The thud of boots on the wooden staircase caught Christian’s attention. Dr Taylor appeared, scanned the room and raised his chin in recognition.
“I’d best fetch the doctor a well-deserved drink.” Mr Parsons hurried off and exchanged a few words with Dr Taylor as he passed.
Taylor came over to the table, released a weary sigh and dropped into the chair. “Never underestimate the dangers of inhaling smoke.”
“Were you able to help her?” Christian swallowed. Fire smoke attacked like a silent devil. By the time he’d reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, Cassandra had stopped breathing.
“She’ll live. Thankfully, his lordship reached her in time. A few days rest and recuperation will see her right again though the cough and dry throat will last a while longer.”
Mr Parsons brought the doctor’s drink and placed it on the table.
“Thank you, Parsons.” Taylor gave a pleasurable sigh as he downed his ale. As Parsons walked away, the doctor turned to Christian. “Any news on the manor?”
“Put it this way. The place will no longer be a blot on the landscape.”
Dr Taylor considered him over the rim of the vessel. After an uncomfortable silence, he said, “And you’re all right? No memories come back to haunt you?”
During those first few days after Cassandra’s death, Taylor had practically lived at Everleigh, tending to the burns on Christian’s hands that thankfully healed leaving no scars. “I’m fine.”
“Just fine?”
“What do you want me to say? That seeing the manor ablaze brought back painful memories of the night I tried to rescue Cassandra?”
Dr Taylor shrugged. “The mind is a complicated thing. What you saw tonight might help you remember what happened in the woods that night.”
Christian gritted his teeth. “I remember what happened. I know what I saw.”
“Yes, a faceless figure in a long black cloak.” Taylor kept his tone even. Had Christian detected a hint of mockery he might have grabbed the doctor by his cravat and shook an apology from him. “One minute it was there, the next it simply vanished. You’ve told me many times before.”
The acrid smoke had made it impossible for him to identify the figure watching from the woods. Blinking made his eyes sting, and his only concern was for the lifeless body he’d pulled from the flames.
“It is of no consequence now.” Christian brought his tankard to his mouth but slammed it on the table when he realised it was empty. “But to answer your point, no. Tonight’s incident did not rouse memories of the past.”
Another patron’s cackle of a laugh distracted them both momentarily.
“Your new maid,” Dr Taylor began. He paused and shook his head.
“Forgive me. I cannot remember her name.”
There was no reason why he should. “Rose. Her name is Rose. But she’s not the maid. She’s the governess.”
“Indeed.” The corners of the doctor’s mouth curled up. “It’s clear she has the wherewithal necessary for the position. And with the illness spreading it’s wise to move her from the servants’ quarters.”
Every conversation came back to the strange sickness. “You’re still convinced contact with a deadly plant brings about the fever?” He couldn’t help but convey a hint of cynicism. It sounded ludicrous.
Dr Taylor raised a questioning brow. “What other explanation is there?”
Christian stared at his empty tankard. The problem began not long after Cassandra’s death. Maybe Reverend Wilmslow had a point. Had Cassandra brought something into the house — left herbs in the kitchen or a potion to cure insomnia?
There had to be a rational explanation.
His thoughts drifted back to Morton Manor, to the earl and his mistress lying in the courtyard. At the time, he’d not thought to question the absence of any servants?
“Did Lord Stanton say what happened to his staff? Please tell me no one perished in the fire.”
“Stanton dismissed them two days ago.”
“Dismissed them? Did he say why?”