Shadow in the North

Chapter Forty-Six - Ditto!

Whilst Margaret was hoping to find for herself, the same good fortune as had been apportioned to Isabel, in having fallen so quickly with child, Fanny Watson was in a state of dismay. Dr Donaldson had been called to Hayleigh (for Isabel – as a woman, was not a proper doctor, and thus fit only for diagnosing feigned migraines), and after an examination and a long conversation with one of his most trying patients, Dr Donaldson excused himself, and left Fanny to a fit of sobbing. She embraced those tears, and encouraged them to come all the more freely, by thinking on every moment of sufferance she had ever experienced in her coddled existence. The tears brought her husband (who had just spoken with the doctor), and he knocked gently on her door, before having to rap vigorously with his knuckles, so that his knock might be heard above his young wife's wailing.

'Fanny?' said he, looking down upon her prostrate form, as she shuddered upon the bed. 'Whatever is the matter, Fanny?' For he saw no cause for tears.

'Oh, my dresses, Watson! My figure. I dare to say I shan't find another moment's happiness again; even if I should live until I'm eighty!' Mr Watson could only roll his eyes at his wife's hyperbole.

'Perhaps you ought to call on your mother, and share your news with her?' suggested Mr Watson, for he had no time to deal with his wife's lamentations on ill-fitting gowns and concerts that might be missed. He had not thought the suggestion to truly lift Fanny's spirits, but had merely thought to remove her from his presence until she had calmed her tears, but the very thought of the mill house quite brightened Fanny's countenance, and she sat up upon her bed and sniffled prettily.

'Yes, I might go to see Mother. She will be desperate to know. Would you call round for the carriage?' Mr Watson gratefully retreated from his wife's room, and Fanny bathed her face with a wet cloth, feeling really quite positive about her diagnosis, for she always took delight in being the centre of attention. And – although a foolish creature – she was not insensible to the fact that Mr Watson's night time visits to her room would undoubtedly, be out of the question; and what a boon that would prove to be!

Isabel had just returned from her hours in the mill infirmary (much to Mrs Thornton's chagrin), and was sitting down to tea, when the clap of hooves stole into the mill yard, causing Mrs Thornton to frown about her tea cup.

'Fanny, no doubt,' announced the matriarch, as she rose from her chair and walked towards the window (for Fanny was the only caller who insisted upon the carriage driving to the front steps of the house, and not merely setting her down at the mill gates). 'Yes, it is she,' sighed Mrs Thornton, as she watched her daughter alight from the carriage, and swish her skirts about her, to rid them of their creases. She could not reason why her daughter's unexpected arrival should unsettle her so, but Mrs Thornton felt sure that there was something in Fanny' posture and gait, that spoke of some excess of emotion.

Indeed, the front door opened at the hands of a servant, and Fanny's shrill voice was heard to cry out, –

'Mother – she is in the drawing room? And Isabel, too?' Now came the rustle of skirts, and the clanking of her crinoline, as the hoop bashed its way up the staircase, and in she came to drawing room, with a stomp of feet and cry of, 'Mother!'

'Good afternoon, Fanny,' came her mother's stiff reply.

'What a lovely surprise!' exclaimed Isabel, for she did welcome her new sister's company, as it balanced out the frostiness of her disapproving mother-in-law.

'Mother, Isabel, I have news!' beamed Fanny (who had now quite reconciled herself to her condition). 'I am with child! Watson is to have an heir within a seven month!' announced she, triumphantly. Both Mrs Thornton and Isabel were surprised, for surely, Fanny always suffered with a migraine! But whilst Isabel was merely shocked, Mrs Thornton felt a stir of pride. Fanny – who had always been a weakling – had proved herself to be fruitful.