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Sir Herbert looked up, his face pale, skin drawn tight across his cheekbones.
“She’s gone,” he said flatly. “Poor creature. No strength left.”
“Had she been ill long?” one of the two student doctors asked.
“Long?” Sir Herbert said with an abrupt jerky laugh. “Depends how you think of it. She’s had fourteen children, and God knows how many miscarriages. Her body was exhausted.”
“She must have stopped bearing some time ago,” the younger one said with a squint down at her scrawny body. It was already looking bloodless, as if death had been hours since. “She must be at least fifty.”
“Thirty-seven,” Sir Herbert replied with a rasp to his voice as though he were angry and held this young man to blame, his ignorance causing the situation, not resulting from it.
The young man drew breath as if to speak, then looked more closely at Sir Herbert’s tired face and changed his mind.
“All right, Miss Latterly,” Sir Herbert said to Hester. “Inform the mortuary and have her taken there. I’ll tell the husband.”
Without thinking Hester spoke. “I’ll tell him, if you wish, sir?”
He looked at her more closely, surprise wiping away the weariness for a moment.
“That’s very good of you, but it is my job. I am used to it. God knows how many women I’ve seen die either in childbirth or after bearing one after another until they were exhausted, and prey to the first fever that came along.”
“Why do they do it?” the young doctor asked, his confusion getting the better of his tact. “Surely they can see what it will do to them? Eight or ten children should be enough for anyone.”
“Because they don’t know any differently, of course!” Sir Herbert snapped at him. “Half of them have no idea how conception takes place, or why, let alone how to prevent it.” He reached for a cloth and wiped his hands. “Most women come to marriage without the faintest idea what it will involve, and a good many never learn the connection between conjugal relations and innumerable pregnancies.” He held out the soiled cloth. Hester took it and replaced it with a clean one. “They are taught it is their duty, and the will of God,” he continued. “They believe in a God who has neither mercy nor common sense.” His face was growing darker as he spoke and his narrow eyes were hard with anger.
“Do you tell them?” the young doctor asked.
“Tell them what?” he said between his teeth. “Tell them to deny their husbands one of the few pleasures the poor devils have? And then what? Watch them leave and take someone else?”
“No of course not,” the young man said irritably. “Tell them some way of …” He stopped, realizing the futility of what he said. He was speaking about women of whom the great majority could neither read nor count. The church sanctioned no means of birth control whatever. It was God’s will that all women should bear as many children as nature would permit, and the pain, fear, and loss of life were all part of Eve’s punishment, and should be borne with fortitude, and in silence.
“Don’t stand there, woman!” Sir Herbert said, turning on Hester sharply. “Have the poor creature’s remains taken to the mortuary.”
Two days later, Hester was in Sir Herbert’s office, having brought some papers for him from Mrs. Flaherty.
There was a knock at the door, and Sir Herbert gave permission for the person to enter. Hester was at the back of the room in a small alcove, and her first thought was that he had forgotten she was still present. Then as the two young women came in, she realized that perhaps he wished her to remain.
The first was approximately thirty, fair-haired, her face very pale, with high cheekbones and curiously narrow and very beautiful hazel eyes. The second was much younger, perhaps no more than eighteen. Although there was a slight resemblance of feature, her coloring was dark, her eyebrows very clearly marked over deep blue eyes, and her hair grew from her brow in a perfect widow’s peak. She also had a beauty spot high on her cheekbone. It was most attractive. However now she looked tired and very pale.
“Good afternoon, Sir Herbert.” The elder spoke with a catch of nervousness in her voice, but with her chin high and her eyes direct.
He rose very slightly from his seat, only a gesture. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Mrs. Penrose,” she said in answer to the unspoken question. “Julia Penrose. This is my sister, Miss Marianne Gillespie.” She indicated the younger woman a little behind her.
“Miss Gillespie.” Sir Herbert acknowledged her with a nod of his head. “How can I help you, Mrs. Penrose? Or is your sister the patient?”
She looked a little startled, as if she had not expected him to be so perceptive. Neither of them could see Hester in the alcove, motionless, her hand in the air half raised to put a book away, peering through the space where it should have sat on the shelf. The names ran like an electric charge in her mind.
Julia was talking, answering Sir Herbert.
“Yes. Yes, it is my sister who requires your help.”
Sir Herbert looked at Marianne inquiringly, but also with an appraising eye, regarding her color, her build, the anxiety with which she wound her fingers together in front of her, the bright frightened look in her eyes.
“Please sit down, ladies,” he invited, indicating the chairs on the other side of the desk. “I assume you wish to remain during the consultation, Mrs. Penrose?”
Julia lifted her chin a little in anticipation of an attempt to dismiss her. “I do. I can verify everything my sister says.”
