my lord.’
‘And tell me as soon as that new doctor arrives.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Mason dabbed at Tony’s hand and at the liquid spilled on the sill.
Tony brushed away his efforts irritably. ‘“Yes” and “no”—is that the extent of your linguistic capabilities?’ he muttered. ‘You sound like a bloody parrot. Go. You know I hate hovering.’
‘Yes, my lord. I mean, no, my lord.’
Letty sat within the shaking chassis of the doctor’s elderly vehicle. Arnold was driving and she began to wish she had chosen to do so herself. Arnold drove somewhat ponderously which, when combined with Archimedes’s aversion to over-exertion, meant for a slow journey. Besides, if she had driven herself, she would have been outside which would have been considerably pleasanter than this sweltering heat which seemed to exaggerate every noxious scent ever contained within the vehicle.
Sweat prickled her palms and armpits while her stomach tightened so that she felt quite ill. The window did not open so there was no way to ensure a breeze and her scalp under the wig itched quite dreadfully.
Trying to distract her mind, she applied herself to the study of the passing scenery. It had been a hot, dry summer. The fields had turned yellow and the cows huddled under the shade trees. What should have been small bogs or shallow ponds were dried mud, beige patches marked with a criss-crossing pattern of cracks.
At least, as the doctor, she could see the view with clarity. As Miss Barton, she never wore her spectacles and her world was blurred.
The trap swung from the main road and into a small copse, a shady pleasant place. It reminded her of afternoon visits with her mother when they had called in on Lady Beauchamp—Elsie’s mother-in-law, she presumed.
Letty pushed a finger under her wig, trying to make it more comfortable. She felt a fluttering of nerves. Sarah’s fault, no doubt. She’d hovered about earlier, her face so furrowed she’d all but resembled a death mask at a feast.
So why had she taken this extra risk? Letty supposed she could rationalise it from a purely financial viewpoint. At some point, she needed to grow her practice and to be paid in money, as opposed to root vegetables.
But why start with Lady Beauchamp and Lord Anthony with his sharp, hard eyes and bitter smile?
Generally, she understood herself well enough, but today her motivation seemed more complex. She was genuinely worried about Elsie. She’d read about a condition where the expectant mother’s face and extremities became puffy and swollen. She’d also spoken to local midwives and had once seen a mother, with similar symptoms, have fits.
She had died.
Letty also knew there were preventative measures, but no cure. Indeed, she might well be unable to help.
She placed her forehead against the carriage window. No, it was not only worry for Elsie, but something else. There was another element, a thrill of excitement, a feeling of daring and exhilaration. The very riskiness of the enterprise appealed.
But this was not logical and, while she had taken risks in the past, they had been calculated. By any measure, she should avoid Lord Anthony at all costs. He had seen her as a woman and a cynical intelligence glinted from those grey-blue eyes.
She’d liked his eyes.
She frowned at this errant thought, pushing her hand further under the wig. She hated it. She hated having to dress up in this stupid disguise to do the job she was meant to do.
As they passed through the woods, twigs and branches scratched against the buggy as it bumped over the uneven path before pulling on to the well-tended drive. For a moment, Letty knew a sudden longing to return to the dim, shadows of the woods.
Shafts of bright sunlight returned, spilling through the carriage windows. Trees flanked the drive so that the light flickered as they progressed towards the mammoth structure at its end. Good heavens, she had quite forgotten its size. It made Oddsmore seem but a country cottage. On either side, she could see the green expanse of the immaculate park, punctuated by bright flower beds, shimmering ponds and neatly trimmed box trees.
At least, payment would not be in root vegetables.
But the very elegant opulence of this place served to spike her worry. These people had power. Any complaint, any disclosure would be believed.
Arnold pulled the vehicle to a stop. Up close, the house seemed even more imposing; a three-storey structure with a stone façade and turrets. Ramsey had enjoyed a brief fascination with architecture and they’d studied turrets with their tutor.
Arnold clambered down and opened the carriage door. For a moment she hesitated, then climbed out, looking up with a shiver of apprehension at the wide staircase and imposing bulk.
‘Good gracious, they even have lions,’ she muttered.
Indeed, two stone lions flanked the staircase as it ascended towards an impressive black-lacquered door.
This portal opened even before she’d walked up the stairs and a rather grim-faced butler stood within the doorway.
‘Dr Hatfield...’ the elderly butler intoned, more like a statement than question, as though announcing her entrance to a grand banquet.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, keeping her voice gruff, her spine straight and her shoulders square.
He had a squint. Hopefully, the squint indicated limited vision.
‘Her ladyship is resting in her sitting room,’ the butler continued. ‘I will lead you to her. And His Lordship also requested that you visit him before you leave.’
‘Naturally,’ Letty said brusquely, ignoring the peculiar fluttering within her stomach.
After removing her hat and cloak, she followed the tall, somewhat stooped gentleman along a narrow passageway and into Lady Beauchamp’s sitting room.
A maid opened the door and Letty stepped into a dark apartment, the curtains so tightly drawn that the only light entered through a tiny crack between the cloth.
‘Good Lord, it is like a morgue in here,’ Letty said impulsively.
‘Not the best turn of phrase perhaps, Doctor.’ The voice came from a form just visible within the gloom.
‘Lady Beauchamp?’
As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Letty recognised Elsie. She lay on a daybed and gave a wan smile. ‘You are Dr Hatfield?’
‘Yes,’ Letty said. She must keep in mind that the doctor had never met the woman.
‘My brother wanted me to see you. I suppose that must mean you are the best. He always gets the best.’
‘Your brother is kind,’ Letty said.
‘That adjective is not frequently used to describe my brother, at least within the last year. Although he was different before.’
Letty curbed a flicker of curiosity. She longed to talk about Lord Anthony. Indeed, the man at the garden party had seemed in stark contrast to the young gentleman at her debut.
But Lord Anthony was not her patient and, even in the dim light, she could see that Elsie was not improved. Her face had a roundness she didn’t like and her speech lacked the brisk clarity she had recalled from their previous encounter. In fact, there was a listless apathy which seemed quite contrary to the woman she remembered.
‘Is it possible to open the curtains so I might better examine you?’ she asked.
‘No, please. The light makes my head worse.’
‘Your headaches are worse?’
‘Yes.