Doctor Birch began to unroll his sleeve. ‘If I do not have absolute authority and the conditions I require, Mrs Pendragon, then I cannot be responsible for the outcome.’
Mrs Pendragon’s hand fluttered in the air between them. The maid caught it in hers.
‘Do as Doctor Birch says, Mellin,’ her mistress whispered hoarsely.
Mellin remained hesitant, her glance darting between doctor and patient, torn between the desire to give her employer comfort or obey her order to leave. The doctor waited, looking at her under heavy lids. A guttural cry came from the woman who lay between them. Bedclothes slipped away as their patient twisted in pain, exposing bent trembling legs, now slick with sweat. The message was clear; he would do nothing until she had left. Realising she had no choice, Mellin stifled a cry of her own and ran from the room.
* * *
Mellin did not go far. Not even a doctor’s order would prevent her from being near to hand should her mistress have need of her. She began to pace the landing, waiting and praying for the joyous sound of a baby’s cry. How dare the doctor refuseto have her present when it was clear that her mistress needed her! No one knew better than she the grief her mistress had endured in the past and the importance of having a healthy child. Mrs Pendragon’s health and happiness were paramount and she would do anything for her in order to achieve it. Unfortunately, today it meant obeying an instruction that felt alien and wrong. As for maintaining her dignity, this was the fifth labour she had nursed Mrs Pendragon through. She had seen it all before.
The labour cries quietened. Mellin tilted her head to listen for a baby’s cry, but was rewarded with an unnatural silence. The silence dragged on until she could bear it no longer. She returned to the door, quietly turned the handle and silently opened it. The maid surveyed the scene, just as the doctor had done not twenty minutes before. Her mistress lay exhausted, her head cushioned deep within creased, white, feather pillows. Her eyes were closed, but the maid noticed a faint smile upon her lips.
Mellin smiled too at what this might mean. Unwilling to disturb her mistress, she remained where she stood and eagerly looked to the doctor for news. She found him, crouching behind the dressing screen and tending to the needs of a new-born baby. The silence continued. Something was not quite right.
The screen’s shadow must be playing tricks on her senses, she thought, casting an atmosphere of doom where none should exist. Yet, there was an unearthly stillness to the new-born. It lay flaccid, silent and abandoned by the doctor, who now showed more interest in the contents of his bag than the child he had just delivered. Mellin understood what this meant, for she had seen it four times before. The baby was dead.
However, something remained different and jarred against the normal order of things. There was not the usual grief filled aftermath and the doctor remained busy and focused. Muted inher growing horror, Mellin watched as the doctor carefully lifted a sleeping baby from his bag, and placed the stillborn inside.
Mellin, horrified, silently pulled the door closed again, her mind whirring with the implications of what she had just seen. Her stomach began to churn with shock. She remained still, as if frozen in time, reliving the scene in her head, yet at the same time doubting what she had seen.
Suddenly, the door opened and Doctor Birch came out. He walked briskly to the staircase with a confident stride and made short work of the stairs. Moments later he was greeting Howard Pendragon in the hall with the announcement he was now a father to a healthy son. The announcement sounded so genuine, so joyful, and so true. Mellin turned away, unable to watch.
Mellin edged towards the open door. The room was peaceful and all appeared as before, a mixture of dark shadows and shards of light spilling through the half drawn curtains. She saw the bag where the doctor had left it, on the floor, behind the screen.
What was she to do? Accuse a doctor of malpractice? Who would believe a servant over the word of a doctor? She heard her employer’s laughter rise up from the hall. Her chaotic thoughts lurched from one direction to another, as she frantically tried to collect them together. Perhaps the macabre plan was carried out with the full knowledge of Mr Pendragon himself? Her position could be at risk if she disclosed what she saw. Yet, she could not forget what she had just witnessed. She had to do something. She must inform her mistress. She must learn of the truth and would know what to do.
Mrs Pendragon called her name, and she dragged her eyes from the bag to the woman in the bed.
‘Mellin,’ her mistress said smiling, her face rosy with joy. ‘We have a son! God has given us a son.’
Mellin stepped forward, her feet heavy as lead.
‘Look, Mellin,’ her mistress encouraged, gently easing back the blanket that framed the bundle in her arms. ‘Look,’ her voice broke and Mellin could see pure joy glistening in her eyes and tears begin to flow down her cheeks. ‘Look, Mellin, I am . . . a mother.’
Mellin looked at the baby in Mrs Pendragon’s arms, his fair downy head being soothed by her loving hand. He was a beautiful baby, with good-sized limbs and a healthy glow, if somewhat sleepy. Mellin had devoted her adult life to Mrs Pendragon. Her mistress’s happiness was her happiness and today, due to this baby lying in her arms, she was happier than she had ever seen her before. She could not break her heart now.
Only too aware of the bag that lay not ten feet away, Mellin forced a smile. ‘Congratulations, ma’am,’ she said quietly. ‘You have a beautiful son.’
* * *
Doctor Birch could still taste the port on his tongue as he climbed into the waiting carriage. Although at first eager to leave, Howard had insisted he stay and join him in a celebratory drink. Praise for his professional expertise accompanied the glass handed to him, which swelled the doctor’s chest and quickly diminished any desire to leave. For a while, as Howard showered him with thanks and pledged to recommend him to all of society, his bag and its cadaverous contents lay abandoned by his chair. Abandoned, but not forgotten.
Now sitting in the confines of the carriage, Doctor Birch nudged the bag with his toe in an attempt to arrange more room for his feet. Contented, he rested his head back and reflected on his achievement. The afternoon had gone according to plan. If he had known it would be so successful he would not have spent the previous night unable to sleep. It was to be expected, hecomforted himself. He had never relied upon untested mixtures to induce labour before.
It had been part of an extraordinary plan to protect his good name and deliver a live child. He had suspected the child was already dead after receiving the request to visit. A baby that did not move was never a good sign. He had hurriedly acquired the mixtures from the strange old woman who frequented Cardon Woods. It was just one part of his plan, the other was obtaining a foundling new-born from a house of ill repute, quietening it with a dose of laudanum and passing it off as Pendragon’s heir. The plan was a genius idea — and he had achieved it. The feeling of success it evoked was a heady tonic in itself.
A smile curved his lips as he congratulated himself. Only an experienced, intelligent man, such as he, could possibly have done it. He stroked his neat white beard as he realised he had always felt superior to the general society around him. His mother had believed it too, stroking his ego and moulding his character with undivided care. She called him ‘extraordinary’ and she was right. If he set his mind to it, he could achieve anything. He felt confident that the momentary self-doubt, which had disturbed his sleep, would never return.
The carriage had not yet set off, when voices outside caught his attention. He was about to lean forward to look out of the window when the carriage door was abruptly opened. A young man’s face, breathless from running, came into view. From his clothes, the doctor soon realised he was no more than a neighbouring servant sent to fetch him. This method to request a visit from him was a common occurrence. Today, however, it was an annoyance. He would send him away. He reached for the door, but the servant blocked his way.
‘Doctor Birch,’ the servant pleaded breathlessly, ‘Sir Robert Pendragon and Lady Pendragon of Carrack House request a visit from you.’ He produced a letter for the doctor to read.
Doctor Birch looked at the envelope in the servant’s trembling hand. ‘Sir Robert Pendragon?’ he repeated, snatching it from him. ‘From Carrack House?’
The servant nodded eagerly.
Doctor Birch efficiently opened it with a square nailed thumb. He had not been asked to attend Carrack House before and the request not only intrigued him, but gave him hope. Doctor Lander usually frequented the place and, if the rumour was right, Lady Pendragon relied upon him heavily for advice on various minor ailments. However, Doctor Lander’s own health was momentarily poor, and this request may be his only opportunity to usurp him. The headed paper sent a quiet thrill through his body.
