'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 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.