The Scarlet Ribbon, Book One in The Scarlet Ribbon Series.
Love, death and man-midwifery in the 1700s.
Galway, 1737.
James Quinn. Doctor, surgeon.
Marguerite. The love of his life, and his new wife.
When terrible tragedy befalls him, James must sew the threads of his life back together again. He journeys to Paris and London to study midwifery, but in a new profession which is met with derision and scorn and plagued by scandal, can James find true happiness again?
The Scarlet Ribbon contains scenes of birth and surgery.
The Scarlet Ribbon, Book One in The Scarlet Ribbon Series.
Love, death and man-midwifery in the 1700s.
Galway, 1737.
James Quinn. Doctor, surgeon.
Marguerite. The love of his life, and his new wife.
When terrible tragedy befalls him, James must sew the threads of his life back together again. He journeys to Paris and London to study midwifery, but in a new profession which is met with derision and scorn and plagued by scandal, can James find true happiness again?
The Scarlet Ribbon contains scenes of birth and surgery.
Galway 1737
James Quinn rode over the eel-slippery rain-soaked cobbles of Galway. It had been a weary couple of days for the man and his horse, and many miles were covered. From the fine streets of Dublin where he studied medicine, through lush rolling countryside, and on to the coarse scrubby land of Connaught with its straw-coloured grasses and trees bent like arthritic old men attempting to make their painful way across wind swept plains.
The skies had been leaden from the start, blackened, relentless and unceasing it seemed in the task of soaking everything beneath.
James pulled his cloak tighter around himself, making sure to give some cover to the horse for he was a kind man, and continued past the fortified walls, into the sights of the bustling, prosperous trading city.
Rounding the corner of the street where his parentâs home stood, a blur of chocolate brown stalled him and the horse.
James looked down and a pair of black eyes regarded him back, stubby tail wagging in rapturous welcome.
âFinn! How did you know?â enquired his master.
âJames! He knew you were coming and has been waiting all this time,â panted his sister Kate, looking most unladylike with her ruby embroidered skirts and sepia petticoats all rucked up with the effort of chasing the dog, pretty face flushed, hair in disarray.
James dismounted in one fluid movement, pulled his sister to him and gathered up the dog who proceeded to wet his face with an enthusiastic pink tongue.
âHello son, cĂ©ad mĂle fĂĄilte,â cried Mother Quinn, hardly pausing for breath as they entered, âand you Kate Quinn, supposed to be a young lady, running in the street with your skirts up! James, was there nowhere along the way to freshen yourself? And us with our dinner guests arriving soon to plan your wedding, well I donât know. Make sure to leave the dog out too, with the horse, âtil he dries.â
âHello Mother,â James bent down, putting his nose to the hollow of her neck filling his nostrils with her familiar rosewater scent.
âMy son,â taking his face in hands she kissed him. âNow away with you to wash. Your father is with a patient and our guests will be here by six.â
James waited in his fatherâs study, surrounded by medical texts. He remembered sitting here on his fatherâs knee demanding explanations of the curious drawings contained within the books, his fatherâs deep chuckle and prediction that he too would be a doctor, one day. The memory brought a smile to Jamesâ face.
âIt is right that you are happy son, and content I am to see you,â beamed Doctor Dara as he entered and strode across the room to embrace James. His face, with copious whiskers and kindly blue bespectacled eyes appeared a little more wrinkled than usual. James banished the cloudy thought and they sat to catch up on monthsâ worth of missed conversations.
âWe can talk more later, and you can tell me your news, but now our future in laws are due to call.â
âGod be with you all!â boomed Thomas Lynch as he swept into the Quinn hallway accompanied by his wife and children.
âMy Lord, I am so hot,â Thomas complained and touched his lips to Mother Quinnâs cheek. âMay I seek your permission, dear lady, to banish this wretched thing from my head? And so, here is my soon to be son-in-law,â he continued, removing his wig while he talked, as James descended the stairs. Passing the assembled family his eyes sought out the girl in silken dove grey damask.
âMarguerite.â With her gloved hand in his, James gazed at her, the love of his life. Her hair a dark profusion, velvet smooth skin with simple pearls at her throat, brown eyes full and sparkling bright with happiness.
A discreet cough from behind disturbed him.
âWell son,â said Doctor Dara, resting his hand on Jamesâ shoulder, âlet us eat and finalise your marriage details. Itâs so much easier to plan on a full stomach I find.â
âLater,â James whispered to Marguerite, âwhen all of this is done, it will be just you and I, my love.â
The following day, James and his father met in the study to discuss his future.
âYour mentor Surgeon Stone is a good man and would not recommend man-midwifery as a career if you were not up to the task. It is obvious he needs your help at difficult cases of childbirth.â
âBut man midwives are held in such low esteem, particularly by the physicians of Dublin,â
âAh James, physicians are university educated and consider themselves an elite medical class. They only tolerate surgeons and their apprenticeship system but disapprove entirely of men who take charge of childbirth.â
âYet the man midwives only attend on request from a midwife.â
âUnlike surgeons whose blessed hands can operate, physicians are skilled mostly in the crafts of diagnosis and the use of blood-letting, emetics, and purges, of little use in difficult childbirth.â
Doctor Dara paused. âAll will be well, son. You can take a little time to decide if man midwifery is for you, and we can talk further. Now, here is a small gift for you.â
His father rose and took two leather-bound journals from a corner cupboard.
âYou truly are a mind-reader, they are just what I need. I would like to record a copy of all my correspondence, medical notes and everyday observations, and these journals will be perfect.â
âJames, I am afraid that I have some bad news. Itâs Liam, Liam OâFlaherty. He died this morning.â
The news was not unexpected, but James was saddened. He had a sudden memory of sunny summers when Liam had brought him out in his boat to lift lobster pots.
âYou knew he had a bad chest and was ailing for a long time. He began to cough up a lot of blood. His appetite went and he just faded away. No treatment could save him.â Dara paused and relit his pipe, the watery sunlight in the room painting everything a weak yellow. âYou might like to visit his family.â
Taking his leave James glanced back to see white smoke from the pipe curling around his fatherâs head. He lifted his hand in farewell, but Dara was absorbed in thought as Finn slept at his feet.
James rode out through the cityâs fortifications past the Quays and genteel living, over the bridge and into the rows of poor thatched cottages and unkempt streets that made up the Claddagh fishing village.
Untended boats floated idly at anchor in the cove and swans kept guard like white angels on the grey water. No fishing would happen this day as a mark of respect from the fishermen to one of their own.
He made his way to the OâFlaherty cottage and knocked at the rough wooden planks that made up the front half-door, bleached to a powdery white colour by the wind and rain that came often and suddenly in the area, its knots looking like sullen unblinking eyes. The door was badly warped, it squeaked noisily and had to be opened forcibly.
The face of a pretty young girl on the cusp of her teenage years, with curling auburn hair and blue eyes looked out. He pulled her name from his memory.
âCarissa?â James asked.
She nodded.
âI am sorry about your father,â he continued and then seeing her blank stare realised that she spoke little English so reverted to her native Irish tongue.
She did not smile or answer but stood aside to let him pass.
Inside the cottage, Liamâs body was laid out on a scarred wooden table.
A handmade woven cross of straw lay on his chest and candles flickered smokily at his head and feet, filling the tiny space with the smell of candle grease and blocking out the light that filtered in through the mean window.
James hated occasions such as this as they brought to mind the frighteningly quick illness and death of his tiny sister, born too early.
He stood by Liamâs body, remembering, sending a prayer to the heavens for his friend and only then glanced around the room. Carissa stood, head bowed, her younger sister Aileen lost by her side.
âWhere is your mother?â he enquired. A knock at the door startled the too-silent room and, as Carissa went to answer it, Aileen took him by the hand and drew back the flimsy curtain from the alcove by the ash-grimed open fireplace to reveal her mother lying there, motionless, gaze fixed on the rough beamed ceiling. James heard Carissa welcome in mourners and closed the curtain again as he sat on the shelf with Liamâs widow.
She inclined her head and stared at him, helpless, grief weighing her down, eyes too bright with unshed tears. Helping her to sit up and holding her close, he rocked her gently while uttering soothing words. When the mourners had departed James left the widow to her private agonies and stepped into the room once more.
âCarissa? Where are the little ones?â he asked, talking of her four younger siblings that ranged in age from toddler upwards.
âThey are with our neighbour, for my mother needed some rest and Aileen and I thought it best that they would not be underfoot as so many people have come to see Dada. She bent her head so he would not see the tears that were her constant companion.
âWe will get them home later.â She angrily brushed her tears aside and sniffed, rubbing her nose on her sleeve.
âYour mother will be fine, Carissa. And the little ones are lucky to have a big sister such as yourself. I will ask my own mother to come and see you from time to time. She is a good friend to me and, if you wish it, I am sure in time she will also be one to you.â
He took his leave and bade farewell to the two young girls framed in the rotting doorway, one dark head the other light.
The night of his wedding, James Quinn beamed to himself as he took in his new wifeâs slumbering form.
âOh, wake up, my love, my lover wake up,â James whispered softly into Margueriteâs ear, âoh wake up, my love, my lover wake up.â
âJames, are we late? Whatâs happening?â
âNothing like that,â he kissed her warm sleep-tousled hair with his love. âThat was the happiest day of my life, what a day, and now my wife.â
She stretched coyly and her lip trembled just a little as she was suddenly shy of her new husband. She chided herself and twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, wasnât this the man she had known since childhood, they had played together, she knew each plane of his handsome face like she knew her own.
âIâm sorry I slept, James. I was so tired after it all.â
He helped her from the bed where she had lain down to refresh herself but instead had fallen into sleep. âI loved every moment of the day,â he said with a smile in his voice, âand what a future we have in store Mrs Quinn. Now come to the candle so I can see you more clearly.â
He took her gently by the hand and continued talking to ease her nervousness. He knelt before her and undid the ribbons on her boots and eased them off her feet. He lifted her foot, turned it, and fondled the sole gently.
âThere were so many people to see me off. They gave me flowers and wished us well.â He let her foot be, stood and appraised her bodice, eyes crinkled and brow furrowed in concentration as he noted the pins, ribbons, hooks and eyes that he needed to undo to get closer to her.
âAs we waited in St Nicholasâ Church for you, my mother took my hand and squeezed it tightly.â He pulled the ribbon, undid the pins and hooks and laid them on the table by the bed.
âWhen the choir started singing,â he hummed âWelcome, Welcome Glorious Mornâ under his breath as he helped her walk out of her skirt, âI saw you come up the aisle with your gown shining in the sunlight that filtered through the stained glass windows colouring your every step with all the shades of the rainbow. And I felt sure my heart would stop.â
He gently tugged down her petticoat and she stepped out of it.
âThen you were mine to the strains of If Music be the food of Love and I was never prouder or happier.â
He eased her out of the embrace and paused as he helped her out of her hoop, and she pushed it free with one foot.
He undid the ribbons on her stays and paused as he knelt once more before her. He traced his hand up her leg and took off her garter, and then the other one. âYour father was funny, it was obvious he had been enjoying his own wares before he gave his speech, but then what good is it being a wine trader if you canât enjoy your own stock?â
He observed her again, her stomach skipped, and she drew in a sharp breath as she saw his eyes darken as he knelt down. He beamed widely, and as his dimples showed he gently rolled down her silk stockings.
âMy father was so proud he just had to sing. Then he told me he could never have wished for another daughter as good, kind and beautiful as you. They all love you Marguerite.â
He got up and she stood before him in her chemise in the candlelight.
James Quinn faced her, blood pumping, heart soaring. He put his hand on her waist and drew her nearer, whispering her name.
With trembling hand, he pulled gently on the scarlet ribbon that held the neckline of her chemise and as it came loose so too did the last whisper of sheer linen that covered her creamy skin. She stepped out of the garment, no longer shy as the love of him took her by surprise and gave her strength.
âAnd now we are here, I am yours and you are mine,â he whispered, and turning his head he blew out the candle.
Catching sight of her naked shoulders, he put the ribbon in her hand, murmured into her hair that he would treasure her forever and lowered his lips to hers.
A very interesting love story! It was nothing like I thought it would be, but I enjoyed it nonetheless. If you're looking for the classic rom-com scripted novel, this isn't it. It's something much more realistic; for good and bad. I found myself researching the characters because they were so aptly placed in the historical context I figured they MUST have been real people.
The novel reads almost as a series of snapshots that impact James Quinnâalmost a coming of age story. He is at the cusp of manhood. Married to his love, starting his career and then, tragedy. I wept with James multiple times throughout his story. James, at times, feels so innocent and good that it's hard to see him suffer so. But he has his own share of secrets, and men in the 1700s of his class were given a free pass in certain areas of life . . .
The descriptions are vivid and the images clear. O'Dowd does a fantastic job of plopping the reader right into the scene with plenty of showing instead of telling.
I wouldn't know about the historical accuracy (I'm not up to date on my medieval facts!), but it feels like you're transported to a different time period. Not just the Jane Austinisms of parties and socialites, but the gritty details of creating medicines, surgeries, families living in squalor, the whorehouses, and the medical practices common in the mid-1700s are simply frightening.
If you've ever watched "Call the Midwife" and enjoyed it, this is a story that you must read. Although there is no foul, vulgar, or explicitly course content, the descriptions are vivid. Some surgeries, body parts, and scenes may trigger those who have issues with blood, or child-birth. Overall I felt the scenes to be tastefully written for a mature audience.