Page 24 of The Ambiguous Enigma of the Hunted Lady
“Oh, I am sure he will be along.” the Duchess made a show of how much fruit there was on the table. “Go on, take a bite, he is only writing a note to his uncle.”
“You mean Lord Wilson? How has he been faring? I have not seen him in many months, it seems.”
“He is as well as he can be, I suppose.” The Duchess seemed uninterested in the well-being of her brother-in-law. “He is always hard at work on something or another.”
“He has become a very successful business man.” Dr. Fowler commented.
“So, I am told.” the Duchess ended the discussion, and at that moment the Duke appeared.
“I am sorry to have kept you delayed.” he addressed the room. “Now let us take tea.” and he waved to Daniel to begin serving.
“Your Grace.” Dr. Fowler acknowledged his arrival to the room.
“So, tell us, Doctor.” the Duke said, fishing a bite of cheese into his plate unceremoniously. “How is our patient?”
“I am pleased to inform you that I expect her to make a full recovery.” Dr. Fowler began stirring sugar into his steaming tea cup. “All in due time, of course.”
“Well, that is excellent news!” The Duke sat up, energized. “Let us take a drink to celebrate! Daniel, fetch a brandy.”
“None for me.” the Duchess interjected, shooting her son a glare. “It is far too early in the day.”
“She will be in pain this next month from simple movement.” Dr. Fowler went on. “She will need support on a regular basis.”
“I shall care for her.” the Duke said.
“You shall not.” the Duchess countered. “You have a business to run, and you will be traveling to London to meet with your uncle in a matter of days, will you not?”
“I will, but–”
“Beatrice will care for her.” the Duchess concluded. “Lest we not raise any more rumor than you already have.”
“I care not for rumors.” the Duke took a glass from Daniel, and handed it to Dr. Fowler. Then he retrieved one for himself. “To the health of Miss Benson.”
“Well said, Your Grace.” Dr. Fowler toasted the Duke and drank the brandy down. It was of excellent quality, and he was reminded in one of the reasons he had come there. He began to attend the food piled before him.
When the extravagant tea time had concluded, Dr. Fowler made ready his departure. He bid his farewells, his well wishes, and climbed back aboard his coach for the journey back to London.
He would reach his home before the clock tower struck eight, and this satisfied him. He had a belly full of good food and drink and a head full of good information.
He took a pleasant nap on the ride back, waking only when they clattered onto the flagstone of the London streets.
Dr. Fowler then made a stop unexpected to the driver. He pulled in front of an alley in St. James’s Square, and told the driver to hold a moment. Then he took a page from his pocket notebook, and with a small pencil scribbled a message.
He climbed down from the coach and walked into the alleyway. He followed it around a bend and into a small, forgotten courtyard between three large businesses.
In that courtyard there was an old Roman fountain that had long ceased operation. He shuffled quickly to the fountain but stopped still in his tracks as he reached it.
There was a boy watching him. The lad was perched atop a sloping roof, following his every move. He said nothing, just watching from his vantage point. Even from this distance, Dr. Fowler could tell the child did not get enough to eat and had likely had his growth stunted. Sometimes being a doctor in a city filled with the sickly took its toll.
Dr. Fowler held up one of his gloved hands and gave an open-palmed wave to the boy. The boy did nothing.
Likely just a lookout.
Then he leaned over the dried fountain basin and placed his note in the ancient mouth of a leaping fish, which at one point might have spat water.
His task complete, he turned and hurried back to the coach, glancing behind him to see that the lad on the roof had disappeared.
He could only hope that the thing he had just done would be enough to clear him with Nash, for he owed that low life more than he could pay.
