“Mr. Nicholls, go fetch our trunks,” Ellen said.
He glowered because she’d spoken to him as if he were a dog, but he obeyed, and he hired a carriage for us. As we rode, Lake Windermere came into view, a long silver ribbon winding through lush woods. Here was the landscape that had inspired the great poets, Robert Southey and William Wordsworth. Lights sparkled like strewn golden beads from towns on shore. Above, flocks of geese winged, their calls plaintive and haunting.
“We’ll obtain lodgings at an inn by the lake,” Ellen said. “Charlotte likes the water.”
“A secluded place in the hills would be safer,” Mr. Nicholls said.
Ellen turned to me. “What do you think?”
I felt like a rope in a tug-of-war between two children. “By the lake.” In order that Ellen and Mr. Nicholls wouldn’t think I was taking sides, I added, “That’s where he is likely to be.”
“Where who is likely to be?” Ellen asked.
During the trip I’d refused to say why I wanted to go to the Lake District. “The man I’ve come to see. Dr. John Forbes. I consulted him about Anne’s illness, as you may remember.”
Fear showed on my companions’ faces. Ellen said, “Charlotte, are you ill?”
“Are you here to seek treatment from Dr. Forbes?” Mr. Nicholls asked.
“No, I’m perfectly healthy. All I seek from Dr. Forbes is information.”
My chance encounter with Dr. Forbes had led me to Bedlam and my fateful glimpse of John Slade. He had told me that he planned a holiday in Ambleside. Now I hoped he could steer my quest for the truth in the right direction.
“Information about what?” Ellen asked.
“About a private matter,” I said.
She and Mr. Nicholls gave up nagging me for answers. We rode in silence into Ambleside, whose pretty stone cottages and shops lined narrow streets. Hikers equipped with knapsacks and walking sticks congregated at taverns. We chose a modest inn near the waterfront. After securing rooms for the night, we walked out down the street.
“Ambleside is a small town,” I said. “It shouldn’t be hard to find Dr. Forbes.”
Find him we soon did, at the third inn we tried. The proprietor told us that the doctor had gone boating and should be back soon. We went down to the lake, which reflected the fading light from the sunset in a shimmery patchwork of silver, cobalt, and bronze. Swans glided on this like graceful white specters. Islands shrouded by mist rose in the distance, as mysterious as Avalon. A rowboat came skimming across the water. I heard the splash of oars; a lone man wielded them. He paddled the boat up to the dock where Ellen, Mr. Nicholls, and I stood.
“Dr. Forbes,” I called.
He secured his boat, climbed onto the dock, and smiled. “Why, hello, Miss Bronte.”
I introduced him to my companions. After handshakes and pleasantries, Dr. Forbes said, “What a coincidence that we should meet here. Are you on holiday, too?”
“I wish I were, and I’m afraid it’s no coincidence. You once said that if I needed your assistance, I should ask. So here I am.”
Alarm erased Dr. Forbes’s smile. “Is it about that business at Bedlam?”
I deduced that someone there had written to him about the murders, my second visit, and the fact that the police’s suspect was the inmate I’d claimed was my friend. I could tell that Dr. Forbes would rather not involve himself with a grisly crime, an escaped lunatic, or my delusions.
“No.” I was becoming more adept at lying. I met his gaze, and my voice didn’t waver as I said, “I need information about a scientist named Niall Kavanagh.”
Dr. Forbes’s eyebrows lifted. “Niall Kavanagh.” He sounded relieved to learn that I wanted nothing more. “That’s a name I’ve not heard in a while.”
“But you are familiar with him?” I asked.
“Yes, indeed. What do you want to know?”
I’d gambled that the community of scientists was as small and gossipy as that of the literati. How glad I was that my gamble had paid off! “I want to know everything.”
“That would take a while to tell,” Dr. Forbes said with a smile. “Will you and your friends join me for dinner?”
We dined at his inn. The dining room was bright with lamp-light, warm from a blazing fire in the hearth, and crowded with the inn’s other guests. They noisily regaled one another with stories of the adventures they’d had that day. The larger tables were all occupied, so Dr. Forbes and I sat at a table for two in a corner, my companions across the room. That suited me fine, although Ellen and Mr. Nicholls craned their necks in a futile attempt to hear what we were saying.
“At one time I knew Niall Kavanagh very well,” Dr. Forbes said as we ate a simple but tasty meal of bread, cheese, meat pie, and pickles. “We were both members of the Royal Society of science. Until Kavanagh was expelled.”
“Expelled for what reason?” I asked.
“For conduct unbecoming to a member. He had a great talent for science, but a greater talent for offending people.” Dr. Forbes noticed my confusion and said, “I’d better start at the beginning, with the basic facts about the man.
“Niall Kavanagh is Irish by birth. His father, Sir William Kavanagh, is head of a whiskey brewery that’s been in the family for more than a hundred years. The family estate is called Clare House. It’s in County Wicklow. He would be about forty years old now. He came to England as a young man, to study chemistry and biology at Oxford. He was the top scholar in his class, and he cut quite a handsome figure, but the other students looked down on him because he was Irish and harassed him because he was a Roman Catholic.”
My father had endured many slights when he’d come from his native Ireland to attend Cambridge, and I supposed that anti-Irish and anti-Catholic sentiment had still run high at the universities in more recent years.
“He retaliated by mixing up a foul-smelling chemical in his laboratory and pouring it under the doors of his harassers’ rooms,” Dr. Forbes said. “The college had to evacuate an entire building for a week.”
Men at the next table were raising glasses, reciting comical poems, drinking, and cheering. Dr. Forbes said, “Kavanagh was brought before the college authorities and charged with malicious misbehavior. He freely admitted what he’d done. He also ranted about the injustices that England had perpetuated against Ireland. He was almost sent down. But one of the dons spoke up in his defense, took him under his wing, and promised to keep him in line. Kavanagh became his research assistant. The work they did on contagious diseases earned Kavanagh a membership in the Royal Society and a teaching post at Oxford. Kavanagh’s future looked bright, until he published a paper about some new experiments. He gave all the credit to himself and none to his mentor, and he criticized his mentor’s earlier work. They had a falling-out. Then he offended the Royal Society by airing wild scientific theories. He claimed that tiny, invisible creatures cause diseases. Can you imagine that?”
Dr. Forbes laughed, and so did I. Everyone knows that diseases are caused by bad air.
“He made himself even more unpopular by engaging in affairs with his colleagues’ wives,” Dr. Forbes said. “The upshot was that Kavanagh lost his place in the Society and Oxford packed him off on a research expedition to Africa. While there, he caught brain fever. When he came back to England two years later, he was drastically changed-thin, haggard, and wasted. He neglected to bathe, shave, or comb his hair. His eyes burned with a strange light, as if some African devil had taken possession of him. He locked himself inside his laboratory and worked around the clock. He wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing, but he boasted that he was on the verge of a major breakthrough that would change the world.”