Young bloods

'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 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.'