by Renée Dahlia
‘Jackson, your jacket. Please remove it, and scrub your hands and arms, as I have just done.’ She dampened a towel, and washed down Harriet’s face. ‘And you there, please get some heated bricks, and some willow bark tea. Does this household have any chloroform, by chance?’ One of the maids rushed out, while another offered to wash Harriet. ‘No. I must insist that only those who have been properly scrubbed touch Mrs Jackson. The latest research shows that cleanliness reduces childbed fever.’
‘Perhaps the maids can leave now,’ said Jackson, still wearing his liveried jacket.
‘Yes.’ She would prefer one of them to stay, for her sake, but soon Mr Howick would leave, and Jackson wouldn’t be employed in the revered job of butler if he wasn’t trustworthy. She would have to take the chance.
‘The less people, the better for Harriet. Off you go now,’ she said.
The door creaked shut, and Jackson removed his jacket. He pushed up his shirt sleeves to reveal strong forearms with deep scarring across the muscles. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to undress in front of the curious maids. Claire continued to wash the old sweat off Harriet’s body, slowly peeling off her clothes as she went. She palpated her stomach, feeling for the baby’s body, and breathed out tensely between her teeth as she discovered too many limbs. One head was in position, but she couldn’t find the other. She hoped that it was behind the other twin. If only there was some way to better see what was happening inside. She stripped back the bedclothes and washed Harriet’s legs as another contraction hit her hard.
‘Roll her onto her side, and place a hot towel on her lower back. The heat should help ease some of the pain,’ she told Jackson.
His face crunched as his wife screamed in agony.
‘That does help,’ whispered Harriet, her first words since Claire had arrived in the room, as Jackson complied with Claire’s order. ‘Maybe not every doctor is bad,’ said Harriet with a small smile, before she drifted back into a doze.
‘Harriet.’ Claire used her sternest voice to wake the young mother-to-be. ‘I know you are tired, and you’ve been working hard, but you are nearly there. I need you to focus now.’ Harriet’s eyes flickered open. ‘I’m just going to wash my hands again, and then I’m going to examine you. Jackson, either stay by her head, or if you want to oversee my examination, you will need to wash.’ She hoped that giving him these options would ease his issues with doctors. And if he’d only ever met old doctors, or the many young egotistical men who she’d studied with, then his reticence wasn’t much of a surprise. Jackson glanced at Harriet with a question in his eyes, so Claire turned away to re-wash herself. It was probably an overreaction, all this washing, but she’d seen the worst of childbed fever and wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
‘Why do you want me to wash?’ asked Jackson.
‘Twenty years ago, research by Lister and his wife suggested that washing reduced the risk of infection in surgery,’ she said.
‘What type of research?’ Jackson’s tense voice came out sharp and tight.
‘I’m not sure exactly, but since his wife did most of the work, I would guess it wouldn’t be harmful. They did publish a case where they helped a boy with a broken leg, and had no infection after surgery,’ she said.
Jackson’s eyebrows knitted together, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Harriet screamed in agony and they both turned to her. Jackson pressed a hot towel to her back, while Claire focused on her work.
‘The baby is crowning. Push now, Harriet. Push.’ Harriet’s screams deepened into a long growl as she pushed and worked. ‘Again. Yes, that’s it.’ Sweat beaded on Claire’s forehead as she monitored Harriet, and encouraged her through the next phase.
‘I need to visit the necessary,’ murmured Harriet.
‘Good. Just push again,’ said Claire. With a long, bone-deep yell, Harriet gave one final push, and the baby’s head slid out into Claire’s hands. She gently helped the baby arrive, with the help of Harriet pushing, and gave the cord a tug. It didn’t budge, and she couldn’t see any evidence that the second baby was in position. She sucked in a shaky deep breath, and placed the first baby on Harriet’s chest.
‘Congratulations. However, the work isn’t done yet,’ she said. She palpated Harriet’s stomach, and eased out a sigh when she felt the second baby ease into the correct position. So far, so good.
‘What is happening? It feels like I need to push again,’ said Harriet. Her quiet voice was weak with exhaustion. Jackson kissed her forehead, while Claire forced her face into an encouraging smile. She paused, and felt their eyes on her, while she stared at Harriet’s stomach.
‘There is another baby,’ she said, unable to think of a better way to deliver such news. She bent down to break the waters for the second baby, and with a huge effort, Harriet delivered the second healthy baby only a few breaths after the first. Claire’s legs wobbled with relief as she cradled the newborn. Twins so often went wrong, especially in a first time mother, that the wave of thankfulness almost consumed her. She passed the baby to Jackson, and grasped the bedsheets for balance.
‘One more push, Harriet,’ she said, while tugging on the two cords. The placentas slid out with her help, and covered the bed in blood. Birth was such a messy business, it was amazing that humans ever managed to survive the process of reproduction.
‘Twins,’ Jackson breathed out, the sole word infused with awe. Claire forced herself to concentrate on her work, and not let all the emotion in the room settle on her. Later, she could enjoy this, when she knew that Harriet would survive. There was still much work to do to ensure that. She grabbed towels, and started to clean Harriet. Fresh blood leaked out, but the colour was good, and the flow not too dreadful.
‘Jackson, could you place the babies with Harriet, and pull the bell? I require a few additional supplies,’ she said. Harriet would need a few stitches, and she wanted to ensure the whole region stayed hygienic to give her the best chance of healing.
A couple of hours later, Claire sunk into a large armchair in a spare room nearby. A gas lamp lit the room with soft light, enough to take the edge of the dark night in an unknown place, but not strong enough that she wouldn’t snooze. The babies, both perfectly formed boys, had demonstrated their excellent lungs, then enjoyed their first feed. They’d been washed, and wrapped up warm by one of the maids, while Claire had finished stitching Harriet. The soiled bedsheets had been changed by the efficient staff. Harriet slept while Jackson watched over the twins, and Claire had left the happy parents alone with their new babies. She let her head loll back on the chair as her own exhaustion hit. Her first successful twin delivery, and thankfully, a textbook case. She tucked her feet up underneath her petticoats, and tried to find a comfortable spot to snooze on this chair. The shuffle of feet ebbed into her sleep, and she eased one eye open. Mr Howick stood in the room, handsome as ever, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his eyes watching her without his glasses to provide some sort of barrier. His gaze slid to her throat, where her pulse flickered. She groaned under her breath as warmth chased away her sleep, and she pulled herself up to sit straight in the chair.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ said Mr Howick, his deep voice rumbling over her skin. ‘Everyone in the house appreciates it. Lady Dalhinge, my mother, is due home tomorrow, and she will be very glad that someone competent was here to help Mrs Jackson.’
‘It’s nothing. I have the training, and I’m here,’ she said.
‘Being a doctor suits you,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Mr Howick. When you get an outcome like this, it’s worth more than all the bad days,’ she said.
‘I don’t believe we need to be so formal with each other. Please call me Ravi,’ he said. His name rolled off his tongue and surrounded her, warm like the blanket she wished she could curl under.
‘Ravi?’ She repeated it as a question, purely so she could taste his name on her tongue.
‘Yes, it’s my preferred name. I would be honoured if you use it.’ He shif
ted from one foot to the other.
‘Ravi. I give you leave to call me Claire,’ she said.
‘Claire.’ He said her name with an awe, as if she’d gifted him something precious. It pushed away the last vestige of her exhaustion, and she leaned towards him.
‘Hold on. You said your preferred name. What exactly do you mean?’ she said.
He grinned. ‘You know what they say about curiosity.’ She grinned back at him, waiting for him to answer her question. ‘Fine. My name is James Ravichandran Howick. James for my grandfather, Ravichandran means sun and moon. My mother chose a name which symbolised hope and consistency. Every day the sun will rise, and people can believe in new beginnings.’ He waggled his head, a movement that allowed her to see the fun-loving youth he would have been, before the world seeped in. Suddenly it didn’t matter that it was nearing morning, and she’d spent all night at work.
‘Oh, that’s fabulous. I’m plain Claire Rachel. My brothers each got amazing old-fashioned names, Wilberforce, Bartholomew and Theophilus. And before you ask, none of them are family names, just Mother’s preference. I suppose she didn’t want to waste interesting names on a girl.’
‘But you said you had only one brother?’
‘The twins, Tolly and Theo, died when they were just five. Just after we arrived in England. It was the measles.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you. It was a long time ago now.’
‘Is that why you became a doctor?’ he asked.
She rubbed her tired eyes, staring blankly at him. It was part of the reason, but she didn’t want to discuss that with anyone just now.
‘I’m tired. Good night.’ She dragged her exhausted body to a standing position, her feet heavy.
‘Come on, Claire,’ he said. He held out his hand for her. ‘Walk with me.’ She managed a slow nod, and reached for his hand. He slid one arm around her waist, and with the other, he tucked her head against his chest. She fit just perfectly. Her body wanted to wrap him around her. She jerked upright. No-one valued the risks she would face as highly as she did. She couldn’t let herself be comforted by him.
‘I can walk myself from here. Thank you,’ she said.
‘You are exhausted. Please let me help. Besides, anyone who treats our unusual household with such care and empathy deserves the same treatment in kind,’ he said.
‘You help me only from obligation?’ she said. He obviously didn’t feel anything like she did. She was right—all the risk was hers. If she let herself feel, she’d lose everything. She squared her shoulders and forced her tired feet to pound down the hallway, away from him and towards her bed. She’d rather sleep than give in to him.
Chapter 10
As Ravi dressed for breakfast the next morning, the flare of lust when he’d seen Claire curled up asleep in that chair still hummed in his veins. How could he have thought her plain when they’d first met? She was extraordinary. The soft light of the gas lamp had cast shadows over her face, each one illuminating her beauty. Her full lips and wide mouth slightly parted as she snoozed. He licked his lips to rid himself of the aching need to press his mouth against hers. Every time they’d spoken, they’d argued on even ground, except the world kept tilting as his admiration for her grew. And last night, his chest swelled with pride as she’d raced to help Mrs Jackson without any of the nonsense they were usually subjected to. Of course, they were safe in his brother’s household, but the harsh world occasionally ebbed in no matter how much Sanjay tried to protect everyone. Claire eased that concern in such a natural way, full of empathy, that his desire for her grew until it threatened to burn a hole right through him as her competence continued to be unveiled.
He fastened his jacket, and strode towards the small breakfast room near the kitchen. He wanted to know why she held herself apart from the world. It couldn’t be just her profession, or the trials she must’ve been through to get this far, it felt deeper than that. She was a puzzle that he needed to solve. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, Claire and Wil arrived from the other direction.
‘Good morning.’ He wanted to offer his arm for her to rest her hand on, but hesitated, unsure if she would accept anything construed as help. Instead, he waved it in the direction of the breakfast room.
‘You will love the breakfast room, Claire.’ Wil’s voice rang out in the enclosed space. ‘It has a lovely aspect, and the decorating isn’t puce.’ Ravi glanced between the two of them as Claire’s laugh echoed along the hallway. The sound washed over him, and he desperately needed to feel her lips laugh against his skin. One day. He cleared his throat, but the siblings didn’t appear to notice him.
‘Wil. Mr Howick’s mother probably decorated that room, you should remember to be kind.’
‘Psshh. Dalhinge informed me, in his loftiest tone, that the room had been decorated some time prior to his mother taking up residence.’
‘You didn’t like the pink room?’ asked Ravi. If he’d known, he would have had her moved.
She smiled, easing his concern.
‘The bed was comfortable and warm, that’s all the matters when one is ill. I honestly didn’t notice the décor until Wil mentioned it.’
‘You must have been ill, you usually have a good eye for colour,’ said Wil. She tapped her brother on the shoulder and laughed at him. Ravi slowed his steps, falling behind the siblings, unwilling to intrude.
‘Thank you. Coming from you, that is the greatest of compliments.’
‘Dalhinge has fantastic taste also. I believe it comes from his mother?’ Wil turned to face Ravi.
‘I admire her more for her huge heart and compassion for those in lessor circumstances than ourselves, than for her ability to select furnishings,’ he said.
Claire’s face opened with curiosity shining in her eyes, while Wil curled his top lip and laughed cynically.
‘Oh, don’t be so serious. You and your brother, both.’
‘Wil, remember that you are a guest here. It’s not quite the done thing to insult one’s host,’ said Claire.
Ravi chuckled at her big sister tone, while her brother smiled charmingly—perhaps to hide the flash of hurt that Ravi saw in his eyes. Hurt that a manipulative villain couldn’t possibly possess? Ravi couldn’t place Wil at all.
‘Come now, sister dear, don’t fall back on that polite host business. We are all—’ Wil hesitated, drawing out the pause, ‘—friends here. Besides, I’m far more interested in hearing about Lady Dalhinge. Wasn’t she a royal princess, or something?’
‘A granddaughter of the Maharaja of Thanjavur,’ said Ravi, quietly noting Wil’s effectiveness in changing the subject away from himself. Claire turned towards him with her eyes wide with curiosity, then they flashed, and he leaned forward in anticipation of what she would say.
‘Such illustrious company, Wil. Our grandmother was a mail-order bride,’ she said. Her brother nudged her with his shoulder.
‘Not on Mother’s side—she maintains she is from an old Boston banking family.’
‘Maybe a minor branch. We never did meet those ‘cousins’ of hers when we lived in Titusville.’ They both snorted together.
‘I always wondered about that, especially once Father made his first fortune. They must be a figment of her imagination if she didn’t take the opportunity to gloat to them.’
‘Perhaps she wrote them. Her aspirations took us here instead, and I’m glad of it. I doubt I’d have had the same opportunities in America.’
‘What are you talking about? You had to go to Europe to fulfil your goals,’ said Wil. Ravi leaned forward, he had to know this whole story. He’d had some trouble while studying law, but he’d found friendship with the many students from his mother’s homeland of India who came to England to study. His brother’s position in society also allowed him to avoid the worst trouble. As a young woman in a society that kept women shut in boxes, Claire had travelled away from her home to chase her goals. He opened his mouth to ask if it had been difficu
lt. Of course, it must have been difficult. Perhaps he should ask if it had been lonely, but she waved her hands in front of her and he shut his mouth. Her movement drew his attention to her body, tightly wrapped in a stunning day gown.
‘Never mind me, I’d love to hear more about Lady Dalhinge,’ said Claire. The mention of his mother was an effective halt in his lust.
‘Is there something specific you want to know?’ he asked.
‘You shouldn’t ask that of Claire. Her curiosity will have you answering questions all day,’ said Wil with a laugh. She blinked and he could see her brain working behind those vibrant gold-flecked eyes.
‘I’m not that bad. I just want to know how she came to meet your father, and, well, everything.’ Her words faded at the end of her sentence, while Wil’s smile grew. Ravi could see the unasked question. The one that touched on the complexities of an interracial marriage. The question that everyone wanted answered, but that had no simple answer.
‘The previous Lord Dalhinge, my father, went to India with the East India Company to build a railway line. He fell in love with India before he met my mother, Ahilyabai, and if it wasn’t for the ‘57 Uprising, they probably would’ve stayed.’
‘But what about the estate?’
‘My father was a simple Mister when he went to India, a second son making his fortune.’ Ravi flicked a glance at Claire, pleased to see a pink glow at his dig.
‘I’m so sorry for that comment,’ she said. He waved his hand and grinned at her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wil’s blue eyes flicker between them. The sight sobered him. As much as he wanted to flirt with Claire, he couldn’t do it in front of Wil. Not when he didn’t know Wil’s role in Mr Carlingford’s arrest.
‘No matter. He inherited just before my brother was born, but he didn’t want to leave India, so he hired an estate manager to run everything.’
‘It was the Uprising that sent them home?’
‘Home! It’s not that simple. He loved India. But life is complicated, and after the Uprising, the Crown took over and company men had to find new positions. He probably would have been fine, except that I was conceived and the Maharaja had fallen to the Doctrine of Lapse. The dangers were too great for a young family.’
