doctor replied solemnly. ‘If you wish a healthy child then I must be given leave to tend to her.’
Howard blinked. ‘Yes, yes of course. Do what you need to do and give me a healthy son.’
The doctor turned and quickly proceeded up the stairs, all the while feeling Howard’s eyes upon him.
‘And when he is born,’ called Howard, ‘I shall name him Mawgan Charles Pendragon. And if I should die before I can claim my brother’s title, it will bemyson who will become the future Sir Mawgan Pendragon, 8th Baronet of Carrack!’
Moments later, Doctor Birch was at Mrs Pendragon’s bedroom door. He stood for a moment to wipe the perspiration from his brow and straighten his cravat, before reaching for the doorknob. The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges, allowing him to stand unnoticed and survey the scene. All was quiet, but for a ticking clock hidden somewhere in the room.
Mrs Pendragon lay in her bed resting between pains as her loyal maid stood by her side and nursed her. Mrs Pendragon opened her eyes and looked at him. Sweat soaked hair framed her face, which was shiny from discomfort and a pale shade of crimson. She managed a smile, relieved he had arrived.
The doctor returned Mrs Pendragon’s smile, but allowed his gaze to wander around the room. It finally came to rest on the dressing screen standing in the shadows to the right. Its presence gave him the courage to enter.
‘It has begun, just as you predicted,’ Mrs Pendragon said breathlessly, reaching out a hand to him.
He took it in his and patted it reassuringly. ‘All that was needed was some of my mild tonics to build your strength,’ he replied. His eyes searched for the bottles amongst the useless trinkets and ornaments that adorned her bedside table.
The maid noticed and found them hidden behind a silver framed photograph. ‘Are these what you are looking—’
The doctor snatched the bottles from her and opened two of them to view their contents. They were empty. Mrs Pendragon had drunk them all, just as he had prescribed. Only the fragrant smell of angelica,and the faint minty aroma of pennyroyal remained to linger in the air. He opened the last bottle, which had contained blue cohosh. It too was empty. He puffed out his chest, satisfied that his concoctions had worked so efficiently.
Mrs Pendragon’s hands clenched her blankets. The movement caught his eye and brought him back to the predicament he was in. The contraction was beginning to build again. It was strong, with little respite, indicating her time was near.
He slipped the bottles into his pocket, making a mental note to record the quantities for future use, and placed his bag in the shadows at the foot of the bed. He opened the bag briefly to check its contents, whilst the maid administered and soothed her mistress through the pain. When her mistress’s writhing finally subsided he returned to her side with a Pinard Horn, to listen to the baby’s heart.
‘Now now, Mrs Pendragon,’ he said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his brow again, ‘youwould not wish to cause your husband undue concern by creating such a fuss.’
His patient dropped her head back on the pillow, exhausted. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ she whispered between breaths. Her maid snorted in anger.
‘Quiet please,’ ordered the doctor. ‘I must listen to the child’s heart.’
He meticulously folded back the bed linen to expose her swollen abdomen and positioned the listening device against it. He bent forward and carefully placed his ear to it. The room fell silent as the occupants held their breaths. Doctor Birch listened intently and heard exactly what he expected to hear — nothing. He smiled.
‘Your baby has a strong heartbeat, Mrs Pendragon, and is eager to meet you,’ he said, carefully placing the horn on the bedside table.
Mrs Pendragon sighed, a smile of relief breaking through the exhaustion. ‘I have not felt it move for two days,’ she replied weakly. ‘Thank you for coming to see me yesterday and putting my mind at rest. I have been so afraid. I could not bear to lose another child.’
‘You will not lose another child, Mrs Pendragon,’ said Doctor Birch, moving his gaze from the horn to his patient. ‘All you needed were my tonics to boost your strength and now the baby is ready to come out. In fact, I think . . .’ he said, looking at the intensity of the building pain etched on her face, ‘it may be time to push.’
Doctor Birch repositioned the dressing screen a little nearer, and prepared himself to guide the baby out by carefully rolling up his sleeves.
He looked at the maid as he rolled up a cuff. ‘Leave us, and do not return until I request it.’
The maid frowned. ‘But, Doctor Birch, she needs me.’
‘Allow your mistress to retain some dignity. She is not in the right frame of mind to make such decisions so I, as her physician, must do it for her.’
‘But—’
Doctor Birch snared her with a dispassionate look. ‘Are you refusing?’
She looked hesitantly at her mistress’s face, contorted in pain, and did not move.
‘I told you to leave us.’
‘Ma’am?’ she asked, hoping to hear a request to stay. None came.
