Ward answered within four days: a response to bone vibration did not mean Daniel's hearing could be restored. It did not mean he would understand ordinary speech. But it did mean Dr. Vane had failed to perform a basic and important examination. Professor Ward agreed to visit Ashbury Hall.
Eleanor told the Viscount. Jonathan read Lady Isabelle's journal in silence. When he reached the final entry, his hands began to shake.
"Why did she never show me this?"
"Perhaps she tried."
He looked toward the door. "Vane has treated members of my family for twenty years."
"That does not make him infallible."
"No, but it makes your accusation difficult to believe."
"I am not asking you to believe me. I am asking you to allow Daniel to be examined by someone who has nothing to gain from the result."
Jonathan closed the journal. "One examination. No promises."
Professor Ward arrived the next week, carrying a leather case filled with tuning forks. He began by explaining every step to Daniel in writing; then he asked permission. Daniel nodded.
Ward struck a tuning fork and held it beside Daniel's ear. There was no response. He struck it again and placed the base gently against the bone behind Daniel's ear.
Daniel's eyes changed. He pointed toward the fork.
Ward repeated the test against Daniel's jaw. Daniel signed to Eleanor: There is a humming inside my head.
Professor Ward smiled. "His inner ear may retain some function," he explained to Jonathan. "The fever appears to have damaged the path by which sound ordinarily travels through the middle ear. Bone can sometimes provide another path."
"Can you cure him?" Jonathan asked.
"No." The answer came without hesitation. "I may help him perceive certain tones, perhaps rhythm, perhaps more with practice. But I will not promise speech, and I will not measure his intelligence by his hearing."
Daniel watched Eleanor translate. Then he signed a question: Will it hurt?
"No," Ward said after reading Eleanor's translation. "And if you ask me to stop, I will stop."
It was the first time a physician had ever said those words to Daniel.
The full trial was scheduled for the following week, but Dr. Vane returned before it could take place. He brought a galvanic apparatus and ordered Daniel into the treatment room. Thin wires ran from a polished wooden box to two metal instruments. Daniel saw them and backed away.
Vane caught his shoulder. "A moment of discomfort may restore what indulgence has stolen."
Daniel signed: No.
Vane ignored him. Eleanor stepped forward and removed the instrument from his hand.
"The boy has refused."
"He is a minor."
"He is still a person."
Vane reached for the device; Eleanor dropped it onto the table. At that moment, Jonathan entered.
Vane turned toward him. "This woman has interfered with a medical procedure. She has filled your son's mind with fantasies and invited a discredited lecturer into your home."
Professor Ward rose from the corner. "I am not discredited."
Vane looked at him with contempt. "You promote carnival devices."
"I promote examination before diagnosis."
Jonathan looked from the broken arrangement of wires to Daniel, who stood against the wall, trembling. Then he looked at Eleanor. "You contacted Professor Ward after I forbade further interference."
"You permitted one examination."
"I did not permit you to undermine Daniel's physician."
"Your son said no."
Dr. Vane continued. Jonathan's face closed. "You are dismissed, Miss Reed."
Daniel rushed forward. His hands moved desperately: She listens. She stays.
Jonathan could not understand him. That was the final cruelty: his son was begging him, and he did not know it.
Eleanor packed her small case before sunset. Daniel found her at the servants' entrance. He handed her a folded sheet of music; it was his composition of Rain on the Roof. At the bottom, he had written: You listened before you understood.
Eleanor swallowed hard. She signed: I will come back.
Daniel shook his head: Father will not allow it.
Then I will come back for your father, too.
Three days later, Ashbury Hall opened its doors for the annual winter charity concert. Carriages filled the courtyard. Noble families, clergy, physicians, and wealthy donors crowded into the ballroom. Dr. Vane stood beneath a banner bearing the name of the Alderwick Institute. Daniel sat on the platform beside his father; no one had told him that Vane planned to use him as part of the evening's appeal.
Vane addressed the guests: "Lord Daniel's condition is tragic. Though every comfort has been given to him, he remains unable to speak properly or respond to human voices. He displays little ordinary emotion." Jonathan shifted in his chair. Vane continued: "Many will remember that the boy did not shed a tear at his own mother's funeral."
Whispers spread through the room. Daniel could not hear them, but he could see their faces.
Then the ballroom doors opened. Eleanor stood there with Professor Ward.
The guests turned. Vane's voice sharpened: "You are not welcome here."