Jacob said nothing more, his gaze fixed squarely on Robert’s face. The man’s complexion was turning ghostly pale, like frost-laden parchment under dim light.
What exactly was going wrong?
Why had the Fourth Master suddenly collapsed?
The questions swirled in Jacob’s mind, clouded with unease. He abruptly turned his head toward Eleanor, who stood by the window. “Madam, why did the Fourth Master faint all of a sudden?”
After all, only Robert and Eleanor had been present. Only Eleanor could explain whatever had transpired moments before.
Eleanor lifted her eyes, meeting Jacob’s gaze with a calmness that belied her own uncertainty. She gently shook her head. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice tinged with an unsettling vulnerability.
Jacob’s brows furrowed slightly. Something wasn’t adding up. His mind raced, searching for answers, until a sudden thought struck him. “The miracle doctor—the one who cured the old lady last time—perhaps he could help?”