“Foxglove might help,” the doctor said, having recovered himself. “But the consequences for failure are grave, and unfortunately, as I have explained to him, I must decline to treat His Grace.”
Jemma paled and her hands tightened. “Because it’s poison?”
“Dr. Withering has experienced some remarkable results,” Elijah said. “But he is at the initial stages of his research.”
“The possibility of giving someone an overly powerful dose is likely. I have advised His Grace not to attempt this remedy.” The doctor bowed, obviously expecting them to leave his chambers immediately.
Jemma looked up into Elijah’s face. “What do you want to do?”
“Go home with you,” he said. “There’s no easy way to say this, Jemma. The doctor has seen many heart patients, and he is not sanguine about the time I may have left.”
“His heart is thready and irregular,” Withering put in. “But I must emphasize that no one can tell the span of a person’s life. I’ve had heart patients whom I considered to be at death’s door linger for months, even years.”
But she could read the truth in his eyes…He didn’t think Elijah would be one who lingered.
Jemma dropped Elijah’s hands and said to the doctor, “Your medicine has worked for some people, hasn’t it?”
“It has. But I have—” He hesitated. “I have had a number of failures.”
“Do you mean that patients have died as a result of the foxglove?” Jemma was not in a mood for euphemisms.
“They would have died in any case, from either dropsy or an irregular heartbeat,” Dr. Withering said somewhat defensively.
Elijah moved behind Jemma and put his hands on her shoulders. “The duchess does not mean to imply any negligence on your part, Dr. Withering.”
“It is hard for a layman to understand the mysteries of science,” the doctor said. “I am drawing closer to understanding correct dosages. I recently discovered that the leaves, once powdered, are twice as potent as the flowers. And the other day I made the serendipitous discovery that boiling that powder renders the effect fourfold as powerful.”
Jemma could interpret that comment. Some unlucky patient’s death proved the potency of his boiled medicine. “How did you discover the properties of foxglove?” she asked.
“I advised a patient of mine that there was nothing more I could do for him,” the doctor replied. “He was as swollen as a ripe plum, and I’d tried everything I knew to cure his dropsy. He didn’t agree with my assessment, and made his way to an old Gypsy woman known for her healing arts.”
“A Gypsy!”
Withering nodded. “She gave him a potion, and the symptoms of dropsy went away. Even more interestingly, his heart steadied. The moment I heard about it, I went around to find her, of course.”
“And the drink was made from foxglove?”
“There were some twenty herbs in the potion,” Withering said with a trace of pride in his voice. “It took me nearly a year to narrow my study to foxglove, and then to begin to understand the remarkable qualities of this plant. It seems to have the ability to cure tumultuous action on the part of the heart.”
“Tumultuous action?” Jemma asked, confused.
“Irregularities,” Withering explained. “Skipped beats. Just as it soothes an overly rapid heartbeat, it also speeds up an overly slow one.”
“We must find the Gypsy,” Jemma said, picking up her bonnet.
Elijah laughed—he actually laughed. “If we find the Gypsy and I drink the potion, I would need to keep taking it. Do I spend the rest of my life chasing a Gypsy down country lanes? She’s a traveler.”
“You would have a life in which to chase her, Elijah!”
He just looked at her, and there was something in his eyes…She turned to Withering. Not many people could withstand Jemma at her most formidable, and the doctor wasn’t one of them. He actually flinched. “In your opinion, does my husband have insufficient time to find this Gypsy?”
“I would not advise travel.”
“I asked you a question,” she said steadily.
The doctor fidgeted and then said: “In my opinion, your husband does not have much time.”
Elijah intervened. “My heart lost its rhythm repeatedly in the time that Dr. Withering was listening to my chest, Jemma. Of course, I was lying flat, and that’s the worst possible position.”
She nodded. It seemed that Elijah had only a few days to live. She turned to the doctor again. “Have any of your patients survived, or only the Gypsy’s patient?”