Young Bloods Part 18

'Bookworm!' someone cried out, and at once the others joined in, instinctively co-ordinating into a chant that carried clearly across the river and turned the heads of those on the bank around Arthur. His face burned with embarra.s.sment and anger as he turned away from the river and began to walk along the path, away from his tormentors. He did not get very far when he heard a splas.h.i.+ng commotion behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Bobus Smith and his friends were swimming along the river, trying to keep up with him, some of them still calling out as they churned through the current.

'Bookworm! Bookworm!'

Arthur gritted his teeth, and abruptly stopped. It was not that he minded being thought bookish, especially given his poor academic record. Quite the contrary, since it provided an excuse for his refusal to take part in physical games. What angered him now was the knowledge that Smith would not leave him in peace. He would follow him up the river, and if Arthur turned and went in the other direction he knew they would shadow him like jackals. If he turned away from the river and went back to the school it would mark yet another petty victory in their campaign of intimidation.

'd.a.m.n you, Smith,' he growled. 'd.a.m.n you and all those fools to h.e.l.l.'

'What did you say, Wesley?' Bobus called out from the river, swimming closer to the bank.'Spit it out! If you are man enough, that is.'

Without thinking, Arthur bent over, s.n.a.t.c.hed up a handful of gravel from the path and hurled it towards his tormentor. A scattershot of small pebbles and pieces of grit thrashed the water around Smith and several stung his face. He cried out, more in surprise than pain, and with a howl of rage swam straight for Arthur.

Arthur's guts turned to ice as he stared towards the river. He had no wish to fight Smith on a day like this, and the prospect of having his good spirits dashed made his heart fill with a simmering anger and resentment.

'All right, then,' he muttered to himself. He dropped his book on to the gra.s.s and clenched his fists as Smith's feet scrambled for purchase on the river bottom and then he waded ash.o.r.e like a rock bursting from the sea. There was no preamble, no studied taking of position, just a mad scramble as Smith, naked and dripping, hurled himself forwards. Arthur crouched to lower his centre of balance, and raised his fists. At the last moment, he ducked to one side and stuck out his foot, hoping to trip his enemy. But the movement was mistimed. Instead of tripping Smith, the shoe stamped down on his toes with a loud crack and Smith pitched forward on to the ground with a howl of agony. For an instant Arthur was too shocked by his mistake to act. His fists relaxed and he was about to apologise when he saw the merciless look of hatred in Smith's expression.Any hesitation now would be fatal. Arthur tightened his fists again and closed in on Smith. He swung his foot back and kicked the boy in the knee, causing a fresh cry of pain, then in the knee again, before stamping on his other foot.When Smith, screaming now, reached for his toes Arthur moved round and slammed several blows against the side of Smith's head, and finally, and with all the strength he could muster, threw his fist straight at Smith's pug nose. When his knuckles connected Arthur felt the blow jar his arm all the way up to the shoulder. Smith's head jerked backwards and he fell flat on the gra.s.s and lay still.

Arthur stared at him. 'Oh Christ! What have I done?'

Around him there was a moment's stillness before the other boys on the river bank began to move hesitantly in his direction. From the river came the sound of splas.h.i.+ng as Smith's friends swam to the bank and emerged. A circle formed around Arthur and the still form of Smith, sprawled in the gra.s.s.They glanced at Smith and then Arthur, and he saw the nervousness in their expressions. One of them looked him straight in the eye and gave an approving nod. A small boy, a first year, squeezed through the crowd and stared open-mouthed.

'Th-that's Bobus Smith!' he said in a voice shrill with excitement. He looked at Arthur in awe and said. 'Is he . . . is he dead?'

Arthur knocked on the door.

'Come in, Wesley!' The housemaster's voice boomed from inside his study. Arthur, who had been summoned directly from the cla.s.sroom, turned the k.n.o.b and pushed the heavy oak panelled door open. Inside, the room was large and comfortably furnished. Seated behind his desk was Mr Chalkcraft. On the other side, in two smaller chairs, sat Lady Mornington and Richard. Arthur had no idea they were coming to Eton and instantly suspected the worst. He gave them the barest nods of greeting before he lowered his gaze to the floor.

'Over here by the desk, boy. And stand straight.'

Arthur did as he was told, terribly uncomfortable under the eyes of his mother and brother.

'You know why you're here,' said Chalkcraft. It was impossible to tell whether it was a question or a statement.

'Is it to do with Smith, sir?'

'Of course. What else? Smith's still in the sanitorium. Three broken toes. A broken nose and suffering from that blow to the head. Not a pretty sight.'

'No, sir,' Arthur replied with feeling. 'But I can't claim all the credit for his noisome appearance.'

His mother s.h.i.+fted uneasily in her chair and Richard glared at him. Only the housemaster seemed at all amused, and struggled to hide a quick smirk.

'Yes, well. It's a serious matter, Wesley. Can't have boys demolis.h.i.+ng each other so comprehensively. Why, soon there'd be no students left. This is a d.a.m.ned school, not a boxing club.'

'I'm sorry, sir.'

'I should hope you are. I've had to ask your mother and His Lords.h.i.+p to attend the school to discuss this matter. Now there's no point in prevaricating, so I'll tell you straight away. You're leaving the school at the end of next term.'

Arthur glanced round at the three adults. 'I'm being expelled?' He felt a surge of indignation. 'But I was defending myself.'

'Quiet!' Chalkcraft raised a hand. 'You are not being expelled. I did not say that you were being asked to leave. Besides, it is not entirely a question of your treatment of Smith. After discussing your progress, or lack of it, at Eton, your brother, mother and I have agreed that your continuing at the school would be pointless.You just don't seem to fit in here,Wesley.That's all there is to it. So your brother has given a term's notice of his intention to withdraw you from the school.'

Arthur looked at Richard, struggling to hide his terribly injured pride. 'I see.'

Richard met his accusing gaze levelly. 'You've been here three years, Arthur. I've seen your records. Not only are you failing to make the grade in your school year, but your marks are even lower than most of the pupils in the years below you. Frankly, there are better uses to which the family can put the money we have been spending on your school fees. And, I know that you are not happy here.'

It was the truth,Arthur conceded.All of it.Yet now that he was faced with the consequences of three years of la.s.situde, he felt injured by the accusation that he had not matched up to the standard expected of him. Suddenly, he wanted to stay at Eton with a pa.s.sion, rather than accept that his withdrawal would provide yet more proof of his inadequacy.

'I want to stay,' he responded quietly.

Richard smiled.'No you don't. I know you would like to think you do. And what if you did stay here? Your record is already blotted as far as your teacher and the other pupils are concerned. However much you might try to change, they would hold your past against you. After that fracas with Smith, you could hardly blame them.'

Lady Mornington sniffed. 'And you can be sure that that vicious prig Sidney Smith is making London society fully aware of what Arthur has done to his little brother.'

'Yes, Mother,' Richard interrupted. 'But we're not here to discuss your feud with Sidney Smith. We're discussing what's best for Arthur, remember?'

'Yes. Of course I remember,' she snapped, and Arthur was suddenly aware that much more had been discussed prior to this meeting in the housemaster's study.Whatever he said now was not going to change anything. Decisions about his future had already been made. His mother turned to him and smiled.

'Arthur, dear, I want you to come and live with me. It seems I've neglected you for far too long.Would you like that? I'm sure you would. In any case, I've decided that it's time to quit London.'

'Leave London?' Arthur replied, his mind racing with images of returning to Dangan. 'I'd like that.'

'I knew it,' Lady Mornington smiled at him.'I'm so glad.That's settled then. As soon as you finish here at Eton, we'll pack our bags and leave. I'll make sure I find a nice place for us while you complete your last term.'

'Find a place?' Arthur was confused. 'What place?'

'Why, some nice rooms for us,' his mother continued. 'In Brussels.'

'Brussels?'

'Yes. A lovely city. So I've heard.' Anne reached out and took his hand. 'Arthur, dear, we're going to have a lovely time there, aren't we?'

Arthur stared at his mother, then glanced down at her gloved hand clutching his limp fingers. He fought back the frustration and anger welling up inside. 'Yes, Mother, whatever you say . . .'

Chapter 30.

'Ah! I see that you have a musician in the family,' Monsieur Goubert smiled, as he caught sight of a violin case amongst the bags being unloaded from the carriage.There were several valises, a collection of hatboxes, a chest of toiletries, some boxes of books and sheet music piled in front of the door of the lawyer's house. It was an imposing residence, a short distance from the centre of Brussels, and for several years Monsieur Louis Goubert had let suites of rooms to foreigners attracted by the reasonable cost of rent and amenities in Brussels. Most of his tenants were down-at-heel aristocrats looking for somewhere more affordable to live while keeping up the appearance of being from the finest families in Europe. As a result Brussels had become a far more interesting place in recent years and Monsieur Goubert welcomed the arrival of socialites into the city, whose l.u.s.tre might just rub off on him and his wife. Socialites like this English lady, and her young son.

'Yes, indeed,' Lady Mornington regarded the violin case. 'My boy Arthur does occasionally like to strum the instrument.'

Arthur winced at the gibe, but kept his mouth shut and forced himself to smile.There was no point in rising to the bait. Since he had left Eton and come to live with her, Arthur had learned the rules of the game quickly enough. If the whim took her, his mother could become extremely cutting and sarcastic to enemy, friend and family alike. If one took offence then she would accuse her victim of being too sensitive and lacking in humour. If the target of her spite chose to respond in kind, she would become hurt, and burst into tears. And, as Arthur had quickly discovered, there would follow a long tirade about filial ingrat.i.tude and the suffering of a widow left in reduced circ.u.mstances by a spend-thrift husband and a useless fiddler for a son. Arthur found such accusations particularly painful and therefore did his best to avoid provoking his mother.

Monsieur Goubert turned to the boy. 'Well, I must say, it would be a pleasure to hear you perform, sir. Indeed, there is in my house another boy your own age who professes to like music. The Honourable John Armitage. I must introduce you to him as soon as you have settled in.'

'Please do,' said Lady Mornington. 'It would be good for Arthur to make some friends. G.o.d knows, he has few enough.'

'Aha!' Monsieur Goubert laughed, and slapped his chest. 'The robust English humour!'

Anne frowned. 'What do you mean, humour?'

'I, er, thought that Your Ladys.h.i.+p . . .'The lawyer wilted under her gaze and turned back to Arthur. 'Later then, if you wish.'

'Thank you, sir.' Arthur bowed his head. 'I would be most grateful for the introduction.'

'Good.' Monsieur Goubert smiled. 'Now I must be off to work. I trust you will settle in well.'

'We will do our best,' Anne replied. 'The house looks to be in a decent state of repair, and I trust we will find the accommodation as described.'

'I'm sure you will be most comfortable, my lady.' Monsieur Goubert raised his hat. 'Until later.'

He waddled down the steps and then walked up the street with a stiff rolling gait.

He seems a nice enough man,' said Arthur, with a quick glance towards his mother, 'for a landlord.'

'Quite.' Anne turned and looked up at the facade of the lawyer's house. 'To think that we once had a bigger house than this in Dublin, and a better house in London.'

'Mother, things have changed,' Arthur said gently. 'We cannot expect to retain a style of living that is beyond our purse. Our fortunes will change one day, you'll see.'

'Ha! And pigs might fly.' She turned to the men unloading the carriage and ordered them, in French, to take the luggage up at once. Then she took her son's arm. 'Come, Arthur, let's go inside and inspect our little bolt hole.'

The suite of rooms that she had taken were on the second floor and comprised an entrance hall, two bedrooms, a parlour and a study. There was a bathroom at the end of the landing that was shared with the occupants of the other suite on the second floor - a Norwegian merchant and his family.The rooms were all of a decent size and comfortably, but not expensively, furnished. Even so, Arthur watched his mother make her way round, running her gloved fingers over the fittings and occasionally prodding the upholstery, until she finally shrugged and turned to him.

'It will do, for now.'

Lady Mornington did her best to settle into Brussels society as swiftly as possible.Within days of their arrival she and Arthur were invited to a ball at the Chambre de Palais, a formal affair of silk gowns, glittering jewellery and military decorations. As his mother launched herself into the corner of the room taken over by Brussels' English contingent, Arthur climbed up to the gallery that ran along the sides of the ballroom and, leaning against the pillar, he gazed down at the hundreds of guests milling around below. The loud warbling of conversation was pierced here and there by the shrill laughter of women but he could not pick out a word of what was being said. He idly wondered if there was indeed anything being said - anything worth listening to, at least. He spotted his mother, engaged in animated discussion with an army officer. The latter stood tall and aloof, in s.h.i.+ny black boots that reached up to his knees and ended in a golden ta.s.sel. He was a tall, slender man with cropped, curly brown hair above a thin face dominated by a long prominent nose.

With a shock, Arthur realised that this was how he might look in years to come. He watched the man with a growing sense of fascination and saw how he conversed with another man in a constrained and dignified manner that gave no hint of the inner workings of his thoughts and emotions. Even though his scarlet uniform with its white facings and gold lace made him stand out in the crowd, the fact that he did not wear a powdered wig, unlike most of the other men present, made him seem unaffected and somehow more impressive. A striking figure indeed. The officer seemed to be listening intently to Arthur's mother and with a twinge of embarra.s.sment he saw that she was starting to flirt with the man. Right there, in front of everyone.

Arthur's attention was drawn to some motion on the far side of the ballroom. The musicians started to take up their positions. As the musicians took their instruments out of their cases and began to tune the strings and resin their bows, the orchestra leader distributed the sheet music. It was a small orchestra for an event this size, and reflected the less affluent nature of Brussels' social circles.

At length the orchestra appeared to be ready and the conductor stepped up to them, baton tapping the side of his thigh impatiently. Then Arthur noticed that one of the two seats in the violin section was empty. The conductor glanced round the ballroom with a furious expression until his eyes fixed in the direction of the discreet servants' door in one corner. Following the direction of his glare Arthur saw a man, clutching a violin case, staggering through the door, along the wall and up the staircase. It was clear he was either very ill, or very drunk, and he nearly toppled backwards down the stairs at one point before a desperately windmilling arm steadied his balance and he stumbled up the remaining steps into the gallery.

His antics had drawn the attention of some of the guests and they roared with laughter as the man stumbled along the gallery, waved his apologies to the conductor, caught his violin case between his legs and tumbled headlong, smas.h.i.+ng his head against a pillar and pa.s.sing out. Arthur joined in with the laughter as he watched the conductor place his hands on his hips with disgust as he prodded the unconscious man with his shoe. Then he turned back to the orchestra and called them to order. The remaining violinist shook his head in protest and indicated his unconscious companion.

As the dispute escalated into a seething row, Arthur felt light-headed as a thought struck him. It was a mere fancy, he chided himself. Then he looked down into the ballroom and sensed the growing impatience amongst those who had moved on to the dance floor.

Arthur took a deep breath, stood away from the pillar he had been leaning against and started walking round the gallery towards the orchestra. He knew he was being foolish, that there was every chance he would be refused, or that if they did let him replace the unconscious violinist he would be made to appear a rank amateur. But weighing against this was the thought that he might just carry it off. He might actually achieve something he could be proud of, and more importantly that his mother could be proud of. So he forced himself to continue towards the orchestra, grouped around the still form of the violinist.

As the conductor sensed his approach he turned towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. 'I am sorry, sir, but we are a little preoccupied right now.'

'Perhaps I can help,' Arthur replied in French. He indicated the man on the ground as the stench of brandy reached his nose. 'I can take his place.'

'You?' The conductor smiled. 'Thank you for the offer, but I think we have enough of a problem already.'

'I'm not playing alone,' the surviving violinist said firmly.

The conductor whipped round and stabbed towards the man with his baton. 'You'll play, d.a.m.n you!'

'No.'

'Gentlemen!' Arthur stepped between them with raised hands. 'Gentlemen, please. You have an audience waiting for you. An increasingly impatient audience . . .'

The conductor peered over the balcony and noted the unambiguous expressions below on the floor of the ballroom. He turned back to Arthur. 'So you can play the violin. How well?'

'Well enough for your needs.'

'Really?' the conductor asked. 'Dances?'

'I can manage that, sir.'

The conductor considered the offer for a moment and then slapped his thigh in frustration. 'Oh, very well! I've got nothing to lose except tonight's fee, and perhaps my reputation.' He nodded towards the drunk. 'You can take his instrument.'

With a quick smile Arthur leaned down, grabbed the violin case and undid the catches. Inside the varnished instrument gleamed. He took it out, and under the watchful eye of the conductor, he plucked each string to check for tuning and made a minor adjustment to E before he tucked it between chin and shoulder, slid his left hand down towards the nut, flexed his fingers and raised the bow. 'Ready.'

'All right then.Take a seat.We'll start with something slow and simple. Here.' He slipped some sheet music on Arthur's music stand. 'Know this one?'

Arthur glanced over the notation: a gavotte by Rameau. 'Yes, sir. I've played it before. I'll keep up.'

'I hope so,' the conductor muttered. 'For all our sakes.'

The conductor called his orchestra to attention, indicated the beat and began. It was a short piece, intended to do little more than signal that the dancing was about to begin, and offer the audience a chance to ease themselves into a straightforward series of steps. Arthur knew the piece well enough to keep up with the other musicians, and when it came to an end the conductor nodded to him. 'Well done, sir. Are you ready for something a little more pacy?'

Arthur nodded and the conductor moved on to the next dance on the programme. As the next piece began Arthur found that he felt happier than he had been at any time since his father died. The familiar feel of the instrument and the pleasure he derived from playing it meant that he played as a fully integrated part of the orchestra. When he looked up at the conductor and received a nod of acknowledgement that he was performing well Arthur smiled and continued with a growing sense of delight. Dance followed dance, and down on the floor of the ballroom the finely dressed audience moved with a synchronised grace. The hours pa.s.sed with a short break halfway through the programme, when Arthur shared some bottles of wine with the other members of the orchestra and basked in their appreciation of his talent.

When the final piece came to an end the conductor turned to the audience and they applauded loudly. As the last echoes of the clapping subsided he raised a hand to attract their attention.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, my orchestra and I thank you most humbly for your appreciation, but before the evening is concluded I wish to draw attention to one amongst us in particular.' He turned and indicated to Arthur that he should stand up. For an instant Arthur was too embarra.s.sed to respond, then as the conductor beckoned to him again, Arthur rose hesitantly to his feet.

'We were indeed fortunate to have this young gentleman in the audience tonight,' the conductor explained. 'With the, er, sudden incapacitation of one of my violinists, this young man offered his services. While I admit that I had my doubts, and was reluctant to accept his offer of help, it soon became quite clear that he is an accomplished violin player. Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in expressing our grat.i.tude to . . .' He turned quickly to Arthur and whispered, 'By G.o.d! I never asked your name.'

'Arthur Wesley, sir.'

The conductor swept his arm out to indicate the boy and announced. 'I give you, Arthur Wesley.'

The audience applauded and Arthur blushed as he acknowledged their appreciation.

Then there was a sharp cry of surprise from the floor of the ballroom. 'Arthur? My Arthur?'