LITMIR.BIZ

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engravings of India and calm had been restored.

      Until two hours later when Mrs Tippen informed her that the physician had arrived.

      Trying to damp down her anger, Anna strode to the drawing room where the doctor waited.

      She entered the room. ‘Doctor Stoke, I am Miss Hill. The children’s new governess.’

      He stood and nodded curtly. ‘Miss Hill.’ The man was shorter than Anna, stick-thin, with pinched features and a haughty air. ‘Inform me of the injury, please.’

      ‘I fear you’ve made an unnecessary trip.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘Lord Calmount fell outside and suffered a tiny cut to his chin.’

      ‘A head injury?’ The doctor’s brows rose. ‘Did the boy become insensible?’

      ‘No, not at all,’ she assured him. ‘It was not a head injury. Just a minor mishap, needing no more than a bandage—’

      He broke in. ‘Are you certain he did not pass out? Were you watching? A blow to the head can have dire consequences. Dire consequences.’

      What had Tippen told him?

      She gave the doctor a direct look. ‘He did not pass out and he did not suffer a blow to his head. I was right there beside him. He fell and cut his chin on a rock.’

      He responded with a sceptical expression. ‘I must examine the boy immediately.’

      ‘Certainly.’

      She led Dr. Stoke up the stairs to the nursery wing.

      ‘How old is the boy?’ he asked as they walked.

      He’d not asked the child’s name, she noticed. ‘Lord Calmount is seven years old.’

      She led him to the schoolroom where she’d left the children with Eppy to draw pictures of Indian men in turbans in their sketch books.

      Anna made certain she entered the room first. She approached Cal and spoke in a soft, calm voice. ‘Lord Cal, here is Doctor Stoke. Mrs Tippen sent for him to examine your head so we may be certain it is only a very little cut.’

      Cal gripped his pencil and glanced warily at the doctor.

      ‘Hello, young man!’ Doctor Stoke spoke with false cheer. ‘Let me see that head of yours.’

      The doctor reached for his head and Cal shrank back.

      ‘None of that now,’ the doctor said sharply, pulling off the bandages.

      Cal panicked and pushed the man and soon was flailing with both fists and feet.

      ‘No!’ Dory caught her brother’s fear and pulled on the doctor’s coat to get him off. ‘Don’t take his turban! He wants to keep it!’

      ‘Lord Cal! Dory! Stop it this instant!’ She’d never seen them this way. She turned to Eppy. ‘Take Dory out of here!’

      Eppy carried a screaming Dory from the room.

      Anna pulled the physician away and placed herself between him and Lord Cal. ‘Cal, it is all right. The doctor will not hurt you. He wants to look at your cut and then we will make a new turban.’

      Cal shook his head.

      ‘Are you in pain?’ Doctor Stoke demanded of the boy.

      Cal, of course, did not answer. He pressed his hands against his chin.

      It took a great deal of coaxing on Anna’s part, but finally Cal allowed her to coax his fingers away and show the physician the cut. It had stopped bleeding and looked all right to Anna. She doubted it would even leave a scar.

      The doctor then tried other examinations, like having the boy follow his finger as it moved side to side and up and down. Lord Cal refused. Cal also refused to answer any questions put to him, even those that could be answered with a nod of his head.

      Doctor Stoke made no secret of his impatience with the boy. He finally gestured for Anna to leave the room with him.

      ‘Come to the drawing room,’ Anna said. ‘We can speak more comfortably there.’

      He was grim-faced as they walked to the drawing room, a room nearly as gloomy as the man himself.

      Doctor Stoke stood stiffly as he faced Anna. ‘How long has the boy been this way?’

      ‘I think he was frightened,’ she explained. ‘It was a surprise to him that you came and he is not used to strangers.’

      The physician pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘It was a mania.’

      ‘A mania?’ How ridiculous. ‘It was a temper tantrum.’

      He held up a halting hand. ‘No. No. Definitely a disorder of the mind.’

      ‘Nonsense!’

      He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his mouth. ‘I feel it my obligation to inform Lord Brentmore that his son is lapsing into lunacy. I’ve seen this happen before—’

      ‘Lord Cal is not a lunatic!’ she cried.

      He tilted his head condescendingly. ‘Ah, but you cannot deny the boy is prone to fits and is mute—’

      ‘He is not mute!’ she responded. ‘He merely doesn’t talk.’

      The doctor smirked again. ‘The very definition of mutism. I will write to the marquess this very day and inform him of this unfortunate circumstance. I will, of course, recommend the very best asylums. I know just the place. The child needs expert care.’

      Anna’s anxiety shot up. ‘You will not write to Lord Brentmore!’

      The doctor’s mouth twisted in defiance.

      She had to stop this! Who knew what Lord Brentmore would think if such a letter came his way?

      She changed tactics. ‘I mean, this is not something for a father to read in a letter. Lord Brentmore … Lord Brentmore is … is due to arrive here very soon. You should speak to him in person. Surely there is no harm for the boy to remain a few more days at home. We … we will watch him carefully.’

      Doctor Stoke averted his gaze as if thinking.

      ‘I—I am certain it would be a good thing to meet the marquess in person. He is bound to have questions only you can answer.’

      The doctor turned back to her. ‘Very well. I will wait. Two weeks, no more. After two weeks I will summon the marquess myself.’

      No sooner had the doctor left than Anna hurried to the library for pen and paper. She must write to Lord Brentmore immediately and convince him to come to Brentmore Hall.

      Lord Cal was no lunatic! He was merely a frightened and timid boy who needed time to emerge from his shell. He was like Charlotte had been, although Lord Cal had no doting parents to support him. Lord Cal’s parents had been anything but doting.

      This time Lord Brentmore must not neglect his parental duty. He must come! Anna would show him his son was a normal little boy, albeit an unhappy one. He would see for himself his son was no lunatic.

      She laboured to word her letter carefully.

      After three tries, she composed the letter as well as she could. She ended it with: You must come, Lord Brentmore. You must. Your son needs you.

      Four days passed, too soon to hear back from Lord Brentmore. If he answered her right away, his letter could arrive tomorrow. Meanwhile she would do what she’d been doing since the doctor’s ridiculous call. Keep the children busy.

      Today they were outside again, taking advantage of glorious blue skies and bright sunshine. The weather had been cool for early June, but today the sun felt deliciously warm.

      Anna dressed the children in old clothes, old gloves and perched wide-brimmed straw hats on them. She marched them outside to a small square near the kitchen garden

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