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Country Midwife, Christmas Bride
Abigail Gordon
Country Midwife, Christmas Bride
Abigail Gordon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u97cc0e3e-6f54-5ad2-ad62-389f08f2238d)
Title Page (#u252d567f-38f4-5a8f-ae7d-e9a5e14b52d3)
Dear Reader (#u814d9152-572f-5ed7-b7f9-081e88c2cb34)
About the Author (#ub371b5cd-67f9-5b6f-8f66-61608e9a8b61)
Chapter One (#u91acd777-5d4e-51ad-91f7-712826fe4405)
Chapter Two (#uba4bd455-81d5-5ae9-a752-fe48a7e4be17)
Chapter Three (#u337c711b-fe04-540e-a394-1b360fa8ee78)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader
Having been brought up happily enough in a Lancashire mill town, where fields and trees were sparse on the landscape, I now live in the countryside and find much pleasure in the privilege of doing so. It gives me the opportunity to write about village life, with its caring communities and beautiful surroundings.
If you have been following the lives and loves of the doctors and nurses in the Cheshire village of Willow-mere as the seasons come and go, I do hope that you have enjoyed my quartet of books about this close community of caring country folk. Maybe soon we will go back there once again to see what has been happening in Willowmere. For now I hope you enjoy COUNTRY MIDWIFE, CHRISTMAS BRIDE, featuring Dr James Bartlett and new midwife Lizzie Carmichael.
Whatever the future holds for the beautiful village of Willowmere, I wish you all happy reading.
Abigail Gordon
Dear Reader
Having been brought up happily enough in a Lancashire mill town, where fields and trees were sparse on the landscape, I now live in the countryside and find much pleasure in the privilege of doing so. It gives me the opportunity to write about village life, with its caring communities and beautiful surroundings.
If you have been following the lives and loves of the doctors and nurses in the Cheshire village of Willow-mere as the seasons come and go, I do hope that you have enjoyed my quartet of books about this close community of caring country folk. Maybe soon we will go back there once again to see what has been happening in Willowmere. For now I hope you enjoy COUNTRY MIDWIFE, CHRISTMAS BRIDE, featuring Dr James Bartlett and new midwife Lizzie Carmichael.
Whatever the future holds for the beautiful village of Willowmere, I wish you all happy reading.
Abigail Gordon
Abigail Gordon loves to write about the fascinating combination of medicine and romance from her home in a Cheshire village. She is active in local affairs, and is even called upon to write the script for the annual village pantomime! Her eldest son is a hospital manager, and helps with all her medical research. As part of a close-knit family, she treasures having two of her sons living close by, and the third one not too far away. This also gives her the added pleasure of being able to watch her delightful grandchildren growing up.
CHAPTER ONE
THE first thing Lizzie Carmichael did when she arrived back at the cottage after the wedding was to ease her feet out of the elegant but not very comfortable shoes she’d worn as part of her outfit.
The second was to put the kettle on, and while it was coming to the boil there was something else she needed to do—take stock of the rented property that she’d moved into late the night before.
There’d been no time during the morning as the marriage of her friend Dr David Trelawney to Laurel Maddox, a practice nurse, had been arranged for eleven o’clock and by the time she’d sorted out some breakfast in a strange kitchen and dressed carefully for the special occasion it had been time to present herself at the church in the Cheshire village of Willowmere where the wedding was to take place.
The cottage she was renting had been David’s temporary home while he’d been having an old house beside a beautiful lake renovated for Laurel and himself. He’d only moved into his new home the day before, which had made her arrival a last-minute thing.
The wedding had been a delightful occasion and a pleasant introduction to the surrounding countryside, but Lizzie was in Willowmere to work. She’d transferred from St Gabriel’s, the big hospital in the nearest town where she’d been employed ever since she’d qualified as a midwife, and where she’d got to know David, to take up a position in local health care that she just hadn’t been able to refuse.
She’d been offered the chance to take charge of a new maternity centre that would be functioning in just one week’s time in an annexe adjoining the medical practice on the main street of the village.
It would be a place where local mothers who wanted to have their babies at home would not have to rely on the services of a community midwife from the hospital some miles away, but would receive care before the birth, during the birth and in the sometimes traumatic days afterwards on a more personal level and from a much nearer source, under the supervision of a senior midwife.
The project was being funded by Lord Derringham, a local landowner who was on the board of governors at St Gabriel’s, and it was due to be officially opened on the coming Friday by his wife.
Before then Lizzie would be taking a keen interest in the final arrangements that were being put in place and if necessary introducing ideas of her own, while at the same time getting to know the rest of the staff in the village practice.
The person she was going to be involved with the most was the senior partner at the practice, James Bartlett. She would be answerable to him with regard to any emergencies that occurred either before a birth or during it, and would take his advice as to whether the mother-to-be should be transferred to St Gabriel’s with all speed, or just as a necessary precaution.
He’d been best man at the wedding in the old stone church and before the ceremony had begun she’d introduced herself to him. He’d seemed pleasant enough, but there hadn’t been time to say much under the circumstances and she was hoping that come Monday it would be different.
She’d brought some ideas of her own with her and would be eager to discuss them with him, and at the same time be ready to take note of what he had to say from his point of view. Until then she was going to spend what was left of the weekend getting to know the place that was going to be her home for the foreseeable future.
When she’d been asked if she would take on the responsibility of the new venture she’d agreed without hesitation. Since she’d lost Richard, her husband, in a pile-up on the motorway three years ago and in the horrendous aftermath of the accident had also lost the baby that would have been their firstborn, her job had become the only thing she had left to hold on to and she gave it everything she’d got.
David had also worked at St Gabriel’s, then as a registrar, before deciding to move into rural health care, and she was going to be doing the same.
When he’d mentioned that he would soon be vacating the cottage he was renting in Willowmere to start married life in the house by the lake, she’d got in touch with the letting agents and now here she was. Just across the way was one of the special attractions of the place: a flower-filled peace garden that she’d been told was the pride of the local folk who had paid to have it put there and contributed to its upkeep.
She’d sold their house after Richard and the baby had been taken from her, unable to bear seeing the nursery he’d been working on half-finished, and conscious all the time of the empty half of the bed that would always be there to remind her.
The leafy suburb where they’d lived had been left behind and she’d moved into an apartment near the hospital…and at the same time had bought a single bed.
It had been a modern, impersonal sort of place where she’d eaten and slept, and she would probably have stayed there for ever if the Willowmere position hadn’t come up. Now she’d gone to the other extreme and was renting a small limestone cottage in an idyllic Cheshire village that she hadn’t seen until the night before.
When she’d made the tea and sipped it slowly in her new surroundings, off came the suit she’d worn for the wedding, on went jeans and a sweater, and back went the long fair swathe of her hair into a ponytail as she began to unpack the boxes that held her belongings.
Once that had been accomplished it was time to find a shop as the only food in the place was a loaf she’d brought with her and a packet of cereal, which would have made rather dry eating if she hadn’t noticed a farmer delivering milk to nearby properties and been able to obtain a supply from him. He’d asked if she wanted a regular delivery and she’d been quick to say yes. It would be one less thing to shop for when she was busy at the clinic.
On her way to seek out the shop, or hopefully shops, Lizzie was promising herself that if she should come across a café of some sort she was going to eat there as it was beginning to feel a long time since she’d had food at the wedding reception.
There was something along those lines, she discovered. The atmosphere in the Hollyhocks Tea Rooms was welcoming and the food was excellent. She would be dining there again, she decided as she left the place. As she looked around her, taking in her surroundings, she saw the doctor who’d been best man at the wedding coming towards her with a young child on either side of him. She recognised the twins, a boy and a girl that she’d already seen once that morning in the company of a dark-haired, youngish woman and an elderly lady.
James Bartlett was smiling as they drew level and as she observed the bright-eyed little girl and solemn small boy he said, ‘Hello, Lizzie. You won’t have met my children.’ He placed the palm of his hand on top of each of their small golden heads. ‘Pollyanna and Jolyon.’
‘I saw them at the wedding,’ she told him with an answering smile, ‘but didn’t realise they were yours. I suppose that having your best man’s duties to perform they were with their mother.’
‘We haven’t got a mummy,’ the boy called Jolyon said matter-of-factly. He pulled at the neck of the smart little shirt he’d worn for the wedding. ‘I’m too hot, Daddy.’
‘We’ll be home soon,’ his father told him, ‘and then you can change into your play clothes.’
His sister was looking down at Lizzie’s feet, now encased in comfortable casual shoes, and into the silence that followed his father’s reply she said, ‘Where are your blue shoes?’
James’s smile was fading fast. This is just too embarrassing, he was thinking. He’d only stopped to say a brief hello to Lizzie Carmichael and within seconds Jolyon had told her about the great gap in their lives, and as Pollyanna had a thing about clomping around in Julie’s shoes, no doubt she would ask Lizzie if she could try her shoes on some time.
‘The shoes are at the cottage where I’m living,’ Lizzie told her easily. ‘They were hurting my feet.’
‘I wear my mummy’s shoes and pretend I’m grown up,’ Pollyanna explained.
‘Yes, well,’ her father interrupted gently, ‘perhaps we can talk about that another time, eh, Polly?’ He smiled apologetically at Lizzie. ‘The person you saw with the children was Jess, their nanny, and somewhere nearby would be Helen, my housekeeper. You’ll no doubt get to meet them soon. Willowmere is a very friendly village.’ And with his son tugging to be off and his daughter wanting to linger, he wished Lizzie a brisk goodbye and the trio went on their way.
Lizzie felt embarrassed that she’d been so presumptuous as to take for granted that the slender dark-haired woman she’d seen with the children was their mother. She wondered what had happened, and hoped she hadn’t upset them. It had been an easy enough mistake to make as they’d seemed so content in the woman’s company.
It was out of character, though, as after losing Richard and the baby she never presumed anything, took nothing for granted. If something good happened in her private life it was a bonus, and there hadn’t been many of those over the last few years.
Meeting David and subsequently the lovely Laurel, who’d had her own bridges to build, had been one, and she hoped that one day she might have the pleasure of seeing the young bride at her maternity clinic. But there would be plenty of time for that, and she, Lizzie, would be around for all of it as she intended to settle permanently in Willowmere, circumstances permitting.
She’d been going to ask James about the shops in the village but had been sidetracked by the children, and now as she looked around her Lizzie saw that there was no need to have enquired. They were all there on the main street, one after the other, starting with the post office at one end, an attractive delicatessen next to it, then the usual butcher’s, bakery, greengrocer’s and the rest, all of them with a quaint individuality of their own that set them apart from the usual shopping facilities of the modern age.
As James walked up the drive of Bracken House, his detached property next to the surgery, with the children skipping along in front, he was wishing that his introduction to the latest member of health care in the village had been more dignified.
Theirs was going to be essentially a working relationship and already Polly and Jolly in their innocence had turned it into something less official, and he’d ended up reciting his domestic arrangements as if by some remote chance Lizzie might want to hear them.
She was an unknown quantity and that was how he would like it to stay until Monday morning. Time then to see if the bright star of the maternity unit at St Gabriel’s was going to be the right one for Willowmere and the nearby rural communities.
He was well pleased that home births were being highlighted through the generosity of Lord Derringham, and knew that his lordship would have insisted that his project be properly staffed, and he supposed that what little he’d seen of the newcomer so far was reassuring.
She was in her early thirties, according to the information he’d been given, which made her five or so years younger than himself, and was unattached which he supposed could mean anything. But her having moved into the tiny cottage that David had been renting seemed to indicate that as well as being unattached Lizzie Carmichael lived alone…though he was presuming, of course.
At the opposite side of the surgery there was an annexe built from sturdy local stone, as were most of the buildings in the village, and the new maternity unit was taking shape inside.
The annexe had served various purposes over the years. At one time it had housed James’s sister, Anna, who was now working out in Africa with her husband, Glenn.
After years of separation, they had married in January and were finally living their dream, and James was delighted for them.
The inside of the annexe had now been gutted and the whole structure altered to accommodate the needs of the expectant mothers who would be attending the centre, and now the woman whose calling brought her in touch with other women’s babies all the time had arrived in Willowmere.
When Lizzie went upstairs to bed that night the shoes she’d worn for the wedding were where she’d taken them off. She remembered the interest that James’s little girl had shown in them, which she supposed wasn’t surprising. They had high heels, open, strappy fronts, and were made out of pale blue leather to match the suit she’d been wearing. They’d been an extravagance of the kind that she rarely allowed herself and hadn’t been all that comfortable when it came to wearing them, but to the small Pollyanna they must have seemed quite exciting if she was into putting her small feet into her mother’s old shoes.
It was the evening of what had been a mellow Sunday in September. James had read the children a bedtime story and as their eyelids were beginning to droop he was about to go downstairs for a quiet hour with a new medical journal that he’d been trying to find time to read when through the window on the landing he saw the midwife walking alongside the river that ran behind the house and the practice.
Lizzie was alone and there was a solitariness about her that was so unmistakable that he forgot how he hadn’t wanted to be involved with her out of working hours and he opened the back door of Bracken House and called, ‘Hi, there, it’s a beautiful night. Are you getting used to your new surroundings?’
She halted beside the fast-flowing river as he walked down to his garden gate.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘So far I’m acquainted with Willow Lake because of David and Laurel, have dined in the excellent tea rooms, shopped on the main street, and now I’m exploring the river bank, but not for long as I intend to have an early night. It’s been hectic moving here at the last minute and I want to be on top form for tomorrow.’
‘So you haven’t had anyone to help you with the move?’
‘Er, no,’ she said, seeming mildly surprised at the question. ‘It was no problem, though. I’m used to sorting out my own affairs.’
‘Would you like to come in for a cold drink or a coffee?’
She hesitated for a moment, then said politely, ‘Yes, thank you. It is rather warm. A cold drink would be nice.’
He nodded and opened the gate that gave him access to the river bank, and as he led the way into the house Lizzie was still wishing she could act naturally with this man who was going to be a close colleague in the days and weeks to come.
Maybe it was because he was so impressive to look at, or perhaps she wasn’t as confident as she’d thought she was over her new appointment. Whatever it was, he was giving her the opportunity to get to know him better and she supposed she may as well accept the offer of some light refreshment.
The house, when she went inside, was impressive by anyone’s standards, pleasant, roomy, with children’s clutter in a couple of the rooms. Pointing to doors down a side passage, James said, ‘That is my housekeeper’s domain during the week, a sitting room and bedroom where she can do her own thing. At weekends Helen usually goes home. She has one of the new apartments further along the river bank.’
Lizzie nodded. She was looking around her and thinking that the cottage she was renting would fit into a corner of Bracken House, yet it was big enough for her needs in the solitary life she’d chosen.
He’d gone into the kitchen to get the drinks and while he was there her glance was fixed on a photograph of a smiling raven-haired woman holding a tiny baby in each arm. It had to be the mother, she thought, and the infants had to be the children who had both captivated her and aroused her curiosity the day before.
When James brought a jug of home-made lemonade in, he saw the direction of her gaze but made no comment, and after her wrong assumption when she’d had the nanny down for the mother, Lizzie was not going to risk a repeat of that kind of thing.
‘You will have seen the new centre from the outside, no doubt,’ James said, steering the conversation towards less personal channels. ‘What do you think of it?’
She smiled and he thought she should do it more often. ‘What I’ve seen so far is impressive. I haven’t met Lord Derringham, but from what I’ve heard he isn’t sparing any expense.
‘I’ve also been told that as well as it being a thank-you gesture to the practice for the care that David and Laurel gave to his son when he had an accident up on the moors, his lordship has a young family of his own and is keen to see first-class maternity care in Willowmere and the surrounding villages.’
‘That is correct and the reason why you are here.’
‘Mmm. I’m known as workaholic and I suppose it’s true. Midwifery is the most rewarding of occupations and comes with the responsibility of bringing new life into the world carefully and safely for the sake of the newborn and its mother.’
She finished her drink and was getting up to go, feeling that she’d flown the flag enough for her love of the job. James could have invited her in solely to be hospitable and she’d been going on like someone with a one-track mind, yet wasn’t that what she was? There was nothing else in her life to wrap around with loving care, just the mothers and babies that came and went.
‘Thanks for the drink,’ she said as she stepped into the dusk. ‘Until tomorrow, then?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, until tomorrow.’
As he put out the empty bottles for Bryan Timmins, the farmer who delivered the milk each morning, and then locked up for the night, James was glad that he’d invited Lizzie in for a drink.
