It contained nothing of consequence. Madame St. Vincent had written to say that Lady Jenkins was pretty well, but had finished her medicine: perhaps Mr. Tamlyn would send her some more. Old Tamlyn’s injunction to wait an instant had been given in consequence of a sudden resolution he had then come to (as he phrased it in his mind), to “tackle” Lettice.
“Lettice Lane,” he began, winking at Dr. Knox, “your mistress’s state is giving us concern. She seems to be always sleeping.”
“She is nearly always dozing off, sir,” replied Lettice, her tone and looks open and honest as the day.
“Ay. I can’t quite come to the bottom of it,” returned old Tamlyn, making believe to be confidential. “To me, it looks just as though she took—took opiates.”
“Opiates, sir?” repeated Lettice, as if she hardly understood the word: while Dr. Knox, behind the desk, was glancing keenly at her from underneath his compressed eyebrows.
“Opium. Laudanum.”
Lettice shook her head. “No, sir, my mistress does not take anything of that sort, I am sure; we have nothing of the kind in the house. But Madame St. Vincent is for ever dosing her with brandy-and-water.”
“What?” shouted old Tamlyn.
“I have said a long while, sir, that I thought you ought to know it; I’ve said so to the housemaid. I don’t believe an hour hardly passes, day or night, but madame administers to her a drop of brandy-and-water. Half a wine-glass, maybe, or a full wine-glass, as the case may happen; and sometimes I know it’s pretty strong.”
“That’s it,” said Dr. Knox quietly: and a curious smile crossed his face.