“Yes, I know that much,” I told him. “Edward was barely spared that. I might not be so fortunate. I must know.”
He rose suddenly. “My lady, I cannot. Not now, it grows late. I have patients I must attend to. If you are troubled, certainly Doctor Griggs must be the physician—”
“No,” I said sharply. “He knew of Edward’s disease and did not see fit to warn me. I have no trust in him.”
His warm brown eyes were sad as a spaniel’s. “I am more gratified by your trust than I can possibly express. I cannot, not today. But if you are still determined—tomorrow, perhaps. I could come to Grey House.”
I rose and extended my hand. “Thank you. I know you do not wish to do it, but I also believe that if you discover the worst, you will tell me. I have no such faith in the honesty of others.”
He nodded sadly and let me out. Neither of us was anticipating our next meeting with any pleasure, but I knew I could rely upon him and I was determined that we would keep our appointment for the following day.
But Fate, and the murderer, had other plans for me.
THE THIRTY-NINTH CHAPTER
When men a dangerous disease did ’scape
Of old, they gave a cock to Aesculape;
Let me give two, that doubly am got free
From my disease’s danger, and from thee.
—Ben Jonson
“To Doctor Empirick”
The last person I wished to see upon entering Grey House was Doctor Griggs. But there he stood, retrieving his hat and stick from Aquinas. He regarded me coolly.
“Good afternoon, your ladyship,” he said with exaggerated formality. He was marginally more cordial to Val.
I returned the greeting and flashed Val a meaningful look. He withdrew at once and I turned back to Griggs.
“Doctor, I hope you can spare me a few minutes. There is something I should like to discuss with you.”
He assented, reluctantly, I fancied, and followed me into the drawing room. It was cold. No fire had been lit, but I did not wish to receive him in the comfort of my study. It seemed an intrusion even to have him in my home now, and I hoped the chill formality of the drawing room would convey the disdain in which I held him.
I turned to face him as soon as the door shut behind us. I did not bid him to sit.
“Doctor Griggs, I shall be brief. How long have you known that my husband had syphilis?”
He blinked slowly, as a tortoise will, and gave a deep sigh, of resignation or perhaps annoyance. It was impossible to tell.
“Five years, more or less.”
“I suppose I must thank you for your honesty, if nothing else. I rather thought you might try to deny it.”
“There would be little point in that,” he said, his expression sour. He was finding this distasteful, at the very least. “Clearly you have discovered it for yourself. And your manner makes it quite apparent you have lost any ladylike scruples that would have kept you from pursuing this highly inappropriate matter.”
I lifted my chin and drew myself up as Aunt Hermia had taught me.
“Inappropriate? The question of Edward’s syphilis touches on my own health, health that you endangered by your silence.”
He opened his mouth, aghast. “But I could not tell you! Such things are private between a man and his doctor.”
“But not a man and his wife,” I said bitterly.
He cleared his throat and attempted a mollifying tone. “It was an unfortunate thing that Sir Edward contracted this disease. I did not feel it warranted distressing your ladyship by revealing it.”
