to see Chalmers.”
Murdo searched his face for a moment. “All right,” he sighed. “Go and do what you need to. We’ll talk about this later.”
Donald and Catherine Ferguson didn’t live too far from Murdo’s house, but while he had a whole townhouse to himself, they occupied only the upper half of a similarly sized, if slightly less grand property. When David called on them at half past six, they were just about to sit down to dinner, and Donald insisted he join them.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way upstairs. “There’s plenty of mutton to go round, and Catherine will be pleased to see you.”
“There’s no need to feed me,” David protested, even as he followed Donald upstairs.
“Don’t be silly,” Donald said good-naturedly. “As though we’d think of eating while you watch.”
Their home was cosy and comfortable looking, David thought as he followed Donald through the hallway and into the dining room. With its hotchpotch of rugs and framed needlepoint pictures—Catherine’s, David presumed—on the walls, it was far less elegant than Murdo’s house, but far less intimidating too.
Catherine rose from the table when they entered the small dining room. She smiled at David, but it was a wan smile and there were lines of strain about her eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mr. Lauriston,” she said as he bowed over her hand. “Father so particularly wants to see you. He’s mentioned it to me the last several times I’ve visited him.”
Chalmers was still hanging on, then. Thank God for that.
“I’m equally anxious to see him.”
“Let’s have something to eat while we talk,” she suggested.
As they settled themselves at the table, David took in the changes that the last few months had wrought on his friends. Catherine—until now, a round and vivacious girl—was noticeably thinner, her manner much more subdued than the girl he remembered. She served only a very small portion of food onto her own plate and pushed what was there around for the most part, eating little. Was she too anxious about her father to eat, David wondered?
Donald was changed too. Always the most jolly of men, he looked suddenly careworn, his forehead etched with deep furrows from frowning.
“Forgive my bluntness,” David said when the inevitable small talk had been disposed of, “but—how is your father?”
Catherine and Donald exchanged a look, then Donald said, “He does not have long left, David. It will be a matter of days.”
Catherine flinched at that, though she didn’t disagree.
David paused. “Then I should like to see him as soon as I can. Would this evening be possible?”
Catherine pressed her lips together unhappily. “I’m afraid Mama won’t have visitors in the evening. She says Father’s too tired.”
“Surely, given the circumstances—” David began carefully.
Donald interrupted, his tone flat. “Your best bet is tomorrow morning. She won’t refuse you then, not when he’s specifically asked for you. Otherwise, I suspect she’d take great delight in sending you away— She never liked you, you know.”
“Donald—” Catherine protested weakly.
“Well, it’s true!” he retorted. He turned to David again. “She was convinced you had designs on Elizabeth, even though it was plain as day that you weren’t the least bit interested. And, of course, she blames you for Elizabeth running away.”
Catherine sighed. “I know it’s not satisfactory, Mr. Lauriston. But you’re probably better visiting in the morning anyway. Father takes a sleeping draught every evening, and once he’s had it, he becomes a little disorientated.”
That was all very well, David thought, provided Chalmers was still around tomorrow morning. But he nodded his agreement and allowed Catherine to change the subject.
As soon as the meal was over, Catherine excused herself, pleading tiredness.
“Is Catherine all right?” David asked Donald once she had left the room. Donald
Murdo searched his face for a moment. “All right,” he sighed. “Go and do what you need to. We’ll talk about this later.”
Donald and Catherine Ferguson didn’t live too far from Murdo’s house, but while he had a whole townhouse to himself, they occupied only the upper half of a similarly sized, if slightly less grand property. When David called on them at half past six, they were just about to sit down to dinner, and Donald insisted he join them.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way upstairs. “There’s plenty of mutton to go round, and Catherine will be pleased to see you.”
“There’s no need to feed me,” David protested, even as he followed Donald upstairs.
“Don’t be silly,” Donald said good-naturedly. “As though we’d think of eating while you watch.”
Their home was cosy and comfortable looking, David thought as he followed Donald through the hallway and into the dining room. With its hotchpotch of rugs and framed needlepoint pictures—Catherine’s, David presumed—on the walls, it was far less elegant than Murdo’s house, but far less intimidating too.
Catherine rose from the table when they entered the small dining room. She smiled at David, but it was a wan smile and there were lines of strain about her eyes.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Mr. Lauriston,” she said as he bowed over her hand. “Father so particularly wants to see you. He’s mentioned it to me the last several times I’ve visited him.”
Chalmers was still hanging on, then. Thank God for that.
“I’m equally anxious to see him.”
“Let’s have something to eat while we talk,” she suggested.
As they settled themselves at the table, David took in the changes that the last few months had wrought on his friends. Catherine—until now, a round and vivacious girl—was noticeably thinner, her manner much more subdued than the girl he remembered. She served only a very small portion of food onto her own plate and pushed what was there around for the most part, eating little. Was she too anxious about her father to eat, David wondered?
Donald was changed too. Always the most jolly of men, he looked suddenly careworn, his forehead etched with deep furrows from frowning.
“Forgive my bluntness,” David said when the inevitable small talk had been disposed of, “but—how is your father?”
Catherine and Donald exchanged a look, then Donald said, “He does not have long left, David. It will be a matter of days.”
Catherine flinched at that, though she didn’t disagree.
David paused. “Then I should like to see him as soon as I can. Would this evening be possible?”
Catherine pressed her lips together unhappily. “I’m afraid Mama won’t have visitors in the evening. She says Father’s too tired.”
“Surely, given the circumstances—” David began carefully.
Donald interrupted, his tone flat. “Your best bet is tomorrow morning. She won’t refuse you then, not when he’s specifically asked for you. Otherwise, I suspect she’d take great delight in sending you away— She never liked you, you know.”
“Donald—” Catherine protested weakly.
“Well, it’s true!” he retorted. He turned to David again. “She was convinced you had designs on Elizabeth, even though it was plain as day that you weren’t the least bit interested. And, of course, she blames you for Elizabeth running away.”
Catherine sighed. “I know it’s not satisfactory, Mr. Lauriston. But you’re probably better visiting in the morning anyway. Father takes a sleeping draught every evening, and once he’s had it, he becomes a little disorientated.”
That was all very well, David thought, provided Chalmers was still around tomorrow morning. But he nodded his agreement and allowed Catherine to change the subject.
As soon as the meal was over, Catherine excused herself, pleading tiredness.
“Is Catherine all right?” David asked Donald once she had left the room. Donald
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