Jane wanted to blame Augustine in that moment, wanted desperately to have Mrs. Purl on her side, aligned against a master who kept the truth from them. But that would not solve their dilemma. “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding,” Jane said instead. “I’ll go attend to them.” She approached the door, and Mrs. Purl stepped out of the way. But as Jane made her way down the hall, Mrs. Purl cleared her throat.
“Pardon, ma’am,” Mrs. Purl said. “It’s just, you didn’t ask where to find them.”
Jane froze. She ducked her head. A poor liar, I. “Oh, I—I had assumed you’d put them in”—the sitting room—“the dining room, seeing as it is quite clean.”
“The sitting room, ma’am. I cleaned the curtains just this morning, thank everything.”
Jane looked over her shoulder with a sheepish smile that was not hard to fake. “Of course. What good timing,” she said.
Mrs. Purl smiled back, but it was not happy.
Jane descended the stairs.
* * *
THEY WERE WAITING for her; a cry went up as she reached the doorway.
“Mrs. Lawrence!” a small woman with brilliant copper hair declared, leaping up from her armchair （faded, embarrassingly understuffed, but clean）。 She crossed the room to Jane, holding out her hands. “We are so glad to finally meet you. I am Dr. Georgiana Hunt.” Her cheeks were ruddy with drink already, courtesy of a snifter she’d left behind on the end table by her chair, and her eyes sparkled as she took hold of Jane, drawing her fully into the room. She wore fitted men’s trousers, a high-necked blouse and vest, and a long coat, tailored precisely. The coat wasn’t a surgeon’s apron, but it had certain similarities. It was still rumpled from a day’s journey in a carriage.
Come all the way from Camhurst, against Augustine’s direct request, and so soon upon the news of the marriage. Why? It could not be just to meet her.
“Augustine’s new bride, doctors!” Dr. Hunt announced. Another cheer went up from all assembled. There were five men scattered about the room, as well as two other ladies in the company. One wore a dress closely modeled on traditional undertakers’ garb, with a black high-collared vest and narrow skirt. Her brown hair was trimmed in a startlingly masculine style.
The other was Dr. Nizamiev, the specialist from the asylum in Camhurst.
Jane’s world contracted, tilting ever so slightly off-kilter. But of course Dr. Nizamiev was here; if these other schoolmates of Augustine’s had come, why not her, whom he had seen much more recently?
Dr. Nizamiev barely marked her now, all her attention on the notebook she wrote in. It was the others who watched her, and Dr. Hunt who was waiting for her to speak.
“I’m glad to meet you all,” she managed after a moment. “I hope you will forgive me for the state of the house, however; we were not expecting you.”
“Well, if we had waited for a formal invitation from Augustine, it would never have come. We are quite familiar with his nature. We had, however, hoped to find him here, as his surgery was empty.”
“He’s with a case. A child,” Jane said, flushing as she realized she had forgotten all about the Maerbeck boy, concerned with her own distress. “Violent vomiting, throughout the night.”
“Hyperemesis,” one of the men said gravely, and it took her a moment’s awe before she realized he was not offering a diagnosis, but simply restating what she’d just said with more erudite words. He rose from his chair and joined her and Dr. Hunt, inclining his head. He was quite handsome, with jet hair and umber skin, and finely crafted features of the aristocratic sort. He was broad-shouldered, too, and the fingers that clasped hers were long and finely made.
“Mrs. Lawrence, it is a pleasure,” the man said with a controlled smile. “My name is Andrew Vingh. I’m head surgeon at a private hospital in Camhurst—your husband and I trained together in medical school. I must admit, I’m saddened to not find him at home. Are you certain he is with a patient?”
Jane went very still. “Excuse me?”
“I fear he’s avoiding us,” Dr. Vingh said.
They know he lies.
But no, he could not have been lying about his patient. He had no reason to, and no way to have brought Mr. Lowell in on the deception. And yet that patient had left her in this house, a house he had before claimed he did not want her anywhere near, and …
And she had company. She had to comport herself appropriately, not spiral out in paranoia. “I am sure he is with a patient,” Jane said. “He left here in great haste this morning. Hopefully he will return tonight.”