Chapter 8
The knuckle clicked back into place, and Thomas Kemp inhaled through gritted teeth.
An oily, perverse pleasure spread through Gabriel. You are a physician. You are supposed to ease the suffering of others, not enjoy it. Perhaps he was not the better man after all.
Kemp was his patient. That the man had been flirting with Blythe should have no bearing on Gabriel’s treatment.
After bracing the fourth and fifth fingers of the Lord of the Harvest with a short splint, Gabriel resisted the urge to jerk the bandage while he fastened the appendages together.
“Keep those fingers bound for the next month.”
Kemp grimaced.
Gabriel rummaged in his bag and withdrew a small bottle of laudanum. “Take this to help with the pain.”
“How much do I owe?”
“It can wait until you have been paid.” Not that he planned to collect from a man who could not work for the rest of the season. Kemp nodded before gathering his belongings with one hand.
At least he would not have to witness the man dancing with Blythe at the harvest supper. For God’s sake, he needed to stop. Blythe could dance with whomever she wished, and he should be above petty resentment.
The sun dipped below the horizon, and John Dixon called an end to work.
Gabriel stretched his stiff limbs.
John patted him on the back. “I see you’ve become soft to physical labour.” John grinned. “Don’t overexert yourself. We can’t have the local physician taking to his bed, can we? Besides, I need you back in the fields whenever you can spare a moment. Are you available tomorrow?”
“Alas, I must make my usual rounds in Tomlinton.”
“All those rich patients and their trifling ailments need tending.”
Gabriel chuckled.
“’Tis a shame you cannot join us every day. No doubt the female workers will diminish if you’re not here to keep them interested.” John winked.
Heat clawed up his neck when John tilted his head towards the line of girls watching Gabriel roll down his shirt sleeves and tie the cuffs.
“Perhaps you should marry one of ‘em and—” John dropped his chin. “Beg your pardon, Gabriel. ‘Tis not my place.” John popped his fraying straw hat back on, then headed off.
If John knew more about Blythe’s motives, he never let on.
Then again, Gabriel had never asked. It had been shameful enough that Blythe had jilted him without having to beg her brother to tell him why.
But Blythe’s return fuelled speculation about why he remained a bachelor.
The gossipmongers believed he still held a candle for her. They are not wrong.
He blew out a long breath. He could not allow the woman who had crushed his heart the opportunity to do so again. Everyone was correct. He was too kind for his own good. He needed to develop a thicker skin when it came to Blythe Dixon.
He collected his coat and bag and headed to the village with the hired hands.
He should take Mother’s advice and leave it alone—leave Blythe alone. But a kernel of hope had taken root since she had returned, and he could not seem to quell it.
Miss Foster sidled up to him, carrying a wicker basket in two hands before her. “Will you be working in the fields again tomorrow, Doctor Sharpe?”
Her friends walked in their own gaggle behind. He hooked his finger in the collar of his coat and flung it over his shoulder. “I am afraid not, Miss Foster.”
Her face fell. She stepped closer, but he widened the gap between them.
It would not do to be accused of misleading one of the village girls.
Besides, he was not interested in Miss Foster.
The girl was too young for him. Behind, the gaggle giggled, and a hint of pink bloomed on Miss Foster’s cheeks.
“Will you be at church on Sunday?”
“As always, Miss Foster.”
She beamed. “Perhaps I shall speak to you then.”
“Perhaps Miss Foster.”
They arrived at the Silverdale gateway. “Please excuse me. I must pay a visit to Mrs Dixon.”
“Oh.” Miss Foster’s eyes widened like a disappointed puppy.
He nodded. “Good evening.”
Her friends clucked like the hens in the yard.
The hired hands trundled into the outbuildings that had become their temporary accommodation.
John caught up with him and clapped his shoulder. “Come along and see that my next son is doing well.”
John opened the door to the kitchen. “Hallooo! The workers have returned.” They stamped their shoes, creating a cloud of dust.
“Don’t you be bringing any dirt in.” Mrs Dixon shouted.
John unbuttoned his gaiters. “Of course not, Mam.”
Gabriel did the same, then followed John into the kitchen.
“Doctor Sharpe has come to check on Jane and the babe.”
“Did Blythe ask him?” Mrs Dixon paused plaiting a bushel of onions at the large oak table. “She’s been fussin’ over Jane all day, telling her to rest. I worked through my labour pains with all my babes and was back to it within an hour of birthing them.”
His stomach rumbled at the delicious scents emanating from the large pot hanging over the fire. “One can only admire your resilience, Mrs Dixon, but I offered to examine her on John’s behalf.”
“You had better go up.” Mrs Dixon tipped her head towards the door. “She’s in her bedchamber, even though she’s been resting all day.”
Upstairs in a rocking chair, the younger Mrs Dixon knitted while Blythe rubbed her stockinged feet.
Blythe stood and set Jane’s feet on the stool she had vacated. “Doctor Sharpe.”
“Mrs Simmonds, Mrs Dixon.”
“You did not have to make a call, Doctor Sharpe.” The expectant mother set aside her knitting. “I’m well now. I’ve had some rest and will be back to work tomorrow.”
“John has requested that I examine you and the baby, as a matter of precaution.”
“Mother Dixon thinks I’m being lazy.” Jane pushed herself to rise.
Blythe nudged Jane back into the seat. “Stop placing so much importance on her opinions. You will never please her.”
Gabriel tamped down the urge to declare that Blythe was one to talk. Instead, he said, “Mrs Simmonds, do you mind fetching me some hot water so I can wash my hands?”
Blythe dashed from the room with a hint of pink on her cheeks.
“How do you truly fare, Jane?”
“I don’t recall being this tired with the others.”
“This is your fifth child, and from the look of you, the baby is quite large. It puts a lot of pressure on your spine and organs.”
“I’ve been having the same twinges I got towards the end with the others, but it’s not labour pains yet.”
“Is the baby still moving?”
Jane ran a hand over her stomach. “All the time, and it’s worse at night when I’m trying to sleep. It gave me one in the ribs t’other day. I had to sit down and catch my breath.”
Blythe returned with a pitcher of steaming water and drying cloths and set them on the table next to the washstand.
“Thank you.” He nodded to the carved four-poster bed. “Do you mind helping Jane onto the bed and loosening her clothes?”
Blythe’s mother hollered. “Shall I come up and see that all is well?”
Jane shook her head once settled on the mattress.
Blythe poked her head out the door. “I am with her, Mama, and I am sure you have plenty of other things that need to be done.” Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door and turned the key.
Gabriel rolled up his sleeves, filled the porcelain basin and lathered his hands with soap.
“It’s so nice to have you home, Blythe.” Jane said, “I have someone on my side this time, for John does little to stand up to mother dear.”
“He is still attached to Mama’s apron strings.” The lilt of Blythe’s voice suggested a gentle teasing. “Besides, it seems fitting that I was here for your firstborn, and I will be here for this one.”
Gabriel dried his hands and brushed aside his memories of the birth of Jane’s first child.
Jane said, “I’m sure things will be easier this time now we’ve all had more practice.”
He snorted inwardly at the reminder that Blythe had given birth to two children by another man rather than the children they had once planned to have together. Concentrate on the task ahead. He approached the bed. “May I examine your stomach? It will require you to lift your gown and petticoats.”
Jane nodded.
“Allow me.” Blythe folded Jane’s clothing above her protruding stomach.
Gabriel’s hands skimmed over Jane’s enormous belly with efficient, purposeful sweeps, then pressed one hand into her pubic bone and the other at the top of the bump.
The movement of his long, dexterous fingers revived memories of how else Gabriel could use those digits, and her loins tingled.
For goodness’ sake! Gabriel was a dedicated physician, and he was examining his patient.
She buried the inappropriate sensations and asked, “How many babies have you delivered since Jane’s first? ”
“About two or three every year. Not everyone will allow a man in the birthing room, despite my education, and prefer my mother to attend them.”
“Nothing against your mother, Doctor Sharpe, but you’ve attended all my births, and I don’t trust anyone else.”
Gabriel smiled, and Blythe’s chest warmed. Why did he have to be so handsome, intelligent and proficient? He had always been good at everything, and she had never doubted he would be an excellent physician.
“Please pass on your endorsement to others.”
Jane winced, and he pulled back a hand. “I don’t think she’s keen on whatever you’re doing, Doctor.”
Blythe said, “What makes you think it is a girl?”
“Just wishful thinking.” Jane released a wistful sigh.
Gabriel straightened. “The head is already low. May I perform an internal examination?”
Jane’s nose wrinkled, but she nodded.
Gabriel examined Jane and frowned. Was something wrong?
He removed his hand and said, “You may replace your clothing.”
While Blythe re-covered Jane’s belly and legs, Gabriel washed his hands again, then turned back to the bed. “The cervix is already stretching. The baby could come any day now.”
Jane nodded.
The dark hair covering Gabriel’s forearms mesmerised Blythe for a moment until he rolled down his sleeves and said, “I advise you to rest.”
“Your mam will have plenty to say about that.” Jane’s grumble drew Blythe’s attention.
“Do not worry; I will take on your duties.”
“You’re a lady now.”
“Stop sounding like Mama!” Blythe retorted. “I am not a lady, and you cannot clamber onto the cart and head out to the fields when the baby’s arrival is imminent.”
Gabriel nodded. “I suspect the birth will be quick.”
Blythe braced her hands on her hips. “You do not want to bring forth a child in the fields with the hired hands watching, do you?”
“Of course not.” Jane grumbled.
“Then it is settled.” Blythe plumped the pillows behind Jane. “You will rest until the baby is born.”
“But you shouldn’t have to work when you’re a guest.”
“I am not a guest, and I doubt I will return to York—”
“You plan to stay?” Gabriel asked.
Embarrassment slid down her spine. She should not have let that slip. Fingering a wrinkle in the bedsheet, she said, “I have decided to remain here with Violet after Elijah returns to school.”
Jane muttered, “Your mam will not be pleased.”
Meeting Jane’s gaze, she said, “As I said before, we both place too much importance on Mama’s opinions.
We are not children anymore; we are mothers ourselves.
” She patted Jane’s stomach. “And I do not want my niece to believe her aunt is a lazy socialite with nothing more on her mind than gowns, tea and gossip.”
Jane placed her hand on Blythe’s. “First, knowing my luck it will be another nephew for you, and second, I wish I had nothing more to think about than gowns, tea and gossip.”
“You do not. It is beyond tedious.”
Jane’s fingers wrapped around hers. “I shall have to take your word for it.”
Gabriel’s warm eyes bored into her as though he were trying to decipher her thoughts. Thank heavens he could not, for what he would find would only cause further hurt.
Jane cleared her throat, and they flinched, breaking the connection. “I’m glad you will both be here to bring forth my daughter. Perhaps we can keep Mother Dixon out of the birthing room. What say you, Doctor?”
“I would not dare to imply Mrs Dixon’s presence is anything but industrious.”
They all chuckled.