“Days?” asked Mrs. Callaghan with raised brows.
“You cannot imagine. I thought I would be torn in two,” added Mrs. Potter with a grimace. “It is a miracle we made it through, and I know it was because I followed a strict lying-in period.”
“I know precisely what you mean,” added Mrs. Baxter with a sage nod. “My physician said he’d never seen a mother struggle for so long with my last child. It felt like a full sennight.”
Mrs. Callaghan drew in a deep breath, her gaze narrowing a touch as she looked at the ladies, and Hettie felt her own irritation simmering beneath the surface. Despite having witnessed it countless times, she would never understand why mothers enjoyed sharing horrific stories of childbirth, especially with those on the verge of the ordeal themselves.
No one ever spoke of averages. It was always the absolute worst of experiences, leaving her a wretched mess in body and soul, or it was the easiest, feeling like little more than a tickle. Childbirth was a badge of honor earned by only those who had the most unique of stories and experiences. Though Mrs. Callaghan’s expression held a hint of disbelief in the wrinkle of her brow, there was enough concern in her gaze that Hettie longed to set the other ladies straight.
What were they thinking? Surely, if anyone would understand the fears facing a first-time mother, it would be those who had already walked that path. Sharing such extremes did not help in the slightest. It left the expectant mothers terrified or unprepared. Irritation bubbled beneath her polite expression, yet Hettie couldn’t let it loose.
The Baxters did not need someone stirring the pot. Grasping onto something that might steer the conversation in better directions, Hettie smiled.
“Isn’t it amazing how varied the experiences of a new mother are? Every lady and every baby is different, and there are plenty who eschew any sort of lying-in before, only resting after the ordeal. In my experience, if Mrs. Callaghan feels up to a dinner party, there is no reason she ought not to partake.”
Mrs. Baxter blinked at Hettie, a slight thread of steel in her voice when she replied, “And what would your experience be in such matters,MissStillwell?”
A laugh nearly slipped past Hettie’s defenses. Mr. Baxter’s daughter-in-law had to be around five and thirty years her junior, meaning that Miss Hettie Stillwell had been a confirmed spinster before Mrs. Camilla Baxter had taken her first breath, and yet she was attempting childish ploys to assert her dominance over Hettie.
For all that Mrs. Baxter comported herself as the lady of the house, this was not her home, and whatever she may believe, she was not Hettie’s superior in any fashion. Though valuable in their own right, motherhood and marriage did not bestow value, and their absence did not detract from a lady’s worth.
But it was rather amusing to see the girl’s attempt to ruffle Hettie’s graying feathers.
“Not only did I assist both of my sisters-in-law in bringing my brothers’ children into this world, but I have been at the bedside of my nieces. To say nothing of the assistance I have given my friends in such times,” replied Hettie. “I may have no personal experience with bringing a child into this world, but one needn’t have birthed a babe to be knowledgeable—else why do so many women rely on physicians during the process?”
Mrs. Baxter’s nose tipped upward, her breath drawing in sharply as she frowned. For all that many ladies still preferred midwives, physicians were far more elite in the eyes of society, and Hettie would wager a tenner that a lady of Mrs. Baxter’s pretension would never settle for less. Both ladies stood there, staring at Hettie.
Thankfully, their pride was spared when the butler returned once more and announced that dinner was served. Those words were like the firing pistol of a horse race; Mrs. Baxter turned to her husband and took his arm, moving as though to lead the guests into supper, and Mr. Goswick hurried to the sofa, holding out a hand to his substitute hostess and helping his sister to her feet. The two couples jockeyed for position, attempting to reach the parlor door first.
When Mr. Goswick arrived in the doorway, he gave his guests a bright smile. “Please, follow me.”
His brother and sister-in-law fell dutifully into place behind him, though the rest of the group did not follow such staid pairings, as Mrs. Tollman and Mrs. Thayer were deep in conversation whilst their husbands and Mr. York did the same. Hettie rose to her feet and followed the other stragglers as they entered the dining room and chose seats.
While opinions on the proper order of a dining room varied, Hettie couldn’t help but wonder if the relaxed approach was more the doing of Mrs. Callaghan, as the makeshift hostess of tonight’s gathering. Mr. Goswick certainly seemed more the type to stand on precedent, especially when it came to his elder brother.
Host and hostess were seated on opposite ends of the table, and the Baxters had taken what some deemed the place of honor beside them, though most everyone else was far more occupied with their conversations to give it much thought. With narrowed looks exchanged between brothers and the general irritation emanating from Mrs. Baxter and aimed toward Mrs. Callaghan (though the latter gave it no mind), it promised to be quite an awkward evening.
Delightful.
As there were no two empty seats together, there was nothing she could do to ensure a place at Mr. Baxter’s side, though she wasn’t certain he would welcome it at any rate. No crying over spilt milk, as they said, so Hettie ignored it all and selected an empty chair, and when Mr. Baxter joined them, he slipped into a seat farther down.
The table was filled with dishes, the surface overflowing with a delectable selection: roasted turkey breast with lemon and liver, oven-roasted cod with seafood gravy, venison pie, boiled herb dumplings, fricassee of rabbits, stewed pigeon, and asparagus rolls, to name a few. In the center stood a myriad of yule candles, providing a veritable conflagration amongst the food, the shiny holly leaves catching the light like a mirror.
The gathering was intimate enough that they could enjoy discussions as a whole, but large enough that smaller conversations were common as well, and most had decided upon the latter. Thankfully, there was enough on the table to keep Hettie’s attention, for she wasn’t seated anywhere near her family or silent friend. Though Mr. York and Mrs. Thayer on either side were amiable people, they were more occupied with other conversations than with the stranger seated between them, which suited Hettie.
A host usually waited for entertainment until after the dinner, but Mr. Goswick and his elder brother were quite content to provide ample diversions, though it was far more of the discomforting variety. At every chance, the latter attempted to force attention on himself, ignoring the fact that he was not in the host’s chair, and Mr. Goswick rose to the bait, wresting control away. Though mostly subtle, it was not lost on Hettie (nor, likely, the rest of the guests) that something was amiss between the pair.
As it didn’t seem in Mr. Baxter’s nature to do so, Hettie doubted their father had given preferential treatment to one or the other; unfortunately, it was a fact of life that an heir was given more by nature of his birth. His occupation was established from the moment he drew his first breath, and there was never any question as to his prominence in the family or his station in life. The eldest son was to be the head of the family once the former patriarch passed; it was expected, and Hettie couldn’t think of anyone who questioned such a thing.
But when a younger son was elevated, inheriting a fortune that was greater than that of his elder brother (as was the case with Mr. Goswick), it was bound to cause tension, as much of the power in the family came from holding the purse strings. Nothing stoked such fires like resentment, and there was an ample amount on both sides.
Understandable, yet it would be preferable if they did not insist on waging their wars in public.
With Mr. Baxter seated on the same side of the table but several places down, Hettie couldn’t see the gentleman’s expression, though she couldn’t help but wonder about his feelings on the subject. No doubt, it was difficult to see the two at odds, but with the gentleman’s heart so fragile at present, she wasn’t going to ask him. Not now, at any rate, but certainly when he was feeling himself once more.
Casting that question to the back of her thoughts, Hettie focused on her food, enjoying the blend of sweet and savory. Mr. Goswick’s cook was talented, to be sure, for the feast was as delicious as the conversation was uncomfortable. Spearing a bite of galantine turkey, Hettie swept it through a stray drip of gravy.
“It is a fine match, don’t you think?” asked Mrs. Thayer.
