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Linette purses her lips. ‘Yes.’

‘And?’

‘He advised bed rest.’

The doctor blinks. ‘Was anything else done?’

Linette turns to Mair. ‘Will you fetch the herbs?’

Tomas’ mother disappears from the room, returns moments later with a basket, holds it out to Dr Talbot who looks inside. Linette sees him mark the dried leaves of nettle, coltsfoot and elderflower with something bordering on distaste.

‘You disapprove?’ Linette asks, defensive without quite knowing why. Their ways must feel so primitive to him, and heaven knows Tomas’ lack of recovery is proof enough the herbs have not worked. But still …

‘It is not that, precisely,’ he replies, rifling through his bag without looking at her. ‘There has been evidence that certain herbs do have some measure of success. But in my experience I find they do not work as well or with such fast results as more proven scientific methods.’ He stops, frowns. ‘Suffice to say they do not harm but nor do they do much good; recovery for patients who rely on herbs is slow and unpredictable. I prefer more immediate methods.’

‘Such as?’

Dr Talbot sits back, finally looks at her. ‘There’s a fishing boat outside. He is a fisherman?’

‘Yes.’

Linette glances at Mair. Her withered hands are clasped tight to her mouth in prayer.

‘And the symptoms began three weeks ago, you say?’

‘Yes, he …’

Next to her, Mair swallows a sob.

‘I made the mark too late,’ she cries. ‘I should have done it sooner. My boy would not be suffering so if I had!’

Linette licks her lips. She will not repeat this to Dr Talbot.

‘Yes,’ she confirms. ‘Three weeks ago, give or take a day or two.’

Dr Talbot is looking through his bag again. ‘And I assume this started after Tomas came in after a fishing trip.’ When no one says anything he looks at Linette. ‘Am I right?’

Linette poses the question to Tomas, and to her not-quite surprise, the young man nods.

‘It were a horrible squall. Freezing cold. But the fish come closer to shore when the weather’s bad, so I took the boat out.’ Tomas coughs. Linette passes him the bowl and he spits into it. ‘I got such a good haul. We ate well that week. Earned plenty from it, too …’ Weakly he sinks back against the wooden headboard, and it is only then Linette notices what the physician is holding in his hand: a small knife, a thin metal barrel.

She stares.

‘What do you mean to do?’

Dr Talbot looks between mother and son. ‘A more immediate method,’ he replies. ‘Of course, it is entirely up to the patient. But my recommendation is to reduce the swelling in his lungs.’

‘How?’

‘My belief is that Tomas has an inflammation caused by a severe chill that has been left untreated. Pleurisy. The inflammation is made up of fluid that rubs on the lining of the lung which is causing the stabbing pains, making it difficult for him to breathe. I would prefer to drain the fluid by making an incision in the back of the chest and drawing it out.’

Linette looks at the knife and the other implement Dr Talbot holds in his hand, and a cold chill spreads fast across her chest.

‘No.’

He blinks. ‘But you’ve not asked them.’

‘I don’t have to.’