Death at the Wedding Feast by Deryn Lake Page B

day, physician extraordinary to Queen Charlotte and the man who had brought obstetrics out of the domain of the midwife and into the general stream of medical practice. John bowed a second time. It was the greatest respect he could pay. Still not knowing what sex the child was that Dr Hunter was holding, he said, ‘Is it a boy or a girl, Sir? I really would like to know.’
    William Hunter grinned widely. ‘He is a boy – and so is the other one.’
    John’s mouth fell open. ‘What?’
    â€˜Yes Sir, Lady Elizabeth was delivered of twins by Caesarean section. I performed the operation myself and now she is stitched up neat as you please.’
    The Apothecary was released from his trance and rushed to look at both his sons. Hunter handed him the child he had been holding and John lifted the other one up from his cot. Two pairs of eyes regarded him solemnly, neither smiling nor frowning, simply looking at him as they might any other individual. With neither of them did he have the experience he had had with Rose. That great yet indefinable feeling that they had always known one another.
    â€˜I take it you are the father, Sir?’ asked William in his gentle Scots accent.
    John looked up. ‘Yes, Sir, I must admit I am.’
    â€˜Well, you’ve a handful to look after then.’
    The Apothecary pulled a wry face. ‘I don’t know about that, Sir. It all depends on Lady Elizabeth.’
    Lady Sidmouth said firmly, ‘I do not feel the nursery is a suitable place for such a conversation, gentlemen. You may continue it downstairs. Now put the twins down, John. They need their sleep.’
    There was no arguing with the woman; she was the kind who would order the Queen’s physician about and he would meekly obey, as he now did. But John turned in the doorway and suddenly rushed back to the two cribs standing side-by-side. The twins had indeed fallen asleep, their long dark lashes standing out against the fresh white pillowcases which cradled their heads. They were both black-haired – like their mother – but John thought he could see something of himself about their faces. But whoever they resembled, one fact stood out plainly – they were identical.
    John leant over swiftly and kissed each baby on its downy cheek. ‘Hello, my son,’ he said to one after the other, then he straightened up and joined Lady Sidmouth and the doctor as they made their way downstairs.
    During the conversation over a glass of sherry, when he could speak to Dr William Hunter frankly – Lady Sidmouth having bustled off somewhere – John was told the entire story of Elizabeth’s travail. It seemed that she had gone to take tea with Lady Sidmouth and the mysterious dark waters of the womb had ruptured, at which her hostess had ordered her to bed and refused to let her travel another step.
    â€˜But how did you come into it, Sir? Are you of Lady Sidmouth’s acquaintance?’
    â€˜No, but my brother is.’
    â€˜John Hunter, the renowned surgeon?’
    â€˜The same. He has a small country estate not far away – it was left to him by our uncle and John often asks me down for a short break in my routine. Well, a servant of Lady Sidmouth’s arrived at his house and explained the situation. Said that the labour was growing difficult, the midwife suspecting there might be a breach presentation. Naturally, I attended at once, and after an examination believed there could well be twins. So, somewhat reluctantly I might add but in view of the mother’s age, I performed a Caesarian and out came your two little boys. But I stitched Lady Elizabeth’s abdomen back with the greatest care, Mr Rawlings, I can assure you of that.’
    â€˜How has she taken all this? Will she really recover?’
    Dr Hunter took a small sip of sherry and allowed himself a smile. ‘She is one of the strongest women I have ever come across, Sir. She has a body like