Perhaps no more than ten minutes passed before Vincent reappeared. His eyes were shot with red and his hair disordered. He walked straight to the washbasin and filled it with water from the pitcher. Eschewing the linen cloths, Vincent splashed water on his face and let it dribble back into the basin. Only after he had dried his face did he turn to face Jane. Even then, he addressed the pillow by her head.
“I am—I would rather be too cautious with your health than not enough. You were … unwell today. My concern seems reasonable to me, but I am … I am aware that my thoughts are disordered.” Vincent glanced at her and away, swallowing. “Tell me what to do.”
“I would not trust anything Sir Ronald said to us. As you said, it is likely that this is a contrivance of your father’s to convince us to stay. Dr. Jones is a disinterested party, so I would set more stock by her recommendation.”
He stared at the carving on one of the bed’s posts, breath a little too quick and too shallow for comfort. “That seems sensible.” Vincent rubbed his forehead and closed his eyes. “I am sorry that I am … that I am having such difficulty.”
Jane had to swallow to answer him. “You have no need to apologise.”
He made a low rattling moan and turned from her again. His hands clenched into fists at his side. For a moment, Vincent held his breath, and when he next spoke, his voice was creditably steady. “If you do not mind, may I ask that you avoid being expressly kind to me?”
Now Jane had reason to be thankful that his back was to her. She pressed both hands over her mouth to hold in a cry of anguish for her husband. When she could, she said, “Of course.”
“Thank you. I will fetch Dr. Jones.” As Vincent turned to go, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He hesitated, then pulled the stained and dirty shirt over his head. He quickly donned one of the clean ones they had left behind. The shirt was followed quickly by a clean waistcoat, cravat, and coat, creating a fashionable young man out of the deranged glamourist. The last touch was to run his hands through his curls and sweep them into something resembling order. It was an unexpected effort from a man who would rather wear a coat out of fashion than suffer a tailor.
“Do I look less … disordered?” He gestured towards his face, and not his clothing.
The red had faded from his eyes, which she suspected was his real concern. Jane nodded. “It will do.”
He stepped out of the door, shutting it carefully behind him. Jane listened to his footsteps fade and judged that she had perhaps twenty minutes in which to indulge in hysterics before he returned. She rolled onto her side and pressed her face into the pillow.
As quietly as she could, Jane wept, but before even a minute had passed, two sets of footsteps headed back towards her room down the long gallery. Their echoes gave her plenty of time to return to a seated position and turn the damp side of the pillow down. There was a gentle knock at the door.
Jane sat up further in bed. “Enter.”
Sir Ronald opened the door, carrying a leather satchel. He was accompanied by Zeus, who gave Jane a brief smile before shutting the door and taking up a place by one of the walls.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hamilton. Your husband asked me to look in on you.”
Fury sent a wave of heat through Jane. She knew that Vincent was upset, but that did not give him leave to completely disregard her wishes. “I appreciate your time, but I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding.”
“I do apologise for the irregularity of our introduction earlier.” He drew a chair up to the side of the bed. He had with him a black leather satchel, which he set on the side table. He glanced over his shoulder. “Face the wall, boy. I have asked Zeus to act as my assistant, thinking that you should prefer someone familiar to a stranger.”
“Thank you, that is very kind. But I do not require an examination.”
“Oh dear … forgive me, but this is an awkward situation. Because your husband made the request, I am obliged to carry through at least a passing examination. I believe we can confine it to questions only. Would that be acceptable?”
The difficulty that Jane faced was that Sir Ronald seemed genuinely concerned that she be comfortable—it would be far easier to resist him if he acted the villain. Given that Vincent had asked him to attend her—and Jane would have serious words with her husband about that—she did not feel entirely able to rudely dismiss Sir Ronald. Her distrust of him came largely from a violent dislike of Lord Verbury. That dislike, however, made her wonder how her answers could be twisted and used against them. “What sort of questions?”
“Your courses, diet, general history.… I understand your concern, since we shall be discussing matters of some delicacy. Allow me to assure you of complete privacy and discretion.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at Zeus. “Sometimes they peek. Let me know if he so much as glances this way. Now, we shall start with some simple questions.”