Deryn Lake: Death at the Wedding Feast

‘And has she…’

‘Oh yes, indeed, my dear John. Come upstairs and meet your… No, I shall hold you in suspense a moment or two longer. Shall we go?’

Feeling that he was running the gauntlet of emotion, John found that his legs were trembling as he followed Lady Sidmouth’s comfortable form up to the first floor. ‘Have I a son or a daughter?’ he asked, his voice sounding strange even to his own ears.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Wait and see.’

They entered a small corridor and went straight to the end where Lady Sidmouth threw open a door to permit a beautiful view of the pounding sea. But it was not to the sea that John’s eyes were drawn. Instead he saw to his amazement that a strange man was inside, holding a small baby in his arms and examining it carefully. Before John could utter, Lady Sidmouth made the introduction.

‘Dr Hunter, allow me to present to you Mr John Rawlings, an apothecary of London.’

Where one moment John had stood askance wondering what was going on, now he bowed deeply. ‘Dr Hunter, the honour is entirely mine. Your name is spoken of with ringing tones throughout the medical profession.’

For he was standing in the presence of one of the most eminent men of his day, physician extraordinary to Queen Charlotte and the man who had brought obstetrics out of the domain of the midwife and into the general stream of medical practice. John bowed a second time. It was the greatest respect he could pay. Still not knowing what sex the child was that Dr Hunter was holding, he said, ‘Is it a boy or a girl, Sir? I really would like to know.’

William Hunter grinned widely. ‘He is a boy — and so is the other one.’

John’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’

‘Yes Sir, Lady Elizabeth was delivered of twins by Caesarean section. I performed the operation myself and now she is stitched up neat as you please.’

The Apothecary was released from his trance and rushed to look at both his sons. Hunter handed him the child he had been holding and John lifted the other one up from his cot. Two pairs of eyes regarded him solemnly, neither smiling nor frowning, simply looking at him as they might any other individual. With neither of them did he have the experience he had had with Rose. That great yet indefinable feeling that they had always known one another.

‘I take it you are the father, Sir?’ asked William in his gentle Scots accent.

John looked up. ‘Yes, Sir, I must admit I am.’

‘Well, you’ve a handful to look after then.’

The Apothecary pulled a wry face. ‘I don’t know about that, Sir. It all depends on Lady Elizabeth.’

Lady Sidmouth said firmly, ‘I do not feel the nursery is a suitable place for such a conversation, gentlemen. You may continue it downstairs. Now put the twins down, John. They need their sleep.’

There was no arguing with the woman; she was the kind who would order the Queen’s physician about and he would meekly obey, as he now did. But John turned in the doorway and suddenly rushed back to the two cribs standing side-by-side. The twins had indeed fallen asleep, their long dark lashes standing out against the fresh white pillowcases which cradled their heads. They were both black-haired — like their mother — but John thought he could see something of himself about their faces. But whoever they resembled, one fact stood out plainly — they were identical.

John leant over swiftly and kissed each baby on its downy cheek. ‘Hello, my son,’ he said to one after the other, then he straightened up and joined Lady Sidmouth and the doctor as they made their way downstairs.

During the conversation over a glass of sherry, when he could speak to Dr William Hunter frankly — Lady Sidmouth having bustled off somewhere — John was told the entire story of Elizabeth’s travail. It seemed that she had gone to take tea with Lady Sidmouth and the mysterious dark waters of the womb had ruptured, at which her hostess had ordered her to bed and refused to let her travel another step.

‘But how did you come into it, Sir? Are you of Lady Sidmouth’s acquaintance?’

‘No, but my brother is.’

‘John Hunter, the renowned surgeon?’

‘The same. He has a small country estate not far away — it was left to him by our uncle and John often asks me down for a short break in my routine. Well, a servant of Lady Sidmouth’s arrived at his house and explained the situation. Said that the labour was growing difficult, the midwife suspecting there might be a breach presentation. Naturally, I attended at once, and after an examination believed there could well be twins. So, somewhat reluctantly I might add but in view of the mother’s age, I performed a Caesarian and out came your two little boys. But I stitched Lady Elizabeth’s abdomen back with the greatest care, Mr Rawlings, I can assure you of that.’

‘How has she taken all this? Will she really recover?’

Dr Hunter took a small sip of sherry and allowed himself a smile. ‘She is one of the strongest women I have ever come across, Sir. She has a body like steel caused by years of riding and exercise. She is not milk and sugar like many women today but more red wine and spice. We must wait to see if any infection sets in and then I think we can safely say that she will survive.’

‘If you have no objection I would like to give her a decoction of Feverfew.’

‘You have some on you?’

‘No, but I can ride to Exeter tomorrow and have a mixture made up.’

For the first time since their meeting Dr Hunter looked slightly superior. ‘If you think that it might do good, then by all means do so. It will do no harm at any rate.’

John said nothing, thinking that it was to Dr Hunter’s skill and kindness that he owed the birth of his sons and the safe delivery of Elizabeth. His sons! The words suddenly struck him and he felt a broad smile cross his face. Those two angelic beings upstairs were his progeny, his blood, his bone.

William Hunter saw him smile and said, ‘I am sure that you are very happy with the outcome.’

‘I am indeed, Dr Hunter. And it is all thanks to you. I think you probably saved Elizabeth’s life — as well as that of my boys.’

Again he grinned. Even saying ‘my boys’ gave him pleasure.

‘Well, puerperal fever will appear tomorrow if it is going to appear at all. But be assured, Mr Rawlings, I washed my hands thoroughly in soap and water before I started to operate.’

John knew that many doctors thought this an unnecessary precaution but it was one in which he fervently believed, having been taught by his old Master, Mr Purefoy, that in the future this would be the coming thing.

Lady Sidmouth popped her head around the door. ‘Elizabeth is awake and is asking for you, Mr Rawlings.’

He stood up, bowed to Dr Hunter and followed her upstairs to a room opposite the nursery. Opening the door, he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. The Marchesa sat propped against the pillows in a large bed, very modern, and obviously imported from France where the fashion was just gaining ground. Gone were the tester and the carved wooden poles supporting it. In its place was a large curving bedhead made of walnut adorned with floral garlands, draped ribbons, scrolling waves and acanthus leaves. Against all this splendour, pale, with her long black hair loose about the shoulders of her white nightgown, sat Elizabeth herself.

John bowed so low that his hair swept the floor, then knelt beside the bed and took one of her long tapering hands in his.

‘Oh my darling,’ was all he could think of saying.

She looked at him and though he could see the lines of fatigue around her eyes, they still had the same sparkle in their depths.

‘What on earth are you wearing?’ she said.