In spite of the inviting sign in the street, the house that Mrs. Lovett had entered was an eerie place. The first floor hallway she'd climbed up to had moss green walls and narrow windows under the ceiling. There were two doors at the end of the hall and between them at a rickety writing desk sat a lanky man with a long face and a displeased expression upon it. His beady eyes glanced up at the baker suspiciously, daring her to come closer.
Mrs. Lovett clutched at the tattered yellow shawl around her shoulders and stepped forward. Since it was the afternoon, she had overcome her daily sickness already; however, the harsh glare the man was treating her with, mixed with her insecurity about seeing a doctor, threatened to make it return. She'd never been to one before; her aunt Nettie had used to say she was as fit as a flea.
"Yes?" The man behind the desk arched an eyebrow.
"Good afternoon to you, sir," Mrs. Lovett said carefully when she came to a stop in front of the desk. "I'm 'ere to see Dr. 'Aistwell."
The man squinted his eyes even further. "Do you have an appointment?" he asked in an unpleasant nasal tone.
"N-no," Mrs. Lovett faltered. "But I was hopin' 'e'd see me anyway."
The man shook his head slowly. "Dr. Haistwell is with a patient at the moment," he said, flipping through a worn ledger. "And he has his hands extremely full today. I'm sorry, madam, but without an appointment there is simply no possible way you could see him," he added in a dry voice that emphasized just how far from sorry he actually was.
Mrs. Lovett stood, nailed to the spot, for a couple of minutes. A small part of her was relieved to find out that she wouldn't get to see the doctor, and yet a different part remembered the way Mr. T had been so gentle with her the night before. It had warmed her heart to see him genuinely worried for her. It was not often he displayed such tenderness during daytime and Mrs. Lovett had long before realized occasions like these had to be cherished.
The man behind the desk looked up at her in a little while. "I can examine you instead." His whining voice shattered the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.
Mrs. Lovett felt her eyes widening at the unexpected offer. She took in what she could see of the man cautiously. "Are you a doctor?" If this odious man was to treat her, she was not particularly inclined to stay around.
He puffed out his chest. "I am Dr. Haistwell's assistant," he declared. "I have full authority to act on his behalf." His pale thin lips stretched over his nearly toothless mouth into a nasty grin.
Mrs. Lovett's hands unconsciously pulled her shawl tighter around herself as a disgusted shudder ran down her spine. "W-well," she collected herself quickly. "I would really like to see Dr. 'Aistwell." It felt silly to repeat herself, but it beat going into the office next to them with this vile man.
This time the latter leered at her with an irritated glint of offence in his eyes. It brought to Mrs. Lovett's mind a repulsing memory of a certain beadle. However, before another brash and possibly crude suggestion could cross the man's lips, the door to his right opened and a rich baritone carried out into the hall, "Now, remember, Mr. Reed, you have to keep off that leg of yours. And no riding until I say you're up to it."
A young ginger-haired man with a limp left the office and started hobbling arduously down the hall. "All right, doctor," he replied over his shoulder happily.
A tall man with wavy grey hair and a matching suit stepped into the hall and turned towards the desk and the man sitting at it. "I would bet my last penny that that boy is going to be on a horse the first thing tomorrow," he said with a warm chuckle and his eyes travelled to Mrs. Lovett's face. "Good afternoon, Miss."
Mrs. Lovett studied the older man and a small smile made its way onto her lips. Doctor Haistwell was a handsome and sympathetic-looking man of nearly sixty. Wild bushy eyebrows stood over kind hazel eyes, a reassuring smile curved his lips and a large hand reached out to take hers for a greeting. He was impeccably dressed in a smart grey suit and immediately gave her the impression of being a good, gentle man. It had been an awfully long time since Mrs. Lovett had last met one.
She accepted the doctor's hand instantly but before she could reply, the doctor addressed the man behind the desk. "Are you trying to scare away my patients again, Mr. Barney?" he asked with airy mirth in his tone.
"This lady does not have an appointment," the other man stressed.
Dr. Haistwell raised his impressive eyebrows in mild surprise, turned to Mrs. Lovett and smiled again. "Well, no matter," he said. "I don't have any patients lined up this afternoon. Won't you come in, Miss?" He gestured towards the room behind his back.
Mrs. Lovett heaved a relieved sigh, and without sparing the man at the desk another glance, she hesitantly stepped past the tall doctor and into the small office. "Thank you, sir," she uttered timidly when she passed him.
The office was a tiny but cosy room with one wide window stretching across the wall behind a massive escritoire; before it were hung some lovely white crocheted curtains probably crafted by the doctor's wife or sister. The walls on either side of the desk were covered by tall bookcases full of modern medical books. There was a chair in front of the desk, and Mrs. Lovett stood gingerly beside it. She heard the door close softly behind her, and the doctor walked over to the other side of the desk.
"Please, sit," he offered, gesturing towards the chair and only taking a seat after Mrs. Lovett had. "Well," he added, bringing his hands together on the desk, "I am Dr. Hugh Haistwell."
Mrs. Lovett recovered quickly from the effect the overwhelming richness of Dr. Haistwell's voice was having on her. "Oh! Nellie Lovett, sir," she replied with a smile she hoped the man would not find unduly coquettish.
Dr. Haistwell returned the smile before searching for a pen in one of the escritoire's drawers. "What a perfectly charming name. Mrs.?"
"Yes," Mrs. Lovett agreed quickly, watching the doctor scribble down her name on a blank sheet of paper yellow with age.
Dr. Haistwell noticed her raised eyebrow. "Forgive me, Mrs. Lovett, but I like to keep my books in order."
Mrs. Lovett promptly schooled her expression into an impassive one. "Of course."
In a little while Dr. Haistwell set aside the paper and pen and fixed Mrs. Lovett with an attentive look. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that anything you decide to share with me will not leave this room," he said calmly. "Now, Mrs. Lovett, what is troubling you?"
An uneasy feeling of agitation made its way into Mrs. Lovett's system at the prospect of having to confide her personal problems in a stranger, no matter how friendly. "Well, I 'aven't been feelin' so well lately," she began tentatively, wringing her hands in her lap, "an' my friend suggested that I ask for a professional opinion."
"That's a good friend you have there, Mrs. Lovett," Dr. Haistwell nodded. "It's a right thing you did by coming to see me. Even the most trivial illness could be very dangerous if not dealt with properly. Exactly what sort of illness are we talking about?"
He spoke in a warm, calm tone that did a marvellous job of soothing Mrs. Lovett's taut nerves. She took a deep breath and boldly looked up into his eyes. "Well, I… I get dizzy, an' I feel like I'm abou' to vomit. Especially in the mornin's," she explained hesitantly, and although nothing in the doctor's expression changed, she felt the need to add, "An' I don't take to the bottle unreasonably."
Dr. Haistwell was quick to reassure her, "I would have never suggested that, Mrs. Lovett." He tilted his head to the side and asked in a slightly more serious tone, "What about your monthly sickness?"
Mrs. Lovett shook her head, feeling utterly uncomfortable with discussing the matter with a man. "Oh, it's not that," she answered hastily. "Not at all. In point of fact, I 'aven't 'ad that for… quite a few weeks now." She had lowered her eyes to her hands in her lap and was therefore unable to see the expression of pleasant realization that appeared on the doctor's face. Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "But I've 'eard that 'appens to women my age."
Mrs. Lovett could not be sure if the silent, "Hardly," that reached her ears was merely a trick of her mind or if the doctor had actually said it. When she raised her gaze to meet his again, his eyes held a question in them. "Pardon me, Mrs. Lovett, but how old are you exactly?"
"Forty two this past September," Mrs Lovett said with a curious sense of pride. For some reason, she had never felt the need to deny her age the way she knew many a woman did—Mrs. Moony was the first to spring to mind.
"In that case," Dr. Haistwell declared, "I can say with a fair sense of certainty that you haven't reached that age yet." He leaned forward over the desk, looking intently into Mrs. Lovett's big blue eyes. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Or perhaps something that you wouldn't but feel important to?"
Mrs. Lovett blinked blankly. "'Ow d' you mean?"
Dr. Haistwell shook his head dismissively. "Never mind, Mrs. Lovett," he replied, and Mrs. Lovett had a suspicious feeling that he already had an idea as to what might be wrong with her and was trying not to let on that he did. "Tell me, how have you been eating?"
The unexpected question awakened Mrs. Lovett from her vague suspicions and she looked up at the man quizzically.
"What did you have for breakfast this morning?"
Mrs. Lovett furrowed her brow, thinking first of what relevance this query had to the case at hand and then of the answer itself. "Let's see," she started slowly, "I 'ad a nice juicy meat pie—you see, I'm a baker. An' then some ham an' bread that Mr. T left over. We 'ad a nice pot of camomile tea, an' then I 'ad a cucumber an' an apple fresh from the market." She watched the doctor with an air of open curiosity.
"I see," Dr. Haistwell nodded with a thoughtful expression.
Mrs. Lovett watched the man for another long moment in silence until her restlessness got the better of her. "Excuse me, Dr. 'Aistwell," she blurted out, "but what do you see?" The doctor's face was serious, and in spite of the lack of concern in his eyes, Mrs. Lovett was feeling quite anxious.
"I don't think you're ill, Mrs. Lovett," Dr. Haistwell stated, and upon receiving an intrigued, "Oh?" from the woman sitting opposite of him, continued, "No, my best guess is that you are simply with child."
At first Mrs. Lovett was too stunned to think of a reply. But then a wide grin spread across her face. "Oh, you're 'avin' me on, doctor!" she laughed. "Surely, I'm too old for that!"
"Not necessarily." Dr. Haistwell's voice was even.
Mrs. Lovett's smile slowly faltered. She felt a cold churning in her stomach similar to the one she could recall from more than one of her near-death experiences. "But…" she uttered distantly, unable to collect her racing thoughts. "I-I've never…" She could feel the painful quickening of her heartbeat as the doctor's words started to sink in.
"I take it that you don't have any children?" Dr. Haistwell's rich voice cut past the intense buzz that had started to develop in Mrs. Lovett's ears, and she gave a curt nod.
After losing Albert Mrs. Lovett had been convinced she would never have children of her own. Toby had been the closest thing to a son she'd ever known, and she shuddered to think of what had happened to him. Mr. T was no stranger to tragedy either. Leave it to God to create a child for the two of them.
"I understand this might come as quite a surprise to you," Dr. Haistwell said gently, attempting to catch Mrs. Lovett's eye. "Your husband must be very pleased."
"My 'usband's been dead for thirteen years." Mrs. Lovett let the words slip out before she could properly think them through, and realizing what she had said, stared at the doctor in alarm.
Dr. Haistwell looked deeply into her guilt-ridden eyes and then said just as kindly and as softly as he had spoken before, "Mrs. Lovett, I am not here to condemn you. All I hope is that you have someone to rely on."
Mrs. Lovett released a heartfelt sigh and nodded eagerly. "Oh, I 'ave!" she declared. "'E is a very good friend indeed. Very good…"
Dr. Haistwell gave a satisfied nod. "I'm glad. Do you think he will be?"
Mrs. Lovett's hand had unconsciously travelled up to her neck and the now nearly invisible markings in the white skin as she thought about Mr. T's piercing eyes, his strong arms and iron hands. "I… I wouldn't know," she admitted quietly, "'E's a good man, 'e is!" The image of Mr. T's black hair framing her face as he towered over her penetrated her mind. "But 'e can be a tad… unpredictable."
A glint of worry appeared in the doctor's eyes. "He's not violent, is he?" he asked carefully.
"No!" Mrs. Lovett forced her hand away from her neck and put on a serious face. "Never," she lied.
As the doctor silently studied her expression, quite possibly seeing through her fib, Mrs. Lovett's eyes lost their focus. She found it hard to concentrate on any of her thoughts. The news was simply too unexpected, too unrealistic and, frankly, utterly silly.
"I can see you are in shock, Mrs. Lovett, but do try to listen to me." Dr. Haistwell's words sounded dull, as if he'd spoken them from a great distance. "To have your first child at your age can be dangerous. You'll need to be very attentive to your health. I would like to see you every other week to observe your progress. Do you think that would be possible?"
Mrs. Lovett wrapped her right arm around her abdomen absent-mindedly. She was barely paying any attention. Names of the women she'd known who had died in childbirth flooded her mind. The thundering sound of Mr. T's shouting invaded her ears. An imaginary ache tormented her lower back.
"In the meantime, you are to eat plentifully and refrain from all intense physical work. Can you do that, Mrs. Lovett? Mrs. Lovett?"
It took Mrs. Lovett a little while to realize the doctor was addressing her, that he was watching her with a confounded expression. "Oh! Yes…" she muttered distractedly, trying frantically to focus her eyes on the doctor. "Yes, I suppose so."
Dr. Haistwell fixed her with a sympathetic look. "I see you are quite agitated," he noted. "Perhaps you would like me to speak to your Mr. T?"
The kind offer was met with a feverish shaking of the head on Mrs. Lovett's part. "No! No-no, that- That won't be necessary," she reacted quickly, sudden dreadful panic in her wide eyes.
The doctor gave her a look of gentle understanding. "If you are certain," he agreed calmly.
Mrs. Lovett felt overwhelmed by relief that she had ended up with such a compassionate doctor. The man at the reception desk in the hall had given her quite a fright earlier, for he reminded her of a great many of her unpleasant customers. It was incredibly seldom one met a decent person in this town. And she wouldn't have wanted to hear the news she had from an unfeeling man.
"In that case," Dr. Haistwell said after a brief pause, "I would like to see you again in a fortnight." Mrs. Lovett took that as her cue to leave. Although she hadn't been listening too well, she supposed the doctor had finished his lecture on the delicate nuances of pregnancy, so she stood steadily from her chair. "And I advise you to speak to the child's father as soon as possible." Mrs. Lovett froze. An unbearable weakness overtook her, her legs gave out and she dropped back into the chair. "Why, Mrs. Lovett, what's the matter?"
Mrs. Lovett sat with a petrified expression of horror on her pale face and her body started shaking violently. The image of a lecherous grinning face appeared out of thin air in front of her, her arms felt the strong grip of two large sweaty hands. She felt the weight of a hefty male body on top of her, the slicing pain below her waistline, the inescapable feeling of torture, loathing and repulsion.
"I… I don't…" she forced the words from her dry throat. The terrible memory of fat slimy fingers sealing her mouth returned to her. "I don't rightly know who its father is."
Dr. Haistwell stared at her in obvious surprise. "Mrs. Lovett…" he said faintly, his brow furrowing inadvertently. It was clear he was astounded by Mrs. Lovett's frank admission. "I'd have never thought a woman like yourself…" He let his voice trail off, lest he say something tactless.
Mrs. Lovett lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap, hot tears of shame pricking her eyes. "It's not what you think, doctor," she breathed with firm insistence, convincing herself to voice her harrowing experience for the second time. "Close to two months ago I was… attacked."
A soft sigh of appalled realization left the doctor. He watched with sincere heartache as the violated woman on the other side of the desk suddenly, but not unexpectedly, broke down and hid her face in her trembling hands. "I am so very sorry."