Before he could take his leave, the door was opened by the same footman, and a young woman entered. She wore a fashionable narrow-skirted blue dress with black braiding and brass toggles on the bodice and an ethereal hat of large dimension. She smiled with the relaxed certainty of the privileged, and though she was not pretty, her demeanor gave her an air of attractive polish.
“The footman said you had friends, and I am so impatient to meet any of Craigmore’s friends that I just thought I would be entirely outrageous and barge in.” She gave Craigmore a kiss on the cheek and took his arm. “Do introduce me, darling.” Craigmore looked somewhat helpless, like a kitchen boy caught red-handed with a stolen chicken. An involuntary smile came to his lips, which may have added to Craigmore’s discomfort. The young man adopted a stiff frown.
“Miss Charter, may I present Mr. Hugh Grange and Mr. Daniel Bookham. Mr. Grange, Mr. Bookham…” He took in a large gulp of air before finishing. “May I present Miss Joy Charter, my fiancée.”
—
They left the mansion in silence and did not speak until they parted ways outside a small public house where Daniel and other writers were fond of gathering. Hugh was anxious about leaving him alone, but Daniel insisted that he was fine and that Craigmore’s sudden production of a fiancée was not a blow.
“Well, not beyond the obvious disappointment that she is, in fact, a complete horse,” said Daniel. For Daniel to be rude in so blunt a manner was telling of his anger and misery, but Hugh could only send him inside the smoke-filled pub to his friends and his whisky, because Hugh was already late for his own appointment.
“I’ll come and find you when I’m done,” he said. “Try to be restrained.”
“I’ll be communing with my fiancée, the goddess of the far Scottish isles,” said Daniel. “But I will attempt to remain upright, at least in my chair.”
—
In Sir Alex Ramsey’s red-brick house, the gilded wallpaper smelled of dry glue and the thick Turkey carpet gave off an odor of old wool. No windows were open, and the still air seemed to have been already breathed by other people. The butler showed Hugh upstairs to his surgeon’s private study. The inner sanctum was thick with pictures and antique bronzes. It held several comfortable club chairs and smelled of leather from a desk exposed to the afternoon sun in the bay window. “Come in, my boy,” said the surgeon, busy selecting a decanter from a loaded tray. “I’ve been waiting to give you the good news.” Without asking, he poured two glasses, adding the thick amber smell of brandy to the room.
“Please tell me they are dropping all drilling exercises as superfluous to our training,” said Hugh, perching on a stiff upholstered chair and trying not to fidget with his uniform. “I can’t tell you how it would hearten our foes to see a hundred doctors stepping on each other’s feet and waving their wooden guns in all the wrong directions.”
“I have heard we are not giving a good impression,” said the surgeon, passing him a glass. “That so much intelligence is somehow a barrier to simple rote maneuvers…does it suggest a withering of those brain parts not used for study, I wonder?”
“I think it might be more a correlation between lack of athleticism and choosing such a career,” said Hugh. “Or perhaps we just think too much about what it means to face left.”
“Stick with it, my boy, and in another six weeks or so you’ll be in France,” said Sir Alex. “It is my great privilege to tell you that you have passed your final examinations. Congratulations, you’ll go to the front as a full surgeon.” He raised his glass and drank it in a swallow.
“I am astonished,” said Hugh. “I didn’t dare to hope I had done enough.”
“Top of the class, dear boy,” said his surgeon. “I detect more leniency than usual in the marks, since the examinations were brought forward by so many months, but you can be reassured that you would have passed in any year, as I expected.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Hugh. “That means a lot.”
“In the immediate future, while we plan for our hospital, we are being asked to distribute our surgeons so we have broad capabilities across the front, but I’m assured our group will be able to pick and choose their own patients, so do not let the administrators push you into the general cases. And watch out for the orthopedic chaps. Making quite a push for themselves; bit of an upstart bunch.”
“Yes, sir,” said Hugh.
“Pick the most useful cases and make sure you keep your own copy of all case notes,” he added. “Each case is only as useful to the future of the science as the notes we amass.”
“I understand,” said Hugh. “Meticulous notes.”
“An extra set is always a good idea,” said his surgeon. “The record that goes with the patient is always subject to getting lost in transit, especially if he dies.”
“I won’t let you down, sir,” said Hugh as he stood to shake hands.
Sir Alex gave him a careful look and then cleared his throat in a way that signaled he had more to add.
“These are very trying times for all, my boy, but especially for the ladies we leave behind,” he said. For a moment Hugh entertained the horrible notion that Aunt Agatha had written to Sir Alex. “It is very hard for my daughter, who is much distressed at the imminent departure of so many young friends,” he added.
“I had no idea,” said Hugh. He had seen her briefly at the surgeon’s first lecture, but she had been too busy with her flags and her feathers to do more than give him her most dazzling smile at his new uniform.
“She hides her feelings admirably behind such youthful effervescence,” said Sir Alex, sighing. “So like her late mother.” He picked up a heavy silver photograph frame from his desk and showed Hugh his late wife, who peered unsmiling in black dress and pearls, a Bible in one hand and a peacock somewhat improbably walking along the stone balustrade on which she leaned. While the photograph did not suggest a family history of effervescence, Hugh was touched by the showing of it. Sir Alex had never offered much in the way of personal anecdote.
“One sees the similar beauty,” said Hugh and was rewarded with a glimpse of some strong emotion smothered in a cough.
“Fact is, these are such extraordinary times,” said Sir Alex. “I just wanted to say that I will not stand in your way, my boy. We must not falter; we must not hesitate into the breach, as it were.” He subsided into an awkward silence, pulling at his moustache and turning away to the window so as to resolutely not look at Hugh. It occurred to Hugh that Sir Alex was talking about Lucy, that Sir Alex was giving his permission where none had yet been asked. That the great man would anticipate what was in Hugh’s mind was not a surprise, but that he should offer support seemed an honor too great to be believed.
“Miss Ramsey’s happiness must be the first concern of her friends,” offered Hugh.
“I told her as much,” said the surgeon. “I told her I will stand by her choice, regardless of rank or excellence, but to be frank, I have my concerns, Grange.”
“About me?” asked Hugh, surprised into bluntness.
“No, no, you’ll do absolutely,” said Sir Alex. “One or two of the other chaps, let’s just say, no good having a coronet if you’ve no head to put it on.”
“Am I to understand, sir, that you wish Miss Ramsey to marry as she pleases?” asked Hugh. His tone was drier than he intended, perhaps because he was less than happy to be told he might “do” given the difficulty of the times.
“It’s not exactly a carte blanche,” said the surgeon. “But I will suggest prompt action on the part of any suitor so interested. Fact is, she won’t go to Wales without an engagement notice sent out. She fears she’ll be isolated and left on the shelf out in the country. Frankly, I’m at my wit’s end to get her out of London.”