You’re a Doll, Daisy! Chapter Five — Containing Some Sad Reflections and a Catheter.
‘Brother, what would you say to me now? Tom and I went to church this morning with Mrs Prudence. It was really nothing troublesome at all; we sang a little and sat mostly. “How comes my sister to be going to church on a Sunday morning?” — I quite heard you say it, my dear. It was Tom’s idea. Well, to be particular, it was Mrs Prudence’s idea that Tom took on as his own till I agreed to the scheme. I did not write a thing to you yesterday, for I was quite sure, within another day, I would join you in eternal life. I shall not burden you with the intimate details, but it is enough to say I really thought I would die. I persuaded Mrs Prudence to call for me a doctor.’
‘She says I will infect this child’s soul if I do not cleanse my own. I will condemn it to a life of misery if it is born into sin. Yet what can I do? Tom and I would marry this instant and she knows very well we cannot. How I wish you could tell me the old woman is wrong! I thought of you, my dear, and the miserable end you were met with. What did you ever do wrong but be born to our mother? I could not bear the thought — what woman could? — to deliver a child born to hang. For a moment, I wished earnestly that I would die.’
‘Yet, when this medical misery brought me the prospect of my own end, I wanted nothing more than to live. The threats put on this innocent child by Mrs Prudence caused me to weep as if I had been a baby myself. So that, by the time the doctor arrived, I was half-dead already with the fright. Sir Charles was sleeping in the sitting-room and so only the good woman attended me with the doctor.’
‘He was not a pleasant man and complained greatly about being hushed through the hallways. I had no intention of confessing my condition to him lest he convey the information to my husband; Mrs Prudence made me look a fool by shortly betraying me. I said I thought the detail was of no great significance. “Significance, woman!” shouted the awful man, “when a woman is pregnant, it is almost the only detail of significance.” He went on and on at me, rebuking my sex in general for always thinking they knew better than men trained in the practice of medicine. Mrs Prudence was scarlet red by the time he had come to the end of his point and reminded him violently that I was no woman but Lady Finsbury; doctor or no, he was nought but a commoner, and his patient was a nobleman’s wife. He soon remembered himself.’
‘What a timely reminder! For I was shortly to produce a new trial for his temper. “Suppression of the waters.” For that was my condition, Brother. “Was no uncommon thing in pregnant women, and if the issue did not correct itself, he would come to the house and correct it himself twice each day.” I am sure I did not understand a word of his meaning, or I should have run from the room at that moment. I asked him, “And how do you mean to correct it?” The butcher turned about with a most horrendous instrument in his hand and called it a catheter. “And where do you intend to put that, sir!” I was already out of bed and ready to quit the room. “Sure, it is for the best that her ladyship does not learn the answer to that question,” came no reassurance at all from Prudence.’
‘I have always said I hate a doctor, have not I? And yet, till this moment, I had entirely forgotten why. It is not, as some would have it, because they enjoy inflicting torment. I am sure there is no real appearance of that. But they make themselves such stoney gods — or perhaps they are all born that way. It appears to me, that they do not comprehend they inflict any torment at all. The doctor did not take Mrs Prudence’s hint and told me very well what he intended to do. “I would sooner die!” said I, flinging to the door, “And soon you shall, Lady Finsbury, if you will not lie down on this bed for me to get at you with my instrument!” shouted the wicked doctor. My dear Tom must have been hovering in the hall because, before I had time to think of a reply, he had burst open the door — knocking me to the floor — and was ready to fight the doctor.’
‘For a few minutes, the room fell into chaos. Tom had the doctor’s tiny neck wrung in his beautiful, giant hands, declaring the man a wicked ravisher and ordering Prudence to fetch him a sword. “Pray, pray, dear Tom,” began I very sweetly, tapping at his arm like a little dove, “pray, release this man. He is no ravisher. He is a doctor.” Tom unclasped the physician at once, leaving him to clatter to the floor, and he turned to me and enclasped me in his great arms and said, with the sweetest look I ever saw, “And are you really so ill, Daisy?” The doctor, rising to Tom’s shoulders, answered for me, “Your wife, sir, is not very ill. She suffers a malady not uncommon for women at her month of pregnancy.” Oh, to hear myself be called his wife, how my heart did swell! But how this set the room all into a tumult once again!’
‘In the warmth of Tom’s enormous arms, I melted like a little candlestick and pressed my face against the white of his shirt so that I should not see his eyes. I did not know then if he would be angry that I had forborne telling him. “And, is it true, Daisy?” said he, gently prying my face from its resting place. “Your wife, sir–” began the doctor, before being interrupted by Prudence, “That is not Lady Finsbury’s husband, sir. That is her stepson.” Tom and I cared nothing for a word they either said, and he only repeated to me, “By Gad! Tell me — tell me it is true, Daisy! But, hang me! Hang my doubting mind! Certainly, it cannot be true. Tell me it is the truth, and I shall kiss you in the street for all the world to see.” I laughed and tumbled down into his arms once again. “That is a very odd way to speak to your mother. Will you put her down, sir!” said the doctor, and I laughed again, my dear.’
‘Tom did not release me but, all of a sudden, remembering that the doctor was there for my sake, demanded reassurance that all was well with the child and me. “You are very free, sir, in the company of your stepmother,” said the doctor, stiffening his mien and not answering Tom’s question. “Sure, you would not like to know the freedoms Mr Finsbury takes with her. If his father knew but half of it, he would have Lady Finsbury’s pretty little neck twisted by the rope till her head fell clean off — just like he did her mother!” I need not tell you who spoke this amusing reflection. Unless the doctor is an idiot, he is now privy to the paternal claims on this child. Mrs Prudence raised my dear Tom’s temper severely. It was a wicked tease, for she well knows it is his greatest fear that his father will have me hanged. To prevent the room from falling into chaos once again, I cried out that my pain had become unbearable (it really had) and asked the doctor had not he some draught he could give me?’
‘The doctor would have given me no draught. The procedure, said he, could take only a few minutes, and if I did not fuss nor whine, there should be no cause for any pain greater than that which any woman could burden. His temper still greatly risen, Tom knocked the man to the floor and informed him, for every cry I made, he would make the doctor cry out twice as hard. The man soon gave me a little phial of something, and I remember nothing of what happened next. Mrs Prudence informs me the doctor intends to return in the morning if my water does not part with me before eight o’clock. Drat — the old tyrant is awake, and I must fly to him with a happy little face. I best practice my laughter, my dear. What a funny sort of life I have had, indeed! I am sure I shall finish this letter shortly.’
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