Chapter Nine.
Frank has a Bad Night.
“I wish I had a better head,” sighed Frank, as he lay in bed that night; “it seems to get thicker and thicker, and as if every time I tried to think out what is the best thing to do it got everything in a knot.”
He turned over, and lay hot and uncomfortable for a few minutes, and then perhaps for the hundredth time he turned over again, found his pillow comfortless, and jumped up into a sitting position, to punch and bang it about for some minutes, before returning it to its place, lying down, and finding it as bad as ever.
“It’s of no use,” he groaned; “I shall never get a wink of sleep to-night. I wish I could get up and dress, and go for a walk out there in the cool by the side of the water; but as soon as I got outside I should be challenged by the guard. I don’t know the password, and I should be arrested and marched off to the guardroom. Even if I could get down there by the canal, I should feel no better, for I should be thinking of nothing else but feeding the ducks.”
This thought made him twist and writhe in the bed to such an extent that the clothes refused to submit to the rough treatment, and glided off to seek peace and quietness upon the floor. The pleasant coolness was gratifying for a few minutes; but the boy’s love of order put an end to his lying uncovered, and he sprang out of bed, dragged the truant clothing back, remade his bed extremely badly, and once more lay down.
The occupation relieved him for a while, and he began to hope that he would go to sleep; but the very fact of his endeavouring to lose consciousness made him more wakeful, and he lay with wide-open eyes, going over the events of the evening, till he got into a passion with Andrew Forbes, with Mr George Selby, and most of all with himself.
“How could I be such an idiot as to go? I ought to have known better. I might have been sure, after what I had seen, that there was something wrong. But then,” he groaned, “I did fancy something was wrong, and I went to try and keep Drew out of mischief. Oh, what an unlucky fellow I am!
“It’s of no use,” was his next thought. “I shall never do any good here, only keep on getting into trouble. Why, if this were to be known, it would bring disgrace on my father and mother, and they would have to leave court—father would perhaps lose his commission.”
He sprang up again in horror at the very thought of this, drew up his knees, and passed his arms round them, to sit for long enough packed up with his chin upon his knees somewhat after the fashion of a Peruvian mummy.
“It’s horrible,” he groaned to himself—“horrible, that’s what it is. And this is being what mother calls a good son. They’ll be nice and proud of me when they know.
“Ah–h–h–ah! There goes that wretched old clock over the gateway again! It can’t be five minutes since it chimed before. It seems to have been chiming ever since I came to bed. What time is it, I wonder? Bah! three-quarters past. Three-quarters past what? Oh dear, how thirsty I am! and I’ve had three glasses of water since I came to bed. Going to feed the ducks! Oh, I wish I’d said I’d go out and fight with Drew, and pinked him as he calls it. He wouldn’t have been able to lead me into this scrape. But more likely he would have pinked me. Well, and a precious good thing too. It would have been all right, and I couldn’t then have gone.
“Phew! how hot it is. My skin seems to prickle and tingle, as if somebody had been playing tricks with the bed; and all this time I believe that miserable dandy Drew is snoring away, and not troubling a bit. There, if it isn’t chiming again! It can’t be a quarter of an hour since I heard it last. Ting, tang. Last quarter. Well, go on; four quarters, and then strike, and I shall know what time it is. What! A quarter past? Well, a quarter past what? Oh, that clock’s wrong. It chimed three-quarters just now. It can’t have chimed the four quarters since, and struck the hour; it’s impossible. I’m sure it must be wrong.”
He threw himself down again in despair, feeling as if sleep were farther off than ever.
“Oh dear!” he moaned; “Drew told me I seemed a year older after that row. I feel another year older since then; and if it goes on like this, I shall be like an old man by morning. But there, I’m not going to give up in this cowardly way. I’ll show Master Drew that I’m not such a boy as he thinks for. It’s all nonsense! Just because I went and dined there with him and his friend, and was then led into standing up with them and joining hands, I’m to be considered as having joined them, and become a Jacobite! Why, it’s childish; and as to his threats of what they would do if I ran back, I don’t care, I won’t believe it. I’m not such a baby. Death indeed! I’ve only just begun to live.
“Ugh! it was very ugly, very shocking to see those heads stuck up there over Temple Bar; and yet Drew took it as coolly as could be. Why, it was he who ought to have been frightened, not I. And I’m not frightened—I won’t be frightened. I won’t say anything; but I’m not going there again. No, I won’t speak—unless they do threaten me. Then I must tell all. But only wait till morning, and I’ll have it out with Master Drew. Not quite so much of a schoolboy as he thinks me.
“There’ll be no sleep for me to-night,” he said at last, in a resigned way. “Well, it’s perhaps so much the better. I have been able to think out what I mean to do, and now I’ll just try and arrange what I shall say to Drew in the morning; and, after that, I’ll get up and dress, and have a long read. I do wonder, though, what time it is.”
He then lay wondering and waiting for the clock to chime again, but he did not hear it chime its next quarter, for now that he had made up his mind not to go to sleep, sleep came to him with one of those sudden seizures which drop us in an instant into the oblivion which gives rest and refreshment to the wearied body and brain.
Then, all at once, as he lay with his eyes closed, he did hear it plainly.
“Ah, at last!” he cried,—“first quarter, second quarter, third quarter, fourth quarter. Now, then, I shall know what time it is.”
The clock struck, and he counted—nine.
Then he listened for more, opened his eyes, and stared in amazement at the light streaming through the shuttered windows, and leaped out of bed.
“Why,” he cried, “it’s breakfast-time! I must have been asleep after all.”
Then he stood looking back into yesterday, for the evening’s proceedings came to him with a flash.
“A Jacobite!” he said aloud; “and those heads upon the top of the gate!”
Chapter Ten.
In the Horns of a Dilemma.
It was a bright morning; but now it seemed to Frank Gowan that the world had suddenly turned back. Andrew Forbes met him in the most friendly way after breakfast. He was almost affectionate in his greeting.
“Didn’t dream about the traitors’ heads on Temple Bar, did you?”
“No,” said Frank coldly. “I lay awake and thought about them.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Andrew, with a shudder. “What gruesome things to take to bed with you. I didn’t; I was so tired that I went off directly and slept like a top.”
Frank looked at him in disgust.
“Hallo! what’s the matter?” cried his fellow-page. “Not well?”
“I was wondering whether you had any conscience.”
“I say, hark at the serious old man!” cried Andrew merrily. “Whatever made you ask that?”
“Because it seemed impossible you could have one, to treat it all so lightly after taking me there last night.”
“I don’t see how you can call it that. You were invited, and you went with me.”
“That’s a contemptible piece of shuffling,” cried Frank.
Andrew flushed up and frowned.
“Pooh!” he said, laughing it off. “You are tired and cross this morning. What a fellow you are for wanting to quarrel! But we can’t do that, now we’re brethren.”
“No, we are not,” said Frank hotly. “I’ll have nothing to do with the miserable business.”
“Colt kicking on first feeling his harness,” said Andrew merrily. “Never mind, Frank; you’ll soon get used to it.”
“Never.”
“And it’s a grand harness to wear. I say, what’s the good of making a fuss about it? You’ll thank me one of these days.”
“Then you have no conscience,” cried Frank sternly.
“Why, Frank, old boy, you make me feel quite young beside you. What a serious old man you’ve grown into! But if you will have it out about conscience,” he continued warmly, after a glance at each of the doors opening out of the room in which they were, “I’ll tell you this: my conscience would not let me, any more than would the consciences of thousands more, settle down to being ruled over by a German prince, invited here by a party of scheming politicians, to the exclusion of the rightful heir to the throne. What do you say to that?”
“Only this,” said Frank: “that you and I have nothing to do with such things as who ought to be king or who ought not. We’re the Prince’s servants, and we are bound to do our duty to him and his father. If we go on as you propose, we become conspirators and traitors.”
“Oh, I say, what a sermon; what a lot about nothing! People don’t study these things in war and politics. I’m for the simple right or wrong of things. I say it’s wrong for King George the First to be on the throne, so I shall not stick at trifles in fighting for the right.”
“Well, if you talk like that in a place where they say that walls have ears, you’ll soon save me the trouble and pain of speaking.”
“There was no one to hear but you, and you’re safe,” said Andrew, laughing. “Brothers don’t betray brothers, for one thing; and you know what I told you last night. If you were to betray us, your life would not be safe for a day.”
“Pish!”
“Oh, you take it that way, do you? You think you are safe because you are here in the Palace, surrounded by guards. Now, I’ll tell you something that you don’t know. You believe that I am the only one here who is ready to throw up his hat and draw his sword for the King.”
“Yes, and I’m right.”
“Only ignorant, Frank, my boy. Now listen. We Jacobites have people everywhere ready to strike when the time comes. Here in this Palace we have ladies and gentlemen forced to keep silence for the present, but who will be in ecstasies as soon as they know the good news Mr Selby gave me last night. Why, the King’s and Prince’s households contain some of our staunchest people; and if you like to go lower, there are plenty of us even among the Royal Guards. Now, what do you say to that?”
“It can’t be true.”
“Very well; I shan’t quarrel with your ignorance. But look here, Frank; take my advice: Don’t you do anything foolish, for so sure as you betray any secret you possess there will be hundreds of hands against you—yes, boy as you are, and unimportant as you think yourself. If you breathe a word, it is not merely against me, but against the safety of scores here; and to save themselves one or the other will send his sword through you at the first opportunity, wipe it, put it back in its sheath, and walk away. No one would be the wiser, and poor Frank Gowan, of whom his mother and father are so proud, would lie dead, while I should have lost the friend for whom I care more than for any one I ever met.”
“You don’t; it isn’t true,” cried Frank. “If it were, you would not have led me into this scrape.”
“Yes, I should. I tell you that you will thank me some day.”
“For making me a traitor?”
“Nonsense! Who can be a traitor who fights for his rightful king? There, let’s leave it now. You have been brought into the right way, and you are ready to fight against it because you don’t see the truth yet; but it will all come out, and—very soon.”
“What?” cried Frank, for there was a meaning look to accompany the latter words.
“I’m not going to repeat what I said; but you will soon see.”
“Then I must speak out at once. I shrank from it for fear of troubling my mother; but now you force me to.”
“Don’t, Frank. I shouldn’t like to see you hurt.”
“Whether I’m hurt or whether I’m not is nothing to you.”
“Yes, it is. I have told you why. I couldn’t bear to see you struck down.”
“I don’t believe that I should be.”
“I do, and I don’t want you to risk it, for one thing. For the other, I don’t want to be arrested, and to have my head chopped off, for you couldn’t speak without getting me into trouble.”
Frank stared at him with his purpose beginning to waver.
“I might get off easily, being what they would call a mere boy. But I don’t know; perhaps they would think that, as I was in a particular position in the Palace, they ought to make an example of me.”
He laughed lightly as he threw himself into a seat by the window.
“I’ve no one to care about me except the dad, and a little more trouble wouldn’t hurt him very much. Perhaps he’d be proud because I died for the King. I say, would you like to know why I am such a steady follower of him across the water?”
Frank didn’t speak, but his eyes said yes.
“Because I found how my poor father was wrong-treated. He’s free, but he’s little better than a prisoner. He’s looked upon as a traitor, and I’m kept here principally as a sort of hostage to make him keep quiet. That’s it, and they’ll shorten me for certain if they find anything out. Poor old dad, though; I dare say he’ll be sorry, for he likes me in his way.”
The trampling of horses was heard in the distance, and Andrew turned sharply.
“Here they come again. How bright and gay they look this morning! Ah! I should have liked to live and be an officer in a regiment like that, ready to fight for my king; but I suppose I am not to be tall enough,” he added, with a mocking laugh. “Wonder whether they’ll stick my head on Temple Bar. Now, Frank, here’s your chance; come and shout to the nearest officer—‘Stop and arrest a traitor!’ Well, why don’t you? He will hear you if you holloa well.”
Frank made no reply.
“Oh,” cried Andrew, “you are letting your chance go by. Well, perhaps it’s better, and it will give me time to send a message to warn the dear old dad. No, that wouldn’t do, because he would at once settle that it was your doing, and then—well, I should have signed your death-warrant, Franky. It would be all over with us both, and pretty soon. You first, though, for our people wouldn’t stop for a trial. I say: feel afraid? Somehow I don’t. Perhaps that will come later on. Sure to, I suppose; for it must be very horrible to have to die when one is so young, and with so many things to do. Going?”
“Yes,” said Frank gravely, as he turned away.
“Good-bye, then. Perhaps we shan’t see each other again.”
A peculiar thrill ran through Frank, and his heart gave one great throb. But he did not turn round. He went out of the room, to go somewhere to be alone—to try to think quietly out what he ought to do, and to solve the problem which would have been a hard one for a much older head, though at that moment it seemed to the boy as if he had suddenly grown very old, and that the present was separated from his happy boyish days by a tremendous space.
Chapter Eleven.
Another Invitation.
Several days passed, and at each fresh meeting Andrew Forbes looked at his fellow-page inquiringly, as if asking whether he had spoken out yet; but the lad’s manner was sufficient to show that he had not, though Frank was very cool and distant when they were alone.
Then Andrew began to banter his companion.
“Head’s all right yet,” he said one morning, laughing; and he gave it a slow twirl round like a ball in a socket. “Feels a bit loose sometimes; not at all a pleasant sensation. You’re all right still, I see. Felt a bit nervous about you, though, once or twice.”
Frank frowned slightly; but Andrew went on.
“I noticed one of us trying the point of his sword; and twice over after dark I saw men watching this window, and that made me think that you must have spoken, especially as I saw Lady—well, never mind names—examining something she had drawn out of the bosom of her dress. She slipped it back as soon as she saw me, but I feel certain that it was a sort of bodkin or stiletto. ‘That’s meant for poor Frank,’ I said to myself; for, you know, in history women have often done work of that kind. But, there, you don’t seem to have any holes in you; so I suppose you are all right for the present.”
“How can you joke about so serious a matter?” cried Frank.
“Because I want to put an end to this miserable pique between us,” cried Andrew warmly. “It’s absurd, and I hate it. I thought we were to be always friends. I can’t bear it, Frank, for I do like you.”
“It was your doing,” said the lad coldly.
“No. It was the wretched state our country is in that did it all.”
“You always get the better of me in arguments,” said Frank, “so I am not going to fight with you in that way. But I know I am right.”
“And I know that I am right,” cried Andrew.
“I shall not, as I said before, try to argue with you. We could never agree.”
“No; it wants some one else to judge between us, and I’ll tell you who’s the man.”
“I don’t see how we can speak about our troubles.”
“No need to,” said Andrew. “He’ll know all about it. Let’s leave it to old Father Time. He proves all things. But, I say, Frank, don’t be obstinate. There’s a meeting of the friends the day after to-morrow. You’ll come with me if we can get away?”
“I shall do all I can to stop you from going!” cried Frank.
“By betraying me?”
“No; I can’t do that. I promised to be your friend; and though it may be my duty, I couldn’t do such a treacherous thing.”
“As if I didn’t know,” said Andrew, laying his arm on the lad’s shoulder. “Do you think I would have been so open if I had not been sure of you? There, you will come?”
“Never again.”
“Never’s a long time, Frank. Come.”
“Once more, no!”
“To take care of me, and keep me from being too rash.”
“I can’t betray you and your friends,” said Frank sadly; “but I can do all that is possible to save you from a great danger.”
“And so can I you. I’m right.”
“No; I am right.”
“You think so now; but I know you will come round. In the meantime, thank you, Frank. I knew, I say, that you would be staunch; but I’ll tell you this: a word now from you would mean the breaking up of that party in the city, and, unless I could warn them in time, the seizure and perhaps death of many friends, and amongst them of one whom I love. I told him everything about you, and of our friendship, and it was he who bade me to bring you out in the Park there, so that he might see you first, and judge for himself whether he should like you to join us.”
“You mean Mr George Selby?”
“Yes, I mean Mr George Selby,” said Andrew, with a peculiar smile and emphasis on his words. “It was a very risky thing for him to come here close to the Palace with so many spies about; but throwing biscuits to the ducks was throwing dust in the people’s eyes as well.”
“Yes. I felt that it was a trick,” said Frank sadly.
“Obliged to stoop to tricks now, my lad. Well, he was delighted with you, and told me how glad he was for me to have such a friend. He says you must be of us, Frank, so that in the good times ahead you may be one of the friends of the rightful king. You’ll like Mr George Selby.”
“I hate him,” said Frank warmly, “for leading you astray, and for trying to lead me in the same evil way.”
“Tchut! Some one coming.”
The “some one” proved to be the Prince with a train of gentlemen, nearly all of whom were Germans, and they passed through the anteroom on their way out.
“See that tall, light-haired fellow?” said Andrew, as soon as they were alone again.
“The German baron?”
“Yes, the one in uniform.”
“Yes. He’s the Baron Steinberg, a colonel in the Hanoverian Guards.”
“That’s the man. He came over on Saturday. Well, I hate him.”
“Why? Because he’s a German?”
“Pooh! I shouldn’t hate a man because he was a foreigner. I hate him because he’s an overbearing bully, who looks down on everything English. He quite insulted me yesterday, and I nearly drew upon him. But I didn’t.”
“What did he do?”
“Put his hand upon my shoulder, and pushed me aside. ‘Out of the way, booby!’ he said in German. A rude boor!”
“Oh, it was his rough way, perhaps. You mustn’t take any notice of that.”
“Mustn’t I?” exclaimed Andrew. “We shall see. That isn’t all. I hate him for another thing.”
“You’re a queer fellow, Drew. I think you divide the world into two sets—those you hate and those you love.”
“And a good division too. But these German fellows want teaching a lesson, and somebody will be teaching it if they don’t mend. Oh! I hate that fellow, and so ought you to.”
“Why? Because he is a German?”
“Not for that. I’ll tell you. I didn’t see you yesterday, or I’d have told you then. You were in the big reception-room?”
“When my father was on duty with his company of the Guards?”
“Yes, and your mother was in the Princess’s train.”
“Yes, and I didn’t get one chance to speak to her.”
“Well, that fellow did; he spoke to her twice, and I saw him staring at her insolently nearly all the time the Princess and her ladies were there.”
“Well?”
“That is all,” said Andrew shortly. “They’ll be at her drawing-room this afternoon, and if I were you I should go and stop near Lady Gowan as much as I could.”
“I should like to,” said Frank, looking at his friend wonderingly; “but of course I can’t go where I like.”
A few minutes later one of the servants brought in a note and handed it to Frank, who opened it eagerly.
“No answer,” he said to the man; and then he turned to his companion. “Read,” he said. “From my father.”
“‘Come and dine at the mess this evening, and bring Andrew Forbes,’” read the lad, and he flushed with pleasure.
“Of course you will not come,” said Frank mockingly. “You could not be comfortable with such a loyal party.”
“With such a host as Captain Sir Robert Gowan!” cried Andrew. “Oh yes, I could. I like him.” He smiled rather meaningly, and then the conversation turned upon the treat to come, both lads being enthusiastic about everything connected with the military.
This was broken into by the same servant entering with another note.
“My turn now, Frank,” said Andrew merrily; “but who’s going to write to me?”
To his annoyance, as he turned to take the note, the man handed it to Frank and left the antechamber.
“Well, you seem to be somebody,” cried Andrew, who now looked nettled.
“From my mother,” said Frank, after glancing through the missive.
“Lucky you; mother and father both here. My poor father nowhere, hiding about like a thief. Talk about friends at court!”
“It does seem hard for you,” said Frank. “See what she says.”
“H’m! ‘So sorry not to be able to speak to you yesterday. Come to my rooms for an hour before the reception this afternoon. I long to see you, my dear boy.’”
Andrew handed back the letter with a sigh.
“Lucky you, Frank. I say, don’t repeat what I said about yesterday.”
“Of course not.”
“That’s right. Men talk about things when they are alone which would frighten ladies. She might get thinking that I should get up a quarrel with that Steinberg.”
“I’m sure my mother wouldn’t think anything of the sort,” said Frank, smiling at his friend’s conceit.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Andrew importantly. “Yes I do, though. It was a rather stupid remark. But I wish I were you, Frank,” he continued, with a genuine unspoiled boyish light coming into his eyes, which looked wistful and longing. “Perhaps, if I had a mother and father here in the court, I should be as loyal as you are.”
“Of course you would be. Well, they like you. You’re coming to dine with my father to-night, and I wish I could take you with me to see my mother early this afternoon.”
“Do you—do you really, Frank?” cried the lad eagerly.
“Of course I do; you know I always say what I mean.”
“Then thank you,” cried the lad warmly; “that’s almost as good as going.”
“I’ll ask her to invite you next time. Hallo! where are you off to?”
“Only to my room for a bit.”
“What for? Anything the matter?”
“Matter? Pish! Well, yes. I’m thinking I’d better be off, for fear, instead of my converting you, you’ll be taking advantage of my weakness, offering me a share in Sir Robert and Lady Gowan for a bribe, and converting me.”
“I wish I could,” said Frank to himself, as his companion hurried out of the room. “Why not? Suppose I were to take my mother into my confidence, and ask her to try and win him away from what is sure to end in a great trouble!”
Chapter Twelve.
The Trouble Grows.
Frank was thinking in this strain when he went to his mother’s rooms in the Palace soon after, and her maid showed him at once to where she was sitting reading, having dressed for the Princess’s reception in good time, so as to be free to receive her son.
“Oh!” ejaculated the maid, as she was just about to leave the room; and there was a look of dismay in her countenance.
“What is it?” cried Lady Gowan, turning sharply with her son clasped in her arms.
“Your dress, my lady—the lace. It will be crushed flat.”
“Oh,” said Lady Gowan, with a merry laugh, “never mind that. Come in an hour and set all straight again.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the maid; and mother and son were left alone.
“As if we cared for satins and laces, Frank darling, at a time like this. My own dear boy,” she whispered, as she kissed him again and again, holding his face between her white hands and gazing at him proudly. “There, I’m crushing your curls.”
“Go on,” said Frank; “crush away. You can brush them for me before I go—like you used to when I was home for the holidays.”
“In the dear old times, Frank darling,” cried Lady Gowan, “when we did not have to look at each other from a distance. But never mind; we shall soon go down into the country for a month or two, away from this weary, formal court, and then we’ll have a happy time.”
Frank gazed proudly at his mother again and again during that little happy interview, which seemed all sunshine as he looked back upon it from among the clouds of the troubles which so soon came; and he thought how young and girlish and beautiful she appeared. “The most beautiful lady at the court,” he told himself, “as well as the sweetest and the best.”
Time after time the words he wished to speak rose to his lips, for the longing to make her his confidante over the Jacobite difficulty was intense. But somehow at the critical moments he either shrank from fear of causing her trouble and anxiety, or else felt that he ought not to run the risk of bringing Andrew into trouble after what had passed. He knew that Lady Gowan would not injure the mistaken lad; but still there was the risk of danger following. Besides, he had to some extent confided in his father, and would probably say more; so that if it was right that Lady Gowan should know, his father would speak.
She gave him very little chance for making confidences till just at the end of the hour she had set apart for him, when the maid appeared to repair the disorder which she alone could see, but was dismissed at once.
“Another ten minutes by the clock, and then Mr Frank will be going.”
The maid withdrew.
“Oh, how time flies, my darling!” said the lady. “And I had so many more things to say to you, so much advice to give to my dearest boy. But I am proud to have you here, Frank. Your father’s so much away from me, that it is nice to feel that I have my big, brave son to protect me.”
Frank coloured, and thought of his companion’s words.
“It reconciles me more to being here, my boy,” she continued; “for you see it means your advancement as well. But these are very anxious, troublous times for both your father and me. And you are going to dine with him at the mess this evening. Well, you are very young, and I want to keep you still a boy; but, heigh-ho! you are growing fast, and will soon be a man. So be careful and grow into the brave, honourable, loyal gentleman I wish you to be.”
“I will try so hard,” he said eagerly; and once more he longed to speak out, but she gave him no time, though at the last moment he would hardly have spoken. As it was, he stood feeling as if he were very guilty while she held his hand.
“Of course, my dear,” she said, “you are too young to have taken any interest in the political troubles of the time; but I want you to understand that it’s the happiest thing for England to be as it is, and I want you as you grow older to be very careful not to be led away by discontented men who may want to plunge the country into war by bringing forward another whom they wish to make king.”
“Mother!” began Frank excitedly.
“Don’t interrupt me, dear. In a few minutes you must go. Whatever feelings your father and I may at one time have had, we are now fixed in our determination to support those who are now our rulers. The Prince has been very kind to us, and the Princess has become my dearest friend. I believe she loves me, Frank, and I want her to find that my boy will prove one of her truest and best followers. I want you to grow up to be either a great soldier or statesman.”
“I shall be a soldier like my father,” said Frank proudly.
“We shall see, Frank,” said Lady Gowan, smiling. “You are too young yet to decide. Wait a little—bide a wee, as they say in the north country. Now you must go; but you will promise me to be careful and avoid all who might try to lead you away. Think that your course is marked out for you—the way to become a true, loyal gentleman.”
“I promise, mother,” said the lad firmly.
“Of course you do, my boy,” said Lady Gowan proudly. “There, kiss me and go. I have to play butterfly in the court sunshine for a while; but how glad shall I be to get away from it all to our dear old country home.”
“And so shall I, mother,” cried Frank, with his eyes sparkling.
“For a holiday, Frank. Life is not to be all play, my boy; and recollect that play comes the sweeter after good work done. There, I had you here for a pleasant chat, and I have done nothing but give you lessons on being loyal to your king; but we are separated so much, I have so few opportunities for talking to you, that I am obliged to give you a little serious advice.”
“Go on talking to me like that, mother,” said the boy, clinging to her. “I like to hear you.”
“And you always will, won’t you, Frank?”
“Of course,” he said proudly.
“One word Frank, dear, and then you must go. Do you know why I have spoken like this? No, I will not make a question of it, but tell you at once. Andrew Forbes”—Frank started and changed colour—“is your very close companion, and with all his vanity and little weaknesses, he is still a gallant lad and a gentleman. Poor boy! he is very strangely placed here at the court, an attendant on the Prince and Princess, while his father is known to be a staunch adherent of the Pretender—a Jacobite. He was your father’s closest friend, and I knew his poor wife—Andrew’s mother—well. It was very sad her dying so young, and leaving her motherless boy to the tender mercies of a hard world just when dissensions led his father to take the other side. The Princess knows everything about him, and it was at my request that he was placed here, where I could try and watch over him. Now, naturally enough, Andrew has leanings toward his father’s side; but he must be taught to grow more and more staunch to the King, and I want you, who are his closest companion, to carefully avoid letting him influence you, while you try hard to wean him from every folly, so that, though he is older in some things, he may learn the right way from my calm, grave, steady boy.”
“But, mother—”
“Yes,” she said, smiling; “I can guess what you are about to say. Go, dearest. No: not another word.—Yes, I am ready now.”
This to her maid, who was standing in the doorway, looking very severe; and Frank was hurried out to return to his own quarters.
Chapter Thirteen.
A Very Bad Dinner.
“And I could have told her so easily then,” thought Frank, as he went away feeling proud and pleased, and yet more troubled than ever. “Wean Andrew from his ideas? I wonder whether I could. Of course I shall try hard; and if I succeeded, what a thing to have done! I’m not going to think which side is right or wrong. We’re the King’s servants, and have nothing to do with such matters. Drew has been trying to get me over to their side. Now I’m going to make him come to ours, in spite of all the Mr George Selbys in London.”
That afternoon the Princess’s reception-rooms were crowded by a brilliant assemblage of court ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were in uniform; and there was plenty to take the attention of a lad fresh from the country, without troubling himself about political matters. He saw his father, but not to speak to. The latter gave him a quick look and a nod, though, which the boy interpreted to mean, “Don’t forget this evening.”
“Just as if I am likely to,” thought Frank, as he gazed proudly after the handsome, manly-looking officer. He had a glimpse or two of his mother, who was in close attendance upon the Princess, and with a natural feeling of pride the lad thought to himself that his father and mother were the most royal-looking couple there.
At last he found himself close to Andrew Forbes, who eagerly joined him, their duties having till now kept them separate.
“Isn’t it horrible?” said Andrew, with a look of disgust in his flushed face.
“Horrible! I thought it the grandest sight I have ever seen. What do you mean by horrible?”
“This guttural chattering of the people. Why, you can hardly hear an English word spoken. It’s all double Dutch, till I feel as if my teeth were set on edge.”
“Nonsense! Good chance to learn German.”
“I’d rather learn Hottentot. Look too what a lot of fat, muffin-faced women there are, and stupid, smoky, sour-kraut-eating men. To my mind there are only two people worth looking at, and they are your father and mother.”
Frank, who had felt irritated at his companion’s persistent carping, began to glow, for he felt that his companion’s words were genuine.
“Yes, they do look well, don’t they?”
“Splendid. I do like your mother, Frank.”
“Well, she likes you.”
“H’m. I don’t know,” said the lad dubiously.
“But I do,” said Frank quickly. “She told me so only this afternoon.”
“What! Here, tell me what she said.”
“That she knew your mother so well, and that it was sad about her dying so young, and that she felt, as I took it, something the same toward you as she did toward me.”
“Did—did she talk like that, Frank?” said Andrew, with his lower lip quivering a little.
“Yes; and told me she hoped I should always be a good friend to you, and keep you out of mischief.”
“Stuff!” cried Andrew. “I’m sure she did not say that.”
“She did,” said Frank warmly. “Not in those words, perhaps; but that was what she meant.”
Andrew laughed derisively.
“Why, I’m a couple of years nearly older than you.”
“So she said; but she spoke as if she thought that I could influence you.”
“Bless her!” said Andrew warmly. “I feel as proud of her as you do, Frank, only I’m sorry for her to be here amongst all these miserable German people. Look, there’s that stuck-up, conceited Baron Brokenstone, or whatever his name is. A common German adventurer, that’s what he is; and yet he’s received here at court.”
“Well, he’s one of the King’s Hanoverian generals.”
“I should like to meet him under one of our generals,” said Andrew. “I consider it an insult for a fellow like that to be speaking to your mother—our mother, Frank, if she talks about me like that. I hate him, and feel as if I should like to go and hit him across the face with my glove.”
“What for? Oh, I say, Drew, what a hot-headed fellow you are.”
“It isn’t my head, Franky; it’s my heart. It seems to burn when I see these insolent Dutch officers lording it here, and smiling in their half-contemptuous, half-insulting way at our English ladies. Ugh! I wonder your father doesn’t stop it. Look at him yonder, standing as if he were made of stone. I shall tell him what I think to-night.”
“You would never be so foolish and insulting,” said Frank warmly. “He would be angry.”
“No, I suppose I must not,” said Andrew gloomily. “He would say it was the impertinence of a boy.”
They had to separate directly after, and a few minutes later Frank saw his father crossing the room toward the door. Frank was nearest, and by a quick movement reached it first, and stepped outside so as to get a word or two from him as he came out. But Sir Robert was stopped on his way, and some minutes elapsed before Frank saw the manly, upright figure emerge from the gaily dressed crowd which filled the anteroom, and stride toward him, but evidently without noticing his presence.
“Father,” he whispered.
Sir Robert turned upon him a fierce, angry face, his eyes flashing, and lips moving as if he were talking to himself. But the stern looks softened to a smile as he recognised his son, and he spoke hurriedly:
“Don’t stop me, my boy; I’m not fit to talk to you now. Oh, absurd!”
“Is anything the matter, father?” said Frank anxiously, as he laid his hand on his father’s arm.
“Matter? Oh, nothing, boy. Just a trifle put out. The rooms are very hot. There, I must go. Don’t forget to-night, you and young Forbes.”
He nodded and strode on, leaving his son wondering; for he had never seen such a look before upon his father’s face.
He thought no more of it then, for his attention was taken up by the coming of the Princess with her ladies, the reception being at an end; while soon after Andrew Forbes joined him, and began questioning him again about Lady Gowan, and what she had said about his dead mother, ending by turning Frank’s attention from the emotion he could hardly hide by saying banteringly:
“You’ll have to be very strict with me, Frank, or you’ll have a great deal of trouble to make me a good boy.”
“I shall manage it,” said Frank, with a laugh; and not very long after they were on their way to the Guards’ messroom, both trying to appear cool and unconcerned, but each feeling nervous at the idea of dining with the officers.
Sir Robert was there, looking rather flushed and excited, as he stood talking to a brother-officer in the large room set apart for the Guards; but his face lit up with a pleasant smile as the boys entered, and he greeted them warmly, and introduced them to the officer with him.
“Makes one feel old, Murray,” he said, “to have a couple of great fellows like these for sons.”
“Sons? I thought that—” began the officer.
“Oh, about this fellow,” said Sir Robert merrily. “Oh yes, he’s Forbes’s boy; but Lady Gowan and I seem to have adopted him like. Sort of step-parents to him—eh, Andrew?”
“I wish I could quite feel that, Sir Robert,” said Andrew warmly.
“Well, quite feel it then, my lad,” said Sir Robert, clapping him on the shoulder. “It rests with you.—Think Frank here will ever be man enough for a soldier, Murray?”
“Man enough? Of course,” said the officer addressed. “We must get them both commissions as soon as they’re old enough. Forbes might begin now.”
“H’m! Ha!” said Sir Robert, giving the lad a dry look. “Andrew Forbes will have to wait a bit.”
Then, seeing the blood come into the lad’s face at the remark which meant so much:
“He’s going to wait for Frank here.—Well, isn’t it nearly dinner-time?—Hungry, boys?”
“Er—no, sir,” said Andrew.
“Frank is,” said Sir Robert, smiling at his son.
“Can’t help it, father,” said the boy frankly. “I always am.”
“And a capital sign too, my lad,” said the officer addressed as Murray. “There’s nothing like a fine healthy appetite in a boy. It means making bone and muscle, and growing. Oh yes, he’ll be as big as you are, Gowan. Make a finer man, I’ll be bound.”
“Don’t look like it,” said Sir Robert merrily; “why, the boy’s blushing like a great girl.”
The conversation was ended by the entrance of several other officers, who all welcomed the two lads warmly, and seemed pleased to do all they could to set at their ease the son and protegé of the most popular officer in the regiment.
Captain Murray, his father’s friend, was chatting with Frank, when he suddenly said:
“Here are the rest of the guests.”
Six German officers entered the room, and Frank started and turned to glance at his father, and then at Andrew, whom he found looking in his direction; but Sir Robert had advanced with the elderly colonel of the regiment, and Captain Murray rose as well.
“I shall have to play interpreter,” he said, smiling. “Come along, and the colonel will introduce you two, or I will. They don’t speak any English; and if you two do not, your father and I are the only men present who know German.”
The introductions followed, and feeling very uncomfortable all the while, Frank and his companion were in due course made known to Baron Steinberg, Count Von Baumhof, and to the four other guests, whose names he did not catch; and then, by the help of Captain Murray and Sir Robert, a difficult conversation was carried on, the German officers assuming a haughty, condescending manner towards the Guardsmen, who were most warm in their welcome.
At the end of a few minutes Captain Murray returned to where the two lads were standing, leaving Sir Robert trying his best to comprehend the visitors, and translating their words to the colonel and his brother-officers.
“Rather an unthankful task,” said the captain, smiling. “These Germans treat us as if they had conquered the country, and we were their servants. Never mind; I suppose it is their nature to.”
“Yes,” said Andrew warmly; “they make my blood boil. I know I am only a boy; but that was no reason why they should insult Frank Gowan here and me with their sneering, contemptuous looks.”
“Never mind, my lad. I noticed it. Show them, both of you, that you are English gentlemen, and know how to treat strangers and guests.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said Frank hastily.
“They will be more civil after dinner. Ah, and there it is.”
For the door was thrown open, one of the servants announced the dinner, and the colonel led off with Baron Steinberg, after saying a few words to Sir Robert, who came directly to his brother-officer.
“The colonel wishes the places to be changed, Murray,” he said, “so that you and I can be closer to the head of the table on either side, to do the talking with the visitors. I wish you would take my boy here on your left. Forbes, my lad, you come and sit with me.”
Andrew had begun to look a little glum at being set on one side on account of the German officers; but at Sir Robert’s last words he brightened up a little, and they followed into the messroom, which was decorated with the regimental colours; the hall looked gay with its fine display of plate, glass, flowers, and fruit, and the band was playing in a room just beyond.
The scene drove away all the little unpleasantry, and the dinner proceeded, with the colonel and his officers doing their best to entertain their guests, but only seeming to succeed with the two pages of honour, to whom everything was, in its novelty, thoroughly delightful. The German officers, though noblemen and gentlemen, gave their hosts a very poor example of good breeding, being all through exceedingly haughty and overbearing, and treating the attempts of Sir Robert and Captain Murray to act as their interpreters to the colonel and the other officers with a contempt that was most galling; and more than once Frank saw his father, who was opposite, bite his lip and look across at Captain Murray, who, after one of these glances, whispered to Frank:
“Your dad’s getting nettled, my lad, and I find it very consoling.”
“Why?” said Frank, who felt annoyed with himself for enjoying the evening so much.
“Why? Because I was fancying that I must have a very hasty temper for minding what has been taking place. Do you know any German at all?”
“Very little,” said Frank quickly.
“What a pity! You could have said something to this stolid gentleman on my right. He seems to think I am a waiter.”
“I thought he was very rude several times.”
“Well, yes, I suppose we must call it rude. The poor old colonel yonder is in misery; he does hardly anything but wipe his forehead. Does not young Forbes speak German?”
“No, he hates it,” said Frank hastily.
“Enough to make him,” muttered the captain. “But never mind; you must both come and dine with us another time, when we are all Englishmen present. This is a dreary business; but we must make the best of it.”
He turned to say something courteous to the heavy, silent officer on his right, but it was coldly received, and after a few words the German turned to converse with one of his fellow-countrymen, others joined in, and the colonel looked more troubled and chagrined than ever.
The dinner went slowly on; and at last, with the conversation principally carried on by the German guests, who were on more than one occasion almost insolent to their entertainers, the dessert was commenced, several of the officers drawing their chairs closer, and a young ensign, who looked very little older than Frank, whispered to him:
“I heard your father say that you were coming into the army.”
“Yes, I hope to,” replied the lad.
“Then you set to at once to study German. We shall be having everything German soon.”
“Then I shall not join,” said Andrew across the table; and the officer on his right laughed.
Sir Robert and Captain Murray were too much occupied now to pay any attention to their young guests, who found the officers below them eager to make up for this, and they began chatting freely, so that this was the pleasantest part of the evening. But at the upper part of the table matters were getting more strained. The colonel and his friends, whom he had placed with the foreign guests, after trying hard all through to make themselves agreeable and to entertain the visitors, had received so many rebuffs that they became cold and silent, while the Germans grew more and more loud in their remarks across the table to each other. Many of these remarks were broad allusions to the country in which they were and its people, and the annoyance he felt was plainly marked on Sir Robert’s brow in deeply cut parallel lines.
Ignoring their hosts, the visitors now began to cut jokes about what they had seen, and from a word here and there which, thanks to his mother, Frank was able to grasp, they were growing less and less particular about what they said.
Baron Steinberg had had a great deal to say in a haughtily contemptuous manner, and Frank noticed that whenever he spoke his friends listened to him with a certain amount of deference, as if he were the most important man present. He noted, too, that when the baron was speaking his father looked more and more stern, but whenever it fell to his lot to interpret something said by the colonel he was most studiously courteous to the guest.
Frank had grown interested in an anecdote being related for his and Andrew’s benefit by one of the young officers below, and as it was being told very humorously his back was half turned to the upper part of the table, and he was leaning forward so as not to miss a word. At the same time, though, he was half-conscious that the baron on the colonel’s right was talking loudly, and saying something which greatly amused his compatriots, when all at once Sir Robert Gowan sprang to his feet, and Captain Murray cried across the table to him:
“Gowan! for Heaven’s sake take no notice.”
Frank’s heart began to throb violently, as he saw his father dart a fierce look at his brother-officer, and then take a couple of strides up the side of the table to where the baron sat on the colonel’s right.
“Gowan, what is the matter?” cried the colonel. “What has he said?”
“I’ll interpret afterwards, sir,” said Sir Robert, in a deep, hoarse voice, “when we are alone;” then fiercely to the baron in German: “Take back those words, sir. It is an insult—a lie!”
The baron sprang to his feet, his example being followed by his brother-officers, and, leaning forward, he seemed about to strike, but with a brutally contemptuous laugh he bent down, caught up his glass, and threw it and its contents in Sir Robert’s face.
Every one had risen now, and Captain Murray made a rush to reach the other side; but before he was half-way there, Frank had seen his father dart forward, there was the sound of a heavy blow, and the German baron fell back with his chair, the crash resounding through the room, but only to be drowned by the fierce roar of voices, as the German officers clapped their hands to their swordless sides, and then made a rush to seize Sir Robert.
The colonel could not speak a word of German, but his looks and gestures sufficed as he sprang before them.
“Keep back, gentlemen!” he said; “I am in ignorance of the cause of all this.”
“A most gross insult, sir!” cried Captain Murray angrily.
“Silence, sir!” cried the colonel. “These gentlemen were my guests, and whatever was said Captain Sir Robert Gowan has committed an unpardonable breach of social duty. To your quarters, sir, without a word.”
“Right, colonel,” replied Sir Robert quietly, as he stood pale and stern, returning the vindictive looks of the German guests, who would have attacked him but for the action taken by his brother-officers.
What took place afterward was confused to Frank by the giddy excitement in his brain; but he was conscious of seeing the baron assisted to a chair, and then talking in savage anger to his compatriots, while at the other end of the room there was another knot where the younger officers and Captain Murray were with Sir Robert.
“It was a mad thing to do, Gowan,” cried the former.
“Flesh and blood could not bear it, lad,” replied Frank’s father. “Mad? What would you have done if in the presence of your son those words had been uttered?”
“As you did, old lad,” cried Captain Murray, with his face flushing, “and then stamped my heel upon his face.”
There was a low murmur of satisfaction from the young officers around.
“Hah!” said Sir Robert, “I thought so.” Then with a quiet smile he caught Andrew’s and Frank’s hands: “So sorry, my dear boys, to have spoiled your evening. Go now.—Murray, old lad, see them off, and then come to my quarters.”
“Oh, Sir Robert,” whispered Andrew, clinging to his hand, and speaking in a low, passionate voice, “I am glad. That did me good.”
“What! You understood his words?”
“I? No.”
“That’s right! Go now, Frank boy. One moment, my lad. You are suddenly called upon to act like a man.”
“Yes, father! What do you want me to do?”
“Keep silence, my lad. Not a word about this must reach your mother’s ears.”
“Come, Frank, my lad,” said Captain Murray gently. “You are better away from here.”
The words seemed to come from a distance, but the lad started and followed the captain outside, where the young officers gathered about him, eager to shake hands and tell him that they were all so glad; but he hardly heard them, and it was in a strangely confused way that he parted from Captain Murray, who said that he could go no farther, as he wanted to hurry back to Sir Robert.
Then the two lads were alone.
“What does it all mean, Drew?” cried Frank passionately. “Oh, I must go back. It’s cowardly to come away from my father now.”
“You can’t go to him. He’ll be under arrest.”
“Arrest!” cried Frank.
“Yes, for certain. But don’t look like that, lad. It’s glorious—it’s grand.”
“But arrest? He said it was an insult. They can’t punish him for that.”
“Punishment? Pooh! What does that matter? Every gentleman in the army will shout for him, and the men throw up their caps. Oh, it’s grand—it’s grand! And they’ll meet, of course; and Sir Robert must—he shall—he will too. He’ll run the miserable German through.”
“What? Fight! My father fight—with him?”
“Yes, as sure as we should have done after such a row at school.”
“But—with swords?”
“Officers don’t fight with fists.”
“Oh!” cried Frank wildly; “then that’s what he meant when he said that my mother must not know.”