She thanked trim. He waited for her to pass him and then went on down the stairs to where Carlyon stood in the hall. “If you will pardon an old man who has known you from your cradle, my lord,” he said bluntly, “I do not understand how that lady came by that bruise on her head, but I will go bail there is some devilment afoot here!”
“I will readily pardon you, but if this is intended as a reproach to me it falls wide of the mark. I assure you I did not give Mrs. Cheviot her bruise.”
The doctor smiled grimly. “Very well, my lord, I know how to hold my tongue, I hope.”
“How do you find Mrs. Cheviot?”
“Oh, she will do well enough! Someone struck her a stunning blow, however—for all you may say she fell and so hit her head, my lord.”
“And your other patient?”
The doctor grunted. “I can find nothing amiss with him beyond a pronounced irritation of the nerves. I have prescribed a few drops of laudanum, but as for sore throats, I see no sign of such a thing!” He looked up under his brows and added, “Master Nick would have me scare him away with a tale of smallpox in the village, but you may tell him, my lord, that whatever it may be that has occurred at Highnoons, it has given him a pronounced dislike of the place, so that I fancy he will not be plaguing Mrs. Cheviot for much longer. As for Master Nick himself, your lordship will like to know that I constrained him to let me take a look at his shoulder when he caught up with me today, and I find it healing just as it should.”
“Why, thank you! He was always one to mend quickly.”
“Fortunately for himself!” Greenlaw said, in his sardonic way. “He tells me you had my Lord and Lady Flint with you for a night. I trust her ladyship enjoys her customary health?”
He lingered for a few minutes inquiring after the various members of Carlyon’s family, and then put on his coat and departed. Carlyon went back into the bookroom.