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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 39. At The Last Moment |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. AT THE LAST MOMENT There was not much sleep for the boy that night, for he was in the horns of a terrible dilemma. What should he do? He turned from side to side of his bed, trying to argue the matter out, till his father's fate, his duty to the King and Prince, the natural desire to help, his love for his mother, Captain Murray and his duty to the King and friendship for his brother-officer and companion, were jumbled up in an inextricable tangle with Drew Forbes and the attempt at rescue. "Oh!" he groaned, as day broke and found him still tossing restlessly upon his pillow; "I often used to tell poor Drew that he was going mad. I feel as if I were already gone, for my head won't work. I can't think straight, just too when I want to be perfectly clear, and able to make my plans." It would have prostrated a cleverer and more calculating brain than Frank's--one of those wonderful minds which can see an intricate game of chess right forward, the player's own and his adversary's moves in attack or defence--to have calmly mapped out the proper course for the lad through the rocks, shoals, and quicksands which beset his path. As it happened, all his mental struggles proved to be in vain; for, as is frequently the case in life, the maze of difficulties shaped themselves into a broad, even path, along which the boy travelled till the exciting times were past. To begin with, nature knew when the brain would bear no more; and just at sunrise, when Frank had tried to nerve himself for a fresh struggle by plunging face and a good portion of his head into cold water previous to having a good brisk rub, and then lain down to think out his difficulty once more, unconsciously choosing the best attitude for clear thought, a calm and restful sensation stole over him. One moment he was gazing at the bright light stealing in beside his blind; the next he was in profound mental darkness, wrapped in a deep, restful slumber, which lasted till nearly ten o'clock, when he was aroused by a knocking at his door, and leaped out of bed, confused and puzzled, unable for a few moments to collect his thoughts into a focus and grasp what it meant. "Yes," he said at last. "What is it?" "Will you make haste and go across to Lady Gowan's apartments, sir?" said a voice. "She has been very ill all night, and wishes to see you." "Oh!" groaned Frank to himself. Then aloud: "Yes; come over directly." He began to dress rapidly, with all the troubles of the night magnified and made worse by the mental lens of reproach through which he was looking at his conduct. "How can I be such a miserable, thoughtless wretch!" he thought. "How could I neglect everything which might have helped to save my poor father for the sake of grovelling here, and all the time my mother ill, perhaps dying, while I slept, not seeming to care a bit!" He had a few minutes of hard time beneath the unsparing lashes he mentally applied to himself as he was dressing; and then, ready to sink beneath his load of care, and feeling the while that he ought to have obtained from Captain Murray the route the prisoners would take, and then have found Drew Forbes and told him, so as to render the attempt at rescue easier, he hurried across the first court, and then into the lesser one to his mother's apartments. "The doctor's with her, sir," whispered the maid. "How is she now?" asked Frank. "Dreadfully bad, sir. Pray make haste to her; she asked for you again when the doctor came." Frank hurried up, to find the quiet physician who attended her and a nurse in the room, while the patient lay with her eyes looking dim, and two hectic spots in her thin cheeks, gazing anxiously at the door. A faint smile of recognition came upon her lips, and she raised one hand to her son, and laid it upon his head as he sank upon his knees by the bedside. "Oh, mother darling!" he whispered, in a choking voice, "forgive me for not coming before." She half closed her eyes, and made a movement of the lips for him to kiss her. Then her eyes closed, as she breathed a weary sigh. Frank turned in horror to the physician, who bent down and whispered to him. "Don't be alarmed; it is sleep. She has, I find, been in a terribly excited state, and I have been compelled to administer a strong sedative. She will be calmer when she wakes. Sleep is everything now." "You are not deceiving me, sir?" whispered Frank. "No. That is the simple truth," replied the physician, very firmly. "Your mother may wake at any time; but I hope many hours will first elapse. I find that she has expressed an intense longing for you to come to her side, and, as you saw, she recognised you." "Oh yes, she knew me," said Frank eagerly. "But pray tell me--she is not dying?" "Lady Gowan is in a very serious condition," replied the doctor; "but I hope she will recover, and--" "Yes, yes; pray speak out to me, sir," pleaded the boy. "Her ailment is almost entirely mental; and if the news can be brought to her that the King will show mercy to her husband, I believe that her recovery would be certain." "Then you think I ought to go at once and try to save my father?" "No," said the physician gravely. "I know all the circumstances of the case. You can do no good by going. Leave that to your friends--those high in position. Your place is here. Whenever Lady Gowan wakes, she must find you at her bedside. There, I will leave you now. Absolute quiet, mind. Sleep is the great thing. I will come in again in about three hours. The nurse knows what to do." The physician went out silently, and Frank seated himself by his mother's pillow, to hold the thin hand which feebly clung to his and watch her, thinking the while of how his difficulties had been solved by these last orders, which bound him there like the endorsement of his father's commands to stay by and watch over his mother. He could think clearly now, and see that much of that which he had desired to do was impossible. Even if he had set one duty aside, that to the Prince, his master, and let his love for and desire to save his father carry all before them, he could see plainly enough that it was not likely that he would have found Drew Forbes. A visit to the tavern club would certainly have resulted in finding that the occupants were dispersed and the place watched by spies. Then, even if he had found Drew, wherever he and his friends were hiding, it was not likely that they would have altered their plans for any information which he could give them. Everything would have been fixed as they thought best, and no change would have been made. Clearer still came the thought that he had no information to give them further than that the prisoners would probably be brought into London that evening, which way Captain Murray might know, but he would never depart from his duty so far as to supply the information that it might be conveyed to the King's enemies. He was too loyal for that, gladly as he would strive to save his friend. It was then with a feeling of relief that Frank sat there by his mother's bed, holding her hand, and thinking that he could do no more, while upon the nurse whispering to him that she would be in the next room if wanted, and leaving him alone, he once more sank upon his knees to rest his head against the bed, and prayed long and fervently in no tutored words, but in those which gushed naturally and simply from his breast, that the lives of those he loved might be spared and the terrible tribulation of the present times might pass away. Hour after hour passed, and the nurse came in and out softly from time to time, nodding to the watcher and smiling her satisfaction at finding her patient still plunged in a sleep, which, as the day went on, grew more and more profound. Then when alone Frank's thoughts went wandering away along the great north road by which the prisoners must be slowly approaching London, to find their fate. And at such times his thoughts were busy about his mother's friends. What were they doing to try and save his father? Then his thoughts went like a flash to his meeting with Drew the day before; and his words came full of hope, and sent a feeling of elation through him. The rebels were not beaten, as Drew had said, and there was no doubt about their making a brave effort to rescue the prisoners before they were shut up in gaol. And in imagination Frank built up what would in all probability be done. Small parties of the Jacobites would form in different places, and with arms hidden gradually converge upon some chosen spot which the prisoners with their escort must pass. Then at a given signal an attack would be made. The escort would be of course very strong; but the Jacobites would be stronger, and in all probability the mob, always ready for a disturbance, would feel sympathy with the unfortunate prisoners, and help the attacking party, or at least join in checking the Guards, resenting their forcing their horses through the crowd which would have gathered; so that the prospects looked very bright in that direction, and the boy felt more and more hopeful. Twice over the servant came to the door to tell the watcher that first breakfast, and then lunch, was waiting for him in the room below; but he would not leave the bedside, taking from sheer necessity what was brought to him, and then resuming his watch. The physician came at the end of three hours as he had promised, but stayed only a few minutes. "Exactly what I wished," he said. "Go on watching and keeping her quiet, and don't be alarmed if she sleeps for many hours yet. I will come in again this afternoon." Frank resumed his seat by the bed, and then hastily pencilled a few lines to Captain Murray, telling him that it would be impossible to leave the bedside, and sent the note across by the servant, who brought a reply back. It was very curt and abrupt. "Of course. I see your position. Sorry, for I should have liked him to see you." The note stung Frank to the quick. "He thinks I am trying to excuse myself, when I would give the world to go with him," he muttered. A glance at the pale face upon the pillow took off some of the bitterness, though, and he resumed his watch while the hours glided by. At four the physician came again. "Not awake?" he said; and he touched his patient's pulse lightly, and then softly raised one of Lady Gowan's eyelids, and examined the pupil. "Nature is helping us, Mr Gowan," he said softly. "But she ought to have awoke by now, sir?" "I expected that she would have done so; but nothing could be better. She is extremely weak, and if she could sleep like this till to-morrow her brain would be rested from the terrible anxiety from which she is suffering. I will look in once more this evening." Frank was alone again with his charge, and another hour passed, during which the lad dwelt upon the plans that had been made, and calculated that Captain Murray must be about starting on his mission to meet the escort bringing in the prisoners. And as this idea came to him, Frank sat with his head resting upon his hands, his elbows upon his knees, trying hard to master the bitter sense of disappointment that afflicted him. "And he will be looking from the carriage window to right and left, trying to make out whether I am there!" he groaned. "Oh, it seems cruel--cruel! and he will not know why I have not come." But one gleam of hope came here. Captain Murray might find an opportunity to speak with the prisoner, and he would tell him that his son was watching by his suffering mother. "He will know why I have not come then," Frank said softly; and after an impatient glance at the clock, he began again to think of Drew and his plans for the rescue. But now, in the face of the precautions which would be taken, this seemed to be a wildly chimerical scheme, one which was not likely to succeed, and he shook his head sadly as a feeling of despair began to close him in like a dark cloud. He was at his worst, feeling more and more hopeless, as he sat there, with his face buried in his fingers, when a hand was lightly placed upon his head, and starting up it was to find that his mother was awake, and gazing wistfully at him. He bent over her, and her arms clasped his neck. "My boy! my boy!" she said faintly; and she drew him to her breast, to hold him there for some moments before saying quickly: "Have I slept long, dear?" "Yes, ever since morning, mother." "What time is it?" "About half-past five." "All that time?" she said excitedly. "He must be near now. Frank, my boy, the prisoners were to reach London soon after dark." "Yes, mother, I know," he said, looking at her wistfully, as he held her hand now to his cheek. "Is there any news?" "No, mother, none." "Oh," she moaned, "this terrible suspense! Frank, my darling, you must not stay here. Have you been with me all the time I have been asleep?" "Yes, mother, all. You asked for me." "Yes, my darling, in my selfishness; but you ought to go and get the latest tidings. Frank, it is your duty to be there when your father reaches this weary city. He ought not to be looking in vain for one of those he loves. You must go at once. Do you hear me? It is your duty." "The doctor said it was my duty to watch by you," said Frank, with his heart beating fast, as he wondered whether Captain Murray had gone. "With me? Oh, what am I, if your being where he could see you, if only for a moment, would give him comfort in his sore distress!" "I was going, mother," whispered the boy excitedly. "Captain Murray was going to let me be with him, and he as an officer would have been able to take me right up to the escort." "Then why are you here? Oh, go--go at once!" "I was to stay with you, mother, so that you might see me when you awoke," he said huskily, the intense longing to go struggling with the desire to stay. "Yes, yes, and I have seen you; but I am nothing if we can contrive to give him rest. Go, then, at once." "But you are not fit to be left." "I shall not be left," she said firmly. "Quick, Frank. You are increasing my agony every moment that you stay. Oh, my boy, pray, pray go, and then come back and tell me that you have seen him. Go. Take no refusal; fight for a position near him if you cannot get there by praying, and tell him how we are suffering for his sake--how we love him, and are striving to save him. Oh, and I keep you while I am talking, and he must be very near! Quick! Kiss me once and go, and I will lie here and pray that you may succeed." "You wish it--you command me to go, mother?" he panted. "Yes, yes, my boy," she cried eagerly; and he bent down over her, pressed his lips to hers, and darted to the door. "Nurse, nurse!" he said hoarsely, "come and stay with my mother." Then to himself as he rushed down the stairs: "Too late--too late! He must have gone." _ |
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