Page 82 of A Provincial Peer

More touched than she could say, Caroline pressed the heavy crock against her chest. “Thank you, Giles.”

Taking the reins in his hands, he clicked his tongue, and as the horse took its first steps forward, Giles offered her his wonderfully familiar craggy smile. “Good day, Miss Caroline. I’ll see that Lord Benning gets ’is letter.”

* * *

Benedict gazed at the view through the carriage window. Already, the solid rows of houses and busy streets of Gloucester were behind him. Now the countryside rolled out in undulating fields interspersed with groves of trees and an occasional farmhouse. He had departed early from the inn where he’d stayed overnight. It was imperative that he return to Farwell Hall without delay. His father needed to know what he had discovered at the Blytons’ home. But there was one more thing Benedict needed to do first.

They passed a large pasture filled with shorthorn cows. Several of the animals were clustered together, sitting on the ground. Benedict looked upward to study the sky. Sure enough, a small band of rain clouds was scudding toward them. He shook his head slightly. The cows’ instinct to preserve a patch of dry grass was one of the very best indicators of pending rain.

Hoping the carriage would outrun the storm, he leaned back in his seat and considered what lay ahead. He’d witnessed cows lying down before the arrival of rain often enough to recognize the thread of truth to the folklore. Now he’d witnessed a former milkmaid escape smallpox after indisputably having been exposed to the disease. He wanted to know—needed to know—if the commonly held belief that milkmaids were immune to the disease was also based on truth.

The carriage slowed to turn a corner. He glanced at the road sign. Berkeley. Above the hedgerow, a church spire stood out in the distance, a sure sign that they were nearing a village. They passed a handful of cottages, and then the carriage pulled into a short drive that ended at a wide courtyard before a large white house. The roof was gray, and several white chimneys stood tall above it. Two steps led to an imposing front door, and on either side of the door and lining the floor above, rectangular multipaned windows looked out upon all new arrivals.

Benedict’s driver hopped down and opened the carriage door. “This is it, m’lord. Dr. Edward Jenner’s house.”

“Thank you, Roger.” Benedict alighted and looked around. On the left, a few outbuildings stood several yards from the house; on the right, a wide lawn stretched down to a small woodland. “I’m not sure how long I shall be. It will depend upon whether or not the gentleman can see me.”

“Not to worry, m’lord. I’ll be ’ere whenever yer ready.”

Crossing the distance to the front door quickly, Benedict raised the brass knocker and tapped. Moments later, the door opened.

The young maid who answered the door bobbed a curtsy. “Good day, sir.”

“Good day,” Benedict said. “I am looking for Dr. Edward Jenner.”

“You ’ave the right ’ouse, sir, but the doctor is leavin’ momentarily for The Temple of Vaccinia.”

“I beg your pardon.” He must have misheard her.

“The Temple of Vaccinia,” the maid said. “It’s what the doctor calls the garden shed.”

Benedict was beginning to regret making this detour. “I see. And is this garden shed a place where I might speak with him?”

“Yes, sir. It’s not ’ard t’ find.” She crossed the threshold, presumably prepared to point the way, when a man’s voice came from inside the house.

“Who was it, Edith? Did you tell them I cannot stay to talk at present?”

The maid’s cheeks colored. “Yes, sir. But the visitor . . . ’e’s still ’ere.”

Footsteps sounded, and a gentleman appeared in the doorway. He was of average height and build, with dark hair. His jacket and breeches were rather worn and his cravat limp, but he had an air of decisiveness that overshadowed his well-used wardrobe.

“Dr. Jenner?” Benedict deduced.

“Indeed.” The gentleman’s brown eyes studied him. “And you are?”

“Lord Benning.”

The doctor’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “Farwell’s son.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lines disappeared from his brow. “I spoke to your father once, months ago in London. A good man with an open mind.”

“I believe that is a fair description,” Benedict said.

Dr. Jenner pulled a watch from his pocket and glanced at it. “I apologize that I do not have more time to talk to you. I am overdue at what I fondly call my Temple of Vaccinia.”

“Is it close by?” Benedict asked.