Page 147 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

‘Very well.’ He paused, studying her face. ‘May I ask why you have come to me, instead of your own physician?’

‘You are my own physician, Dr Grossman. The only one I’ve ever consulted.’

His face cleared. ‘Ah, indeed. Well, I am honoured by your trust, Mrs – er – Cowling. It sounds as thought you may well be pregnant, but I shall examine you to make sure.’ He stood up and went to the door to summon the nurse.

It was unpleasant and embarrassing, and she was glad of a time to herself afterwards, behind the screen, dressing slowly and composing herself.Then, back in their previous positions, he told her.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘From what you have told me, and my own examination, I calculate the baby to be due in July. Now, you may want to consult a physician at various points along the way, to check that everything is going as expected. You are a healthy young woman so there is no reason to suppose there will be any problems, but it is prudent to keep an eye on things. I don’t suppose you will want to travel to London every time to see me.’ Again, a faint question mark, to which she did not respond. She was deep in her own thoughts. ‘But when you get home you should seek out a physician to undertake your care. I expect your husband can advise you on that?’

She registered at last that he had asked her something. She focused on him. ‘Hmm?’

He waited, and then said, ‘You are understandably distracted by this good news. It will take a little time to adjust to. But please remember that it is an entirely natural process and one that you are designed for by nature. You are young and healthy and should experience no difficulties. Now, is there anything you wish to ask me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. He waited. ‘When— I would like to know when I – I conceived.’

‘Some time in the month of October,’ he said, as if puzzled by the question.

‘But can you . . . Is there any way to tell exactly when it happened?’

Now a faint disapproval clouded his look. ‘If there were – multiple possible occasions, then, no.’ He examined her face. ‘Does it matter? Your husband will be delighted, I am sure. Your first child . . .’

‘Yes.’ Nina looked at her hands. ‘He’ll be delighted.’

‘I’m sure he will,’ said Dr Grossman, and the relief was evident in his voice.

She walked from the doctor’s rooms to her aunt’s house, and was not entirely sorry to find her out.

‘If only she’d known you were coming, Miss Nina,’ said Haydock, with a hint of reproach. ‘But we’re not expecting her back until after teatime, and then it’s only to dress and go out again.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Nina said. ‘I was in Town and called on the spur of the moment.’

‘You look tired,’ Haydock said, with the privilege of an old servant. ‘Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a glass of sherry? Mrs Roth can make you a nice bit of luncheon – a drop of soup and a nice omelette. You know you like her omelettes,’ he added coaxingly.

The familiar petting made Nina feel tearful, but she tightened her face. ‘No, thank you, Haydock. It’s kind of you, but I must be off. I have a lot of errands. I shall just write a note to Aunt, if you don’t mind.’

She sat at her aunt’s desk and drew pen and paper towards her, but couldn’t think what to say. It was not news to be conveyed in a hasty note. In the end she just said she had called on a whim and was sorry to have missed her, that she was well and hoped her aunt was too. Then, with a day to fill, she left.

She walked without noticing where she was going, and found herself in Knightsbridge, outside Harrod’s store. It was a good place to use up time, and she wandered from department to department, rode up the moving staircase for the novelty of it, and finally thought she had better buy something for Mr Cowling, since he assumed she had gone to shop for Christmas presents. She wandered and examined and probably exasperated several hopeful assistants, and finally purchased a tortoiseshell and silver dressing-table set – clothes brush, two hair brushes, moustache comb and studs cup – and had them wrap it for her, which used up some more time.

Her wanderings took her past Manicure and Chiropody, and the thought of sitting down – her feet were aching by then – led her to go in and have a manicure for the first time in her life. The manicurist did not conceal her disapproval of Nina’s hands, which had not been rendered more lily-white and exquisite by handling reins on a daily basis, and it took a usefully long time to get them into a state that did not break the practitioner’s heart. On leaving the chair she discovered that she was very hungry, so she went to the restaurant for what was either a very late lunch or an early tea – a pot of Darjeeling and a Welsh rarebit. On her way out of the store, she stopped in Confectionery and bought a box of Carlsbad plums, which Mr Cowling loved, and then it was time to get a cab to the station.

All the time she had shut her mind to the idea of being pregnant. It was too big, she wasn’t ready to think about it; she was afraid of being afraid of it. But when the cab drew up outside the station, Mr Cowling was there and came hurrying to open the door for her and hand her out, and she felt her head fill and her throat tighten, and struggled to hold everything back.

‘My goodness me!’ he exclaimed, taking her packages from her and drawing her hand through his arm. ‘Is that all you’ve bought? Not worth coming all this way for. Or couldn’t you find what you wanted? And you look tired! You’ve worn yourself out for nothing. I’m sure you could have got something in Market Harborough just as well. I’m not a hard man to please. There, there – you’re tottering! You must be exhausted, my poor Nina. Here’s our compartment. Let me help you in, and then you can put your head back and sleep all the way home if you want.’

He was not usually a chatterer, and she saw that he was covering his anxiousness for her, that he had sensed something was wrong. He loved her too much not to be aware that she had said nothing since she got out of the cab. And suddenly she lost her grip, tears flooded her eyes, and it was there, standing on the station platform by the open carriage door, with his hand under her elbow ready to help her up the steep step, with the engine hissing steam and the evocative smell of sulphur on the air, that she told him. She didn’t even phrase it properly, but just blurted out stupidly, ‘I’m pregnant.’

He didn’t say anything, and she looked up, and saw his face suffused by a joy so intense it was almost holy. To be able to occasion such emotion in another person was beautiful and terrible, more responsibility than she thought she could bear. The tears rolled over, and that was a good thing, because he helped her into the carriage and sat beside her and put his arm round her and didn’t expect her to speak.

And all he said was, ‘Oh, my Nina. You’ve made me so happy. So very happy.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

There was end-of-term excitement at the Blackwood. Not a great deal of work got done. Some of the girls had decorated the common room with paper garlands; others had brought in holly, laurel and ivy and made Christmas wreaths to hang on the doors and in the windows. Yet another had contributed dried flowers, teasels and pine cones from home, and a magnificent decoration had been contrived to be tied to the newel post at the foot of the stairs with gold ribbon. Within the common room there was an exchange of hand-drawn Christmas cards, some of them extremely elaborate, and some gift-exchanging between close friends.

Finally, on the last afternoon, there was the Christmas party. The girls crowded into the Studio, the only space in the house that could hold everyone, where they were regaled by the staff with fruit punch, dainty sandwiches and mincemeat pies. The servants came in and the principal, Mrs Brightwell, gave each of them a small gift ‘on behalf of everyone at the school’.