Tinctures and poultices from Harry’s floral harvest were tested on the estate’s feral cats. Mange was cured and gimpy legs tended – comfrey was just the ticket! Soon, the neighbours trusted their pets with his galenicals.
Crushed by a fog of despair, Lady Smock had been in bed for weeks. Her life was an elevator going down, she said, stopping along the way briefly, then slowly descending to another floor. She wanted off forever. Now.
Time for tea.