He hesitated. They had met in the middle of the green, and it was now unbearably hot, swelteringly so. Close to Farleigh’s cottage stood an immense tree, with a seat encircling it. Grimshaw indicated this with a wave of his hand.
“Shall we get into the shade for a minute?”
Cicely assented, reflecting that she would remain in the shade for the rest of her life. She was torn in two by the wish to leave Grimshaw and the desire to hear what he might have to say. Must more horrors be faced?
She sat down on the rustic bench and furled her parasol. He stood near her, removed his soft felt hat, and began crumpling it between his hands. Her eyes rested upon his thin, nervous fingers.
“I dared not tell Lady Selina about the milk.”
“The milk?”
Very deliberately, in his most professional tone and manner, he dropped the bomb.
“I have examined fifteen samples of milk taken from cows in and about Upworthy. All—all the samples held organisms derived from manure.”
“Heavens!”
“Worse than that—some of the cows are tuberculous.”