Laurie Alice Eakes - [Midwives 01] Read online

  Dominick thudded the basin onto the table. “That young lady needs some lessons in decorum.”

  “She’s got an eye for you.” Deborah nearly doubled over laughing. “Never saw the like, a lady flirting with a servant.”

  “She recognizes quality.” Dinah tossed her head. “But Reverend Downing would be well served to marry that one off again soon.”

  “Again?” Dominick paused. “She’s a widow?”

  “Two and twenty and recently out of mourning.” Letty spooned gravy into a bowl. “She was downcast, so her parents sent her here to the seaside for the summer.”

  “The only thing she’s cast down,” Deborah said, “is her handkerchief for Mr. Cherrett.”

  Dominick’s cheeks grew warm. “Don’t be absurd, Deb.”

  “Stop gossiping about the guests and take in the next course,” Letty directed.

  Dominick lifted the roast and carried it into the dining room. The niece tried to catch his eye again, but he kept his own gaze downcast and set the meat on the sideboard.

  “When do the senators arrive?” Reverend Downing was asking.

  Apparently talk about the butler had been brief. Dominick doubted that would have been the situation if Kendall knew how his butler ended up in Virginia.

  Dominick picked up the carving knife.

  “Tuesday or Wednesday,” Kendall answered. “If the fine weather holds. But I’ll see they come to church on Sunday.”

  Dominick steadied the roast with a fork held in one hand and positioned the knife in the other hand for the first cut, the well-done end piece that would go to Mrs. Downing, as she preferred her meat nearly burned, according to Letty.

  “Why doesn’t your midwife go to church?” Mrs. Lee asked. “I hear talk she’s a heathen.”

  Dominick stood still, knife poised above the roast. He was glad the woman had chosen to talk of someone besides him, but asking about Tabitha surprised him into waiting for the answer.

  “She’s lost a number of important people in her life over the past few years.” Kendall spoke slowly, as though thinking over each word. “She stopped going after her grandmother died year before last, leaving her alone in the world except for her servants.”

  “The poor woman,” Mrs. Lee murmured. “You should invite her to dinner, Uncle.”

  “You’re right, Phoebe.” Reverend Downing cleared his throat. “I get so busy with my regular parishioners, I can often neglect others in the town in need. Dinner it is.”

  “Speaking of dinner . . .” Kendall’s chair creaked. “Are we going to enjoy any of that roast, Mr. Cherrett?”

  “Yes, of course, sir.” Ears hot beneath his powdered hair, Dominick fixed his attention on the roast. Picturing the ham, he jerked the knife downward into the tender roast. The blade struck bone, deflected, and drove the point into the palm of his other hand.

  6

  ______

  Blood spurted. He gasped and dropped his utensils with a clatter.

  “My apologies,” he managed with all the stoical training life with his father had taught him. He grabbed a serviette from the sideboard, wrapped it around his hand, and exited the now silent dining room with his back straight and head up.

  In the kitchen, he collapsed onto a chair and fought a wave of nausea. “I’d be better at farming than butling.”

  “Mercy.” Letty dropped her stirring spoon. “What have you done?”

  “Added a bit of my claret to your fine roast.” Dominick grimaced. “And possibly ruined everyone’s appetites.”

  “Let me see.” Letty took his hand in both of hers and unwound the cloth.

  Blood welled from the gash.

  “That’s a bad one, not big, but deep.” She pressed the serviette to the cut again. “Deborah, remove the roast. They’ll have to do with just the fish. Dinah, run for Miss Eckles.”

  “Miss Eckles indeed.” Dominick lowered his head to his uninjured hand and started to laugh.

  “He’s gone all over funny,” Deborah cried. “Should we make him lie down or something?”

  “I’m all right.” Dominick forced himself to be quiet.

  He could never explain to the girl how hard he’d been trying to see Miss Eckles, how he’d joked with himself about breaking a leg or catching a fever. He should have simply cut himself earlier and been done with the matter.

  “I doubt Miss Eckles will want her Sunday dinner interrupted.” He smelled blood, not Letty’s excellent cooking. His stomach churned.

  At least this time the blood belonged to him and not some misguided defender of the guilty.

  “Your roast is too tender, Letty,” he said to keep his mind off his throbbing and bleeding hand. “I cut it too hard like the ham.”

  “You weren’t distracted by Mrs. Lee?” Deborah tossed over her shoulder as she snatched up the fish platter and headed for the dining room.

  The aroma of shrimp stuffed with crab meat wafted past Dominick’s nose. His nostrils flared, and his stomach came close to rebelling. “She’s one to talk,” he grumbled.

  “You’re not flattered?” Letty brought a clean serviette to wrap around his hand.

  “Of course I’m flattered.” Dominick managed a smile. “I’m human. But I am not in America to commence a liaison with an inappropriate female.”

  Except he was a liar. Of course he would start a liaison with an inappropriate female if it served his end.

  “And what sort of female would be appropriate?” Letty held his gaze for a moment, then left him to draw a pie from the oven.

  Dominick welcomed the distraction from his throbbing hand, if not the topic.

  “‘Appropriate’ would be my social equal, of course.” He injected as much flippancy as he could into his tone.

  Letty snorted. “Haven’t you worked it out yet, laddie? Deborah and Dinah are your social equals here.”

  “But I won’t be here—” He broke off. He didn’t know how long he would be there. Not permanently, that was for certain, and he wouldn’t take an American-born lady back to England with him, even if he had to serve out his four years. He’d already dishonored his family enough.

  “Kendall’s likely to send me to a plantation to weed tobacco, or whatever the crop is,” Dominick finished. “I’ve just made amok of his precious dinner with a concession to the Lee family, whoever they are.”

  “Never you mind about that.” Letty returned with a cloth soaked in cold water. “This might help. And about Mrs. Downing, she doesn’t care about her family connections. She serves God with her husband, not politicians.”

  “How peculiar.” Dominick grimaced. “I’ve rarely met—”

  The dining room door swished open and Deborah swept through. “Everyone is concerned about you, Mr. Cherrett. Shall I tell them you are in good hands?”

  He would be. Soft little hands with long, narrow fingers. If she ever got there. If she got there before the spots in his eyes turned to total blackness.

  It was just a little cut. A little cut with a lot of blood and even more pain. After all his knife throwing with his uncle, he’d cut himself on a mere carving knife.

  But the sight of Tabitha Eckles striding through the doorway made the injury worth every throbbing moment. She wore a plain blue gown and white kerchief around her shoulders. Her hair shone beneath a cap with a single frill to adorn it, softening the angles of her face.

  And he still wanted to kiss that point of hair in the center of her forehead.

  He smiled. “See the lengths I go to so I can see you again, Miss Eckles?”

  “You can’t have too serious an injury if you can talk such nonsense, Mr. Cherrett.” Her tone was brisk. She glanced around the kitchen. “You’re in the middle of serving dinner, I see. I’ll take your manservant into the kitchen garden.”

  He’d have suggested his room if he thought he could climb the steps. But just rising from the chair proved difficult. He gripped the edge of the worktable with his good hand and hauled himself up. Dizzy, he swayed, waiting for
the room to stop spinning.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Deborah asked. “You’ve gone as pale as my apron.”

  “Perfectly fine. I should be back in time to serve the pudding.” Dominick managed a smile.

  “Your brains are the pudding if you think that.” Tabitha slipped her forearm beneath his. “Has he lost a great deal of blood?”

  “Apparently enough.” Letty began to slice into the pie, sending the aroma of raisins and cinnamon around the kitchen.

  Dominick leaned on the midwife’s arm. “I don’t like blood, especially when it’s mine.”

  “Then we’ll stop it,” Tabitha said.

  She proved to be a strong woman, easily steadying him on their way outside into the warm sunshine and fragrant herb garden. A puff of air smelling of the sea blew into Dominick’s face, reviving him like a whiff of hartshorn.

  He sank onto the bench. “I apologize for interrupting your Sunday dinner, ma’am.”

  “It isn’t the first time a meal has been interrupted.” She settled beside him and took his hand in hers. “It won’t be the last.”

  “This town needs a surgeon or apothecary.”

  “I’ll still be getting interrupted.” She began to unwind the makeshift bandage. “Babies don’t wait until I’m done eating.”

  “A pity.”

  For what, he didn’t know. Air struck his wound and pain shot up his arm. As she probed the gash with fingers as gentle as breaths, he fixed his gaze on what he could see of her face—the smooth, creamy brow with that intriguing peak of hair that lent her features their heart shape. The way her golden brown lashes shielded her eyes when her head was bent. A wrinkle in the center of her cap, as though it had been ironed inexpertly or in a hurry.

  A pucker formed between her winged brows. “The bleeding is slowing, but I need to stitch this. Can you bear the discomfort?”

  “I did the last time.”

  “The last time?” Her head shot up, her blue eyes questioned him. “You’ve cut yourself before?”

  “It wasn’t a cut.” And he wouldn’t have said a word if he didn’t feel so lightheaded.

  “A gunshot?” she asked.

  “You don’t need to know to treat me.” His tone was sharp.

  She returned her attention to his hand, her cheeks flushing. “Of course not. Medical curiosity, is all.” She set his hand palm up on the bench and reached for the satchel she carried. “This will hurt.”

  “But I’ll get to see you in a week or so to get the stitches out?”

  “Yes.” She took several items from her bag. “Meanwhile, you should be able to continue your work, though I recommend you wear gloves if you have them.”

  “I have them.” He shuddered at the idea.

  “Good. Close your eyes.”

  He caught a glimpse of a needle and silk thread and obeyed. He braced himself for the bite of steel in flesh, but caught the odor of spirits first. The burning sensation on his cut made him long for the needle. Words not fit for a lady’s ears surged to his lips. He clenched his teeth, swallowed, wished he could smell that springtime aroma he’d caught from her hair earlier.

  Then the needle came. The muscles on his back jerked in sympathy. His entire body tensed, and behind his closed lids, he saw a cloudy day, cold and wet, a stable yard, fetid and dirty, blood soaking into the cobbles, washed pink from the rain. His blood, shed in such a humiliating way . . .

  “Mr. Cherrett?” Tabitha gripped his shoulder, her fingertips resting on the scar, though he doubted she could feel it through his coat and shirt. “You’re not going to faint on me, are you?”

  “No.” He opened his eyes to find her face mere inches from his. Her breath fanned his face, and he caught his reflection in her clear eyes. “I’ve humiliated myself enough for one lifetime. I won’t add losing consciousness over a little blood and pain to the list.”

  “Good.” She smiled and drew back. “I’ll set a poultice on this, and you’ll be back to your duties in a day or two.”

  “I have to be. Mr. Kendall is having important guests.”

  “That’s right.” She smeared a foul-smelling ointment on his hand. “You’ll do well enough. Come to see me in two weeks and I’ll remove the stitches.”

  “I’d rather see you sooner.” He caught her gaze and held it.

  She blinked several times, like someone suddenly exposed to strong light. “That isn’t necessary, Mr. Cherrett, unless you pull a stitch or it goes septic.”

  “I could go for a walk on the beach with you.”

  “I like my walks early in the morning.”

  “How early?”

  “Earlier than a bondsman should be about.”

  “Ah, a direct hit.” He feigned a recoil as though from a blow. “You don’t like me much, do you, Madam Midwife?”

  “You’re English. You were where you shouldn’t have been the night three of my countrymen vanished.”

  “And I’ve been charged guilty because of a little walk on the beach and my country of birth?” He kept his tone light, playful, to mask the tension running through him, tension that had nothing to do with pain. “Is that any fairer than Harlan Wilkins accusing you of his wife’s death?”

  “Ah, so you’ve heard that talk.” She curled her upper lip. “He’s off drinking and gaming and thinks I did something to harm the poor creature.”

  “Will it harm your work, your reputation, Madam Mermaid?”

  “Not likely.” She shrugged, though her jaw hardened. “My family has served this community for three generations without a whiff of scandal.”

  “Would that I were so confident in my family name saving me.” Dominick heaved an exaggerated sigh. “But I’m judged guilty for being the dreadful English.”

  “If I judged you guilty, Mr. Cherrett, I’d have told your master of your escapade.”

  “So why haven’t you?”

  She shrugged. “You were a bit too far from where the men were last seen. And we have no proof the British are involved, only suspicions due to your ships being in our waters.”

  “But not too far”—he raised his uninjured hand to touch her throat with a whisper of his fingertips—“to have done this to you.”

  She sat perfectly still as though his contact paralyzed her. He didn’t even know if she breathed until she drew in a ragged breath and pulled away from his caress.

  “Whoever it was, I heed the warning. I’m used to keeping my mouth shut in my work.” She bent her head over his hand, which she wound in a strip of bleached linen. “Keep this clean. I’ll leave some salve with Letty. She’ll find you fresh cloth for bandages.”

  After giving the bandage a final tweak to tighten the knot, she rose and turned toward the house.

  Dominick stood too and rested his hand on her arm for a breath. “I can tell you it wasn’t me, and you’ll believe what you will.”

  “You have reason to want to keep your nighttime activities private, where no one else I know does.” Her mouth pursed. “A whipping is painful.”

  Skin along his back crawled. “Oh, don’t I know.”

  “Do you?” Her eyes narrowed, and he knew he condemned himself with that careless remark.

  “I was an English schoolboy.” He tried to recover from his slip. “You can imagine that I often gave my tutors cause to whip me.”

  “I doubt that’s the same as what’s doled out to a bondsman, so watch your step, Mr. Cherrett. I don’t like tending to a back cut to ribbons.” Admonition delivered, she strode to the house, her skirt swishing around her ankles, her low-heeled walking boots raising puffs of dust in her wake.

  Dominick smiled despite his aching palm, despite what she’d intended as a rebuff of his flirtation. He would win her over. He had to. He had less than four weeks to complete his mission, before his uncle left the American patrol and returned to England—leaving Dominick stranded as a servant for months, even years, regardless of whether or not he completed his mission.

  7

  ______
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br />   “Miss Eckles?”

  Her thoughts back in the mayor’s garden, Tabitha started at the sound of a soft voice calling her name. She turned to see an unfamiliar young woman trotting toward her.

  “I’m so glad I reached you in time.” Golden curls bouncing beneath the brim of a cream straw hat with lavender ribbons, the woman slid to a halt on the sandy path to the beach. “We could really use your services.”

  “Yes?” Tabitha waited for the woman to catch her breath.

  She knew of no one in the area even close to labor except for Marjorie Parks, a sailor’s wife, and to have two people be injured on a Sunday afternoon was unusual.

  “It’s the dog.” The young woman turned the pink of a begonia as she spoke in a voice as sweet and slow as honey. “She’s whelping. Or she’s trying to, and something seems to be wrong. Can you help her?”

  “I can try.” Tabitha didn’t smile. The request wasn’t unusual, not common, but this wasn’t the first time she’d been called to the lying-in of a creature that was not human. And a dog was a whole lot more pleasant a prospect than a pig or a cow, both of whom she’d helped through labor.

  “Where is this?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Mrs. Phoebe Lee, Reverend Downing’s niece.”

  “Ah, Reverend Downing will do anything to get me near his church.” Tabitha smiled now. “What kind of dog is she and when did you notice she was in trouble?”

  “I noticed her pacing around before church this morning and thought it might be her time.” Mrs. Lee spun on a dainty heel, sending the flounce at the bottom of her lavender gown fluttering in the sea breeze, and headed back toward town with Tabitha beside her. “And when we got home from Mayor Kendall’s, poor little Ginger was on her side in the garden, panting and whimpering. I saw you go past and thought maybe you could help.”

  “I usually can.” Tabitha eyed the lovely young woman, who looked like she’d walked off the page of an English periodical rather than gone running after the midwife for the minister’s spaniel. “Is there a servant available to help me?”

  “No, Reverend Downing gives his servants the day off on the Sabbath, but I can help.” Mrs. Lee smiled. “I’m a widow, not unmarried like the Downing daughters. They all ran inside at the first sign of the dog’s condition, and Uncle is visiting a sick parishioner. That leaves me.”