'Yes, sir.'Arthur took a last fearful look at his father, and left the room, shutting the door behind him. He ignored the kitchens and made for the formal drawing room instead, and sat in a chair at the window to watch for the return of his mother and the other children. He strained his ears to hear anything from the back parlour, but there was no sound at all.
The hours crawled past. Then it was noon and still no sign of his mother. Another hour passed and then at last he saw Sarah hurrying round the corner, followed closely by the others. Arthur stood up and walked slowly to the door, unsure of what to say, or how to react. He feared the worst but did not want to let the others read that in his face. So he swallowed his anxiety and tried to compose his expression as he heard their footsteps hurrying along the pavement and then clattering up the steps to the front door. His mother had overtaken Sarah. She rushed towards him, and grabbed his shoulders.
'Where is he?'
'In the parlour, Mother.' Arthur saw that her lips were trembling.
'Is he… still alive?'
'Yes. He was when the doctor arrived.'
'The doctor's here?'
Arthur nodded. 'I sent for him straight away.'
'Good boy.'
Gerald, Anne and Henry came up the stairs, the latter holding Sarah's hands and red-faced from tiredness and tears. Arthur's mother turned briefly to Sarah. 'Take the children to the nursery and look after them, please.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
She left them in the care of the maid and, with a short pause to collect her breath and compose herself, she entered the back parlour and closed the door behind her.
In the hall the three children and the maid stared after her in silence until Sarah coughed and made herself smile. 'Let's go and play. There's some nice games I know. We'll have some fun.'
'Sarah?' Gerald spoke quietly. 'Is Father going to die?'
'Die?' Sarah raised her eyebrows. 'Of course not, my dear! The doctor's here. He'll sort him out. He'll be right as rain before you know it. Now come on, who wants to play a game?'
Without waiting for an answer, she bustled them upstairs to the nursery and pulled out the first box she could find from the toy cupboard: a collection of tin soldiers depicting the sides involved in the war in the American colonies.
'Perfect!' she smiled. 'Now if we can find some marbles…'
As the four children stood waiting, the maid rummaged through the cupboard until she found a small felt bag filled with china marbles.
'Now all we need is a battlefield. This rug should do. Come on, Arthur, help me. If we stuff some shoes under it we can make some hills.'
'Why?'
'Why? Bless me, you can't not have hills. Wouldn't be like the real world at all!'
She cajoled them all to help her create a rough approximation of a valley lined with hills and then they began to set the troops up on either side.When all was ready Sarah sided with Gerald and Henry, and Arthur took his older sister, Anne, and they squatted down on the side of the rug where the redcoat army stretched out along a ridge formed by rolled-up dressing gowns stuffed beneath the rug. Sarah gave them each some marbles and explained the rules: each side to take alternate shots by flicking the marbles from forefinger and thumb and the side with the last man standing was the winner. Sarah proved to be an adept hand at marbles and the first battle was quickly over. A resounding victory for the blue-uniformed colonial army. As was the second battle. Arthur's pride was piqued by the defeats and after his second defeat he glanced up at Sarah.
'You set up first.'
'Very well, Master Arthur.'
She, Gerald and Henry set up their forces along the far ridge, just as before, while Arthur and his sister waited patiently. Then, when the last of the colonists had been positioned Arthur started placing his own forces. Only this time, the redcoats were lined up behind the brow of the hill.
'Hey,' Sarah protested. 'That ain't fair!'
'Yes it is,' Arthur smiled at her. 'They're still on the battlefield. I'm just taking advantage of the topography. It's only fair, since you've obviously had some practice with marbles.'
Sarah frowned, and then nodded determinedly. 'As you will, Master Arthur. But we'll still win.'
'Really? Let's see then, shall we?'
As the third battle commenced it quickly became apparent that the redcoats had the advantage. Try as they might, Sarah and the younger boys could not find a direct angle to flick their missiles, and in the end they had to resort to high-trajectory lobs in an attempt to get at the invisible figurines behind the ridge. Before long the last of the blue figures was bowled over and Arthur let loose a cry of triumph.
Before the sound had died on his lips there was a piercing shriek from downstairs. It came again at once and this time they recognised their mother's voice as she cried out, 'NO!'
Anne nudged her brother and whispered, 'What's happened, Arthur?'
He did not reply immediately, but strained his ears to catch the sound of cries of despair echoing up the staircase. He rose from the floor of the nursery, conscious that the others were watching him intently.
'Stay here,' he said. 'I'll go and see.'
He left the nursery, crossed the landing and began to descend the stairs as an icy sense of dread closed tightly around his heart like a fist. Downstairs he could hear his mother crying, and the softer bass notes of the doctor as he offered indistinguishable words of comfort.
Then he knew the full and irrevocable certainty of what had happened and he felt a moment's giddiness so that he had to clutch the stair rail to prevent himself from falling. The sensation passed and he continued down two more flights to the entrance hall. There was the door to the parlour, closed as before, but now pierced by the sound of his mother crying. Arthur hesitated, then turned the handle and entered. She was sitting on the floor beside the chaise longue, clasping her husband's hand to her cheek. Standing to one side of her was the doctor, looking on awkwardly as he considered the impropriety of offering some physical comfort to a woman far above his social station. He glanced up at Arthur with an expression of relief and stepped aside, gesturing to the boy to help his mother.
Anne sensed his presence and turned her head towards him, and Arthur was shocked by the animal expression of hurt and pain that ravaged his mother's features.
'Oh, my baby… my poor baby. Come to me.'
He crossed over to her and as she clasped him to her breast he felt her body convulse with a fresh wave of grief. Over her shoulder he stared down at the face of his father. The body was quite still, deserted by the ragged breath that had sustained life not long before. His eyes were closed and the head lolled down on to his breast as if in sleep. Only the spattered drops of blood on his lips and the front of his shirt betrayed the malady that had finally claimed him.
'He's gone,'Anne cried, weeping into the wavy hair of her son. 'He's gone… He's left us…'
Chapter 22
The funeral of Garrett Wesley, Earl of Mornington, was a subdued affair, even though plenty of people came to the service and, so they said, to pay their respects. His widow and her children, all of them dressed in black, stood at the entrance to the churchyard, waiting to accept the condolences of those who had attended and were even now heading slowly down the gravelled path.