The Queen's Scarlet Part 3

"Yes; but he does not forge his cousin's name when he wants money."

"What?" roared Mark, shaken for the moment. "Here," he cried, seizing Richard by the arm, after a glance round to see if they were alone, "what does this mean?"

"It means this," cried Richard pa.s.sionately, "that your creditor has been to me this morning, and has just left me, after showing me how you have disgraced the good old name of Frayne."

"I? How?"

"How?" cried Richard, whose voice was husky from emotion; "by writing my name to the cheque for the money you borrowed, telling the man it was for me."

"Well, so it was!" cried Mark, seizing him by the other shoulder and shaking him. "No backing out now!"

"What?"

"You had it nearly all. And, if it has come to this, we'll have it all out now. What do you mean about the cheque?"

"I mean that you forged my name. I knew nothing of it till just now."

"I--I--did what?" cried Mark, as if astounded.

"I have told you. Take your dirty hands off me! It is disgrace enough, without--"

"I--I put your name to a cheque!" roared Mark. "Why, you infamous, lying cad: unsay every word! You know the money was borrowed for you, and that you spent it on your miserable music! Confess it before I break every bone in your skin!"

Staggered, mentally and bodily, by his cousin's retort, Richard Frayne gave way, and was borne back against the ruined wall of the old sanctuary; for Mark had, by a quick action, seized him hard by the throat and held him fast.

"Why, you must be mad! You dare to say I did that, you infamous-- lying--"

He had gone too far, and there was a moment's pause; for, before he could utter the next word, Richard Frayne had given himself a violent wrench sidewise, freed himself and struck out at his a.s.sailant.

But it was a feeble blow, consequent upon his crippled position, and, with a savage laugh, Mark turned at him again.

"I'll teach you to talk like that! Down on your knees and swear that it was all a hatched-up lie, or--"

Mark Frayne's words were checked again, for he had never really seen of what his cousin was capable till now. He knew that he took part in athletic exercises, and he had had the gloves on with him often enough before, and knocked him about to his heart's content. But he had now to learn that Richard Frayne, the white-handed lover of music, fought better without gloves than with, while the soft-palmed hands had knuckles as bony as his own.

"Liar!" muttered Richard between his teeth as he struck out with his left full at Mark's mouth, sending him staggering back, but only to recover directly and come on furiously again.

There was only another round, and it was very short.

Richard Frayne, with every nerve twitching with rage and indignation, followed up his second blow with others, planted so truly, and with such effect, that within a minute he was driving his adversary back step by step, till, blind now with fury, he put all his strength and weight into a blow which sent Mark down like a piece of wood, to lie, inert, with his head resting against the broken, lichen-covered fragment of an arch.

"Steady! Hold hard!" shouted a couple of voices, and the two young fellow-pupils, who had followed, leaped down through a broken window, from whence, hidden by the ivy, they had watched the fray.

"You second d.i.c.k Frayne," cried the first, "and I'll see to Mark."

Richard hardly heard what was said, for there was a sound as of surging waters in his ears, followed by a roar of words that seemed to thunder.

For, as the last speaker went down on one knee to raise up the fallen lad, he uttered a cry of horror, and then let the young man's head hurriedly down, to shrink away with his hands fouled by blood.

"What is it?" cried the other, running forward; while Richard's hands clutched at the air. "What is it?--cut?"

"Cut!" sobbed out the other. "A doctor!--quick! d.i.c.k Frayne, what have you done? He's dead!"

CHAPTER THREE.

TWO PACES TO THE REAR.

After plunging as we did head first into the great trouble of Sir Richard Frayne's life, I must ask my readers to let me go back, in military parlance, "two paces to the rear," so as to enter into a few explanations as to the position of the cousins, promising that the interpolation shall be neither tedious nor long.

Only a short time before Richard Frayne struck that unlucky blow, general-valet Jerry entered the room with--

"Here you are, Sir Richard, two pairs; and your shoes is getting thin in the sole."

"Then I must have a new pair, Jerry."

"Why don't you have 'arf dozen pairs in on account, sir, like Mr Mark do?"

"Look here, Jerry, if you worry me now, I shall throw something at you."

Jeremiah Brigley, who had just put down two pairs of newly-polished shoes, rubbed his nose meditatively with the cuff of his striped morning jacket, and then tapped an itching place on his head with the clothes-brush he held in his hand, as he stared down at the owner of the shoes--a good-looking, fair, intent lad of nearly eighteen, busy over a contrivance which rested upon a pile of mathematical and military books on the table of the well-furnished room overlooking the Cathedral Close of Primchilsea busy city.

The place was fitted up as a study, and a curtain shut off a smaller room suggestive of a bed within; while over the chimney-piece were foils opposite single-sticks; boxing-gloves hung in pairs, bruised and swollen, as if suffering from their last knocking about; a cavalry sabre and a dragoon officer's helmet were on the wall opposite the window.

Books, pictures, and a statuette or two made the place attractive, and here and there were objects which told of the occupant of that room's particular aim.

For beneath the helmet and sabre stood a piano open, and with a piece of music on the stand--a movement by Chopin; a violoncello leaned in its case in one corner, a cornet-a-piston showed itself, like an arrangement in bra.s.s macaroni packed in red velvet upon a side-table; and in front of it lay open a small, flat flute-case, wherein were the two halves of a silver-keyed instrument side by side, in company with what seemed to be its young one--so exact in resemblance was the silver-mounted piccolo made to fit into the case.

There were other signs about of the occupant's love of the sweet science; for there were a tuning-fork, a pitch-pipe, and a metronome on the chimney-piece, a large musical-box on the front of the book-case, some nondescript pipes, reeds, and objects of percussion; and, to show that other tastes were cultivated to some extent, there were, besides, several golf-clubs, fis.h.i.+ng-rods, a cricket-bat, and a gun-case.

But the owner of all sat intent upon the contrivance before him upon the table, and Jerry scratched his nose now with the edge of the clothes-brush.

"Beg pardon, S'Richard--"

"What the d.i.c.kens do you want now?" cried the young man, impatiently.

"On'y wanted to 'mind you of what I said lars week, S'Richard."

"Didn't I tell you to talk to me when I wasn't busy?"

"Yes, S'Richard; but, you see, you never ain't not busy. When you ain't at your books, getting ready for the gov'nor, you're out with Mr Mark Frayne, sir, or some of the other gents; and when you are at home here, sir, you're always tunin' up, an' windin' up, or 'venting something."

"Well, there, I am, Jerry," said the young man smoothing his perplexed-looking brow. "Now, then, what is it?"

"Only this, S'Richard," said the man, eagerly, and he now had laced up the shoes he had brought in and thrust them beneath the curtain. "You see, my father he used to say as it was a chap's dooty to try and rise in the world."

"Yes, of course," said Richard Frayne, thoughtfully taking up a piece of the contrivance upon which he had been at work.

"And he said, S'Richard, as you ought to be on the look-out."