“There is nothing that can be done,” Elijah stated. He felt a remote airiness in his head, though it was nothing he hadn’t surmised himself.
Dr. Chalus was sympathetic enough. “I don’t have anything to offer you that isn’t, frankly, a palliative. I am currently having some success by inducing my patients to inhale a vapor infused with fungi, or mushrooms. But as I say, I am trying to find a cure for dropsy, and you show no signs of that.”
“Surely you are not the only physician studying hearts?” Villiers said briskly. “Who are your colleagues? Who else is experimenting with such medicines?”
“Darwin, of course,” Chalus said. “Erasmus Darwin. But frankly, I consider him a fool, and his recent publications have been rather weak. There’s a fellow that we’re considering admitting to the Royal Society. He’s had some luck, I believe…” He went over to his desk and began rummaging about the great sheaves of paper.
Elijah wasn’t even listening. Villiers was right. He had to prepare his estate. He should summon his solicitor tonight.
“How much time do I have?” he asked abruptly.
The doctor paused. “You present an unusual case, Your Grace.”
“Surely you can give me some sort of estimation.”
“You are fainting, you said, for short periods of time. Immediately upon vigorous exercise?”
Elijah shook his head.
“He was in a fistfight at Vauxhall last night and seemed in the pink of health afterwards,” Villiers said. “But I found him unconscious, sitting in a chair one afternoon.”
“I was tired,” Elijah said. “Tired. If I’m very, very tired, and I sit down…”
“You’re rather lucky,” Dr. Chalus said. “Most patients can’t tolerate vigorous exercise and you seem to be the opposite. How often does this occur?”
“I have these episodes perhaps once a week. More so if I am deeply exhausted.”
“I recommend avoiding exhaustion, though I’m sure that has occurred to you as well.”
“And?”
“Perhaps you have a month, perhaps a year. I apologize, Your Grace, but I can no more name the day of your death than I can entice a chicken to sing.”
He went back to scrabbling among his papers. “Ah, here it is. William Withering. He trained in Scotland, though I believe he lives in Birmingham. He published a very interesting study of fungi; the Witheringia solanacea was given his name as a result.”
“And?” Villiers prompted.
“In more recent months he’s had some remarkable results giving a reduction of Digitalis purpurea to heart patients. I have that piece here somewhere. Aha! You may keep that,” he said, handing the papers to Villiers.
“As a member of the Royal Society, I can easily obtain another copy.”
He turned to Elijah, who was putting his coat back on. “I should be very remiss,” Chalus began, and stopped.
Villiers raised his head. Elijah nodded at the doctor and spoke for him. “You wish to tell me that I might not have a month. I might die on your very doorstep.”
“Death is an unwelcome visitor,” the doctor said.
“We might any of us be struck down by a wayward coach in the street outside.”
“True,” Elijah said. “True.” His lips felt numb. It was one thing to know of his father’s fate and to surmise the same of himself. It was another to hear it so bluntly stated.
Villiers was bowing, so Elijah did the same. They walked out onto an ordinary street, in the ordinary sunshine.
“I’ll send a coach to Birmingham,” Villiers announced.
Elijah hesitated, and said nothing. There were some advantages to having known a man since you were both boys. There was no stopping Villiers once he took that tone.
“I have to write Jemma a letter,” Elijah said suddenly.
“I promised that I wouldn’t leave the house without a personal note.” He smiled rather crookedly.