Probably the order transferring Hugh was in the current accumulation. If he had seen it in time- Too late, too late! He put his elbows on his knees and covered his face. Too late! Oh, my son!
Memtok touched his shoulder almost gently. “Cousin, take hold of yourself. Your prerogatives were not abridged. You see ‘that, do you not?”
“Yes. Yes, I see it,” Hugh mumbled through his hands.
“Then why are you overwrought?”
“He was-he is-my son.”
“He is? Then why are you behaving as if he were your nephew?” Memtok used the specific form, meaning “your eldest sister’s oldest son” and he was honestly puzzled by the savage’s odd reaction. He could understand a mother being interested in her son-her oldest son, at least. But a father? Uncle! Memtok had sons, he was certain, throughout the household-”One-Shot Memtok” the former slutmaster used to call him. But he didn’t know who they were and could not imagine wanting to know. Or caring.
“Because-” Hugh started. “Oh, forget it. You did your duty. Conceded.”
“Well- You still seem upset. I’ll send for a bottle of Happiness. I’ll join you, this once.”
“No. No, thank you.”
“Oh, come, come! You need it. A tonic is excellent, it is excess that one must avoid.”
“Thanks, Memtok, but I don’t want it. Right now I must be sharp. I want to see Their Charity. Right away if possible. Will you arrange it for me?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Damn it, I know that you can. And I know he will see me if you ask him.”
“Cousin, I didn’t say that I would not; I said ‘I can’t.’ Their Charity is not in residence.”
“Oh.” Then he asked to have word sent to Joe. But the Chief Domestic told him that the young Chosen had left with the Lord Protector. He promised to let Hugh know when either of them returned- Yes, at once, cousin.
Hugh skipped dinner, went to his rooms and brooded. He could not avoid tormenting himself with the thought that it was, in part at least, his own fault-no, no, not for failing to read every useless paper that came into his office the instant it arrived; no, that was sheer bad luck. Even if he checked his “junk mail” each morning, it probably would have been too late; the two orders had probably gone out at the same time.
What did anguish his soul was fear that he had pushed the first domino in that quarrel with Duke. He could have lied to the boy, told him that his mother was, to Hugh’s certain knowledge, a maid-in-waiting or some such, to the Lord Protector’s sister, safe inside the royal harem and never seen by a man. Pampered, living the life of Riley, and happy in it- and that other tale was just gossip servants talk to fill their idle minds.
Duke would have believed it because Duke would have wanted to believe it.
As it was- Perhaps Duke had gone to see Their Charity. Perhaps Memtok had arranged it, or perhaps Duke had simply tried to bull his way in and the row had reached Ponse’s ears. It was more than possible, he saw now, that his advice to Duke to see the head man might well have resulted in a scene that would have caused Ponse to order the tempering as casually as he would order his air coach. All too likely- He tried to tell himself that no one is ever responsible for another person’s actions. He believed it, he tried to live by it. But he found that cold wisdom no comfort.
At last he quit brooding, got writing materials, and got to work on a letter to Barbara. He had had not even a moment’s chance to tell her his plans for them to escape, no chance to work up a code. But she must be ready at no notice; he must tell her, somehow.
Barbara knew German, he had a smattering from one high school year of it. He knew enough Russian to stumble through a simple conversation, Barbara had picked up a few words from him during their time in the wilderness-a game that they could share without giving Grace cause for jealousy.