“It’s just a for instance,” he replied, holding out his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “I know nothing of the personal background. I am talking as a scientist.”

“This would need to be excluded as a possibility even if the blood types of mother and daughter were very rare,” added Dr. Endicott. “But they are not, which makes the probability of—let’s call it coincidental—consanguinity the greater.”

“Surely”—Dr. Lloyd-Jones’ face was red, the broken capillaries on his cheeks and nose blossoming in the heat—“where the mother presents herself as an example of a virgin birth without any foreknowledge of the confirming blood test results, the validity of her claim is greatly increased?”

“It is persuasive, certainly, but it is not proven,” said Dr. Bamber. “It would be useful to know, for example, how many—if any—cases there are of wholly segregated women—in prisons or asylums, say—reporting the phenomenon. None, as far as we know.”

“If we had data for the number of recorded women-lifetimes without any instances of parthenogenesis that would give us some basis for an estimate of probability,” Dr. Endicott added.

“All this is very fascinating,” said Jean, raking a hand through her hair in frustration. “But where does it leave Mrs. Tilbury? I feel she’s been led up the garden path with all these tests and now even you so-called experts can’t look at the results and come to a consensus. What am I to tell her?”

“I’m sure it’s disappointing for you,” said Dr. Endicott. “You would have liked a more explosive outcome. But perhaps if she is made to understand that the medical results do not support her claim of parthenogenesis she might be prepared to change her story.”

“Never,” said Jean. “She has too much invested in it.”

She thought of Martha—arch-skeptic—and wondered how she would react to the news. It was hard to imagine her coming down on the side of blind faith. And even harder to imagine Gretchen admitting to the commission of a colossal fraud. Jean, her confidence in Gretchen now fatally damaged, and compromised by her own involvement with Howard, was beginning to wish the story dead and buried. Any publicity generated by publication could escalate to engulf them all in a very unwelcome scandal.

She felt the blood rising to her cheeks in anticipation of the embarrassment in store. The failure of the three scientists to agree might yet work in her favor. An inconclusive result was hardly the bombshell Roy Drake had been hoping for. Maybe if she played her hand carefully he might be persuaded to park the story indefinitely.

31

Jean thought it only fair to brief Roy Drake before the editorial meeting. His disappointment and possible displeasure would be easier to bear without an audience.

“It could hardly be a worse outcome,” she said. “We’re no closer to the truth than we were on day one. The story’s completely dead.”

She watched him drop three sugar lumps into his tea and stir it with the arm of his spectacles.