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“Fine day, is it not?” Father says.
“Indeed. A very fine day.”
“The gardens here are quite lovely,” I say.
“Yes. Quite,” Tom seconds.
Father nods absently. “Ah.”
I perch on the edge of my seat, ready to go at a moment’s notice. I offer him a box wrapped in elaborate gold foil and garnished with a big red bow. “I’ve brought you those peppermints you’re so fond of.”
“Ah,” he says, taking them without enthusiasm. “Thank you, pet. Thomas, have you given any thought to the Hippocrates Society?”
Tom scowls.
“What is the Hippocrates Society?” I ask.
“A fine gentlemen’s club of scientists and physicians, great thinkers all. They’ve expressed an interest in our Thomas.”
This seems a fine match for Tom, as he’s a clinical assistant at Bethlem Royal Hospital—Bedlam—and, despite his many faults, a gifted healer. Medicine and science are his twin passions, so I cannot understand his sneer at the Hippocrates Society.
“I have no interest in them,” Tom says firmly.
“Why not?”
“Most of their members are between the ages of forty and death,” Tom sniffs.
“There is great wisdom in those halls, Thomas. You’d be wise to honor that.”
Tom takes one of the peppermints. “It is not the Athenaeum Club.”
“Setting your sights a bit high, aren’t you, old boy? The Athenaeum takes only its own, and we are not its own,” Father says decisively.
“I might be,” Tom contends.
Tom wants desperately to be accepted into the very finest of London society. Father thinks him foolish for it. I do hate it when they argue, and I don’t want Tom to upset Father just now.
“Papa, I hear you shall come home soon,” I say.
“Yes, so they tell me. Fit as a fiddle, your old man.” He coughs.
“How nice that will be,” Tom says without enthusiasm.
“Quite,” Father agrees.
And with that we fall into silence. A flock of geese wander across the lawn as if they, too, have lost their way. A groundskeeper shoos them toward a pond in the distance. But there is no one to help us onto a new path, and so we sit, talking of nothing that matters and avoiding all mention of anything that does. At last, a moonfaced nurse with coppery hair going to gray approaches.
“Good day to you, Mr. Doyle. It’s time for the waters, sir.”
Father smiles in relief. “Miss Finster, like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy morning, you arrive and all is well.”
Miss Finster grins as if her face will break. “A charmer, your father is.”
“Well, off you go, then,” Father says to us. “Wouldn’t want to miss your train to London.”
“True, true.” Tom’s already backing away. We’ve been here less than an hour. “We’ll see you home in two weeks’ time, Father.”
“Quite right,” Miss Finster says. “Though we’ll be sorry to see him go.”
