Ned stood on Belvoir’s step without admiring the graceful gardens just showing signs of spring awakening that made it one of the most coveted properties in England. Instead, he had a sense of impending doom.
If he was here, Mars would have laughed at Ned’s worries and together they would have made it right. Now he was on his own.
There was nothing left to do except see the patients who had requested Ned’s attention.
He set out to call on the Widow Smethers. The ankle was doing far better today, which gave him hope. Ankle bones could be tricky. He made certain she had a neighbor checking on her and promised to call on the morrow.
He was on his way to his next patient when the Dawson brothers waved him down. They were in their early twenties and not the most industrious of men. He remembered drinking with them the night before. “We hear the matrons are kicking up dust at The Garland,” Mark Dawson said. “Sir Lionel tells us he is outraged. They have no call to enter our domain.”
“We want to know what you are going to do about it, sir,” his brother, William, said. “You are the chairman, no?”
“I am. And I’m going to talk to the magistrate. Until then, you lads mind your manners.”
“Don’t seem right, the ladies taking over,” William grumbled. “Sir Lionel said they just walked right in.”
“Itisn’tright. However, the Logical Men’s Society has standards and we will follow them until the matrons vacate or the magistrate helps us to regain the building.”
“Why?” William wondered.
“Why what?” Ned asked, annoyed.
“Why do we have standards?”
“Because we aregentlemen.” How many times had he said that to them, and they still stared at him as if he had sprouted two heads. Did they not understand how important the distinction was? “And don’t worry. Lord Marsden should return to the area shortly.”
“Won’t be soon enough,” Mark said. “I liked gathering there. Filled the time. Where are we going to drink tonight?”
It was on the tip of Ned’s tongue to suggest Mark attempt reading a book to fill his time, but he knew better. In fact, he’d personally orchestrated the Dawsons’ joining the Logical Men’s Society. The member numbers had been thin, and wanting to have the best possible numbers in the audience for his lectures, Ned had recruited every single male in the parish he could. One could say that he was also responsible for the wicked, drunken turn the Society had taken, as well. He hadn’t overseen things the way he should.
Mars had warned him that he’d been opening the doors too wide. Ned had dismissed the warning as lordly elitism. After all, if someone hadn’t given Ned opportunities, he never would have advanced his station in life, and he’d hoped to encourage the villagers in the same manner. Now he realized guilt was an uncomfortable emotion. And he knew exactly what Mrs. Warbler would have to say about the Society’s current standards.
“When the earl returns, we will right the matter,” Ned repeated. He rode on to his next call for the day—Kate Balfour.
Usually a midwife would take care of parish birthing matters. Unfortunately, the current midwife for the countryside, Mary Thomason, was ancient and had a habit of drinking more than she should. Consequently, Ned had to see to a number of births, and while he didn’t mind playing male midwife in emergencies, he’d rather not. He enjoyed every facet of medicine... but he was keenly aware that the most respected doctors shied away from this sort of practice. Yet, he also liked seeing babies come into the world. So he struggled with wanting to do his best for all of his patients and being that lad who was always judged and found wanting because he didn’t meet the strictures of society. Even for matters that were out of his control, like the circumstances of his birth.
Of course, this baby was different. He would do anything Balfour asked. He just prayed nothing went wrong.
And things could go wrong. Childbirth was dangerous for a woman, especially since Kate was over five and thirty, well past the age of having her first baby.
Ned had suggested Balfour take his wife to London for the birth, but they weren’t interested in leaving Maidenshop. They were in the process of renovating a house that Balfour had purchased and thought it important to stay.
“We want our baby raised here,” Kate had said. “The child should be born here, as well.” So, of course, Ned had agreed to support them in any way possible.
Balfour met Ned in the yard before he could dismount. “Thank God you are here.” He was a tall, dark-haired, handsome man. “Kate has been very tense. The baby is kicking.”
“That is a good sign.”
“I keep telling myself it is. Did you hear of the mother in Thorpton who died of childbed fever last week?”
Ned had heard, and he was sorry they had learned of it. Thorpton was a neighboring village some ten miles away. The mother had been in the hands of the local women—not a midwife, and not a doctor, either. Even though the husband had reached out to Ned at the last minute, it was, by then, too late.
As a physician, he lived closely with death. Still, nothing was more heartbreaking than the loss of a young mother so soon after her child was born. Oftentimes, no one understood whatcaused those tragic deaths, except childbirth was not easy. Balfour wanted assurances Ned didn’t feel comfortable making. Some physicians, he knew, could offer platitudes, but he could not. This was one of his shortcomings, which he liked to believe was also a strength.
“Let’s take a look at her,” he said instead, and Balfour ushered him in.
Kate waited for them in the privacy of the library. It had recently been painted and was sparsely furnished. The Balfours had planned a trip to London to purchase furniture once the baby was born and Kate could travel again. She sat on the room’s only upholstered chair with her feet resting on a footstool.
Some women glowed when they were pregnant. Kate appeared tired and she had several weeks to go.
