Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Finlay said, his narrowed eyes fixed on the elderly gentleman whose black brows were in stark contrast to his mop of white hair. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”

Sophia’s gaze fell to the desk, to the detailed sketch of a leaf stalk.

“Rhamnus cathartica.” The gentleman placed his sharpened pencil in a tray of drawing implements. “Or the common buckthorn to most. Delicate, but deadly in large amounts. Might I offer you refreshments?”

“Thank you, but no,” Finlay said. “In all honesty, we arrived expecting to meet with someone else. We knew the Goodwins.”

“Ah! Then you’re unaware of Mr Goodwin’s passing. I’m afraid to say it happened some time ago. Rather sudden by all accounts, though I’m not sure if that’s a blessing.”

The gentleman introduced himself as Mr Stapler, a man with an interest in botany who spent his time studying plant species. He rounded the desk and arranged chairs so they might sit.

“God gave us plants so we might heal our ailments,” Mr Stapler continued. “They hold the key to curing countless diseases. Yes, these new surgical procedures are to be commended, but one must ask if cutting into flesh causes other imbalances within the body.” He gestured to the delicate leaf pinned to a board on the desk. “Something so fragile, so relatively insignificant, has a power beyond man’s understanding.”

“You’re passionate about your work,” Finlay said with some admiration.

The doctor laughed and then apologised. “It’s relatively quiet here. One rarely receives visitors. Consequently, one talks far too much.”

Mr Stapler seemed glad to have company. They spent ten minutes discussing Dioscorides’ notes on herbal medicine. Eventually, Finlay cleared his throat and said, “We came looking for Dr Goodwin. The late Mr Goodwin’s only son.”

“Yes, yes. He sold this house to pursue his work in the city. These young men are not suited to the life of a provincial doctor. When one studies in Vienna, Godstow has little appeal.”

Dr Goodwin had spent hours discussing his time in the Austrian city, so much so Sophia felt confident that part of the tale was true. And yet he had lied about living in Godstow. The overwhelming question was, why? Many times, she had expressed concern over him making the arduous journey. Not once had he mentioned the sale of his family home.

Finlay sat forward, looking equally perturbed. “We were under the impression Dr Goodwin was the local physician here in Godstow.”

“Godstow? No.” The elderly gentleman frowned and shook his head. “On his return from Vienna, he remained here for a time before moving to London to take a position at Guy’s Hospital.”

“London?”

“Well, that’s what I heard in the village. I’m sure his father worked at Coutts on the Strand, owned a house in Miles’ Lane just across the bridge from Southwark.”

When Jessica had her accident, Dr Sheldon was their family physician. After tugging on his breeches and boots, Mr Archer had raced from the house to fetch help. He returned with his friend, Dr Goodwin, explaining Dr Sheldon was away visiting patients in Yarnton. Dr Sheldon eventually came to the house and conducted an examination, prescribing rest, a poultice and willow-bark tea. It was only when Jessica’s mind proved unstable, and their father’s need for secrecy grew, that Dr Goodwin became Jessica’s permanent physician.

“The doctor attended my sister when we lived in Godstow, before she moved to India.” Sophia had visited the doctor numerous times at his parent’s home during those first few weeks after the accident. “I assumed he still lived here.”

“No doubt the fellow has been lapse in his correspondence. Someone else called two months ago expecting to find him here, too. As I explained then, I purchased this house five years ago and haven’t spoken to the doctor since.”

Someone else had come looking for Dr Goodwin?

Sophia was about to probe Mr Stapl

er further, but the man laughed and said, “The lady seemed most distressed when she discovered he had moved. In that instance, I suspect the doctor was trying to untangle himself from a romantic affair. Pretty little thing, but so persistent in manner she appeared quite rude.”

She glanced at Finlay, waiting for him to ask for a description, but he pushed to his feet. “Thank you, Mr Stapler. We shall leave you to your work. Rest assured. When we speak to Dr Goodwin, we will ensure he informs his friends and acquaintances of his current abode.”

A brief conversation ensued, whereby the gentleman gestured to his drawing and explained the medicinal benefits of toxic buckthorn berries.

“Might I ask one question before you leave?” Mr Stapler said, escorting them to the front door.

Finlay smiled. “Of course.”

“Might I ask if Dr Goodwin is in trouble? He seemed a rather good sort, and yet I sense he has wronged you in some way.”

With her trust in the doctor waning, Sophia had to force a smile. “The doctor is treating a good friend of ours, and we’re concerned about his methods. We hoped to speak to him privately and assumed he still lived here.”

Mr Stapler seemed appeased and raised his chin in acknowledgement. “These modern methods are somewhat unconventional, and often highly alarming.” He passed pleasantries, bid them a good day and closed the door.

They returned to the carriage, and Finlay instructed Mr Sloane’s coachman to head back to High Wycombe.