“All right then. First off, Thomas, I’ve been doing research into natural antibiotics. Those are plants that might help heal Daphne’s arm where that surgeon’s been hacking at it. To help kill any infection there, vinegar and lavender oil are strongly antiseptic. They should be used when cleaning it, although I’m sure they’ll sting. Thyme and tarragon are good in her soup, and onion and garlic too. I was going to suggest myrrh, the same stuff the Wise Men brought to baby Jesus—it’s a tree sap with wonderful antibacterial properties, but it would have to come from the Middle East and I doubt you’d be able to get it. Now secondly, I have a theory, based largely on the sound of that cough of hers, that Daphne might have a lung disease called tuberculosis. The most obvious symptom of it is night sweats. So I’m asking you: does she perspire a lot in her sleep? If she wakes soaked in sweat I feel we’re halfway to a diagnosis.”
“I’ll make sure he gets the message,” Derek assured her. “Maybe I’ll sing a little song for him about tuberculosis—rhyme it with psychosis.”
“Please don’t say things like that. It’s not helpful.”
“It’s my nature,” he said. “I’m just messing with you. I do have some sympathy—I may not believe what you tell me, but I believe you believe it. I don’t doubt your sincerity.”
“Right. It’s my sanity you wonder about.”
“Since you put it that way, yes.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “I’m going to ask Thomas something. Thomas, I need to convince Derek here that I’m not mentally ill, and I think there’s a way you can help me. Can you please think of some really private, obscure thing you know about him? Something you’ve observed from being in Derek’s head, something no one else could possibly know? Please, share it with Sylvanne, and I’ll hear it, and then come back to Derek with the evidence, with rock-solid proof, and then he’ll finally have to believe me that there is, in fact, a Thomas in his mind.”
Derek thought a moment. “Thomas, listen up. Porn habits are off limits, bud.”
“Please. That’s the last thing I want to hear about,” Meghan sighed. “I’m fully aware of all the deviant crap that clogs the internet, and if you’re looking at it you’re just one in a billion, apparently. That’s not what I want Thomas to tell us. I’m hoping for something more personal, something absolutely unique to you.”
“If he’s in there, and truly the gentleman you describe, he’ll respect any real secrets I have, and not go blabbing them.”
“His goal is to cure his daughter,” Meghan said. “He’ll do whatever it takes. This could be the swift kick we need to get you motivated to help us save a child. So Thomas, please do it. Give me something good from the private world of Derek.”
24
A girl in the kitchen offered Mabel some meat from the leg of a boar, yesterday’s supper reboiled. She said no, knowing wild boar was a dish Sylvanne did not care for, but she did manage to take a few pieces and stuff them in her mouth. “Just a wee sample,” she joked. Then she returned with breakfast for herself and her Mistress: boiled eggs still in their shells, some rye bread roughly sliced, a bowl of warmed butter to dip it in, milk in a pitcher, and warmed cider in a jug. The guard helped her carry it from the kitchen to her Lady’s chambers, then excused himself with a nod and a bow. As the door shut, Sylvanne looked upon her maidservant expectantly.
“Well?” she asked. “Did you manage it this time?”
Mabel shook her head regretfully. “No Ma’am.”
“I’m growing impatient with you,” Sylvanne spat. “How hard can it be? From a kitchen full of them I ask only that you slip a small blade unnoticed into your apron, and hurry it to me.”
“It’s not so easy, Ma’am,” Mabel said apologetically. “I’m watched, always. But I promise the day will come when the proper opportunity presents itself, and I will act.”
“Make haste, Mabel,” Sylvanne exhorted her. “The more healthy that child grows, the harder it becomes to contemplate ruining her happiness. Every day I’m taken from this room to sit with father and daughter, where despite myself I’m affected by them. I can’t help it, when I’m exposed for hours on end to the loving attachment I see them share. Then