Page 83 of A Provincial Peer

“The bottom of the garden, actually.”

“Then, perhaps I can walk that way with you.”

Dr. Jenner inclined his head. “A solid compromise.” He exited the house. “Tell Cook I shall be late for luncheon if you would, Edith.”

“Yes, sir.”

The maid closed the door, and Dr. Jenner started across the courtyard at a brisk pace. “What would you like to know, my lord?”

Benedict did not ask how the gentleman knew that he had come with questions. It was likely that most strangers arriving on his doorstep were similarly disposed.

“What can you tell me regarding the myth that milkmaids are protected from smallpox?”

“That it is no myth.”

Benedict shot him a surprised look. “You are a physician, and yet you fully believe it?”

“Incorrect. I know it.” He released a frustrated sigh. “I am well aware that my colleagues in the medical profession scoff at my efforts, but I have proof. And as time goes on, that proof will continue to multiply.”

Only too aware that his time with the doctor was limited, Benedict cut straight to the chase. “Tell me what you have discovered.”

“Not all milkmaids are immune to smallpox,” Dr. Jenner said. “Only those who have suffered from cowpox. After years of talking to milkmaids and farmers, I realized that milkmaids contracted cowpox after coming in contact with the cowpox lesions on the cows’ udders during milking. The illness’s symptoms are similar to smallpox—blisters filled with fluid, raised temperature, and general malaise. But whereas a person who contracts smallpox can be bedridden for weeks, will be scarred across his or her entire body, and has a high likelihood of dying or becoming blind, those who come down with cowpox usually recover within three or four days, their scarring is limited to their hands, and there are rarely any long-term effects.”

Benedict had seen this among his own milkmaids. They considered cowpox little more than a nuisance. “How does this comparison impact immunity?” he asked.

“I have discovered that there is sufficient similarity between smallpox and cowpox that the body often cannot tell the difference. So, if a milkmaid—or anyone else, for that matter—contracts cowpox, not only will she not become ill with that same disease again, but she will not become ill with smallpox either.”

Benedict attempted to follow his logic. “You believe the body is tricked into believing it has already had smallpox because it has survived the cowpox.”

“Exactly,” Dr. Jenner said. “Those doctors who are using variolation, where they subject a patient to smallpox material through the skin or inhalation, do so with the hope that the patient will then become immune. Unfortunately, the procedure also means that the patient will become ill, may spread the disease to others, and could ultimately die. Those who receive my vaccination will likely become ill, but the symptoms are negligible and will last only a few days. They are also unlikely to pass the illness to another.”

It sounded almost too good to be true. “And you said you have proof that this vaccination procedure works?”

“I do. Weeks ago, I took the fluid from a cowpox blister and scratched it into the skin of my gardener’s son. A single blister rose up on the spot, but the lad soon recovered. I then introduced him to smallpox matter. No disease developed.”

This was the procedure Giles had told him about. “Might I be so bold as to suggest that one case hardly constitutes medical proof?”

“You may, and you would be correct. However, young James was merely the first to try the procedure. I have since given the cowpox vaccine to many others and have subsequently introduced them to smallpox. The outcomes have been an echo of his.”

They had reached a line of trees at the edge of the lawn. Nestled within the trees was a small structure with a thatched roof and bark-covered walls. People of all ages and seemingly a variety of occupations stood in a queue that began near the door to the shed-like structure and disappeared between the trees.

“Who are these people?” Benedict asked.

“Those who wish to be vaccinated,” Dr. Jenner said, withdrawing a large key from his waistcoat pocket. “I administer the procedure here three days a week, and any who wish to participate are invited.”

“With no thought of the cost?” Benedict did not need to look far to know that most of the people in this line were locals with minimal resources.

“Lord Benning, I am a simple country physician who has spent most of his life attempting to eradicate a heinous plague from our country. For me to deny people what I believe to be a life-saving procedure simply because of their social standing or inability to pay would be immoral.” He unlocked the door. “If they come to me, I shall help them.”

Benedict did not move. “What is the worst that can come of your vaccination?”

“A severe case of cowpox that may last four or five days, and a possible infection at the sight of the two scratches I make on the person’s arm.”

“And the best case is full protection from smallpox?”

“The best and most likely case,” Dr. Jenner said.

The decision was simple. Benedict had promised Caroline that he would do all in his power to assuage her fears of smallpox claiming another person for whom she cared deeply. He might not be sure of her feelings for him, but he had no need to reconsider his feelings for her. And he intended to keep his word. “I wish to be given the cowpox vaccine,” he said. “I shall take my place at the end of the queue.”