“Desperate. You will see it for yourself,” he went on at Darwin’s audible grunt of dissatisfaction. “He lies on a cot at the back of the scullery.”

“Alone? Surely not?”

“No. His companion is with him. I explained to her that his condition is grave, and she seemed to comprehend well enough for one of her station.” He set the lantern on a side table in the entrance and took a great pinch of snuff from a decorated ivory box. “Neither one of them showed much sign of learning. They are poor workers from the North, on their way to London to seek employment. She seemed more afraid of me than worried about her man’s condition.”

“So I ask again, what is that condition?” Darwin’s voice showed his exasperation. “It would be better for you to give me your assessment out of their hearing—though I gather that he is hearing little enough.”

“He hears nothing, not if lightning were to strike this house. His condition, in summary: the eyes deep-set in the head, closed, the whites only showing in the ball; the countenance, dull and grey; skin, rough and dry to the touch; before he became delirious he complained that he was feeling bilious.”

“There was vomiting?”

“No, but he spoke of the feeling. And of pain in the chest. His muscle tone was poor and I detected weakened irritability.”

Darwin grunted skeptically, causing Monkton to look at him in a condescending way.

“Perhaps you are unfamiliar with von Haller’s work on this, Dr. Darwin? I personally find it to be most convincing. At any rate, soon after I came to him the delirium began.”

“And what of his pulse?” Darwin’s face showed his concentration. “And was there fever?”

Monkton hesitated for a moment, as though unsure what to answer. “There was no fever,” he said at last. “And I do not think that the pulse was elevated in rate.”

“Huh.” Darwin pursed his full lips. “No fever, no rapid pulse—and yet delirium.” He turned to the other man. “Colonel Pole, did you also see this?”