The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,11

activity to so affect a man of your years strikes me as strange. Do you take regular exercise?”

Thomas grunted. He was in the room allotted to him as his bedroom, the curtains now drawn back to admit the daylight. He lay on the bed, supported by a mass of pillows. “Not as often as I should.” He looked towards the closed door. “This will remain between us?”

The doctor glanced up. “My commitment is always to my patient.”

“I’m seeing a London specialist for a liver complaint.” His mouth tasted sour. “I am waiting the right moment to inform Mr Leighton.”

The doctor nodded. “What was your diagnosis?”

“Cirrhosis.”

The doctor paused. “But that would mean—”

“I know what that means.” Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. McCarthy did not deserve his anger. “My doctor advised rest and a moderate diet. Last night’s actions were a mistake that I will not be repeating.”

“Glad to hear it.” The doctor paused. “I’ll prescribe you a plaster to draw out as much of the excessive humours in your liver as possible, though with cirrhosis, the most we can do is slow its advance.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll consult Mereweather once I return to London.”

The doctor snapped his medical bag shut. “I’m afraid there is no possibility of you travelling in the immediate future, Lord Cross.”

Thomas blinked. He had not expected this deferential old gentleman to deny him. “I must return to London.” The sooner he removed Pip from the vicinity of Connaught Castle, the better for everyone. “I have urgent business.”

“Then you must delegate it to someone else, or have it delayed.” The doctor remained firm. “You have seen the consequences of exerting yourself. Attempting to make the journey to London before you have recovered your strength would be most unwise. You will not so easily recover from a second or third attack.”

Thomas tasted again sour fear in his throat. “You’re saying the journey might kill me?”

“If undertaken without proper rest and preparation,” McCarthy said. “Your body is overtaxed. Additional stress has an immediate effect. You must be very careful, Lord Cross, if you do not wish to hasten your demise.”

His fingers were buried in the folds of the bedsheets. “Understood.” He licked his lips. “You will not tell Lord Connaught?”

“I will give it as my professional opinion that you should rest for a few days in order that we may be sure that this is an isolated incident.” McCarthy picked up his bag and tucked his hat and gloves under his arm. “I shall leave informing your companions of your condition to you.”

Thomas breathed out. “Thank you, doctor.”

“I’ll return to see how you’re getting on in a day or two.” He gave a brisk bow and took his leave.

Thomas heard voices outside. Pip, waiting to ask the doctor how he was. He took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His chest gave a slight twinge, but no more. Cross opened the wardrobe.

When Pip entered the room, Thomas was fully dressed. “I didn’t expect to see you up and about. Is this wise?” Pip placed a hand on his arm.

Thomas snorted. “The doctor told me to take it easy. Not to confine myself to bed.”

“All the same. Looking back and seeing you bent over like that gave me a real jolt.” Pip brushed his hair out of his eyes. “What do you say to wiring for Mereweather? He’d come, I’m sure.”

“And impose even more on Lord Connaught? Out of the question.”

“He won’t mind. I’m doing him a service, looking into his banshee.” A knock at the door. Pip squeezed Thomas’s arm and then released it, stepping back. “Come in.”

Julian slipped through the door. “Lord Connaught sends his best wishes for Lord Cross’s speedy recovery and wants you to know that his house and staff are at your disposal.”

“It sounds as though Doctor McCarthy gave an exaggerated view of my condition. I shall have to go downstairs and assure him on that point.”

“Is his view exaggerated?” Julian asked.

Thomas nodded. “I am not the young man I once was. Strange as it no doubt seems to you, I forget that. I have not vaulted across anything in years—perhaps a decade. My regrettable collapse was an avoidable instance of foolishness, exacerbated by the strenuous journey we undertook yesterday. I will be fine, so long as I allow my body time to recover from the unaccustomed exertion.”

The relief on Pip’s face was hard to bear. “Is that all?”

The words tasted sour on his lips. “Doctor McCarthy is