in his palette to create a scene of kites flying in the park. It was easy to imagine the dizzying motion of the kites and the children who ran after them, arms stretched, clutching their strings in small fists. She thought it was an odd choice for a room that probably rarely saw visitors, but then it was also safe here, and it was unlikely to have drawn the notice or approval of Breckenridge’s gamers.
The bedroom’s sole window overlooked the small garden and alley beyond. Olivia tied back the heavy velvet drapes to allow the modest light of an overcast sky to enter. There was but a single chair and it was situated too close to the bed and not close enough to the fire. Olivia changed that, turning it so she could have all the benefit of the flames, then tested it for comfort.
When she sat down she did not imagine she could fall asleep, or even that she would want to, yet once she had fit herself between the wings of the chair and curled her feet under her it was as if the choice had been taken from her. She did not recall her head tipping to one side or her eyes drifting closed. Sleep came upon her surely and deeply and led her to a place without dreams, without cares, but also without hope.
“She didn’t rouse easily,” Dr. Pettibone said. “I didn’t know what to make of it at first.”
“Exhaustion,” Griffin told him.
The doctor nodded. “I did not assume that she was drugged.” He was slight of stature but had an air of great consequence about him. It was not without reason. His reputation was one of caring and competence, and he confounded his colleagues by his willingness to enter the brothels and gaming hells on Putnam Lane. “That is what she said as well, though she gave me cause enough to wonder if she was lying.”
Griffin turned away from pouring the doctor a small whiskey. “How so?”
“She was adamant that she did not want to be examined.”
“I warned you.” He finished pouring the drink and carried it to Pettibone. “I hope you did not let her protestations sway you.”
“No, but I was ever mindful of her modesty. I found her to be peculiar in that regard. The ladies here in the lane are rather more indifferent to stripping to their chemises. I’m afraid I expected the same from her. You did not tell me she was no whore.”
“Bloody hell, Pettibone. I didn’t tell you she was.”
The doctor knocked back half of his drink. “Yes, well, as I mentioned, I was able to make my examination, though not as thoroughly as I might have otherwise done. You understand, don’t you? I cannot say with complete confidence that she is or is not pregnant. I believe that was your first concern.”
Griffin actually closed his eyes and put a hand to his temple. “I don’t believe I voiced my concern. I said she became violently ill after breaking her fast. I sent for you so that I would know the cause.”
The thin line of Pettibone’s lips disappeared as he flattened his mouth. The expression was equal parts defensive and disapproving. “Pregnancy is a cause of such sickness. I had to consider it.”
“Then give me your considered opinion,” Griffin said wearily. “Not what you know or can prove, but what you think.”
“That is rather backward from the way one normally arrives at these things, but for you, Breckenridge, I will make an exception. Your guest—and I do take umbrage that neither you nor she saw fit to share her name—is likely suffering from nerves. I concluded this after eliminating drink and opium use as other possibilities. She owned that she has not slept well these last few evenings and that she has very little appetite. She has also had headaches. A small one today; a violent one only yesterday. These are often the physical manifestations of a nervous condition.”
Pettibone finished his drink and set his glass aside. “She masks it well in some regards, though it is probably not in her best interest to do so. Such anxieties as she has will express themselves whether she wishes it or not. Straightforward or sideways. She cannot hope to contain all her apprehensions without suffering for it.”
Frowning, Griffin set himself on the edge of his desk. “You entertain the most singular notions, Pettibone.”
Not at all offended, the physician nodded. “I do not bleed my patients either. You will want to know what is to be done, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I gave her a small bottle of laudanum. Used sparingly it will help her sleep—which sets the stage for her recovery—and relieve such megrims as she has from time to time. Naturally, you must insist that she eats. Toast and broth at first, I think, then as her appetite improves she may have whatever she likes that her stomach will tolerate.”
Griffin watched Pettibone shift slightly in his chair, unwittingly signaling his discomfort with what must be said next. “Out with it,” Griffin said. “I am paying you to hear it all.”
Pettibone cleared his throat. “If I understood correctly, then she is to be your guest for several days. Truss informed me it could possibly stretch a fortnight.” When Breckenridge did not interject information to the contrary, Pettibone continued. “She will not be improved by being confined to a single room. I believe—”
“Did she complain?” Griffin asked sharply.
“No. No, not at all. Quite the opposite. She remarked that she found her accommodations perfectly agreeable and was untroubled by your insistence that she should not leave her room.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The problem is that she must leave from time to time. It is critical for her condition that she take regular exercise. That cannot be accomplished by taking a turn about a room so small as the one she is in. Fresh air will do remarkably well for her. Once a day will be sufficient. Twice would be ideal.”
Griffin had thought the headache he was nursing could not become worse. Here was proof that he was wrong. “She said it was out of the question, didn’t she?”
“What she said was that she would do whatever I recommended, but that permission for such daily outings was only yours to give.”
“Good lord,” Griffin said, more to himself than the doctor. “But she can make a thing turn back on itself.”
“How is that again?”
Griffin shook his head. “It is unimportant. What else came of your examination?”
“It is just as critical that she have some means of occupying herself, else she will have no thoughts but the ones that are troubling her. The nervous condition will worsen. She won’t sleep, eat, or—”
“Yes, doctor, I see the picture you are painting; however, she has already informed me in words plain and firm that she has no interests or accomplishments one might associate with her sex.”
“She indicated as much to me, though she did mention rather reluctantly that she likes to read.”
Griffin very nearly rolled his eyes. He remembered her studying his library, tilting her head first one way, then the other, to read the titles of the books he’d stuffed on the shelves on their sides. “She mentioned this reluctantly, did she?”
“When I pressed, yes. She seemed a bit embarrassed by it.”
“Indeed.”
