Young bloods

'I'm sorry.'

'Major Blyth informs me that you started the fight.'

'Yes, Mother.'

'Why?'

'I was insulted.'

'So you thought you would call him out.'

'No, I just punched him.'

'You punched him?' Anne looked over his frail frame. 'I'm surprised the other boy didn't snap you in two. Lucky for you Major Blyth was on hand to break it up.'

Arthur shrugged. 'Seems my fortune is changing.'

'And what does that mean exactly?'

For a moment Arthur felt his emotions rushing to the surface and he had to pause to control them. 'I don't like it here, Mother. I never have. I don't like the school. I don't like London. I don't like feeling abandoned by you and Father-'

'Oh, grow up, Arthur!' his mother snapped, slapping down the headmaster's note. 'You can't spend your life squirrelled away in some draughty Irish backwater. London is where things happen. Make the most of it.'

'I'm tired of London.'

'Arthur,' she continued in a more kindly tone, 'this is your home now and you had better get used to it. It is also my home and your father's, and we like it here. Please try not to spoil it for us.'

'What happens when the money runs out?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'I'm not a fool, Mother. I know what an overdraft is. I heard you talking about it with Father the other night. What happens when his debts are called in?'

'They won't be. It is in no one's interest to beggar a peer. And since you have decided to take such a keen interest in the financial affairs of other people you should know that our income has only been reduced temporarily. As soon as the war in the American colonies is over, confidence in the markets will recover and our income will return to its previous level. So please don't worry on that account.'

Arthur stared at her for a moment. 'Is that all, Mother?'

'Damn you, that is not all!' She brandished the note at him. 'That fight of yours is not the only issue raised by Major Blyth. It seems that it is merely a symptom of wider failure. He says you are… "dreamy, idle, careless and lethargic". He says that you are making no progress in any subject and that you have poor relations with your peers as well as teachers. Now what do you make of that?'

'It's true.'

'I see… Then you must be punished.'

'Will you tell Father?'

'No. Not at the moment. He is not well. He does not seem to have shaken that chill he caught in the spring. I have no desire to make his health any worse by telling him about your woeful performance at school.'

Arthur tried to hide his disappointment. In truth, he wished that his father was made aware of his unhappy state, so that he might reconsider their move to London. Maybe his father would see sense where his mother would not.

'Now go.' Anne gestured impatiently towards the door. 'I have much to do before I go out.'

Arthur nodded and quietly left her boudoir, shutting the door behind him. He made for the staircase to climb back up to his room, but as he reached the first step he heard a strange sound from the street in front of the house, a rhythmic harsh trampling. As it grew in intensity he left the stairs and made his way to the doors of the first-floor balcony overlooking the street, and stepped outside into the evening air. Down below a long column of soldiers was marching up the cobbled street, their nailed boots making the loud noise he had heard from inside. Three officers rode at the head of the column and in a moment of childish high spirits at so brave a sight, Arthur smiled and waved at them. Only a sergeant saw him, and did not return the greeting, but looked sober and strained before he faced front again. Arthur continued to watch as the column snaked past. He tried to count them but gave up when he passed two hundred and still they came. Hundreds more of them. At last the tail of the column went by and he continued to stare as they disappeared down the street. Only then was he aware of a presence behind him and turning quickly he saw his father, wrapped in a thick coat, holding on to the doorframe for support. Arthur had not seen him for days and was shocked by the pallor of his skin and the shrunken look in his eyes.

Garrett made a thin smile. 'Soldiers, eh? It seems that the government has finally decided to put Gordon and his rabble in order.'

'Will there be fighting, Father?'

'Perhaps. I doubt it.'

'Will the soldiers shoot at them?'

'No.' Garrett laughed and ruffled his son's fair hair. 'Of course not. There's no need. The mob will take one look at them and then run for their lives.'

As the tramp of boots faded away they heard faint sounds in the far distance: the indistinguishable roar of a crowd that rose and fell like a fluky breeze. Interspersed with the shouting was an occasional crackle of gunfire. Garrett stepped on to the balcony and rested a hand on his son's shoulder as he concentrated his attention on the distant sounds. Arthur felt the tremor in his father's hand and put it down to the chill of the evening air. His father coughed. Coughed again, and then his body was racked by a fit of coughing. Arthur reached up and patted his back gently, then stroked it as the fit eased off.

'You should get back to bed, Father.'

'What are you now? A physician as well as a pugilist?' He smiled. 'I overheard some of your conversation.'

Arthur smiled back conspiratorially, and for a moment there was sense of that old relationship, before the move to London.

'I haven't seen you for days,' his father continued, then frowned. 'Feels longer. In fact I can't remember the last occasion when we had a decent conversation.'

'I can. Two years ago. Back in Dangan.'

His father laughed, and started coughing again for a moment. 'That was a long time ago. Life was much quieter then.'

'Life was better, Father.'

Garrett turned to look at his son, and the expression of unhappiness in the young boy's face was palpable. He squeezed Arthur's shoulder. 'You really don't like it here, do you?'

'No.'

Garrett nodded. 'I should have noticed. I haven't been paying much attention to you.'

'No.'

'I'm sorry… I must admit, I'm getting a bit jaded by life here. Much too ornamental. Too little substance. And very expensive. The air's not good for me either. Perhaps we should leave for a while. Take a holiday. Go back to Dangan for a few months. Would you like that?'

'Yes.'Arthur spoke quietly, but his heart swelled with hope.'We could learn Dr Buckleby's piece together.'

'What? Oh, yes. That old thing… Be interesting to see if he still has his touch. Soon as I'm better I'll have a word with-'

He was interrupted by a volley of of musket fire and both of them turned in the direction of the distant shouting. A terrible, shrill noise rose up from the invisible crowd and Arthur felt his spine tingle with cold as he realised that he was hearing screaming. A vast mass of people screaming in terror.

'What's happening, Father?'

'I'm not sure.' He strained his ears. 'It sounds like a battle. Or a massacre.'

They stood a while longer listening. More volleys were fired and the screaming went on and on, rising and falling in intensity.

'What on earth is going on out there?' Anne called from inside. A moment later she emerged on to the balcony. 'Garrett! You should be in bed.You're not-'

'Quiet! Listen!'

The sounds of the violence carried clearly across the rooftops and her eyes widened in surprise. 'Good Lord, sounds like a quite a fracas. Hope it doesn't come this way.' She kissed her husband on the cheek. 'I'm going to the party now. I've sent O'Shea for the carriage.'

'Do you think it's wise to go out?'

'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.