Chapter Text
The carriage rolled along the cobbled streets of crowded London. The streets were packed with people, and carts and carriages barely had room to pass each other. Someone was shouting, someone else had already decided that noon was an excellent time to start a drunken brawl right on the street. Slops were tossed from windows into the gutters, and overall, the city didn't look like a city of dreams. That's precisely why Jack didn't come here as often as he probably should have. He didn't like the hustle and bustle of the capital — the eternal crush, the noise, and the endless string of misfortunes. In short, he came here only once every few months, but he did so regularly. Mostly to visit the Tower for work or just to exchange a few words about how things were going on the borders. Sometimes just to listen to what was happening in the city and the country. News reached him slowly, as there was no one around for acres near his home, but that suited him just fine.
But today he came to London not for work, but to see an old friend. Honestly, Jack traveled here more because of Michael than out of any desire to listen to the grumbling of new officers who had yet to smell gunpowder. Let's say Jack could love silence and peace as much as he wanted, but he never forgot his friends. Michael himself, from Jack's observations, on the other hand, didn't really like silence, though he'd never admit it. Sits in his house like a mole, never seeing the light of day. Always saying he has to work. Although Jack is sure his patients aren't so ill that they couldn't survive the doctor taking a short break to walk around town to the nearest reception or ball.
Finally, the congested London square gave way to a slightly bumpier road, meaning the carriage was approaching the noble houses deeper in the city, situated a bit higher on the hills. This wasn't quite London anymore, but something like the suburbs. After another forty minutes or so, the carriage entered through iron gates that someone had thoughtfully opened beforehand, and soon stopped in front of the entrance to the house. Jack wearily stretched his shoulders. Almost an entire day in the carriage wasn't what his tired body needed, but he didn't complain. He never complained. Grabbing his simple black cane from the adjacent seat, he opened the door. A footman was already waiting for him. Of course, the young man offered his hand, but Jack hadn't lost enough dignity to climb out of a carriage like a lady, so instead of the offered hand, the man simply gripped the boy's shoulder and, with a grunt, jumped down from the step, landing on his good leg. The leg, naturally, didn't appreciate bearing the entire weight of his body and started to ache slightly. Jack clenched his teeth, steadied himself more evenly on that stupid piece of wood that replaced his right leg, and finally leaned on his cane, straightening up. Then he let go of the boy, patted him on the shoulder, and asked:
"And the master himself, didn't he come out to greet me?"
The boy didn't have time to answer. A tall, thin man with light, slightly curly hair and a matching mustache darted out of the large doors of the house. He was one of those people whose age was impossible to guess. He was dressed in an impeccably pressed dark gray livery, and a chain with a small key hung around his neck.
"Welcome, Lord Abbott," the man intoned, glaring at the nearby footman to make himself scarce quickly. "Lord Robinavitch awaits you in the green drawing-room with Lady Evans."
"Lady Evans is already here?" Jack asked in surprise, allowing the butler to escort him into the house. "Quick, isn't she."
"She arrived this morning, sir. His Lordship is displeased that she didn't stay at his house but at some inn."
Jack just snorted, continuing to limp towards the house. That sounded like Dana; perhaps she just wanted to enjoy the London evening, and since Robby (they called him that because he asked them to) is the kind of person you can't drag away from his work, she decided to do it herself. Jack didn't blame her. The weather was surprisingly good. No rain, and even the fog had lifted a bit. His leg (or what was left of it), of course, was the happiest about that.
They approached the entrance to the house. The large, heavy doors of stained oak were slightly ajar. The iron handle gleamed welcomingly in the rays of the rare London sun. The door had some abstract carvings; as a child, Jack used to stare at them, trying to figure out what was depicted. The butler confidently swung one door leaf open and gestured for Jack to enter. Straining to climb the low porch, he went inside. The house, as Jack remembered from childhood, still smelled of a certain mystery, old books, but now it was mixed with a slightly musty smell, not quite dust (impossible, as the maids surely dusted), but something else. They approached the wide-open doors with a greenish tint.
"Lord Abbott," the butler announced loudly, ushering Jack into the room.
"Thank you, Jessie," a resonant, calm voice replied. "Well, well, has it only been a month, Lord Abbott? Feels like a whole year."
"I'll take that as joy at seeing me, Lord Robby," Jack chuckled and shook his friend's hand. They stood like that for another two seconds, then Jack put his arm around his friend's shoulders and clapped him on the back. "Hello, brother, glad to see you."
"Likewise," replied Robby, returning the embrace.
"My lords, I hope I'm not interrupting?" a dry voice came from near the sofas.
Jack and Robby broke their embrace, and Jack smiled cheerfully:
"You look as wonderful as ever, Lady Evans," Abbott approached, took Dana's outstretched hand, and placed a kiss on it.
Dana did indeed look good, not dressed for a ball, of course, but no one could accuse her of being untidy in this outfit. The deep blue of her dress emphasized her gray-blue eyes; the high collar made her appear taller, and it always seemed like she was looking down at her interlocutor. The dress sleeves were wide at the shoulders and tapered slightly towards the wrists, ending in white lace cuffs. Her hair was gathered in a strict bun with a hairpin, as befits a married woman. She must have been wearing a bonnet, but she had probably taken it off upon entering the house. Pearl earrings glinted in her ears. She really was very beautiful.
"Flatterer," Dana smiled, standing up to greet him properly. They kissed on the cheeks, and Jack even made a smacking sound, just for laughs.
After the greetings, Michael sat back down in his armchair, Jack sat in the one on the left, and Dana returned to her small sofa. Jessie brought a sealed bottle of wine and, out of old habit, handed it to Michael along with a set of bottle-opening tools. Robby personally cut the sealing wax from the neck, screwed in the corkscrew, uncorked the bottle, poured wine into glasses, and casually placed the bottle on the table. Jack and Dana were used to it; Robby always poured the wine himself, just as his grandfather had done before him.
"Isn't it a bit early for wine?" Dana inquired, nevertheless taking a glass from the small table.
"Are you going somewhere?" Jack settled more comfortably into his armchair and also took his glass. "I'm not."
"What do you mean, not going? What about the reception at the Bellmonts'?" Dana gasped, and Michael sighed wearily. He, actually, hadn't been planning to go anywhere tonight either, but now apparently he was.
"On what occasion?" Jack raised an eyebrow.
"Their son's engagement," Robby answered for Dana, nodding his head in thanks to Jessie, who had brought cheese and bread to go with the wine.
"What? That whelp is getting married? Well, I'll be, I'm really out of touch with the news," Abbott whistled. "But I don't care, really.
I wasn't invited, and his mother can't stand me."
"Who does Lady Bellmont even like?" Michael asked ironically.
"Well, she's certainly better than dear Lady Blackwood," Dana smiled cheerfully, delicately nibbling a piece of cheese. At the name, Michael winced.
"Don't utter that name in vain," Robby grumbled, frowning out the window as if Lady Blackwood and her husband might immediately appear in his courtyard.
"Anyway, I wouldn't go even if I were invited," Jack continued. "My leg is aching a bit today. The weather, probably."
"The weather," Dana snorted unladylikely. "Have you been outside? Not a cloud in the sky."
"Your leg aches every time you don't want to go somewhere," Michael grinned, nodding towards his friend's right leg.
"It knows what's not good for me," Jack replied proudly, as if his leg truly possessed its own intelligence.
The friends laughed and briefly dropped the pressing topic, actually discussing the surprisingly clear weather and a couple of inconsequential news items heard here and there from the servants. But Evans brought the men back to the least pleasant topic.
"So, Jack has an excuse, and besides, he really wasn't invited," the lady began again, expressively arching her light eyebrow. "But you were invited, and you have no excuse."
"I have a lot of work," Robby replied simply, knowing it wouldn't work.
"You haven't left the house for almost a month. If you keep being a recluse, they'll start calling you strange even more than they already do."
Robby sighed. Dana was right.
"Well, alright," he said. "I'll have the carriage prepared, just let me check on Pitt, and we can go."
"And who is this boy, Ryan, yes, who is he marrying anyway?" Abbott suddenly asked.
Dana shrugged and finished her wine: "Some Indian girl. A merchant's daughter, or something."
***
Michael, as promised, gave the order to prepare the carriage. Dana, pleased that she had managed to persuade him to go to the engagement party, left to get ready for the trip. She would probably take a bath or maybe have more tea. They had about two hours for all of that. Evans insisted that being late was permissible, but one shouldn't overdo it either. Though Robby knew that without her. He had been a lord for quite a few years; he knew what was acceptable in society and what wasn't.
He walked calmly along the empty corridor of his house, which, incidentally, didn't even have a name. Officially, it was called Robinavitch Hall, named so by his ancestors, and it was called that in Michael's own youth, but the lord himself didn't so much dislike the name as find it attracted unwanted attention. His surname alone raised too many questions and gossip among many. So he kept thinking about what to name it. Jack joked that "Robby Hall" sounded pretty good, but Michael still wasn't sure. The house had no distinguishing features, except for the large oak door at the entrance. It had, of course, another feature, but it was rather hidden and hardly suitable for a name.
The man went into the left wing, and soon entered the part of the house that had appeared here only some twenty years or so ago. It was slightly brighter; Michael had specifically ordered that all windows open well and be easy to clean. Soon, a decent-sized drawing-room in pleasant light tones came into view. There were small sofas, armchairs, a few small tables, a couple of bookcases, and a dark short-pile carpet on the floor. He called this the waiting room. Here, his patients awaited consultation, but for the most part, they exchanged gossip, drank tea, and simply fulfilled their need for communication. Many recommendations were given out right here, especially if their ailments were so minor that Michael didn't even need to ask questions to figure out what the matter was.
The most interesting part began behind the double doors. There was the examination room, which contained a table with instruments and a couch upholstered in dark fabric. Further down the corridor was a door leading to the pharmacy, where he mixed remedies and infusions. Further on was a room with a large iron table, where the window was above, right in the ceiling (the extension was single-story). And finally, at the very end, were three rooms with four beds each, and two more with single beds. That's where he was headed. Before entering, he knocked; a tired female voice answered, inviting him in.
"Good afternoon, Nina," he said amiably, entering the room. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. How is Daisy feeling?"
"Good morning, my lord," said a young girl of about twenty-five. She rose from the bed and curtsied. She looked exhausted, but joy shone on her face. "She is much better, my lord! Thank you, God bless you!"
She gently stroked the hair of the little girl lying in bed. An unhealthy flush still burned slightly on the toddler's cheeks. Michael approached, gestured for permission, and after a nod, sat on the bed.
"Hello, Daisy. How are you?" he asked softly, touching the back of his hand to her forehead. Still a little warm, but definitely an improvement since last night.
"I'm hungry," the little girl replied, a bit drowsily. Michael allowed Nina to unbutton her daughter's nightgown, then pressed his ear to Daisy's chest. Moist rales, but that would pass with proper care.
"Is that so? In that case, I'll ask them to bring you something liquid to satisfy your hunger. How about some leek soup? Open your mouth and say 'ah'."
The girl opened her mouth exaggeratedly wide and drew out the sound loudly. That suited him fine. The throat and tongue were perfectly visible, especially in the bright light from the window. Pink, which was to be expected. If the lungs are noisy, the throat is no longer bright red.
"Excellent, thank you, good girl," he rose from the bed and turned to the worried mother. He doubted she had slept. They had arrived late last night with a fever, and Nina had most likely not slept a wink by her daughter's bedside. "Everything looks fine. She will recover. I'll arrange for you to be fed, and then you can return home. I'll prepare some herbal mixtures for you: in the red sachet — you'll administer it if the fever returns, and it may return by evening; in the gray one — brew in boiling water, drink morning and evening. If she coughs up phlegm — that's fine, it's supposed to happen. If the cough doesn't go away or if Daisy starts having trouble breathing — come back. Drink plenty of fluids, eat soft food, but nothing cold."
Having explained the instructions, he took the logbook he had brought with him and began recording the girl's condition he had just observed.
"Thank you, my lord!" Nina said feelingly again, kissing her daughter on the forehead, then looked at Michael with some apprehension. "How much?"
"Sixpence," Michael replied calmly, not looking up from his notes. He might forget them if he didn't write them down now.
"So cheap," Nina whispered, counting out the silver coins in surprise. It seemed she hadn't hoped she would have enough for the doctor's services.
"Quite acceptable," said Robby, accepting the money and signing under the phrase "payment: sixpence."
Having said goodbye to the woman and her daughter, Robby took the logbook to his study, then fetched pre-prepared sachets of herbs from the pharmacy room and, on his way out, stacked them on the table in the waiting room. The maid who would see the patients out would give them everything they needed.
Pitt, as mentioned earlier, had been attached to the main building only twenty years ago, as soon as Michael officially came into his rights as lord and could manage the house independently. Robby had thought long and hard about what to name this place.
He himself didn't dwell on names as often as he probably should have, but Dana had advised him to give the place where he helped people some name. Though she certainly wasn't thrilled with "the Pit," and, as she always did in childhood, wrinkled her nose.
Emerging again into the central part of the house, he quickly walked through the corridors, popped into the kitchen, and asked the cook to prepare leek soup for Nina and Daisy, and then instructed them to be escorted out and given the medicine sachets. Then he went upstairs to the second floor, to his bedroom. Dana was probably almost finished dressing.
John was already waiting for him in the bedroom. The valet was giving his clothes a final brush, but as soon as Michael entered, his slanted eyes turned to him.
"Good afternoon, my lord, your clothes are ready," Shen smiled cheerfully. Michael sometimes envied his perpetual cheerfulness. "How are things in the Pit?"
"Excellent, only one patient, so I just can't shake off Dana and this reception," Robby grumbled, taking off his current suit and reaching for the new one.
"But that's good," Shen replied, still smiling, adjusting the shirt the lord had put on and fastening the silver cufflinks. "If fewer people need your help, it means they aren't suffering."
"I suppose you're right," Michael murmured, pulling on his high stockings and allowing the valet to fasten them with garters. Then he pulled on his breeches. "My suffering is a small price for that."
"Perhaps the Bellmonts' won't be so bad?" John allowed a touch of sympathy into his voice. He smoothed the black doublet Michael had put on, then draped the blue waistcoat over it and brushed it again. While Michael put on his shoes, Shen took a hat from the top shelf in the dressing room and gloves from a drawer. "The bride is Indian? They say they are very beautiful."
"I'm hardly interested in the appearance of someone else's bride," Michael snorted, looking at the hat with disgust, then took the proffered gloves. "I won't wear the hat; it's warm outside."
"Very well, my lord," Shen acquiesced with a peaceful smile, nonetheless making one last attempt to reason with his master. "But it might get colder by evening."
"I'll survive," Robby shook his head again and looked at himself in the mirror. "How presentable do I look?"
"Just enough not to outshine Lady Evans, but also so she wouldn't be ashamed to be seen with you."
"Thank you, John," the lord muttered, smoothing his hair and checking if his beard was evenly trimmed. He wouldn't be able to trim it now, but would do it later. Fortunately, it was fine. He continued with irony, "you're a true friend."
"I'm not your friend," Shen chuckled, grinning even wider. "I'm your valet. My job is to dress you so you're not ashamed to be seen in public. And I dare say I've succeeded. If it were up to you, you'd always walk around in work clothes with bloodstains."
"Yes, I hired you so you could flatter yourself," Michael replied with a crooked smile, turning back to face Shen, speaking more sincerely now. "Thank you, John. As always, you've done an excellent job."
While John put the work clothes away in the dressing room to mend and launder later, Jessie knocked on the door and, after being invited, looked inside.
"My lord, the carriage is ready, and Lady Evans awaits you downstairs."
Saying goodbye to Shen, Robby, accompanied by the butler, went downstairs. Dana was indeed waiting for him there. She had changed from the blue dress to a cream-colored one with a fuller skirt. A bonnet of the same color was already on her head. Jack stood a little off to the side, leaning on his cane and looking indecently pleased at the fact that he was staying in the house while Robby had to go.
"You look great, brother," Jack snorted, earning a murderous glare from his friend.
"Ready?" Dana completely ignored their silent exchange of glances.
"Let's go," Robby sighed, fixing his gaze back on Abbott. "If you burn my house down, you'll be the one rebuilding it."
"Brother, have I not lived here before? I seem to recall living with you for a whole six months once."
"Yes, the most difficult six months of my life," Robby smirked, taking Dana's arm. Actually, he was being a little disingenuous. During those six months, Michael had felt a deep, warm feeling that the house wasn't completely empty. "See you later."
He and Dana got into the carriage and drove out of the courtyard.
***
The Bellmont family was quite ancient, with roots deep in the centuries; they were also wealthy, and although their fortune had diminished in recent years, it could still rival the income of many other aristocratic neighbors. This was evident from the large, stone-faced estate. The house was ancestral and old.
Robinavitch Hall looked relatively young compared to the houses of other aristocrats who had neighbored them since the beginning of the Robinavitch assimilation on these lands near the Thames. Perhaps this should have worried him, but it didn't. He had never liked those ancient houses that retained so much dust and dirt within their old walls that it was high time to move to a new one. As a doctor, he understood the importance of cleanliness and order in one's living space. That's why his house had large windows, rarely curtained. The maids regularly aired the rooms and cleaned everything with lavender oil that Michael himself had prepared.
"Don't look so hostile," Dana reproached him. Michael jumped out of the carriage and offered his hand to his friend, helping her down.
"The agreement was only to come," the man retorted, offering her his elbow for support. "Nothing was said about behavior."
Dana rolled her eyes, unladylike as it was, but it was unnoticeable under the wide brim of her bonnet. A footman met them and escorted them into the manor. Quiet music and lively conversation drifted from within. Actually, Michael was a bit curious to see the Indian bride. Whom had Marietta Bellmont chosen for her dear son?
"Wine, my lord?" asked a footman. Michael tried to smile as evenly as possible and declined. A slender lady with light brown hair in an expensive, bright dress with a rather full petticoat was already approaching them.
"Lady Evans! Lord Robinavitch!" she exclaimed joyfully. Her voice seemed a mixture of sincerity and surprise. "How lovely to see you here. We didn't even dare hope you would grace us with your presence."
"Lady Bellmont," Dana greeted with the same intonation; she and Marietta exchanged kisses on the cheek. There wasn't an ounce of warmth in this gesture, unlike with Abbott earlier.
"Thank you for the invitation! So wonderful to hear that Ryan is getting married. You all must be so happy."
"Oh, yes," the woman sighed dreamily, fluttering her fan. "Yes, I remember how Brian and I couldn't wait to become a family in our time!"
She extended her hand to Michael, and he placed a kiss on her knuckles.
"Lady Marietta, long time no see, glad to see you," Michael smiled amiably. "I bring you greetings from Lord Abbott; he congratulates you all on Ryan's engagement. He would have come to congratulate you in person, but his leg is particularly troublesome today."
Robby forced himself not to laugh when he noticed Lady Bellmont's face contort for a fraction of a second. In his day, Jack had refused to marry her, choosing Anna Almond, his commanding officer's daughter. Anna was a year older than Jack, and her lineage was much poorer than the Bellmonts', not to mention the Abbotts. Marietta had considered it the greatest insult back then that he preferred Anna, a poor and not particularly beautiful girl from a not particularly ancient family. Since then, Bellmont can't stand Jack. It's funny how long old grudges last. Anna Abbott has been lying in her grave for fifteen years now, and Marietta still can't stand her.
"Give Sir Abbott my best wishes for his health and my gratitude for his congratulations," she muttered through her teeth. Then her face brightened. "Come, let me introduce you to Ryan's fiancée. He can't tear himself away from her."
This, if you're interested, was untrue. Ryan, a rather large-built fellow with reddish hair, was already loudly talking with friends, seemingly paying no attention to his young fiancée at all.
"And here she is," Marietta said quickly, as if trying to draw attention away from her son. They approached a girl standing a little apart. "This is Samira. Samira, dear, this is Lady Evans and Lord Robinavitch."
Marietta spoke exaggeratedly clearly, actively articulating with her lips, as if the girl were stupid and unlikely to understand her.
Michael looked more closely at the Indian girl. She appeared to be about fifteen. Generally, there are no ugly fifteen-year-old girls, if nature is at all kind to them. But Samira was simply extraordinarily beautiful. Her dark skin glowed evenly with a bronze sheen. Her expressive black eyebrows rose slightly as she opened her eyes wider. Her thick, seemingly very soft black hair was gathered in an elaborate hairstyle at the nape of her neck, with a few strands hanging down.
She was dressed in an English gown of orange velvet, but Michael would be lying if he said the color suited her. Because the girl was beautiful in herself, you could dress her in sackcloth and she'd still be a beauty; however, Michael, not particularly knowledgeable about fashion, was somewhat disconcerted by the fact that they had chosen such a garish color for Samira's dress. Maybe she liked it herself, but he doubted it. Girls, as is known, possess an inner gift for choosing colors that suit their own complexion.
"Hello, Lady Samira," Dana greeted, extending her hand to the girl. "Congratulations on your engagement, and welcome to England."
Samira shook Dana's hand somewhat awkwardly. The girl's eyebrows furrowed. She was probably mentally translating what Dana had said. Robby hoped they would teach her to speak English better before the wedding.
"Hello, I am Samira," she said with a strong, exotic Indian accent that sounded pleasantly melodious.
Dana smiled softly and gently shook the girl's hand again. Marietta apparently grew tired of waiting and interrupted this awkward introduction, taking Evans by the elbow:
"Dana, come, I have a few disputes you might help me settle. Please excuse us, Doctor, I must steal your companion away for women's talk, you understand. Samira, talk to the Doctor, you might find him very interesting. So, Lady Allenna, she said..."
Robby didn't get to hear what Lady Allenna had said, as Marietta led the resigned Dana away into the crowd of ladies. Silence hung between Michael and Samira. Michael was still trying to think of a reason he could discreetly slip away from this house. He considered leaving Dana to fend for herself here.
"Doctor?" Samira suddenly asked nearby, looking up at Robby with a sort of sweet curiosity.
"Yes, I am a doctor," Michael replied, not without pride. "I help people."
Samira hummed something, then asked: "Difficult?"
"Difficult," Robinavitch replied. "But interesting."
Samira was silent again, then suddenly placed her hand somewhere just above her navel, hidden by her clothing, and said: "Fire." Then she lowered her palm to her lower abdomen. "Air." Then she raised her hand and touched her fingers to her bodice, slightly above heart level. "Water."
At first, Robby didn't understand what Samira meant, and then realization dawned, and his eyes widened.
"You, my lady, are speaking of the three bodily fluids? Air – gas, that is blood; fire – bile, the work of muscles. And phlegm, that is water, the work of the brain?"
Samira probably didn't fully understand what he said, but she grasped the general idea, as she immediately nodded desperately. She didn't smile, but seemed pleased that someone understood her.
"Did you study to be a doctor?" Michael asked with interest, but Samira shook her head.
"Books... Read. Was interesting. Remembered." Michael paused, then suddenly asked with interest.
"Why do people get sick, in your opinion?" He hoped she would understand him. And she did.
"Illness – fire?" She looked at him questioningly. "If fire burns, house burns too."
"And why might one house burn down and another not? Why does one person die and another survive?"
"One house wet, another dry. The dry one will burn?"
"Hmm," Michael grunted with satisfaction. "Good answer. And what can we do so that even a dry house doesn't burn down?"
Samira looked thoughtful. She lowered her eyes to the floor. Robby could almost see the gears turning in her head.
"I don't know. What?" She looked at him, not hiding her curiosity.
Robby didn't have time to answer. Ryan Bellmont approached them, not particularly pleased that someone else had captured the attention of his beautiful fiancée. Even though he himself had been rudely ignoring her.
"Good evening, Doctor," the man said as politely as he could.
"And the same to you, Lord Ryan," Robby greeted calmly. Michael was old enough to call Ryan simply by his first name, but decided not to embarrass the young man in front of his fiancée. "Lady Samira and I were just talking about fires and illnesses."
"Ha," replied Ryan, obviously not understanding the connection. "Interesting conversation, but I want to introduce Samira to someone, so excuse us, my lord." He took Samira by the elbow and led her away. The girl glanced back at him one last time. Michael saw the embers of knowledge in her eyes die out.
"How sad," he muttered. Samira seemed a very intelligent young lady.
If at her age she understood the system of three humors and reasoned sensibly about the mechanisms of disease, she could have been an excellent doctor. She was certainly smarter than her future husband. And what a pity that he would control her and not allow her to study the sciences much. She'd be lucky if she learned English well enough to converse in sentences longer than three words.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by Dana.
"What's sad?" she had evidently heard his quiet remark.
"Nothing," he replied quickly, pulling out his pocket watch and checking the time. "Home?"
"Home," Evans sighed wearily. "I've had enough of Lady Bellmont."
***
About a month and a half had passed since that engagement evening. Jack had gone home about a week later, finally having had his fill of London. With a promise to return in a couple of months, he rolled off to his backwoods. Dana hadn't stayed long either, which was understandable. If Jack was heading to the quiet, peaceful solitude of Abbott Manor, Dana was tired of the frightening silence of Michael's house and longed to return to her daughters and husband. And Michael couldn't blame her for that.
During this month, Michael continued to see patients, deal with accounts, and went out to a few dinner parties, but never stayed long. Basically, life had settled into a quiet, ordinary routine, and Robby only occasionally remembered the inquisitive gaze of fifteen-year-old Lady Samira.
Today, Robby was sitting in his study in the Pit. He was filling out the patient log, writing prescriptions so Shen could go out later and buy some supplies for the pharmacy next week. He kept adjusting his spectacles on his nose, his head slightly bowed. Then he exhaled, wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose, took off his glasses, and leaned back in his chair. His neck was completely stiff. "Time to finish up," he thought, but instead reached for his pen again. A knock at the door interrupted his paperwork. He invited the knocker in. It was Jessie:
"My lord, a letter for you. The messenger said it was urgent."
"From whom?" Michael looked warily at Van Horn. Had something happened to Dana or Jack?
"He said from Lady Marietta Bellmont."
Michael's face fell. What could Marietta possibly want from him?
Eyeing the folded sheet cautiously, he took it in his hands and slit the seal with a knife. The letter was scandalously short.
"Dear Doctor Robinavitch,
I am writing to you in despair. My dear son, Lord Ryan Bellmont, is very ill. He has been delirious and wasting away for several days now. I beg you to help him, as soon as possible. The cost is no object.
Lady Marietta Bellmont."