“The baby won’t stop crying!” Her broad, East End accent could scarcely be heard over the baby’s cries.
Mark winced, and his hands clenched at his sides. Ellen hid a smirk at his obvious attempt to be polite and not cover his ears.
She hurried over and, after a mute request, took the wriggling baby out of his young mother’s arms. “Is this your first?”
“Yes.” The poor girl drooped with exhaustion. “Won’t stop screaming no matter how many times I offer my teat. My husband’s a lampman and is about ready to throw us out of the house so he can get some rest during the day.”
Ellen pursed her lips. She unwrapped the dirty blanket as she bounced the squalling child. “How old?”
“Nigh two months.” The girl slumped against the bench. “This child is going to kill me, I swear it.”
Ellen checked under the nappy for any rashes, then slid her pinky along the baby’s chin and cheek. He immediately turned and sucked it into his mouth. After a moment, when no milk came from her finger, he spit it out and wailed.
“He’s hungry,” Mrs. Daugherty explained to the girl. “How often do you feed him?”
“All the time!” the girl exploded, pale face turning pink. “All thebleedin’ time!”
“You may not be producing enough to keep his belly full.” Mrs. Daugherty sat beside the girl.
“I’m doing everything my ma taught me, and it still ain’t enough.” She looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be angry or cry.
“Is there a friend of yours who makes extra milk? Someone to act as wetnurse until we can get your supply up?”
“She wants to charge a farthing for each feeding. We don’t have that kind of blunt.” The girl’s face crumpled. “Do you mean I’m starving my son?”
Mrs. Daugherty rubbed her back. “No, darling. We can see you’re feeding him everything you can. He just needs a little extra.”
The girl’s face brightened. “My uncle has a cow. Perhaps I could give the baby a glass bottle every now and again?”
In infants fed artificially with sterilized cow milk, we have seen green diarrhea and been surprised at the foul smell of the diapers and vomiting.
“Goat!” Ellen exclaimed over the screaming infant, bouncing him a little to soothe him. “Not cow milk, if you can avoid it. Goat milk is so much better.” She thought of the notes Madame Henry had copied for her, and of her own experience dealing with sick newborns drinking primarily cow milk.
The girl looked doubtful. “Milk is milk, innit? And it’s so much easier to get my uncle’s cow than track down a goat.”
“I know several people who own goats and will sell the milk cheaply,” Ellen promised. She handed the baby to Mrs. Daugherty and opened her reticule. “Here’s a sixpence. The doctor shall pay for your first three visits.” She rattled off directions to a woman in Covent Garden while Mrs. Daugherty, baby in one hand, went behind the counter and came back with two small glass bottles and rubber teats.
“How’s this, dear? I’ll watch your baby for you while you popoff to Covent Garden. Get you some peace and quiet.” Mrs. Daugherty rocked the baby back and forth while he nuzzled at her large bosom, seeking sustenance.
The young mother looked ready to kiss Mrs. Daugherty’s feet. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Mrs. Daugherty waved the girl away as if the screaming baby in her arms didn’t bother her at all. “Take your time. It’s hard being a new mother.”
The girl slipped out the door, probably the first time she’d been away from her baby in days, if not weeks.
“This is what you do every day?” Mark shouted to be heard, his eyes wide as he looked around the room.
Ellen nodded. “More or less. You never know what the day might bring.”
The exam door opened and a man limped out, one crutch and one bandaged foot on his left side. The man scowled at Mrs. Daugherty and the crying baby as he left.
“I expect that crutch to be returned in a fortnight, Mr. O’Malley!” Amelia called after him. “Those aren't cheap, you know.” She glanced to Mark. “Hello, are you a new patient today?”
Mark smiled and stepped closer to Ellen. “Ellen is showing me around.”
This wasn’t going how Ellen imagined it. At first, she’d been delighted at the idea to share her passion and work with someone who would listen without yawning. But now she realized exactly who she was showing: Mark, the person she hated most in the entire world. Ellen gritted her teeth against the wave of conflicting feelings washing over her. “Lieutenant Glenfall, this is Dr. Hart.”
“Amelia Hart.” Amelia leaned forward and shook Mark’s hand.