A Breath of Snow and Ashes - Diana Gabaldon [343]
Ian snickered at that, and Brianna gave him an elbow, hard in the ribs.
“Anyway,” Jamie said, ignoring them, “I’ve a bit of news. And a letter from Roger Mac,” he said. He pulled it out of his shirt, smiling at Bree. “If ye’re no too distracted to read it?”
She lit up like a candle and grabbed it. Ian made a teasing snatch at it, and she slapped his hand away, laughing, and ran out of the room to read it in privacy.
“What sort of news?” I asked. Ulysses had left the tray and decanter; I poured a tot into my empty glass and gave it to Jamie.
“Someone’s seen Manfred McGillivray,” he replied. “Slàinte.” He drained the glass, looking contented.
“Oh, aye? Where?” Ian looked less than pleased at this news. For myself, I was thrilled.
“In a brothel, where else?”
Unfortunately, his informant had not been able to supply the exact location of said brothel—having likely been too drunk at the time to know precisely where he was, as Jamie cynically observed—but had been reasonably sure that it was in Cross Creek or Campbelton. Also unfortunately, the sighting was several weeks old. Manfred might well have moved on.
“It’s a start, though,” I said, hopeful. Penicillin was effective, even against more advanced cases of syphilis, and I had some brewing in the winter kitchen, even now. “I’ll go with you, when you go to the gaol. Then after we’ve spoken with Donner, we can go look for the brothel.”
Jamie’s look of contentment lessened appreciably.
“What? Why?”
“I dinna think Manfred would be still there, Auntie,” Ian said, patently amused. “I doubt he’d have the money, for one thing.”
“Oh, ha ha,” I said. “He might have said where he was staying, mightn’t he? Besides, I want to know whether he was showing any symptoms.” In my own time, it might be ten, twenty, or even thirty years after the appearance of the initial chancre before further syphilitic symptoms developed; in this time, though, syphilis was a much more fulminant disease—a victim could die within a year of infection. And Manfred had been gone for more than three months; God knew how long since he had first contracted the infection.
Jamie looked distinctly unenthused about the idea of searching for brothels; Ian seemed rather more interested.
“I’ll help look,” he volunteered. “Fergus can come, too; he kens a great deal about whores—they’d likely talk to him.”
“Fergus? Fergus is here?”
“He is,” Jamie said. “That was the other bit of news. He’s payin’ his respects to my aunt at the moment.”
“Why is he here, though?”
“Well, ye heard the talk at the barbecue, aye? About Mr. Simms, the printer, and his troubles? It seems they’ve got worse, and he thinks of selling up, before someone burns his shop to the ground and him in it. It struck me that perhaps it would suit Fergus and Marsali, better than the farming. So I sent word for him to come down, and maybe have a word wi’ Simms.”
“That’s a brilliant idea!” I said. “Only . . . what would Fergus use for money to buy it?”
Jamie coughed and looked evasive.
“Aye, well. I imagine some sort of bargain might be struck. Particularly if Simms is anxious to sell up.”
“All right,” I said, resigned. “I don’t suppose I want to know the gory details. But Ian—” I turned to him, fixing him with a beady eye. “Far be it from me to offer you moral advice. But you are not—repeat, not—to be questioning whores in any deeply personal manner. Do I make myself clear?”
“Auntie!” he said, pretending shock. “The idea!” But a broad grin spread across his tattooed face.
56
TAR AND FEATHERS
IN THE EVENT, I let Jamie go alone to the gaol to make arrangements for seeing Donner. He had assured me that this would be simpler without my presence, and I had several errands in Cross Creek. Besides the usual salt, sugar, pins, and other household goods needing replenishment, I urgently needed more cinchona bark for Lizzie. The gallberry ointment worked to treat malarial attacks, but was not nearly so effective as Jesuit bark in preventing them.
The British trade restrictions were having their effect, though. There was, of course, no