Young Bloods

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Why on earth not? That trouble is in the opposite direction.’

  ‘For now.’

  ‘Oh, tish! It’s nothing to be worried about. Now get back to bed.’

  Suddenly there was shouting from further up the street. Then the first dim shadows flitted between the streetlamps. As they watched more of them appeared, like rats running for their lives, some crying out in panic. Then they heard some harsh shouting and the grinding thud of army boots charging down the street towards the house.

  ‘Get them! Get those bastards!’ a voice bellowed.

  Now Arthur could make out the forms of soldiers in amongst the people fleeing along the street. They had fixed their bayonets and the wicked spikes glinted in the lamplight as the soldiers ran down their prey. Arthur held his breath as he saw one of the soldiers slam the butt of his musket into the back of a man’s head, and as his victim slipped to the ground the soldier calmly reversed the weapon and drove the bayonet into the man’s chest, twisted it and wrenched it free before continuing the chase.

  Suddenly there was a shout from directly below the balcony. A woman had seen the family gazing down into the street and was calling up to them.

  ‘Let us in! For pity’s sake, let us in. They’re murderin’ us out ’ere!’

  She ran to the door and started pounding on the gleaming paint work. In the middle of the street a soldier stopped and Arthur saw that it was the sergeant who had marched past earlier. Only now he had a sword in his hand. He strode across and mounted the pavement. With his spare hand he grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair, wrenched her away from the door and spun her into the gutter. She shrieked in pain, then terror as the sword arm swept up. Then the blade glinted down, crushing the pale hand that had risen to try to fend the blade off, and an instant later there was a crunch as the sword cut into the woman’s skull. She lay still in the street as a dark halo slowly pooled about her face.

  ‘Inside!’ Garrett ordered, pressing his wife and son towards the doors. They did not resist and mutely retreated from the horror outside.Then Garrett shut the doors and swept the curtain across, shutting off the view of the street.

  ‘Oh God,’ Anne muttered. ‘Did you see? Did you see what he did to that woman? I think I’m going to be sick. Garrett . . . Garrett?’

  Arthur turned round and saw that his father was clutching his chest. He was making small, agonised grunting noises as he tried to breathe.

  ‘Father?’ Arthur grabbed his arm. ‘Father? What’s the matter?’

  Garrett shook his head, then his face crumpled into an expression of terrible agony. As Anne screamed, he collapsed to the floor.

  Chapter 20

  ‘I’m afraid your husband has something of a weak constitution, my lady.’ The doctor pulled on his coat as he delivered his conclusions. ‘His heart is particularly susceptible to his overall condition. He’ll need as much rest as he can manage for what is left of his life. On no account is he to exert himself. Is that clear?’

  Anne nodded and turned to her husband lying in the bed, propped up on pillows. His arms lay limply each side of his body, on the bedclothes. She took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. ‘So, no more concerts for you, my dear. You heard the doctor.You must rest.’

  ‘Indeed you must.’ Dr Henderson added with an emphatic nod, ‘Your condition demands it, sir.’

  Garrett Wesley smiled faintly. ‘Very well. I’m outnumbered. I give in.’

  ‘Good,’ Anne smiled, rising from the chair. ‘I’ll see the doctor out.’

  ‘Wait.’ Garrett raised a hand. ‘Doctor?’

  ‘What is it, sir?’

  ‘You’ve been on your calls this morning. How is it on the streets?’

  The doctor had picked up his cane and bag and now rapped the cane sharply on the floorboards. ‘Terrible, sir. Bodies everywhere, and troops . . . They’re stopping everyone, regardless of their social station, and demanding to know their business. It’s an intolerable state of affairs.’

  ‘Quite.’ Garrett frowned. ‘Bodies, you say? Has there been any report of how many?’

  ‘There must be hundreds dead, sir. Thousands more wounded. Not to mention the destruction caused by that damned rabble. Dozens of Catholic chapels and houses burned to the ground, or damaged beyond repair.They even had the gall to attack Newgate and Fleet prisons and set the inmates loose on the street. The Bank of England itself was assaulted. If it hadn’t been for John Wilkes and his militia the Bank would have been burned to the ground. I tell you, sir, it was a close-run thing. We’ve escaped anarchy by a whisker.’

  Anne stared at him. ‘Surely it can’t have been as bad as that?’

  The doctor pursed his lips. ‘I’m sure of it. If it hadn’t been for the army, law and order would have gone up in smoke as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my lady, I have much urgent business this morning.’ He turned to Garrett and made a formal bow.‘I bid you good day, my lord.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘I’ll send my man with the bill later.’

  Garrett smiled. ‘Receipt of which will ensure a speedy recovery.’

  They both laughed and then Garrett’s face twisted in pain and he hunched forward, fists clenched as a fit of coughing seized him. It quickly passed and he slumped back, sweat gleaming on his brow.The doctor wagged a finger at him, and then turned and left the room, dodging to one side as he became aware of Arthur and Gerald, who had been surreptitiously watching the consultation around the doorframe.

  They smiled guiltily and were about to make off when their mother called out to them, ‘You might as well come in, since I assume you overheard our conversation.’

  The two shuffled into the room and stood at the end of their father’s bed. He smiled at them. ‘It’s all right, boys, the doctor says I won’t die.’

  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 be
d. ‘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.

  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 fro
m 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.