Page 121 of The Duke Undone

Anthony allowed Jephson to refill his glass. Nothing would bring his mother back. He had to live now, to fight now for what he loved. That would honor his mother’s memory more than obsessive vengeance or self-destruction.

“Let’s discuss a timelier topic,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’ve recently been employed as medical officer by the vestry of Shoreditch. That’s very civic of you, taking on such thankless work in addition to your responsibilities here.”

“Thank you.” Jephson sipped his own scotch. “Overcrowded and insanitary buildings are ruinous to the public health. I do my part to goad the vestry into prosecuting the necessary improvements.”

“Hmm.” Anthony swallowed the second glass of scotch. It warmed his chest. If he stopped there, two glasses, that golden warmth would be an asset.

“You think to improve public health by endorsing the destruction of properties?”

“If they’re nests of infectious diseases, certainly. There are one hundred eighty-five people per acre in Shoreditch, most living in the lowest circumstances.”

“But there’s no statute for the reconstruction of the houses.” Anthony sniffed at his empty glass. A very fine year. He locked eyes with Jephson. “Surely, public health suffers when families sleep in liquid filth under bridges. The medical officers in St. Pancras and Marylebone have been pushing for repair rather than demolition, because there’s no provision for the displaced population.”

All that laborious reading . . . his father’s notes on the Cross Act of 1875 . . . Dr. Rendel’s and Dr. Stephenson’s quarterly reports to the Sanitary Committee . . . it came in handy now. Jephson’s silky manner couldn’t smooth away the facts.

With one fingertip, Jephson touched his temple, tipping his head slightly, like a man hearing the whine of a circling insect.

“In certain instances, repair is, of course, advisable.”

“But not on Charlotte Road? And why exactly is that, Dr. Jephson?”

Jephson seemed to notice that Anthony’s glass was empty. He raised the decanter questioningly, then leaned forward.

Stalling.

A tap came on the door at the same moment it swung open. A gaunt alienist walked in, all nose and Adam’s apple, looking up from a document as he entered. He saw Anthony and startled, backing away apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Jephson. I didn’t realize you were occupied.”

As he turned to go, Jephson held out his hand for the document, and in that moment, as the alienist came forward again, Anthony saw something irreconcilable with reality.

Two women, nurses, in starched white aprons and high white collars, passed the open doorway, a smaller woman stumbling between them. Anthony was on his feet before the woman began to flail, wild hair snarling all around her, before he could be sure.

“I can walk, dammit. Get your pettifogging hands off of me!” The familiar voice, throaty and desperate, gave his feet wings. It was the work of a moment to push aside the nurses—as gently as he could manage—and close his hand around Lucy’s shoulder, the tendon so tight it jumped against his palm. Her rolling eye caught his and she convulsed with recognition, clamping her arms around him with bruising force.

It felt like an act of providence, awesome and terrible, that she should be here, delivered into his arms, shaking as though she would come apart.

God above, he would keep her together. He would hold her until the end of time if need be.

He flattened the springy curls against her head, looked, uncomprehending, at Jephson, who’d come out into the hall. His face was white as paper, but he spoke with undiminished authority.

“Release the patient at once.”

“I’m not a patient.” Lucy ripped free and turned, pressing her back against Anthony’s chest, the way a soldier making a desperate last stand might press his back to a wall.

“You’re a patient until we’ve thoroughly established your sanity, at which point, if your faculties are intact, I will be forced to contact the police.” Jephson signaled to the nurses.

“And what was this woman’s crime?” asked Anthony softly, stopping the forward progress of the nurses with a glance.

“I understand it was a violent episode, involving a patient. I’ve yet to interview the concerned parties.” Jephson’s eyes slid away. “We take such breaches seriously. The serenity and safety of our patients is paramount. But these incidents are vanishingly rare and needn’t worry you.” He smiled, signaling again to the nurses.

“Have you seen the site for the cannery? Come, let’s continue our discussion outside.”

Lucy faced him, and he saw the green and yellow bruise ripening on her cheek, obscuring the constellation of freckles. Her lashes were gummy, the whites of her eyes rheumy and pink.

“Effie.” She breathed it. He had to lower his head.

“Effie,” she said. “She’s here.”