Page 67 of The Heir
He did so, but he did not cease to stare. Another girl of sixteen might have been disconcerted by such scrutiny from a man at least twice her age. But Victoria was perfectly accustomed to the company of older men, and to being examined by them either openly or with sneaking sideways glances.
“I can only apologize for this highly irregular situation,” she told him. “And I must beg for your discretion.”
“I, but, that is . . . ma—miss,” he sputtered. “Please. What is happening?”
“I am here in the hope I can persuade you to speak with me about your father’s death.”
The effect was immediate. Gerald Maton’s mouth snapped shut. His cheeks colored, but it was not from shame or bashfulness. It was from that same anger that she had seen in his mother’s parlor.
But he still struggled to find words. Victoria felt impatience building.
“If it will aid matters, you may ask me anything you wish first,” she said.
“How is it you came to have my father’s spectacles?”
Victoria nodded. The package she had passed him at the vigil had indeed been a sketch of his father, just as she had told Mama. But that sketch had been wrapped around the ruined spectacles, and she had written on it,You may expect a visit from me.
“They were found on the palace green, where he himself was found,” Victoria told him now.
He slumped back in his chair, as if he no longer had the strength to hold himself upright. Victoria tried to be patient with this man, whom she had already begun referring to as Dr. Gerald in her private thoughts.
“Why did your family say your father died at home in his bed?”
Dr. Gerald’s hands gripped the air, as if he was looking for something to tear apart.
“He was brought home to us in a cart,” he said finally. “I was not there when it happened. I was summoned by one of the servants. When I arrived, he had been laid out on his bed but not yet washed. I saw . . . I saw he was covered in mud and soaked with rain. My mother and oldest brother had locked themselves in his consulting room. When they came out, I demanded to know what had happened.” Dr. Gerald stopped. His hands clenched again. Victoria waited, her face calm but her heart hammering. “They would not say a word about what had really happened. The only reason I know anything at all is because I asked one of the footmen.”
“What did he say?”
“First, he begged me not to tell anyone he’d spoken to me, because my brother and my mother had threatened to sack anyone who spoke about how my father’s body had been brought home. It was only when I swore I’d take him into my own household that he agreed to tell me anything at all.”
Victoria nodded.
“He said that before they had sent for me, my mother and brother spent half an hour in private with a gentleman who did not give his name. It was when he left that they ordered silence and secrecy.” Dr. Gerald looked at his hands on the desktop, clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white. “The gentleman apparently spoke of a pension owing to my father that would only be paid upon condition that the . . . correct story was given out.”
“How did they—your mother and brother—explain the necessity of this . . . story?”
Dr. Gerald snorted. “They said we must keep up appearances, that any rumors of irregularities—I believe that was the word my brother chose—would damage his ability to absorb and maintain my father’s private practice.”
“What did this gentleman look like?”
He shook his head. “I did not think to ask.”
Victoria was silent for a moment. The case clock in the corner ticked insistently. She did not have much time. But there was one more question she very much wanted the answer to.
“Did you ever hear your father speak about the Princess Sophia?”
“Was she a patient of his?”
Victoria considered. “I don’t know. Possibly. She said . . . that he was a good friend when she needed one.” She did not tell him the other thing her aunt had said.He did not behave as expected, not as he had or as I thought.
Dr. Gerald contemplated the consulting room past Victoria’s shoulder. What memories did he see there?
“I think you will have to ask Her Highness,” he said slowly. “My father did discuss his cases—more than he should have perhaps—but he was always careful to refrain from using names. He might say, ‘I know a lady,’ or ‘A certain gentleman in my care.’”
Dr. Gerald looked away. Victoria swallowed the spasm of anger. She did not have time for proprieties or hesitations. But neither did she have time to shout. Instead, she made herself small, made her eyes wide. Made her voice soft.I am helpless, and I need you.“I am sorry that I must intrude so callously on your grief. But I . . . I can only beg you, if you know anything that might shed light on this matter, that you will tell me.” She reached her hand out and touched the back of his lightly, briefly. “Please.”
Something she had not seen before overtook Dr. Gerald then. Something beyond his anger and his confusion. It was grief, and it was bone-deep shame, and it robbed him of the dignity he had so far maintained.
