With a little laugh, Mrs. Whitten settled back in her chair. “Mrs. Hamilton should more properly be styled Lady Vincent, wife of Sir David Vincent. They are the Prince Regent’s glamourists.”
Mrs. Ransford nearly choked on her tea. “Not the Sir David!”
“Yes.” Jane cleared her throat. “However, the new Earl of Verbury asked my husband to come here as a brother, so I should prefer it if you would continue to call us Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton.”
Mrs. Ransford shook her head, resting her hand against her bosom. “I am appalled that I invited you to assist me. But of course, you and your husband should have charge of the entire glamural—if you are willing, of course. I hope that such an assignment is not beneath you after the work you did at Carlton House. I did not see it, but a dear friend in London sent me a souvenir brochure of your last New Year’s fête and the illustrations alone made it seem a wonder.”
“I am cross that Mr. Pridmore did not tell me. Really, it is quite thoughtless of him.” Mrs. Pridmore brightened. “Oh! Might we prevail on you to favour us with a little glamour today?”
To announce in this room that she was unable to perform glamour would be the same as painting a banner and marching through the streets of London with the news that she was with child. Jane ducked her head and turned the spoon over in her fingers. Nkiruka had said that a little glamour was safe. Could she chance it?
She could not. One voice saying that it was safe could not undo the accrued wisdom of the best British doctors. She turned the spoon again, the silver flashing bright against the dull black of her dress. Her black mourning dress. “Ah—” Jane lifted her head, relieved to have an answer that would serve. “I wish I could oblige you, but alas, we are still in mourning. Until the term has passed, we are not performing glamour.”
As the women accepted her reason with good grace and many apologies, Jane felt much safer than she had since the topic first arose. She had never thought she would have reason to be grateful to be in mourning, but in this instance, she very much was.
Twelve
A Matter of Timing
On Thursday, Jane and Louisa walked down to the slave huts carrying new clothes for Nkiruka and some treats for the children. Dolly sat on one of the benches with a young girl whom Jane had not previously seen. In fact, when she thought upon it, she had seen no one in these quarters who was not of advanced years or extremely young. The girl appeared to be perhaps sixteen and had her leg propped up on a log. A tidy bandage, shockingly white amidst all the dust, wrapped around her calf.
She had a pile of reeds in her lap and was handing them to Dolly, who had the beginning of a basket constructed in her lap. As Jane and Louisa entered the central yard, Dolly looked up and gave a little nod.
Jane gestured to the bandage on the girl’s leg. “May I take it the doctor is here?”
“Inside.” Dolly nodded towards the girl’s bandage. “Good thing, too.”
Jane was aghast to understand that medical emergencies would have gone unattended were it not for her own selfish needs. “Is there anyone else that needs attention?”
“Ole Pappy, he ask why he tired all the time.” She snorted. “He old! Sent him to bed. He can sleep just fine out here. Better. Too hot inside. No breeze.”
“And Nkiruka?”
“She inside. With Amey.”
Jane turned to Louisa, who had acquired a trail of children. “I think I may just step in to see how this doctor is doing. Would you distribute the peppermint sticks?”
“I scarcely think I have any choice, madam.” Louisa smiled down at the youngest girl and tugged one of her braids.
“Well, we would not want to keep them waiting. I shall just take the clothes in to Nkiruka and have a word with the doctor.” Jane took the package from Louisa and left her with the children.
Through the door, the interior of the hut looked completely black. Jane stared at it stupidly for a moment before understanding. A glamour had been laid across the doorway to obscure the interior. It was only a crude stretch of black, designed to convince the eye that the interior was not lighted, but it cut so sharply across the door that not even the dirt floor inside was visible. If the interior were actually dark, then there would be a few feet lit by the glow of the exterior. This was nothing but black.
Jane paused by the door. “Nkiruka? May I come in?”
After a moment, Nkiruka’s head abruptly appeared in the middle of the darkness. Jane embarrassed herself by letting out a small yelp of surprise. The older woman chuckled. Jane could hardly blame her for being amused. It was absurd. She beckoned Jane. “Come in. Expecting you.”
Stepping through the glamour, Jane needed a moment to orient to the interior of the hut. Her eyes had been confused by the glamour into expecting a completely dark room, and while it was darker than the yard, the rough-cut windows on each wall let in plenty of light. Jane assumed that they were also obscured by glamour from the outside, which made good sense for a temporary examination room. Rough wooden beams lifted the roof into a high peak. Thatch made from palm fronds was visible in the broad gaps between the boards. There were no walls breaking the space into separate chambers, so it was easy to find Amey lying on a low litter, with a well-dressed woman seated beside her on one of the crude benches. They spoke in low voices about the frequency of Amey’s courses and diet.
The woman wore an India-print day dress in a rich salmon patterned with twisting vines, which was a sharp contrast to Amey’s threadbare shift. In an effort to distract herself from overhearing the conversation, Jane handed Nkiruka the sturdy calico gowns she had brought. “There are two dresses for you and one for Amey.”
Nkiruka fingered the cloth and nodded. “Good, good.”
That part of her errand accomplished, Jane peered around the room for the doctor. “Where is he?”
“Who?”
“The doctor.”
Nkiruka laughed, a deep belly laugh that twisted her wrinkles so that they completely hid her eyes. “Hey, doctor!”
The well-dressed woman peered over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Jane gaped. “But you are a woman.”
“Also coloured. You may as well express surprise about that whilst you are about it.” She appeared to be between thirty and forty and was very attractive; her figure was rather small and slender, and her whole appearance expressive of health and animation. In complexion she was a clear brunette with a rich colour; she had full round cheeks, with mouth and nose small, and well-formed dark eyes. Black hair formed natural curls close round her face.
“I beg your pardon. I had not realised that a woman could be a doctor. I have been intolerably rude.”
“As I could not be admitted to any current institution, your surprise is understandable. ‘Doctor’ is a courtesy title. Most white people call me Jones.” She turned back to Amey and dipped her hands into a basin of water. She then lifted Amey’s dress. Jane found it necessary to study the window. “There is a white doctor for the white people, but I find enough employment among the blacks and coloureds. Most of my work is childbirth and sugarcane injuries.”
“Like the young woman outside?”
“Correct. Amey, roll onto your left side for me … good. Thank you.” After a moment, she continued. “I understand that your husband is interested in making some reforms, Mrs. Hamilton.”
“Oh. Yes, we both are.” Jane was not certain how the doctor would have heard about that, but she supposed that it was a small island.
“Mm … may I suggest then that you consider having an hospital built for the Greycroft estate? Monk Lewis, here in Antigua, had one installed, and found that it increased his productiveness due to the reduction in the amount of time it took slaves to recover. I would be happy to send the documentation around for Mr. Hamilton’s consideration.” She sighed, followed by the sound of water splashing. “Well, Amey, you show no signs of dilation, and the baby has not turned, so I think you have a while yet. You will send for me when the bearing pains are hal
f an hour apart. Do you have a means of telling time?”
Nkiruka said, “Frances built a sundial on the wall of his house. Amey’s youngest boy can keep watch when the time comes.”
“Good.” Cloth rustled and the wooden bench creaked. “Mrs. Hamilton, you may look again. We are all decent now.”
Jane blushed, but turned.
The doctor smiled as she helped Amey lever her swollen figure off the litter. “My apologies, Mrs. Hamilton, for my brusque manner. I am sometimes too attentive to my work to be suited for polite society. I am grateful to you for arranging this visit.”
“Oh, well, Frank did all the arranging.”
“But you made the request. It has been months since I have been called here. Not since the last time the boiler blew.” She nodded towards Amey. “May I assume that you are willing to have me sent for when it is her time?”
“Absolutely. And with any of the other women who are approaching their lying-in. We will also see about an hospital.”
“Forgive me if I feel that would be too good to be true, but it does lead to an indisputable improvement in production. I honestly do not understand why plantation owners are so reluctant. Less sick time. More live births. Fewer permanent injuries.… It makes economic sense, even if they are indifferent in humane reasons.”
“All of which are irresistible arguments.” Jane took in a breath and held it for a moment. “Now … I must ask your assistance with a matter requiring some discretion.”
The doctor raised her eyebrows, waiting.
“May I ask you to examine me?”
Without a moment of hesitation, the doctor’s gaze dropped to Jane’s midriff and her eyes narrowed slightly. Looking back up, her expression was carefully blank. “The late earl kept a white surgeon on call, Sir Ronald. He might be more appropriate.”
The difficulty was in explaining why she did not wish to go to Sir Ronald, without mentioning that the late Lord Verbury was very much alive. Jane wet her lips and made an attempt. “For a variety of reasons, neither my husband nor I wish to consult with Sir Ronald. We also do not wish anyone to know that…” It had to be said, and the doctor had clearly guessed. “We wish to keep the fact that I am with child a secret for as long as possible.”
“Hence the long stays.”
“Correct.”
“I should advise against wearing them. The busk compresses the womb.”
Involuntarily, Jane put her hand to her stomach. Her heart gave a kick as though it were an infant lodged in her chest. “I have not hurt the baby, have I?”
“Likely not…” Dr. Jones looked at Jane’s middle again and appeared to make a decision. With a quick shake of her head, she gestured to the litter. “Well. Shall we see?”
With practised ease, she helped Jane out of her dress, petticoat, and the long stays until Jane stood in only her chemise. Without the confines of the boning, her stomach, though small compared to Amey’s, was still quite pronounced. With a glance at each other, Amey and her mother took up a station by the door, watching Louisa. Beads of sweat trickled down Jane’s back.
She swallowed. “I am grateful to you for your attention. We have been wanting medical advice, given my history, but with our travels it has been difficult.”
“Of course. Lie down, please, and let us see how things lie.” The doctor indicated the pallet.
Jane’s skin itched at the thought of touching the rumpled, dirty fabric. She reprimanded herself and sat on the edge of the pallet. This was where Amey slept, and Jane had not found that exceptional. The rough patchwork sheet itched against her bare arms as she lay back. Bits of dried grass found their way through the fabric to sting her skin. At least, she would prefer to believe that it was grass.
The doctor slid Jane’s chemise up, exposing her stomach to the open air. Gripping the sheet with both hands, Jane counted the wooden beams in the ceiling.
“Now, you said ‘your history’ … may I take it that you have had some difficulty?” The doctor’s hands were warm as she pressed against Jane’s sides.
“I—I miscarried some years ago.”
“How far along were you then?”
“Nearly five months. It was … we were in the Netherlands when Napoleon escaped from Elba. I had been running, and working glamour.” Jane bit her lip before continuing. “My husband and I have been devoted to our marital duties, but it has been nearly three years.”
“Hm…”
Her hands moved lower, and Jane discovered that in addition to the sixteen main supports, there were fifty-four smaller crossbeams holding up the thatch. “One of the questions we have is how far along I am. I was sick constantly with my first, and became ill again while we were at sea on the way here. I am not ordinarily prone to that, so we thought perhaps two to three months. But on Monday, the baby started kicking.”
“When was your last cycle?”
“It was while we were on the way to Vienna.… We were in Udine, so … December the first? I truly do not keep careful count, as I am quite irregular.”
“Hm.” The doctor sat back and dipped her hands in the basin. “You may get dressed again.”
Jane fairly scrambled to her feet, without waiting for the offer of a hand. She was not so ponderous as to need assistance. Yet. She picked up her long stays and faced the wall for the illusion of privacy as she dressed. “Is it all right to put this back on?”
“Today, yes. But I do not want you wearing it after this.” She stood behind Jane and began working the lace through its eyelets. “It sounds to me as if you were simply seasick on the voyage. It is not unusual for pregnancy to make the body reject things it otherwise tolerated.”
“Can you tell how far along I am?”
“Given when your last course was, it seems likely that you are twenty-two weeks along. It is customary to reckon forty-two weeks from the last act of menstruation, by which method, if we are rightly instructed, I would put your parturition as the seventh of September.”
Twenty-two weeks! That put her firmly in the middle of her fifth month. Thinking, Jane drew her petticoat over her head. “So am I likely to be sick again if we were to take ship anywhere? I was rather hoping it was morning sickness.”
The doctor tightened the lace at the back of the petticoat. “With your history, I would not recommend travel by sea. Or any travel, truly, but the vomiting is what I am most concerned about.”
Not travel? But she had to get Vincent away from this place. “What about glamour? I have been abstaining so as not to risk a miscarriage. Have you an opinion on the connection between the two?
Sighing, the doctor handed Jane her gown. “The prevailing school of thought is that it is not safe for the mother, but … if it were a certain way of aborting a pregnancy, I would have significantly fewer births to attend to.”
“My understanding was that the number of births was low.”
“Louisa looking for you.” Nkiruka had been sitting so quietly that Jane had quite forgotten she was in the room.
Jane brushed her hands down her dress, hoping everything was in order. “Thank you so much. All of you. May I continue to rely on your discretion?”
“Of course.” The doctor inclined her head. “Though you will not be able to hide for much longer.”
Jane was aware of that. Having been briefly out of the stays, she felt their confinement all the more. She paused by Amey. “When it is your time, make certain I know as well, please.”
The young woman nodded, but looked strangely angry. Jane could not imagine why, after she went to the trouble of getting a doctor for her. Perhaps she was merely uncomfortable on the wooden bench. Her mother patted the pile of clothes between them. “These good.… Maybe a new blanket for the baby?”
Jane looked back at the rough pallet. “That shall be my next order.”
* * *
Jane had to wait until after dinner that evening before Vincent was free to speak with her. The day had taken him to St. John’s for further study of Antigua’s lega
l code, and he had not returned to the great house until the sun sank below the horizon. While they dined together, the presence of Zeus, who was serving dinner, kept their talk confined to simple, public things.
Jane suspected that their haste to leave the table made it appear as though they were intent upon amorous congress. In truth, though, when they retired to their rooms at last, Vincent shut the door and immediately said, “Did you see the doctor?”
“I did. To be brief: five and a half months, which means a September lying-in. And … she recommends that I should not travel.”
His face tightened with circumspection. “Is something the matter?”
“No—or, rather, she thinks that I was seasick and that another ocean voyage would be ill-advised.” Jane sighed and reached up to smooth the worry lines from Vincent’s face. “I have been thinking on this, and have a suggestion.”
“We cannot go to England.”
“Are you going to listen to my idea, or would you prefer to panic on your own?”
He rewarded her with half a smile. “I will listen to my Muse, always.”
“Jamaica is not so far away that my health would be at risk. It is large enough to have a good doctor, and it gets us away from here.”
He nodded slowly. “And we would not have to wait for the next packet ship.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You are exceedingly clever.”
“May we leave tomorrow?”
He rubbed his hair into a mess. “Shall I help you out of your dress?”
Oh, but it was never good when he changed the subject that openly. Jane sighed, to let him know that she was fully aware of his contrivance and that she would tolerate it for a few minutes. He cleared his throat in understanding. Jane turned and let her husband pick the ties of her dress loose. His fingers were not shaking, at least. He helped her pull the muslin over her head and dropped it on a chair next to them. Her petticoat followed after that, and then he worked the corset lace free.
With a sigh, Jane slipped her long stays off and hung them over a chair back, glad to be able to breathe at last. Sliding his arms around her, Vincent rested his head against hers. “Would you be willing to go to Jamaica without me?”
Of Noble Family Page 13
