Ross drew Sir William’s attention to them. ‘Not one tumour,’ Ross said. ‘But what appears to be scores of embryo tumorae. I think they will spread and choke the lung. By opening them to the air, we may have inadvertently hastened that spread.’

Sir William stared. He could now see the tiny poisonous nodules clearly, but, confused by this cruel diagnosis, he felt himself for once to be at a loss.

‘What can we do?’ he asked.

‘We could cut the largest of them out,’ said Ross. ‘But beyond that, nothing. We are looking at a death.’

Sewn up and bandaged with infinite care, Latimer now lay in the back room in Sir William’s house where those who had undergone traumas of all kinds were put to rest and recover. Normally, it had been Jane who presided over this recovery, if necessary sleeping on a cot at the patient’s side or keeping vigil all night long. But there was no Jane, nor indeed any Nurse Peggs, so Ross suggested that they might take it in turns to nurse poor Latimer through the night.

Finding himself awake in a different room, in a comfortable bed, and being dosed with laudanum, Latimer was brought to the great hope that his operation had gone successfully and that his tumour now resided in some enamel dish, later to be shown to him as proof of his imminent recovery.

He turned his head to see Sir William Adeane sitting by his side, holding the laudanum jar.

‘Sir William,’ said Latimer. ‘Was all well? Will I soon be dancing a quadrille in my new house?’

‘I sincerely hope you will,’ said Sir William. ‘But I must tell you that your recovery may be slower than you expected.’

‘Why so?’

‘What we found was … more than one tumour. We have excised all that we could find, but do not be surprised if the pain in your lung lingers a little. There are many small wounds, you see, instead of one. But we will send you home to your wife with a good supply of laudanum and we would advise you to rest.’

‘You mean,’ said Latimer, ‘that I am going to pay you for something which is incomplete?’

‘That is the nature of surgery,’ said Sir William calmly. ‘It can only cut out what it can see.’

In the dark hours, while Latimer slept, Ross came to take over the vigil from Sir William. Ross expected Sir William to go gratefully to his own bed, but the surgeon didn’t move from the patient’s side.

‘Sit down,’ he said to Ross. ‘For you and I have things to discuss. And this quiet night seems a good time to talk about them.’

Ross did as he was told, but not without foreboding. He prayed that Sir William was not going to mention Jane’s name. He was not a man who liked lying. Indeed, he detested Bath society, sometimes, for its habit of lying, and had resolved, in his own dealings, to follow a path of truth, as far as he was able. But he knew that if Sir William was going to ask him what had happened between him and Jane, he would have to lie. What was clamped about his heart, what he struggled with on his cold morning walks, what he longed not to feel … this debilitating sorrow and disappointment … was only bearable if he could conceal it from the world. To have to admit it to Jane’s father – to the one man who loved her, in his own way, no less than he did himself – would only bring him further suffering by adding humiliation to his woes. He felt that his situation would then become so unbearable that he would have to leave Bath and never return.