The Recipient of Secrets (Jane Rochester Mysteries Book 2) by LeAnne McKinley

Author:LeAnne McKinley [McKinley, LeAnne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Leanne Mckinley
Published: 2024-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

It was not until the meal was completed, and the ladies had sojourned quietly to the parlour, that Mary said to me, “You will forgive me, Jane, if I do not say much. I am—I am turning something over in my mind.”

And she spent the duration of our time together staring into the fire, while I entertained Adèle with a story-book. When the gentlemen joined us, and they were not long, I saw Mary look up, rather pointedly, at Mr. Cole. He nodded, and a small smile creased his lips. She rose and went to him, and soon they were in quiet conversation by the window.

The doctor, meanwhile, went to work with a will.

“Well, Mr. Wharton, your good friends have been telling me that you suffer from a complaint of the heart. I wonder if you would allow me to further scientific progress a little.” He produced from his bag a tube made of a thick roll of paper.

Mr. Wharton smiled but his eyes showed curiosity. “An auscultation?”

“You know of it?”

“I have served as a military chaplain and have conversed with many medical men. Consequently, I have heard of many of the latest discoveries. But I have not met any one trained in the art.”

“My experience is not great, but I should be interested in examining you if you are willing. In the interests of science.”

“I am willing. Certainly. What ought I to do?”

“Stand up, sir, that is all. And just put back your coat for me. Stand here by the fire, if you please, where the light is greater.” He pressed the tube to Wharton’s chest, with his ear up against the other end. He did the same in two or three places, holding one palm in the air to indicate silence. Mary and Mr. Cole continued to speak in low tones, their words inaudible, but Mr. Rochester, Adèle and I were quite silent.

Mr. Wharton’s face at first evinced humour, but he grew a little solemn as the silent examination continued.

“Well,” said the doctor at length. He resumed his seat and restored the tube to his bag, hidden discreetly beneath his chair beforehand.

“Don’t be enigmatic, man,” declared Mr. Rochester. “Have you any diagnosis?”

“I am no expert, you know.”

“Bah! Out with it. We do not require your false humility.”

“I should think his heart as healthy as yours, Rochester, and never was a man more sound of heart than you.”

“You are sure?” Mr. Wharton asked, his voice rather slow, as if he were waking from a sort of dreaming sleep.

“Oh yes.”

“I have sometimes had attacks of a perplexing nature.”

“But they pass off?”

“Yes, within a day or two.”

The doctor asked a few more questions, and said, “It is not necessarily your heart. It sounds very much like a sort of malaria they have in foreign parts.”

“I have suffered from malaria.”

“Yes. It can return periodically, even in recovered patients. Have the attacks lessened? Are they farther apart? Since your coming to England?”

“There were one or two in recent months, but they were farther apart, yes.

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