Chapter 28 #2
Queen Anna tries again. Taking a deep breath, she says, ‘I’ve been having headaches and pain in my hands and fingers, and they’re getting worse. What would you advise?’
Schoner gives an impatient sigh. ‘Your Majesty, I must insist on your silence so I can carry out my examination.’
Elspet’s mouth falls open. As far as she can see, everything this man is doing is pointless, and he’s ignoring the concerns of the pregnant woman – if she didn’t know better, she’d think he had no expertise at all in caring for patients.
She closes her mouth and takes a deep breath through her nose. How can she impress upon this ignorant man the importance of taking the Queen’s symptoms seriously without drawing suspicion onto herself?
She clears her throat. ‘I had a cousin,’ she begins quietly, ‘a poor, unfortunate story, I’m afraid. She had terrible pain in her hands during her pregnancy. Pain which was left untreated. The poor woman and the bairn, I’m terribly sorry to say, both became unwell.’
The Queen’s eyebrows fly up, an expression of fear on her face. Elspet is sorry to alarm her but it can’t be helped. She has to make these men see the importance of treating the problem.
Schoner looks at her in surprise, noticing her presence for the first time. Primrose seems to have roused himself from a snooze he’d fallen into.
Elspet presses on. ‘Some treatment may be helpful. Perhaps some glasswort or yellow tang . . .’ She trails off, interrupted by a loud scoffing noise from Primrose in the armchair.
Schoner’s eyes are fixed on her. ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Who are you?’
Elspet swallows the panic rising in her chest – this was a bad idea. ‘I am Lady Alvah Gordon.’ She summons as much confidence as she can. ‘Lady Jean Gordon, the Countess of Sutherland, is my guardian.’
Schoner raises his eyebrows. ‘I see. I’ve heard rumours of the countess’s . . . interests. They say she dabbles in folk healing and remedies. Has she been putting these primitive ideas into your head?’
Elspet stifles a sigh of frustration. ‘Not at all. As I say, I just wonder . . . I would hate for Her Majesty to suffer the same fate as my cousin.’
Primrose stands up from his chair, knocking it backwards in his hurry. ‘The impertinence,’ he blusters. ‘We don’t have time to listen to your uneducated blatherings. Hold your tongue.’
Margaret steps forward, clearing her throat. ‘May I ask,’ she begins – Elspet kens her well enough now to hear repressed anger in her voice – ‘what your professional opinion is of persistent and increasingly severe hand pain and headaches in pregnancy?’
The men turn their attention to Margaret.
‘Lady Margaret,’ Primrose says, ‘you don’t need to worry about this. Don’t let this foolish Highlander put any worrying ideas into your head – they are of no importance.’
Margaret nods thoughtfully. ‘I’ll be sure to pass that onto the King when I speak with him this evening. The Queen suffers greatly as she carries his heir – but it is of no importance.’
Primrose glowers. ‘That’s not what . . . You know very well . . .’
‘His Majesty the King has requested an audience with me this evening,’ Margaret says, ‘and will no doubt be greatly reassured that your confidence is so great you feel able to ignore his wife’s concerns.’
Primrose steps backwards, stumbling again. ‘Well, I think perhaps we might consider some remedial action . . .’
Schoner looks up sharply. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘A little bloodletting should do the trick.’ Primrose reaches into his bag by the side of the chair.
‘Really? Do you think that will help?’ Schoner rolls his eyes.
‘No.’ The word rings out across the chamber, spoken with an air of clear authority. Elspet wonders why everyone’s turned to look at her and is horrified to realise the voice was hers.
She’s appalled anyone would suggest bloodletting – never mind bloodletting a pregnant woman.
It’s an ineffective practice in almost all cases, no matter the ailment – she’s never used it in her craft and never known it produce beneficial effects.
It’s certainly not something she ever saw Mormor do.
Often, when she’s seen the practice employed on the islands, it makes folk worse rather than better.
The idea of doing this to the Queen now is dreadful but she should not have spoken out loud – she’s already drawn too much of their attention.
‘What?’ Primrose is glaring at her – his already red face is becoming more flushed. ‘You presume to . . .’
‘Lady Alvah is terribly squeamish.’ Margaret speaks quickly. ‘She can’t bear the sight of blood – that is all she means.’
Primrose’s face loses its fury and softens. ‘Ah, I see. A natural feminine response, of course. Women are not suited to a surgical environment.’
Elspet sighs with relief but looks at Margaret, trying to convey that they can’t let this man take the Queen’s precious blood.
Margaret steps forward. ‘What do you think, Mister Schoner? Is bloodletting the best course of action here?’
Primrose begins to bluster again. ‘Are you questioning . . .’
But Schoner is frowning. ‘It is not a practice I use myself any longer. I’ve made a habit of noting the effects of any treatment I administer, and any treatment I observe. And, I’m sorry to say, in my experience, it’s less than effective.’
Primrose’s face is growing redder by the minute. ‘It is one of the most longstanding practices we have. Physicians always think themselves superior to surgeons – the disrespect is intolerable!’
Elspet exchanges a glance with Margaret. These men turning on each other is an unexpected development, but perhaps welcome. They’re less likely to suspect her if they’re busy criticising each other.
Schoner fixes his colleague with a glower. ‘It has nothing to do with disrespect. I take the perhaps radical view that we should learn from experience when it comes to what might be effective.’
‘Of course it’s effective. The great Galen himself . . .’
Schoner lets out a long impatient breath. ‘And perhaps I’d be more inclined to agree with you if you ever suggested anything else. You have a one-trick repertoire, Primrose, you really do.’
Elspet looks at this squat, scowling man with fresh interest. Learn from experience? Pay attention to what’s effective? Perhaps there is some hope for him after all.
‘May I remind you, the King has appointed us both to care for his heir, the son who must be born hale and hearty,’ Primrose says angrily.
Sweat is standing in muckle beads on his brow.
Elspet recognises the signs of a man who needs a dram or two to get him through the afternoon.
‘And I’m sure he’ll prefer the recommendation of a good Scotsman born and bred than a Habsburg incomer like you. ’
Schoner shakes his head at this. ‘Must we stoop to this, Primrose? In front of the ladies.’ He turns to the Queen and gives an awkward bow. ‘I suggest we adjourn the examination for now, Your Majesty. Primrose and I will consult and return later to administer any treatment we deem necessary.’
Primrose seems to realise this is the best his dignity can hope for and follows Schoner out of the room, stumbling as he goes.