This naturally led to his considering what Miss Beatrice Nash, who was coming to luncheon with Celeste and the younger set from the Wheaton house, would have to say on the poetry of competing languages. As his mind wandered into this thought, he was aware of the scent of a late-blooming climbing rose coming in the stable window on a puff of air and he noted that the scent might have prompted the thought and he wondered if monkeys associated smells with people in the same way as humans did; whether Smith would still be Smith if he smelled of bay rum instead of diesel and boot polish, and whether Miss Nash, who smelled of roses and lime blossom to him, was even now putting on her bonnet to come for an alfresco afternoon on the terrace…
A swift clatter of boots on the stairs heralded his cousin Daniel’s arrival, and he closed the book, not without relief, for it was a dense tome, printed in close-set type, as if the printer had struggled to squeeze its impossible length into some manageable slab of pages.
“Craigmore’s gone,” said Daniel. His face was constricted into a mask of distress, and his tone threatened to compromise his preferred demeanor of bored indifference.
“Gone where?” asked Hugh.
“Urgent family business, they say,” said Daniel. He tugged at his crumpled shirt collar, and Hugh could see he was warm with sweat about the neck, as if he had run all the way home. “The Wheatons’ butler said he couldn’t say where, just that Craigmore left with his mother on the early train.”
“What did Harry and Eleanor say?”
“Didn’t see them. Eleanor sent word she is not feeling well, and Harry was apparently out riding and not expected back until nightfall.” Daniel slumped in the other wing chair and covered his face with one arm.
“Well, that’s certainly a blow to Aunt Agatha’s plans,” said Hugh, keeping his tone light in the hope that his cousin would follow his lead and calm down. “I do hope it’s not anything serious with Craigmore’s family.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Hugh, it’s nothing to do with family business,” said Daniel from under his sleeve. “It’s Lord North.” He groaned and added, “My life is over.”
“Do try and string together rational sentences, Daniel,” said Hugh.
“Don’t you see?” said Daniel. “Craigmore must have told his father about the journal, about our plans. He’s been sent away.”
“You’re being a bit dramatic,” said Hugh. “You can’t know that.” Even as Hugh spoke he felt the hypocrisy of offering comfort instead of truth. But what truth would he speak to his cousin? Remembering the whispered conversation between Lord North and his wife after Daniel’s recitation, Hugh knew, with a sinking feeling, that it was not the journal to which he objected.
“Craigmore would never have left without leaving me a note,” said Daniel. “I always thought his father might try to make things sticky.”
“Well, it’s unfortunate that our luncheon party has been substantially reduced,” said Hugh. “We had better inform Cook.”
“How can you talk of luncheons?” groaned Daniel, hanging his head so that his face was hidden beneath the fall of his hair. “You have no idea what it is to lose such a friendship as that which Craigmore and I share.”
“Pull yourself together, Cousin,” said Hugh. He stood and tugged the edges of his jacket down as if to reinforce his words. “It will not serve to allow the entire household to hear such agitation. Craigmore would not wish a conspicuous fuss, I’m sure.” There was a pause, and Hugh gazed out of the window to allow his cousin time to compose himself. While he envied his cousin’s free and easy, passionate nature, and his capacity for intense friendships, he felt squeamish in the face of Daniel’s occasional displays of emotion.
“You are right, of course,” said Daniel at last. He pulled a large silk handkerchief from a pocket and blew his nose with abandon. “You are lucky to be made of more rational stuff, Hugh. You will never be carried away by your emotions.”
“Thank you,” said Hugh, fully aware that Daniel did not altogether mean it as a compliment. It was hardly fair that Daniel should provoke him into a purse-lipped rigidity and then insult him for it, but Hugh’s first concern was to protect his cousin from his own self-indulgence. “Now why don’t we make a suitable plan?” he added. “Beginning with some appearance of indifference to their sudden departure.”
“I will write to Craigmore at his father’s in London,” said Daniel.
“I think not,” said Hugh. “Aunt Agatha will surely be writing a note of thanks to Lady Emily this morning. We’ll ask her to make casual inquiries.”
“What if Lady Emily knows nothing?” said Daniel. “I can still catch the noon post.”
“If matters stand as you fear, your letter may be intercepted,” said Hugh. “I will write to Craigmore myself—but by late-afternoon post at the earliest.”
“Why the delay?” asked Daniel.
“Craigmore seemed very interested in our hospital laboratories,” said Hugh. “As I’m expected in London on Tuesday, it will probably occur to me, by midafternoon at the earliest, to send him a casual invitation to tour. All very indifferent, you see?”
Daniel groaned. “I can’t wait until Tuesday.”
“I hope it will prompt him to send me a reply that might shed light on the situation,” said Hugh. “But meanwhile, Daniel, you simply must recover your composure. No good can come from physical or emotional dishevelment.”
A sound of voices in the stable below was followed by a light knocking on the stairwell wall and Beatrice Nash’s voice saying, “Hello, is anyone at home?”
“I’m not sure I can face anyone,” said Daniel urgently. Hugh noticed that he did have a strange, pale look about the gills, but perhaps, he thought, this was the properly deserved effect of too much rough cider and champagne.
“For goodness’ sake, it’s only Beatrice and Celeste,” he said. “You and Miss Celeste can look pale and interesting together. Of course, she’s come from a war zone. Perhaps her situation will help your sense of perspective.”
“Your sarcasm lacks the delicacy that would render it amusing,” said Daniel. He caught Hugh by the sleeve. “But I thank you for your help. What would I do without you to bail me out of scrapes?”
“One day you’ll have to take care of yourself,” said Hugh. “Now smile for our guests.”
“You sound just like Uncle John sometimes,” said Daniel. “Hello, ladies, do come up. It’s mercifully clear of blood and guts today.”
Beatrice and Celeste came up the stairs, and Hugh was glad to note that he was not mistaken; Beatrice did smell of roses and lime blossom. Celeste carried the faintest perfume of soap and talcum powder, and neither lady seemed to wear any hint of the previous night’s festivities.
“Welcome,” he said. “How did you find us?”
“I asked Jenny not to stand on ceremony but to direct us to where you were,” said Beatrice. “We are a trifle early, and I hoped you would be up here so I might show Celeste your lair.”
“Welcome, Miss Celeste,” said Hugh. “My humble workroom is at your disposal.”
“It is a privilege,” said Celeste. “I want to see the dead chickens.” Daniel laughed, and Hugh hoped the presence of the ladies might make him sensible. But Daniel could not keep such anguish contained.
“Craigmore has gone,” he blurted out. “My friend vanished before breakfast.”
“Well, that is sad for our lunch party,” said Beatrice. “But I do hope it was not bad news in the family?”
“I am sure everything is fine,” said Hugh, pleased at how exactly her response mirrored his own. “I’m going to ask my Aunt Agatha to inquire as much of Lady Emily, just to reassure us.”
“But this is terrible,” said Celeste to Daniel. “How could your friend leave without a word?”
“My thought exactly,” said Daniel. “I am in an agony of uncertainty. L’angoisse du doute.”
“It is not right to leave no word in these days,” said Celeste. “Anything could have happened, n’est-ce pas?”
“At last someone understands,” said Daniel, shooting Hugh a look. Hugh could only roll his eyes as Daniel and Celeste drifted to the two wing chairs, where they sat and continued, for some minutes, to turn over the circumstances of Craigmore’s departure in a low and urgent mix of English and French.
“I’m sure there is a simple explanation,” said Beatrice to Hugh. “Perhaps we had better excuse ourselves and relieve your aunt of the need to entertain us?”
“Do not leave me to lunch alone with Daniel in his current agonies,” said Hugh. “I shall get indigestion.”