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In Honour's Cause: A Tale of the Days of George the First, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 19. It Was Not Fancy |
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_ CHAPTER NINETEEN. IT WAS NOT FANCY Andrew Forbes would have felt more compunction had he seen Frank when he was alone; for the lad hurried to his room, where he stood trembling with agitation and thinking of what he should do. His first thought was to go to his mother; but he knew that he could not see her at that hour, and even if it had been possible, he shrank from telling her, partly from dread of the state of agitation in which his news would plunge her, partly from the thought that he might have been mistaken--that fancy had had a great deal to do with it. "But I'll put that to the test as soon as it's dark, if I can get away unseen," he said to himself; and then he walked up and down his room, wondering whether Andrew had seen anything--coming to the conclusion at last that if he had he would have spoken out at once. Then came another vein of thought to trouble him, and he was mentally tossed about as to whether he ought not to have confided in his companion. Then again he tortured himself as to whether he ought not to go at once to Captain Murray and confide in him. Question after question arose till his head felt dizzy, and he was so confused that he was afraid to go and join his companion at the evening meal. But at last his common sense told him that all this worry of thought was due to the cowardly desire to get help, when, under the circumstances, he knew that he ought to have sufficient manliness to act and prove whether what he had seen was fancy or the reality. If it proved to be real-- He trembled at the thought; but making a brave effort, he well bathed his aching temples with cold water, and went down to the evening meal, made a show of eating, and then excused himself on the plea of a very bad headache, got up, and was leaving the room, when, to his horror, Andrew joined him. "Here," he said, "I don't like to see you in this way. I helped to give you this headache. Let's go and have a walk up and down the courtyard." "No, don't you come," said Frank, so earnestly that Andrew gave way and drew back. "Very well," he said. "Go and lie down for a bit; you'll be better then." Frank made as if to go to his room, but took his hat and cloak and slipped out, forcing himself to cross the courtyard calmly and walk carelessly by the sentries, turning off directly after in the opposite direction to that in which he wished to go, and without seeming to pay any attention kept his eyes travelling in all directions in search of the man they had seen in the afternoon. But he was nowhere visible, and to make more sure the lad took off his hat to fan himself, the evening being warm, and in so doing purposely dropped his glove, so that in stooping to recover it he could give a good look to the rear to see whether he was followed. But there was no one suspicious-looking in sight, and, taking advantage of the darkness of the soft, warm evening, he began to walk more sharply, going through the Park till he was opposite to the house, and after glancing to right and left, to make sure that he was not observed, he began to examine it carefully. Those to right and left had several windows illumined, but his old London home was all in complete darkness, though he felt that if he went round to the street front he would see a light in the housekeeper's room. Dark, everywhere dark; no gleam showing anywhere, not even at the window upon which his eyes had last rested when he was there that afternoon. "Fancy," he thought; and he breathed more freely. "Yes, it must have been fancy." "No, it was not fancy!" and his heart began to throb violently, his breath came short, and he looked wildly to right and left, and then walked across the road to stand beneath the trees to make sure that no one was watching from there. But he was quite alone as far as he could see, and he ran lightly back to the railings, wild with excitement now, and stood gazing across the little garden at that back window which was heavily curtained; but right up in the left-hand corner there was a faint glow, which he soon proved to himself could not be a reflection on the glass from outside. Then he was right; and, panting now as if he had been running heavily, he went round into the street, reached the front of the house, where, as he had expected, he could see low down the faintly illumined blind of the housekeeper's room, and then rang gently. He waited, and there was no response; and he rang again, but the time passed again; minutes--more probably moments--elapsed before he heard a window opened softly overhead. "What is it?" said a woman's voice. "Come down and open the door, Berry," said the boy quickly. "You, Master Frank?" "Yes; make haste." "Is--is any one with you?" said the woman in a whisper, "because I don't like opening the door after dark." "No, I'm quite alone. Make haste." The woman did not stop to close the window, and the next minute Frank heard the bolts drawn softly back, the key turned, and as the door was being opened he stepped forward, but only to stop short on the step, for the housekeeper had not removed the chain. "What is it, my dear?" she said. She had not brought a light, and Frank could dimly see her face at the narrow opening. "What is it?" cried Frank impatiently. "Take down the chain, and let me in. Don't keep me standing here." "But her ladyship gave me strict orders, my dear, that I wasn't to admit any one after dark, for there are so many wicked people about." "Did my father tell you not to admit me?" whispered Frank, with his face close to the narrow slit. "What! before he went abroad, my dear?" faltered the woman. "No, no--yesterday, to-day--whenever he came back." "Sir Robert, my dear?" whispered the woman, with her voice trembling. "Don't be so stupid. I must--I will see him. I saw his face at the window this afternoon." "Oh, my dear, my dear!" stammered the woman. "There, take down the chain, Berry." "I--I don't think I ought, my dear. Stop a minute, and I'll go and ask him." "No, no. Let me go up at once. You'll be quite right in letting me." The woman uttered a gasp, closed the door, and softly unhooked the chain, after which she opened the door just sufficiently for the boy to pass in, and closed and fastened it again. The hall was dark as could be, save for a faint gleam from the fanlight; but Frank could have gone blindfold, and dashing over the marble floor to the foot of the staircase, he bounded up two steps at a time, reached the door of the back room, beneath which shone a line of light, and turned the handle sharply. As he did so, there was a dull sound within, and the light was extinguished. "Open the door, father," whispered the boy, with his lips to the keyhole. "It is I--Frank." There was the dull tremor of a heavy step crossing the floor, the door was unlocked, and the boy sprang forward in the darkness, the door was closed and relocked, and he was clasped in a pair of strong arms. "Oh, dad, dad, dad!" cried the lad, in a panting whisper. "My own boy! Then you saw me this afternoon?" "Yes, just a faint glimpse of you. Oh, father, father, it wasn't safe for you to come back!" "No, not very, my boy; but I couldn't stop away any longer. How is the dear one?" "Quite well--only she looks thin and pale, father. She's fretting so because you are away." "Hah!" ejaculated Sir Robert, in a long-drawn sigh. "I felt that she must be, and that helped to draw me back. Heaven bless her!--Frank lad, as you have found me out--But stop, did you tell her you had seen me?" "I haven't seen her since, father; and if I had, I shouldn't have dared. What would she think?" "Bullets and bayonets, or worse, my boy. Quite right; spoken like the brave, thoughtful lad you are growing. But it's very hard, Frank. Don't you think you could manage to bring her over here--say this time to-morrow evening?" "Yes, father, easily," said Frank. "My boy. Oh, if you knew how I long to see her again!" "Yes, father," said Frank bitterly, "I could bring her, but for what?-- to see you arrested for coming back. It would be madness. There are spies everywhere. I had to be so careful to get round here without being followed." Sir Robert groaned as he stood there in the darkness, holding his son by his arms in a firm grip. "I can't help it, father. I must tell you the truth," cried the boy passionately. "Yes, you are quite right, boy, and I'm weak and foolish to have proposed such a thing. But it's hard, my lad--very, very hard." "Don't I know, father?" "Yes, yes, boy. But tell me, does she talk about me to you much?" "She talks of nothing else, father. But listen; I'm going to petition the King myself. I'm going to kneel to him, and beg him to give you leave to return." "You are, my boy?" "Yes, father," cried Frank excitedly, "directly I get a chance." "No, Frank, don't do that," said Sir Robert, rather sternly. "You don't wish me to, father?" Sir Robert drew a deep breath, and then hoarsely: "No. I desire that you do not. Your mother has through the Princess prayed and prayed in vain. No, Frank, you shall not do that." "Very well, father," said the boy drearily. "Hist! Some one!" whispered Sir Robert; and Frank turned sharply to see light gleaming beneath the door, and his father stepped away from him, and something on the table grated softly as it was taken up. Then a soft voice said: "Wouldn't you like a light, Sir Robert? I saw yours was out." "Yes," came from close to where Frank stood with his hands turning wet in the darkness, and then he felt his father brush by him, the door was unlocked, and the housekeeper's white face was seen lit up by the candle she carried. "Thank you, Berry," said Sir Robert; and he took the candle and relocked the door after the woman. The light dazzled Frank for a few minutes, and then he was gazing wonderingly in his father's face, to see that it was thin and careworn, while the lines in his forehead were deepened. His sword and pistols lay upon the table close to some sheets of paper, the inkstand showing that he had been writing when he was interrupted by his visitor; and the boy noticed, too, that there was a heavy cloak over a chair back, and the curtains were very closely drawn. "Don't look so smart as in the old days, Frank, eh?" said Sir Robert, with a sad smile. "You look like my father," said the boy firmly. "And you like my son," cried Sir Robert, patting the boy's head. "Then you really would not like me to venture to ask the King, father?" Sir Robert pointed to a chair close by his own, and they sat down, the father still retaining his boy's hand. "No, Frank," he said gravely. "I should not now. It is too late." "But it would mean bringing you back, father." "I am not a clever man, Frank lad," said Sir Robert. "I am fair as a soldier, and I know my duties pretty well; but when we get into the maze of politics and social matters, I am afraid that I am very stupid. Here, however, I seem to see in a dim sort of way that such a thing as you propose would be only weak and romantic. It sounds very nice, but it would only be raising your hopes and--Stop. Does your mother know that you think of doing this?" "Oh no, father; the doctor only just suggested it--now that Steinberg has recovered." "Very good of the doctor, and I am deeply in his debt for saving that wretched German baron's life. Not pleasant to have known that you had killed a man in a quarrel, Frank." "Horrible, father!" said the boy emphatically. "Yes, horrible, lad. But the doctor is a better man at wounds than he is at giving counsel. No, Frank, under any circumstances it would not have done. King George is too hard and matter-of-fact a man of the world to be stirred by my boy's appeal. His German folk would look upon it as weakness, and would be offended. He cannot afford to offend the German people, for he has no real English friends, and between the two stools he'd be afraid of coming to the ground. No, you shall not humble yourself to do this; and," he said firmly, "it is too late." There was something so commanding in the way these last words were said that Frank drew a deep sigh of regret, and the hopeful vision faded away behind the cloud his father drew over it. But the minutes were precious, and he could not afford time to regret the dashing of his hopes, when he had him for whose benefit they were designed sitting there holding his hand. "Then you are going to stay here now, father?" he said. "Here? No, Frank. It is only a temporary hiding-place. I shall be off to-morrow." "Where to, father?" "Humph! Don't know for certain, my boy. As you say, the place swarms with spies, and though I have had to give up my gay uniform, plenty of people know my face, and I don't even feel now that they are not hunting me down." "But if they did, what would happen?" "A fight, Frank--don't tell your mother this; she suffers enough. I can't afford to be captured, and--you know what they do with the poor wretches they take?" Frank shivered, and glanced at his father's sword and pistols. "Loaded, father?" he said in a whisper. "Yes, boy." "And is your sword sharp?" "As sharp as the cutler could make it. And I know how to use it, Frank; but a man who carries a sword--if he is a man--is like a bee with its sting; he will not use it save at the last extremity. You must remember that with yours." "Yes, father. But do think again; we are both so unhappy there at the court." "What, in the midst of luxury and show!" said Sir Robert banteringly. "Pah! What is the use of all that when we know that you are driven away and dare not show your face? Oh, do think again. Can't you let us come and join you?" "It is impossible, my boy. Don't press me. I have too many troubles as it is. Look here, Frank; you are growing fast into a man, and you must try to help me as you did just now when I turned weak and foolish. The intense longing to see your mother was too much for me, but I have mastered it. You two are safe and well-cared for at the Palace, where the Princess is your mother's friend. I am nobody now, and what I do will not count as regards your mother and you. So try and be content, and stay." "But you, father? Surely the King will forgive you soon." "Never, boy," said Sir Robert sternly. "So be careful. A hint dropped of my whereabouts would give your mother intense suffering and dread for my life; so she must not know." "But your friends, father? Captain Murray--the doctor. Every one likes you." "They must not know, so be cautious. I feel quite a young man, Frank, and don't want to have my life shortened, nor my body neither," he added, with a grim smile. "Oh, father!" cried the boy, with a shudder. "We must look the worst in the face, Frank. By my return here my life is forfeit, and the King's people would be justified in shooting me down." "Oh, but, father, this is horrible." "Not to a soldier, Frank," said Sir Robert, smiling. "Soldiers get used to being shot at, and they don't mind so much, because they know how hard it is for any one to hit a mark. There, you are warned now, so let's talk of pleasanter things." "Yes, of course, father; but I may come and see you again often?" "If you wish to see me taken." Frank shuddered again. "No. This must be your only visit. I am glad you have come; but I can't afford to indulge in good things now." "You are going to stay in England, father?" cried Frank anxiously. "I don't know." "What are you going to do?" "That I cannot tell either, my boy; and if I did know, for your mother's and your peace of mind I would not tell you." "That isn't trusting me, father," said Frank gloomily. "And that is not trusting me, Frank--to know what is best." "Oh, but I do trust you, father. Now tell me," cried the boy eagerly, "what shall I do to help you?" "Stay where you are patiently, and watch over and help your mother." "Is that all, father?" said the boy, in a disappointed tone of voice. "All? Is it not enough to be trusted to keep my secret, the knowledge which means your father's life, boy, and to have the guardianship of the truest and best woman who ever lived--your mother? And you ask 'Is that all?'" "Don't be angry with me, father. I am very young and stupid. I will be as contented as I can; only it is so hard to know that you are in danger, and to be doing nothing to help you." "You will be doing a great deal to help me, for you will be giving me rest of mind--and I want it badly enough. There, now you had better go. You may be asked for, and you can't make the excuse that you have been to see your father." "No," sighed Frank. "But I shall see you again soon?" "Perhaps. I may come here sometimes. An extra hole is useful to a hunted animal, Frank; but don't question me, my boy, even if I seem mysterious. As your father, I can tell you nothing." Frank sighed and clung to his father's arm. "There, I'll run one risk. You may come here sometimes. It will not look suspicious for you to visit your mother's empty house." "My father's empty house," said the boy. "No, your mother's. Your father is an exile, an outcast, without any rights in England. I am dead in the eyes of the law, Frank, and when you come of age you can reign in my stead. Why, boy, if you liked to make a stand for it, they would, I dare say, tell you that you are now Sir Frank Gowan." He looked so merrily in his son's face, that the boy joined in his mirth. "You must go now, my boy. I have work that will take me all night. But if you do come here in the hope of seeing me--" "I shall not come," said the boy firmly. "Why?" "Because, to please myself, I will not do anything to make your position dangerous." "Well said, Frank; but come now and then for my pleasure, and if I am not here, do this." He rose and walked to a portrait framed in the wainscotting over a side table, pointed to one little oval nut in the carving, twisted it slightly, and the picture swung forward, showing a shallow closet behind fitted with shelves, and in which were swords and pistols, with flasks of powder and pouches of ball. "You can look in there; and if I have been, you will find a letter, written for you and your mother, by a Mr Cross to apparently nobody. I am Mr Cross, Frank. There. Try if you can open it." He closed the picture door, and the boy tried, and opened and shut the panel easily, noting at the same time how ingeniously the carving tallied with portions on the other side of the framing. "Now, then, sharp and short like a soldier, Frank. Heaven bless and protect you and your mother, who must not know I have been here. Good-bye!" "Good-bye, father," cried the boy in a choking voice as he clung to the strong, firm man, who pressed him to his breast, and then snatched himself away, and caught up sword and pistol from the table. For there was a sharp, impatient knocking on the panel of the door, and Sir Robert whispered: "We have stayed too long!" _ |
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