Young bloods - Scarrow Simon - Страница 27

A faint sound of footfalls on the staircase announced the return of his mother. As she entered the room, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, she gave a start at the sight of her husband lying still on the bed.

'Garrett!' The tray tilted and the bowl began to slide towards the edge.

'Mother!' Arthur pointed at the tray. 'Look out.'

She glanced down and levelled the tray just in time to stop the bowl tipping over. Then she hurried across the room, set the tray down on a dressing table and trod softly across to the bed.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Didn't mean to cry out. I just thought, when I saw him asleep, for a moment I thought he was…'

'He's just sleeping, Mother. That's all.'

'Yes.' She smiled at her son, then gazed at Garrett with a frown. 'Poor lamb. He's not well.'

'He'll get better, Mother.'

She patted Arthur's cheek. 'Of course he will.'

Chapter 21

As the summer wore on, Garrett's condition slowly improved and by the end of August he was able to accompany his family for short walks in Hyde Park.There was still a strained atmosphere in the capital following the riots in June. A number of the ringleaders had been hanged outside the fire-damaged walls of the Newgate prison and the man who had been at the heart of the anti-Catholic mob, Charles Gordon, was on trial for his life, dividing London society between his supporters, who regarded him as a hero and patriot, and those who wanted the rabblerouser hanged from the highest gallows as a warning to those who felt tempted by the perilous game of playing the London mob. The social scene was only just beginning to return to normal as the theatres and ballrooms began to open up again, and the trickle of invitations for Lord and Lady Mornington slowly increased in volume.

But Garrett soon discovered that any attempt at dancing quickly fatigued him and he was no longer able to cope with more than one or two hours at social events without succumbing to exhaustion. The onset of autumn brought a renewed bout of Garrett's illness and once more he was bedridden with colds and a cough from which he never seemed completely to recover. His appetite began to fade and, despite the best efforts of the cook, he grew steadily thinner and more gaunt as the new year came and winter fixed London in its icy grip. At first Anne was sympathetic towards him, but increasingly came to resent the curtailing of her involvement in London society. She had to attend parties and performances by herself while Garrett remained at home.

As May came round and the buds began to appear on the branches of trees in Hyde Park, Arthur persuaded his father to come out for a walk. Garrett was happy to quit the thick atmosphere of his bedroom, where the walls had become far too familiar and confining through the winter months. The carriage dropped them at the gates and pulled over to wait with other vehicles. Arthur supported his father's arm as they walked slowly along the gravel path beneath the green-flecked boughs of the trees lining the route. Along the way Garrett exchanged greetings with a few people he had not seen for some months.They found an empty bench and sat down. As he drew his breath and felt his heart slow down to a more even beat, Garrett looked up into the clear spring sky and smiled.The cool air felt good in his lungs and an unaccustomed surge of energy flowed through his limbs. Birdsong filled his ears and it was almost as if spring were renewing him even as it renewed the world around him and his son.

'I feel good,' he said. 'Best I have felt for an age.'

His son smiled happily and patted his father's gloved hand.

'Thank you for persuading me to come out for this walk, Arthur. I'm so glad I came.'

'Me too,' Arthur nodded. Then he turned to his father hopefully. 'Do you think you might want to play your violin when we return home? A duet perhaps?'

'Yes. Why not? I think I'd like that a great deal.' Garrett eased himself up from the bench. 'In fact, why delay it a moment longer? It's been far too long since we've played together. Come, let's go.'

Arthur felt his heart swell with joy at the prospect. All the disappointment and feeling of abandonment that he had endured since coming to live in London were forgotten in an instant.The father he had only been able to remember for years was made flesh again. He stood up and ran a few paces to catch up with Garrett, who was striding back down the path towards the distant gate beyond which the carriages were waiting.

Garrett laughed.

'What is it, Father?'

'I was just remembering how we used to race each other to the front entrance at Dangan whenever we had been for a walk in the country. Do you recall?'

'Why, yes, I do. I remember it well.'

'Really?' Garrett smiled mischievously. 'Let's see. Ready, steady…' He lurched forward into a trot and called back over his shoulder, 'Go!'

'Father!' Arthur cried in alarm. 'You're not well enough. Stop it! Please!'

'What's the matter? Afraid of losing? Come on, Arthur, run!'

His son was already running, racing to catch up with his father, though not out of pride, just fear for the consequences of Garrett's rash high spirits. 'Stop! You must stop!'

'Oh, must I?' Garrett panted, awkwardly trying to lengthen his stride on legs not used to such exertion.

'Stop Father! I beg you!' Arthur caught up with him, and reached out to grab his shoulder. His fingers closed on the cloth and pressed on, closing around the bony shoulder beneath. Garrett slowed down and stopped. He was laughing as he turned towards his son. 'Ah! I'm too old for these games… Too old.' He paused, snatching at breaths, then he was gripped by a coughing fit, and bent double as he tried to fight it off, fist clenched to his mouth. The coughing worsened, racking his chest, and the first flecks of blood spattered on to the path. He felt his knees shaking, weakening, then the strength left his legs and he collapsed.

'Father!' Arthur cried out, dropping to the ground beside him.

Garrett felt the boy's hands reach under his shoulders and gently raise him up, cradling his head against Arthur's chest. Garrett was still coughing when he was hit by a wave of giddy nausea. His vision blurred and went dark and far away, it seemed, he heard his son calling to him. Then there was nothing.

Arthur saw his father's eyelids flicker, then the body went limp. Garrett was still breathing, but each breath was drawn with a strained rasping sound. Looking round Arthur saw two grimy figures in workmen's clothes walking down the path towards him. They were chatting loudly and had not yet noticed the little drama at the side of the path ahead of them.

'You men!' Arthur called out. 'Come here! Quickly, damn it!'

For an instant they froze, before sensing the urgency in the boy's voice and his tone of command.Then they broke into a run and rushed to where Arthur leaned over Garrett.

'I have to get my father home. Help me carry him to the carriage there, outside the gate.'

As they drew up outside the house, O'Shea threw his whip aside and jumped down from his seat to wrench the door open.

'Here, Master Arthur. Let me.'

He carefully pulled Garrett out of the doorway and lifted him up as if the man weighed no more than a sleeping infant. Arthur jumped down behind him and followed O'Shea up the stairs to the door, reaching round the driver to turn the handle and shove the panelled door aside.

'Take him into the parlour,' ordered Arthur. 'Then go for the doctor.You know the address?'

'Wardour Street, sir. Dr Henderson.'

'That's him.'

They crossed the hall to the small reception room used by the family for informal occasions. O'Shea carried Garrett over to chaise longue and carefully set him down. A face appeared at the door, one of the maids come to see what the commotion was about. She took one look at the ashen face of her master and raised a hand to her cheek in alarm.