Black Diaries

73. Doctor in Demand

Most people generally feel better when they're healthy than when they're sick. I didn't. Believe me, being healthy is not all it's cracked up to be. For instance, no doctor ever seems to come for a visit.

Why is that? Why do those blasted medical men only show up when you're at death's door? All right, maybe there were a lot of sick people who needed their help out there, but I was sick, too, dammit! Heartsick.

"Um... would you like a nice cup of tea, my Lady?"

"No! And I told you not to call me my Lady, Jenny!"

The maid eyed me cautiously out of the corner of her eye. "Yes, you did, my Lady. But with the way you're pacing up and down right now like a caged tiger I'm being extra careful."

"A caged...? I'm not pacing up and down like a caged tiger!"

"Of course not, my Lady."

"Tigers don't pace when they're caged! They survive extremely well in captivity! There are over ten-thousand tigers kept as pets worldwide."

"If you say so, my Lady."

Silence fell over the room again, and I continued to pace like a...

Well, I didn't know what I paced like! But it had nothing whatsoever to do with caged tigers! I wasn't a tiger! And I most certainly wasn't caged! I mean, I could go outside anytime I wanted, right?

Right!

Suddenly coming to a decision, I stopped pacing and straightened.

"Jenny?"

"Yes?"

"Get my coat!"

"Yes, my Lady."

A few minutes later, for the first time in weeks, the massive iron gates of the Barrington Estate creaked open and a lone, small feminine figure stepped outside, looking around wonderingly at the world.

It had been so long since I had been outside. There was something unreal to the experience. The world was changed. No longer were the fields a lush, lively color. Instead, their green was dark, spotted with brown flecks of mud. The few horses that were outside looked shaggy and ready for a long, hard winter.

"Bloody Hell! Bloody, stinking hell!"

Looking over at where the cursing had come from, I saw a lone, gangly paparazzi—more of a snotty-nosed kid, really—huddling against the wall in a raincoat and trying to warm his hands by rubbing them together. The moment he caught sight of me, he nearly jumped out of his skin and fumbled for his camera. But his hands were so cold he couldn't even find the right button to press. I looked at him with profound pity.

"Look here." Digging my hand into my pocket, I held out a few bills to him. "What do you say to taking these and making yourself scarce? I'm not really in the mood for flashlights right now."

He eyed the money in my hand with a mixture of hesitation and longing.

"You can't buy the free press," he hedged.

I added another few bills.

"But," he added, brightening and snatching the lot, "maybe you can rent it for a while."

"Smart boy." I patted his shoulder. "Now piss off, will you?"

"Yes, my Lady!"

"And don't come back for a while."

"Of course, my Lady! Certainly, my Lady!"

And, swinging himself onto his bike, he disappeared down the road—the last remnant of the scandal that had held me prisoner in my own home for so long. I, on the other hand, started out directly across the fields, taking a shortcut towards Ascot.