Ch. 10

Content with Dr. Gerhardt's diagnosis, Edward and I returned to our hotel and began to prepare for the journey home. So often had we been traveling this year that we had now become experts at packing and unpacking our trunks, even when Maria or Mrs. Fairfax was not there to help. Once back at Atherton, I vowed, we would stay put for the coming months.

And, of course, I suspected we would soon have a very good reason to stay at home. But I said nothing of this possibility to Edward. I feared he would not let me undertake the journey at all if he knew. Worse, he might insist on my visiting some fashionable London lady's doctor to have my question answered. That was perhaps the very last thing I wanted at the moment. I felt more than fit enough to travel, and, one way or another, I wanted to be at home at Atherton when I received the news.

So I kept silent, and allowed Edward to enjoy the return journey without worrying for my sake. The landscapes were traveled through on our journey northward were autumnal, and not particularly pretty. But he took great pleasure in pointing out to me the rich hues of gold and red in the leaves, and the smoke rising cozily from the chimneys of every village we passed. The ability to see again, even imperfectly, had clearly done much to restore some of my master's interest in the larger world around him.

I took great pains on the journey not to overtire myself or to engage in anything strenuous, and I waited only a day after our arrival in –shire to send for the local doctor. I had John carry the letter down to Dovecote, and the first Edward knew about the visit was when the good doctor himself appeared at the door.

Doctor Angus McKay was a big, burly Scot, with a shock of reddish hair and a soft burr in his voice. He was a fully trained physician, not just a surgeon or apothecary. Few towns as small as Dovecote could have attracted such a man, but I understood he had a particular interest in studying the health and well being of factory workers. Dovecote's location close to the River A--- and its many industrial towns made it an ideal location for him to make his home. He was well liked and respected in the community. Edward and I had met him a few times after church and at neighbors' homes. Most importantly, I knew he had delivered Mrs. Spencer's second child, and most of other the local children as well.

"Good morning to you, Mrs. Rochester," he told me in his cheerful voice as we stood together in the front hall.

"Good morning, Dr. McKay. Thank you for coming so promptly."

"And how is Mr. Rochester this fine day?"

Edward himself appeared from his study just as I finished catching Dr. McKay up on all the news.

"Well, well, then. Good morning, Doctor."

"Good morning, Mr. Rochester." The Scotsman smiled widely. "I understand from your wife I am to congratulate you on good news from your London oculist?"

"Indeed." For the first time Edward recognized that the doctor had his bag with him. "Is someone in the household ill, Jane?" He asked me, his dark brows drawing together in a frown. "You said nothing of it this morning."

The doctor looked at me, and I hastened to explain.

"I sent for Dr. McKay, Edward. I wanted to see him. Do come upstairs, Doctor," I said.

The doctor began to follow me up the stairs. Halfway up our progress was interrupted by Edward, who had been standing by in confused silence.

"I do not understand. Are you ill, Jane? You look fine."

I smiled down at him. "No, Edward, I am not ill."

It took Dr. McKay only a few minutes to confirm the suspicions that had first formed in my mind that day in Regent's Park.

"Did you not recognize the symptoms, Mrs. Rochester?" He asked me afterwards. "Or at least that your corsets were getting too tight?"

I did not let the doctor's earthy frankness bother me. "No, I did not. All I knew is that I did not feel quite right."

The doctor chuckled. "That is as apt a description as I have heard in awhile."

"And I never lace my corsets very tightly anyway." I was reclining, with my hand over my abdomen to protect the child I now knew grew there. "When will it come?"

"Based on what you have told me, and what I can tell for myself, I would say you are near three months along already. So let us expect your lying-in sometime around Easter; certainly by the end of April." He then looked at me a bit more seriously. "It is important that you rest as much as possible, Mrs. Rochester—especially after your long journey to London and back."

"I will, I promise. Edward and I have vowed not to set foot out of –shire for another year."

He packed up his doctor's bag. "I will call regularly to check on your progress."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"And if you ever need anything and I am not available, might I suggest you send for Mrs. Jones? She and her husband have a little farm the other side of Dovecote. She is the local midwife and often assists me when she can. In fact, I believe you have met her oldest girl, Katie. She is nurse to the two Spencer boys over at Lansdowne."

I thought of the friendly, open-faced girl I had often encountered at the Manor. "I have indeed. She seems a fine girl."

"Oh, she is—all the Jones children are as hearty and sensible as one could wish for. There are twelve of them altogether."

"Twelve? Good gracious."

Dr. McKay and I shook hands, and he promised to drop by again in a few days. I was still seated on the bed, but as the doctor left I heard him speaking again in the hallway.

"I rarely have call to congratulate a man twice in one day, Mr. Rochester, but it seems congratulations are in order again, sir."

Even through the door remained open I could not hear Edward's reply. But a moment later he himself appeared in the doorway. He looked more tentative and apprehensive than I had ever seen him.

"Jane?" He asked softly.

I held out my hand to him, and he quickly crossed to my side and took it.

"Why did you not say something this morning?" He demanded. "I have been in agony downstairs wondering what was the matter, and it was only just now that I realized why Dr. McKay must be here."

"I did not wish to excite you unnecessarily, Edward. I was not certain myself."

He sat down on the side of the bed, but did not release my hand from his own.

"Are you happy, Edward?" I asked him.

He groaned. "'Am I happy', she asks me!" He bent down and kissed me soundly. "My darling fairy, how could I not be?" He stroked the side of my face. "I want this more than anything on Earth, save perhaps your good self. Did the doctor say…did he know when it will come? Summer, I suppose?"

"No, my dear. April. Perhaps near Easter."

My master sat up straighter. "So soon? But…"

I blushed. "Pray do not think me softheaded for not knowing earlier. I feel foolish enough as it is."

"Do you mean to tell me you let me drag you all the way to London without you saying a word?" Edward's expression had changed. He now looked exceptionally stern--almost thunderous. "Jane, what might have happened!"

I quickly soothed him. "I did not know when we left for London, Edward, else I should have told you, I promise. I would not have put our baby at risk so casually."

He was calmed somewhat by this statement. "It would not have been only the baby at risk, Jane," he said softly, smoothing my hair. Then he stood. "But now that we do know, you can be properly cared for. I shall start by having Mrs. Fairfax bring your lunch up on a tray."

I laughed. "Edward, I am perfectly able to go downstairs. There is work to do…"

But he shook his head. "Do not move from that bed for the rest of the day, Janet. I am quite serious, I assure you. You will stay in bed until you are completely recovered from the journey. John and Maria can finish unpacking the trunks, and Mrs. Fairfax can handle all the household arrangements."

I opened my mouth to protest again, but he held up his hand.

"Do as I say, Jane. Please, for the sake of my poor nerves, if not your health."

And, put in those terms, how could I refuse him?

As gratifying as it was to see Edward's joy, and Mrs. Fairfax's and John's and Maria's, when they heard the news, I soon found their solicitude for my health rather overwhelming.

Edward, when he did finally allow me downstairs, was constantly exhorting me to sit or lay down in whatever room I happened to occupy. Mrs. Fairfax and Maria plied me with food, even when I had just eaten. I knew their intentions were good, but I am afraid I found it all quite wearing.

"It is as if I can no longer look after myself," I told Mrs. Spencer a few days later. She had called at Atherton (Edward had of course refused to let me travel to Lansdowne) and had been most pleased to hear the happy news. "I am increasing, not ill."

Mrs. Spencer laughed. "But they care for you, and want to do their best for you."

"And I am growing quite weary of being in the house all the time," I admitted.

"Then why do we not go for a walk in the gardens? It is a fine day out, for late autumn."

I blushed a bit. "Edward will not let me."

"Nonsense." We rose and she took my arm. "We shall walk quite slowly. A little exercise now and again, Jane, will be a very good thing in the coming months."

I was most glad to hear her say so. So far all the advice I had been receiving had come either from men or from women who did not have children of their own. I desperately needed the perspective of someone who had gone through this successfully. Mrs. Spencer had done so not once, but twice.

No sooner had we stepped out of doors, however, than Edward appeared. He intercepted us on our way to my gardens.

"My dear Jane, why are you out here?" He said with a frown. "It is too cold. Go in at once."

I looked helplessly at Mrs. Spencer, who still held onto my arm.

"We thought perhaps we would take a turn in the fresh air. Dr McKay always recommended plenty of fresh air to me when I was in a delicate condition," Catherine said with a slight smile.

"He did, eh?" Edward looked thoughtful. "Then come back inside and we can open the windows in the drawing room."

"Edward, I want to walk outside, just for a little while. I feel the need to stretch my legs. I promise you, I will not overtire myself, and you can see I have my warm cape on."

My master was silent for a time. "Five minutes, then, Jane."

"Fifteen," I corrected.

"Ten, and then I am coming to get you myself," he said firmly.

"Oh, pray do not trouble yourself, Mr. Rochester. I shall bring her right back to you on time," Mrs. Spencer vowed.

Once we had passed out of Edward's hearing I turned to my friend.

"You see what I am up against."

She laughed. "I do, indeed. Men can be so terribly stubborn about such things, always insisting they know best."

"Did Dr. McKay really say that to you, about the fresh air?" I asked.

"Of course he did. I should never undertake to lie to Mr. Rochester. I am sure he should find me out in a trice."

"What should I do, Catherine? I want everything to continue as before."

"Things will change, Jane," she told me sagely. "They will have to, particularly as your lying-in approaches. This is why you should take every opportunity now, while you can. Perhaps you might write to Dr. McKay, and suggest he give you a list of his recommendations. That way, when Mr. Rochester is in the mood to argue over whatever you are doing, you can produce it and insist that is doctor's orders."

I nodded. "That is a most sensible suggestion, Catherine. Thank you."

She squeezed my arm. "Not at all. I well remember the many questions and concerns I had before Caleb arrived, and no one to answer them for me. So pray feel free to ask me anything you like, and I will answer you honestly."

From that day onward Mrs. Spencer became my most valuable source of information. I did indeed have Dr. McKay assemble a list to share with Edward, and I was pleased to find very few restrictions upon it. The doctor not only recommended plenty of fresh air, but that I try to spend at least a little time out of doors each day when the weather was fine. And although he agreed with Mrs. Fairfax that proper nourishment was very important, he saw no reason for continually pursuing me with bowls of broth or blancmange.

I cannot say that the other members of the Atherton household treated me exactly as they had before, but I can tell you that, with the good doctor and Mrs. Spencer on my side, I was able to resume most of my daily activities in relative peace.

By the time Edward's and my third Christmas together had passed, my condition was obvious even to the casual observer. On the advice of Mrs. Spencer I sent for the local dressmaker. I had her make me a few new pelisses with extra fabric under the bodice and a clasp that could be adjusted as needed to accommodate my new figure. They were at once fashionable enough to please Edward and comfortable enough to please myself.

Adele had come home for the Christmas holidays, and I daresay she was more excited at the news than Edward had been. She at once set to work crocheting a tiny bonnet and slippers for the new arrival.

That December a rare layer of new snow had arrived to coat –shire. And so when Adele was not busy with her work the boys from Lansdowne were always available for a romp outside. There was much sledding done and many snowball fights had. I am pleased to report that Adele did not always come out the worst in such battles, because she had made a wise military alliance with Caleb Spencer against his uncle.

My increasingly ungainly figure did not allow me to participate, of course, but I took great pleasure as a quiet observer sitting by Atherton's windows. That way I could watch the children play while I knitted, or sewed, or just sat quietly, feeling my baby's fluttery movements within me.

As I had had no experience of this kind before, I was surprised at the amount of interest my condition generated amongst our neighbors. Every lady for ten miles in any direction, it seemed, called at Atherton to pay their respects and to give me unsolicited advice on a whole host of topics. Edward quickly learned to make himself scarce when a carriage was heard in the drive, lest he be trapped into playing the polite host to a gaggle of women for the afternoon.

Mrs. Spencer had told me that such interest was only to be expected in a small neighborhood, and to try to bear it with equanimity. But after one such visit by Mrs. Lane and Miss Bunting, Mrs. Fairfax found me sitting on the stairs, weeping. Alarmed, she sent for my master at once.

"My little bird, what is wrong?" He demanded, towering over me. "Are you ill? Should I send for the doctor?"

"No, Edward, I feel quite well. I am only a little upset, is all."

Heedless of his good trousers, he sat next to me on the stairs and stretched his legs out before him. "I am all ears, Janet."

"It is nothing," I sniffed.

But my husband shook his head. "You will not get away that easily, Janet. I should be a bad friend, not to mention an ungrateful husband, if I did not let you share your troubles with me."

I held up a rumpled letter in my fist. It was the arrival of this letter, shortly after Mrs. Lane's and Miss Bunting's departure, which had set me off.

Edward took it carefully, and looked at the direction. It took him a moment longer to identify the handwriting with his good eye. "It is from your cousins at Moor House. Not bad news, I trust?"

"No, most happy news, actually." I sniffed again, and Edward gave me his handkerchief. "It is from Diana. She writes to tell me Mary is increasing."

Edward smiled at me. "But Jane, that is good news, is it not?"

"Of course it is! I am most happy for the Whartons. But Diana writes that Mary's baby is expected the same time as our own—in April, or perhaps early May. She begs me to forgive her, but she will not be able to join us here at Atherton for my lying-in. She feels she must stay at Morton."

"Ah, I understand now." Edward pulled me closer. "You are disappointed."

I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I did so want family present, Edward. Of course Diana should stay with Mary, but…"

He kissed my forehead tenderly. "I know."

"And even that would not have been so bad, had I not just spent the morning with Mrs. Lane and Miss Bunting."

Edward grunted. "Those two. I should have known. What did they do this time?"

"Nothing intentional. They just talked around me, as if I was not in the room, as they always do. And the subject of the day was childbirth, or more accurately a catalog of everyone they knew who had had Herculean difficulties."

My master swore softly. "That will be the last time those two harpies are allowed in this house," he added.

"No, Edward, I am sure they did not mean to upset me. I had already noted that ladies, especially, always seem to want to focus on the negatives of the experience rather than the positives. If I were as forthright as Catherine I am sure I should have put my foot down and said I did not want to hear anymore. But I am afraid I took the coward's way out and just sat trying to close my ears. In any event, the conversation set me wrong, and the letter from Diana finished off any remaining good humour I might have had."

"I daresay it would have." Edward sat quietly for a moment. "But do you feel better now?"

"I do, Edward. I am sorry—I should have come to you at once, instead of letting poor Mrs. Fairfax find me. She must have been quite alarmed."

"Fairfax is, I believe, currently downstairs fortifying herself with a pot of tea to recover from the experience."

Edward's dry comment made me laugh.

"There is my Jane back again." He wiped away my remaining tears with his thumb. "I know what will cheer you. Let us ask Captain and Mrs. Spencer to come along with the boys for a visit tomorrow. I long ago promised Spencer I would show him the new maps of Atherton I commissioned, and you may show Mrs. Spencer your improvements to the nursery. Would that be agreeable to you?"

I smiled. "It would be, husband. Most agreeable."

"Then it shall be done, at once." Edward paused for a moment, however, and then cautiously laid his large hand against my small mound of a belly.

The baby moved, and Edward smiled widely. "There, you see? You have gotten little Jane all riled up now. She has her mother's temperament."

"Little Edward," I corrected primly.

He shuddered. "Pray let us not name it after me. The poor mite will have a difficult enough road ahead just being a Rochester. And the world certainly does not need another Edward Rochester, that is for certain."

"Oh, I do not know," I said in a teasing tone. "I am rather partial to the one, so perhaps I should like to have a second."

"And perhaps I should like another Jane," he said, kissing me and then rising. He gave me his hand to help me to my feet.

"But we shall simply have to wait and see which one we get."