'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.
Arthur turned to her as O'Shea brushed past and hurried from the room. 'Sarah, where's my mother?'
'B-begging your pardon, sir, but she's taken the other children shopping.'
'Shopping?' Arthur almost wailed in despair. 'Where?'
'Davis Street, sir. She said not to expect them back until the afternoon.'
Arthur bit down on his lip, his mind racing along in a blind panic as he struggled to decide what he must do. The doctor was sent for, at least. He glanced at his father, taking in the waxy pallor of his skin and the laboured breathing. Then he turned back to the maid.
'Get some bedding down here. As soon as that's done, get down to Davis Street and try to find my mother. Tell her to get back here as soon as possible.Tell her the doctor has been sent for. Got that?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Then go!' Turning back to his father, Arthur started to unbutton his coat and eased it from his back before removing the silk neckcloth and loosening the topmost buttons of the shirt. All the time his father was limp as a rag doll and the only signs of life were the laboured sounds of his breathing and the flicker of a pulse beneath the skin of his neck. Arthur used the coat to cover his body and then moved over to the grate to light the fire.
Sarah returned with some blankets and pillows, and carefully lifted her master's head to insert the pillows on to the arm of the chaise longue. Then she laid the blanket over his body.
'Thank you.' Arthur managed a grateful smile. 'Now go and find my mother.'
She nodded and hurried away. The flames cracked and hissed in the grate as the fire took hold and Arthur fed some coals on to the flames before he slid the vent into place and turned back to his father. He checked for signs of life and then tucked the blanket about the still body before hurrying back into the hall and opening the door on to the street. Dr Henderson lived over two miles away and O'Shea could not possibly have reached the doctor's rooms yet so Arthur sat down beside his father to wait. The fire had warmed the room and some of the colour had returned to his father's face, but his breathing was still ragged and Arthur willed the doctor to arrive as swiftly as possible.
Finally, a full half-hour after O'Shea had departed, footsteps came scraping up the steps of the house and into the hall. Arthur jumped up from his father's side and ran to the door.
'In here!'
'Sorry, sir,' O'Shea gasped. 'Smashed the wheel of the carriage. On the kerb at Park Row. We had to run the rest of the way.'
O'Shea stood aside respectfully and let Dr Henderson by. The doctor was clutching a battered black bag and his face was bright red with the effort of racing to the side of his patient.
'Where is he? I see. Stand aside young man.'
He brushed past and set his bag down beside the chaise longue. He took Garrett's hand and felt for the pulse before he spared Arthur a glance.'Your man explained what he knew of the situation. Your father's a damned fool. Rest, I told him. Not bloody amateur athletics. He's lucky to be alive. Barely alive but alive none the less. Well, you've done your bit, young man. Now leave me to my ministrations.' For the first time he looked straight at Arthur and saw the dread and anxiety in the boy's face. His tone softened. 'You've done well. There's nothing more you can do now.Your father's in good hands and you can trust me to do what I can for him.' He gave Arthur a sly wink. 'Go and have a drink. Tell your cook I prescribe a cup of chocolate with a shot of rum in it for you.'