Chapter 27

The sun had risen, and the blackbirds and wrens were already singing their first songs of the morning. Caroline slipped out of bed and tiptoed across her bedchamber toward the small desk near the window. Beneath the bed covers, Meg stirred. Caroline stood still, waiting. Sure enough, moments later, Meg's even breathing resumed. Continuing to the desk, Caroline picked up the piece of paper lying beside the quill and ink. She had written the letter soon after receiving Benedict's the day before, but she wanted to read it one more time before handing it to Giles for delivery.

Shifting so she could hold the paper up to the sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains, she reviewed the words she'd penned.

The Vicarage,

Leyfield, Gloucestershire

30th June 1796

Dear Benedict,

It was lovely to see your mother, albeit briefly, when I visited Hester. The assistance you orchestrated for the Simkinses has made an enormous difference to them. You would be so pleased to see how much better they are faring now. The baby is content, and Hester seems happy. I did not see Mr. Simkins, but my father reports that he is in good spirits.

As your mother told you, Meg and I are well. I was relieved to hear that you have remained healthy and that there have been no further outbreaks of smallpox on the Farwell Estate. Meg is very tired of being indoors and will be thrilled to know that we can resume our outings together soon.

I hope that your time in Gloucester is productive. When you have returned, I shall look forward to you visiting the vicarage.

Yours sincerely,

Caroline

Trapping her lower lip between her teeth, she read the last line again. It would be far safer to say that she and Meg looked forward to his visit. The statement could not be faulted. Meg asked to see Benedict every day—often more than once. But if Caroline were truly going to demonstrate more courage and faith in the future, she needed to begin by exemplifying it in this letter. Benedict deserved to know that Caroline herself wished to see him.

Before bravery failed her, she folded the letter. Lighting the nearby candle with a flint, she melted some wax and sealed the envelope closed. It took only a few moments more to write Benedict's official title on the envelope and don her gown and shoes. Wrapping a shawl around her shoulders, she slipped out of the room and down the stairs.

Nora had banked the fire in the kitchen stove the night before, and the room had retained a residual warmth. A quick look at the counter told Caroline that Nora had already taken the empty milk crock outside for Giles to exchange for a full one. She could probably slide her letter between the empty crock and the wall. When he discovered it, Giles would know where to take it.

Opening the back door, she stepped outside. The birdsong was louder in the back garden. Dew coated the grass, and although the sun was up, it had yet to fully disperse the cooler nighttime temperatures. Caroline drew her shawl more securely around her shoulders and followed the path around the house. To one side of the front doorstep, the empty crock stood waiting.

From the lane, the clop of heavy hooves and the rattle of wheels reached her. It was possible that it was someone heading to market, but at this time of the morning, it was more likely to be Giles. She waited, watching the lane. Moments later, Giles came into view, driving a cart and horse. He spotted her immediately and raised his hand in greeting before bringing the horse to a stop. Picking up the empty crock, she met him at the garden gate.

"Mornin', Miss Caroline," he said, reaching for a fresh crock of milk in the back of the cart. "Yer up bright an' early."

"Yes. I was hoping to catch you."

"Oh?" He raised a gray, bushy eyebrow. "D'ya 'ave a new milk order?"

"No. I have a letter." She offered him the envelope. "It's for Lord Benning. And since he used your services yesterday, I hoped you wouldn't mind if I did the same today."

Giles chuckled. "So long as th' postman don't find out I'm takin' 'is business, I'm right 'appy t' do it." He took the letter and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "I don't suppose I'll see Lord Benning today. 'E left fer Gloucester yesterday. 'E was 'opin' it would be a quick trip, though, so it wouldn't surprise me if 'e's back this evenin'. If I drop yer letter off at th' house, Stokes'll make sure 'is lordship gets it."

"Thank you, Giles. I'm very grateful." She handed him the empty crock and accepted the full one. "Is all well at the farm?"

"Yesterday were a rough day, t' be sure, but we're all 'opin' fer better today."

Concerned, Caroline pressed further. "What happened yesterday?"

"We lost Mr. Rowe t' that cursed smallpox."

Caroline's stomach fell. "I'm so sorry. What of his maid?"

"Rachel's still right as rain. Burnin' the gentleman's beddin' an' cleanin' the 'ouse, she is."

"I am twice amazed and very grateful."

"Aye. We all are. T' 'ave no more cases on the estate is a great blessin'. Mr. May, th' undertaker, 'as already taken care o' th' body, so the risk of th' illness spreading should be behind us."

Giles had witnessed Caroline's reaction to Benedict's news at the cow barn. Her fear had been real, but she wished she had handled it differently. "I should not have left the barnyard the way I did last week," she said.

"Don' you worry none about it," he said. "When ya've gone through the things ya've experienced, yer allowed t' be frightened. Them feelin's are real, and th' memories must be terrible."

"They are." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Thank you for understanding, Giles."

"'Course, Miss." He climbed back onto the cart. "An' if it's not too forward, might I say I'm right glad t' see yer face instead o' the veil. I daresay sheddin' the coverin' was frightenin' fer ya, too, but ya did it, an' I think it's grand."

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.

"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."

Dr. Jenner eyed him in silence for a moment, then said, "How far do you intend to travel today?"

"I am on my way back to Farwell Hall in Leyfield."

The doctor grunted. "I daresay that is significantly farther than anyone else in this line needs to go. I shall treat you first, and then you may be on your way."

Benedict knew better than to disagree. "I am most grateful."

The physician offered him the first smile Benedict had seen from the gentleman. "As am I, my lord. To have a member of the nobility look beyond the Harley Street naysayers' scoffs and show such confidence in my abilities is heartening, to say the least."

"If this procedure is as successful as you claim, I can tell you without reservation that you will soon be hearing from far more members of the nobility," Benedict said.

Dr. Jenner gestured him inside. "I shall look forward to it."