Young bloods - Scarrow Simon - Страница 26

Anne took a sharp breath and glared at her husband. 'Of course you won't die. Not if you are sensible and do as the doctor says. Rest is what you need. You'll be back on your feet soon enough.'

'I hope so.'

'So do I,' Arthur added quietly. He had not forgotten the moment of companionship he had shared with his father before his collapse on the balcony. He looked up and smiled at his father. 'After all, we must set to learning Buckleby's piece together.'

Garrett nodded. 'I'm looking forward to it.'

Anne wagged her finger at her husband. 'All in good time. I forbid you to lay a hand on your violin until the doctor says you are well enough. Do you understand me, husband?'

'Yes, dear. You have my word. Arthur, you must practise without me for the moment. I'll join in as soon as I can.'

'Yes, Father.' Arthur lowered his gaze. 'But you must keep this promise.'›

'Oh! For heaven's sake!' Anne stamped her foot.'Don't be such a selfish child! Your poor father is sick and all you can think of is your precious fiddling-'

'Anne…' Garrett interrupted her. 'Anne, dearest, please.That's enough.'

'No it's not!' she said crossly. 'He's been moping about for months now. Whining that we're not giving him enough attention.And then this letter from Major Blyth about his fighting and his poor attitude at school. It's too much.'

'Yes it is,' Garrett nodded. 'It's too much. I agree with you. Now calm yourself.' He eased himself up, slowly and painfully. 'I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since last night. I could do with some soup. Could you and Gerald see to it, please?'

'What? Why should-'

'Please, my dear. I'm famished. And I'd like a little talk with Arthur. Alone.'

Anne stared at him, biting back on her irritation. Then she nodded and, taking Gerald by the hand, she quit the room. Father and son listened to the sounds of footsteps crossing the landing and then clacking on the stairs as Anne and Gerald made their way downstairs towards the kitchen.

'That's better,' Garrett smiled, and patted the chair where Anne had been seated beside his bed. 'Sit there, Arthur.'

When his son had stepped round the bed and taken the seat, Garrett shifted slightly so that he could see Arthur more easily. They smiled at each other, uneasily as the silence unfolded. At length Garrett drew a breath and began.

'Your mother and I have been talking about you. In light of yesterday's letter.'

'I rather thought you might.'

'Arthur, please don't take that tone with me. I'm worried about you. Worried what is to become of you. Frankly, there's little sign that you derive any benefit from attending that school. Your grasp of the classics is slight, at best.'

'I'm sorry to let you down, Father,' Arthur frowned. 'I just don't have the head for Latin and Greek. It's not my fault.'

'Well, you might try harder.'

'To what end? So that I can be half as good as Richard? And still live in his shadow? There's no point, Father.'

'There's always a point to learning. If you carry on in this manner you'll be fit for nothing more than soldiering. And I did not raise you to belong to that class of wastrels and dandies that decorate the fringes of society with their gaudy uniforms.You're better than that, Arthur.'

'Am I?' he muttered bitterly.

'Enough!' his father snapped, but before he could continue he was seized by another fit of coughing. Arthur watched him in concern and gripped his father's hand tightly until the fit had passed.

'I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry.'

Garrett shook his head.'Not your fault… As it happens, I am proud of you.You've a talent for the violin, so cherish it. One day you'll play it better than I ever could.'

'No.'

'You will. Trust me.' Garrett reached over and patted his son on the chest. 'Trust yourself. You have it in you to succeed. I know it.'

Arthur tilted his head to one side, and did not reply.

Garrett was watching his son's expression closely, trying to read the thoughts passing behind the screen of that thin face, made to appear thinner still by the long nose. The boy was consumed by doubt, that much was obvious, and Garrett wished there was more he could do to comfort him. But all he could offer was a father's love and affection.That was not nearly enough to sustain a boy of Arthur's age, who placed far more emphasis on the approval of his siblings and peers, against whom he would measure his value as a person. How sad, Garret reflected, that people should crave the goodwill of others and take the far deeper sentiment of parents for granted. He squeezed his son's hand.

'I've not been a good father to you, have I? These last years. I should never have permitted myself to neglect you so.'

'Hush, Father.You mustn't upset yourself.'

'Arthur, I wish I could make it up to you. While there is still time.'

'What do you mean?' Arthur felt the flesh creep on the back of his neck. 'The doctor said you just needed to rest.'

'That's what he said, and perhaps he was right about my constitution. Even so, I've not been feeling well for some months now. I've been growing weaker all the time. Now I fear that whatever is wrong with me may not be cured simply through rest. And I'm worried about your future, and the future of the rest of the family.'

'You mustn't worry,' Arthur replied in a concerned tone.

Garrett slumped back against his cushions and shut his eyes. 'I sense that things are changing, and not for the better. The news of the war in the American colonies gets worse by the month. We're going to lose that war,Arthur.And if the rebels can defy the King, what kind of example does that set for all the discontents around the world?' He coughed for a moment, then cleared his throat before continuing. 'Even here in London, the established order is under threat.You heard the doctor, hundreds dead. Public buildings sacked and burned. Soldiers on the streets. I tell you, Arthur, I've never seen the like, and I'm afraid. Afraid for us all. When the hour comes when I'm most needed, I may not be here. Or at least, I may be in no position to protect you.'

Arthur was only half listening, his eyes fixed on the bright bloody spittle that had begun to trickle from the corner of his father's lips shortly after the last bout of coughing. A flash of associated memory drew his mind back to earlier that morning, shortly after dawn, when he had stood in the doorway of their house, gazing into the street as one of the footmen scrubbed the sticky blood from the steps where the woman had been cut down the night before. Her body had already been removed, collected by an army cart that had passed down the street before first light. Arthur had sensed the strange feeling in the morning air. The street was almost deserted and a mood of fear and anticipation was evident in the few faces peering from doors and windows, and in the expressions of the handful of Londoners passing by, avoiding the gaze of the squads of soldiers posted at the main junctions of the capital's streets. His father was right to be scared. Law and order were fragile things. More fragile than Arthur had ever dreamed. A mere damask veil over a much uglier and violent world forever threatening bloody chaos. Unless there were enough responsible men to hold back that prospect, things would fall apart. The nation he had been raised to revere would no longer be able to hold itself together.What then? Arthur dare not think about it.

His mind turned back to his father, lying still in the bed beside him. His eyes were still closed and he was mumbling now, increasingly incoherent as he slipped into an uneasy sleep. Eventually the mumbling stopped and his fingers relaxed in Arthur's hand as he breathed in a soft easy rhythm. Arthur pulled his hand free and when he was quite certain that his father was asleep he gently stroked Garrett's brow. He felt a peculiar tenderness in his heart at this reversal of roles, of the child comforting the parent.The peaceful expression on his father's face made him look far younger and more innocent than Arthur had ever seen him.