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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 4. Frank's Eyes Begin To Open |
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_ CHAPTER FOUR. FRANK'S EYES BEGIN TO OPEN Everything else seemed to the boy to cease at the same time, till he became conscious of feeling cold and wet, and heard a voice speaking: "And him quite a boy too. I wonder what his mother would say.--Here, drink this, my dear; and don't you never go amongst the crazy, quarrelsome wretches again. I don't know what we're coming to with their fighting in the streets. It isn't safe to go out, that it isn't. Drink it all, my dear; you'll feel better then. I always feel faint myself if I get in a crowd." Frank had heard every word, with a peculiar dreamy feeling that he ought to listen and know who the boy was so addressed. Then he became conscious that it was he who was drinking from a mug of water held to his lips; and, opening his eyes, he looked up into a pleasant, homely face bending over him in an open doorway, upon whose step he was sitting, half leaning against the doorpost, half against the woman who was kneeling at his side. "Ah, that's better," said the woman. "Now you take my advice; you go straight home. You're not a man yet, and don't want to mix yourself up with people fighting about who ought to be king. Just as if it matters to such as us. As I often tell my husband, he'd a deal better attend to getting his living, and not go listening to people argifying whether it's to be the king on the other side of the water or on this. I say, give me peace and--You feel better, don't you?" "Yes, thank you," said Frank, making an effort to rise; but the moment he tried the ground seemed to heave up beneath him. "You're not quite right yet, my dear; sit still a little longer. And you too with a sword by your side, just as if you wanted to fight. I call it shocking, that I do." "But I am much better," said Frank, ignoring the woman's remarks. "I can walk now. But did you see my friend?" "Your friend? Was it one of those rough-looking fellows who came running down with you between 'em, and half a dozen more hunting them, and they pushed you in here and ran on?" "Oh no. My friend is a--Ah! there he is. Drew! Drew!" Looking white and strange, Andrew Forbes was coming hurriedly down the narrow lane, when he heard his name pronounced, and looking round he caught sight of his companion, and hurried to his side. "Oh, here you are!" he panted. "I've been looking for you everywhere. I was afraid they had taken you to the watch-house. I couldn't keep by you; I was regularly dragged away." "Were you hurt?" cried Frank excitedly. "Felt as if my ribs were all crushed in. But what about you?" "I suppose I turned faint," said Frank. "I didn't know anything till I found myself here, and this lady giving me water." "Oh, I'm not a lady, my dear," said the woman, smiling,--"only a laundress as does for some of the gentlemen in the Temple. There now, you both go home; for I can see that you don't belong to this part of the town. I dare say, if the truth was known, he brought you here." Frank was silent, but he glanced up at Andrew, who was carefully rearranging his dress and brushing his cocked hat. "I thought as much," said the woman. "He's bigger, and he ought to have known better than to get into such a shameful disturbance.--What's that?--Lor' bless me, no, my dear! Why should I take a mark for a mug of cold water? Put it in your pocket, my dear; you'll want it to buy cakes and apples. I don't want to be paid for doing a Christian act." "Then thank you very much," said Frank warmly, offering his hand. "Oh! if you will," said the woman, "I don't mind. It isn't the first time I've shook hands with a gentleman." The woman turned, smiling with pleasure, as if to repeat the performance with Andrew Forbes; but as she caught sight of his frowning countenance her hand fell to her side, and she dropped the youth a formal curtsey. "Thank you for helping my friend," he said. "You're quite welkum, young man," said the woman tartly. "And if you'll take my advice, you won't bring him into these parts again, where they're doing nothing else but swash-buckling from morning to night. The broken heads I've seen this year is quite awful, and--" Andrew Forbes did not wait to hear the rest, but passed his arm through that of Frank, and walked with him swiftly down the narrow lane toward the water-side. "You're not much hurt, are you?" "Oh no. It was the heat and being squeezed so." "Don't say you were frightened, lad!" cried Andrew. "I was at first; but when I saw the people being knocked about so, I felt as if I wanted to help." "That's right. You've got the right stuff in you. But wasn't it glorious?" "Glorious?" "Yes!" cried Andrew excitedly. "It was brave and gallant to a degree. The cowardly brutes were three times as many as the others." "Oh no; the other side was the stronger, and they ought to have whipped." "Nonsense! You don't know what you are talking about," said Andrew warmly. "The miserable brutes were five or six times as strong, and the brave fellows drove them like a flock of sheep right out of the court, and scattered them in the street like chaff. Oh, it made up for everything!" Frank put his hand to his head. "I don't quite understand it," he said. "My head feels swimming and queer yet. I thought the people in the house were the weaker--I mean those who dashed out shouting, 'Down with the Dutchmen!'" "Of course," cried Andrew; "that's what I'm saying. It was very horrible to be situated as we were." "Yes, horrible," said Frank quietly. "Not able to so much as draw one's sword." "Too much squeezed together." "Yes," said Andrew, with his face flushed warmly. "I did cry out and shout to them to come on; but one was so helpless and mixed-up-like that people could hardly tell which side they belonged to." "No," said Frank drily; "it was hard." He looked meaningly at his companion as he spoke; but Andrew's eyes were gazing straight before him, and he was seeing right into the future. "Did you see your friend you wanted to speak to?" said Frank, as they reached the river-side. "See him? Yes, fighting like a hero; but I couldn't get near him. Never mind; another time will do. I little thought I should come to the city to-day to see such a victory. It all shows how things are working." "Going to ride back by boat?" said Frank, as if to change the conversation. "Oh yes; we can't go along Fleet Street and the Strand. The streets will be full of constables, and soldiers out too I dare say. They're busy making arrests I know; and if we were to go along there, as likely as not there'd be some spy or one of the beaten side ready to point us out as having been in it." They reached the stairs, took their place in a wherry, and as they leaned back and the waterman tugged at his oars, against tide now, Frank said thoughtfully: "I say, what would have happened if somebody had pointed us out?" "We should have been locked up of course, and been taken before the magistrate to-morrow. Then it would all have come out about our being there, and--ha--ha--ha!--the Prince would have had vacancies for two more pages.--I shouldn't have cared." "I should," said Frank quickly, as he saw in imagination the pained faces of father and mother. "Well, of course, so should I. Don't take any notice of what I said. Besides, we can be so useful as we are." "How?" said Frank thoughtfully. "It always seems to me that we are but a couple of ornaments, and of no use at all." "Ah! wait," said Andrew quietly. Then, as if feeling that he had been in his excitement letting his tongue run far too fast, he turned to his companion, and said gently: "You are the son of a gallant officer and a beautiful lady, and I know you would not say a word that would injure a friend." "I hope not," said Frank, rather huskily. "I'm sure you would not, or I should not have spoken out as I have. But don't take any notice; you see, a man can't help talking politics at a time like this. Well, when will you come to the city again?" "Never, if I can help it," said Frank shortly; and that night in bed he lay sleepless for hours, thinking of his companion's words, and grasping pretty clearly that King George the First had a personage in his palace who was utterly unworthy of trust. "And it's such a pity," said the boy, with a sigh. "I like Andrew Forbes, though he is a bit conceited and a dandy; but it seems as if I ought to speak to somebody about what I know. My father--my mother? There is no one else I should like to trust with such a secret. But he has left it to my honour, and I feel pulled both ways. What ought I to do?" He fell asleep at last with that question unanswered, and when he awoke the next morning the thought repeated itself with stronger force than before, "Why, he must be at heart a traitor to the King!" and once more in dire perplexity Frank Gowan asked himself that question, "What shall I do?" _ |
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