Daniel returned the physician’s inquiring look but said nothing.

“This gentleman has come from London to see the earl.” Hillman handed Dr. Plimpton his hat and walking stick and picked up the bag. When the doctor had taken his belongings, Hillman handed him Daniel’s card.

The doctor’s brows rose, and he gave a rueful chuckle. “I wish you well of your endeavor, sir. And I do hope your visit will be brief. The earl is declining, his mind is not as stable as he might wish, and his temper is … variable.”

“I will not take much of his time.” His mind wasn’t stable? Daniel lowered his already minuscule expectations. At this point, seeing the earl felt more like a formality than anything that might prove profitable.

“I would also suggest,” the doctor said, tucking the card into his breast pocket before pulling on his gloves, “that you not ask for permission. Hillman, take this good gentleman right into the room and do not give his lordship the opportunity to refuse. He will take the arrival much better without forewarning.”

The doctor nodded to Daniel, then left.

Everywhere they went in the house, more opulence greeted Daniel. Paintings, urns, statues, gilt work, carvings, plasterwork. But a rime of dust covered many objects, similar to the condition of the stables. As if the bare minimum was being done to keep the place up, the master none the wiser.

Hillman paused before a set of double doors on the second floor, as if bracing himself. Though he grabbed both doorknobs as if to sweep them open, he eased only one aside, poking his head around the edge much as he had done at the front door. Daniel had never encountered such a timid butler. Those few he had met had seemed lordly and more in charge of the houses than the owners.

The room lay in dimness. Daniel could pick out a massive bed with huge posts from which hung thick drapes in red and gold. Beside the bed, a lamp burned, casting a circle of yellow in an arc that encompassed a sallow, thin old man reclining against a bank of pillows.

“Milord, someone to see you.”

The earl jerked as if he had been sleeping, though his eyes were open. “A visitor?”

“Yes, milord.” Hillman motioned Daniel closer.

Another man, this one nearly as old as the earl, appeared through a connecting door, carrying a porcelain pitcher with a cloth over his arm. He tottered to the bedside table and set the pitcher near the lamp.

“Cooper?” the earl asked.

“Yes, milord,” the old servant, whom Daniel assumed to be the valet, answered.

“Are there people here?” The old man’s rheumy eyes looked from Mr. Cooper to Daniel and Hillman and back again.

“Yes, milord. There is someone here to see you.”

Hillman scuttled away, leaving Daniel holding his hat, still wearing his cloak, standing at the foot of the bed.