The next morning, after a frosty night with Evelyn, somebody knocked at the door. “It’s too damned early for the surgery,” I grumbled as George stepped through the hall. Evelyn followed, wiping her mouth with a napkin.
“It’s Lady Clarinda Snodgrass.” Evelyn came to my side and spoke in a whisper, with the silver cross glinting in a stray beam of sunlight through the window. “She wants to speak to you.”
I stood, trying to regain command in my house. “I usually visit my distinguished patients in their own homes. Bring her in.”
As soon as Lady Clarinda entered, I ushered her into the surgery. She swept in as if she owned the place, sat in front of me and smiled. “Good morning, Doctor.”
“Good morning, Lady Clarinda,” I said.
“We both know you are a gambling man, Doctor.” Clarinda faced me
