In Honour's Cause Part 27

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

FRANK HAS A PAINFUL TASK.

For the moment Frank Gowan forgot that it was only half-past five, and after waiting a reasonable time he rang again.

But all was still in the court, which lay in the shade, while the great red-brick clock tower was beginning to glow in the sunshine. There were some pigeons on one of the roofs preening their plumes, and a few sparrows chirping here and there, while every window visible from where the boy stood was whitened by the drawn-down blinds.

He rang again and waited, but all was as silent as if the place were uninhabited, and the whistling of wings as half a dozen pigeons suddenly flew down to begin stalking about as if in search of food sounded startling.

"Too soon," thought Frank; and going a little way along, he seated himself upon a dumpy stone post, to wait patiently till such time as the Palace servants were astir.

And there in the silence his thoughts went back to his adventures that morning, and the scene, which seemed to have been enacted days and days ago, came vividly before his eyes, while he thrilled once more with the feeling of mingled horror and excitement, as he seemed to stand again close behind Captain Murray, expecting moment by moment to see his father succ.u.mb to the German's savage attack.

There it all was, as clear as if it were still going on, right to the moment when the baron missed his desperate thrust and literally fell upon his adversary's point.

"It was horrid, horrid, horrid," muttered the lad with a shiver; and he tried to divert his mind by thinking of how he should relate just a sufficiency of the encounter to his mother, and no more.

"Yes," he said to himself. "I'll just tell her that they fought, that father was scratched by the baron's sword, and then the baron was badly wounded in return.

"That will do," he said, feeling perfectly satisfied; "I'll tell her just in this way."

But as he came to this determination, doubt began to creep in and ask him whether he could relate the trouble so coolly and easily when his mother's clear eyes were watching him closely and searching for every sc.r.a.p of truth; and then he began to think it possible that he might fail, and stand before her feeling guilty of keeping a great deal back.

"I know I shall grow confused, and that she will not believe that poor father's arm was only scratched, and she'll think at once that it is a serious wound, and that the baron is dead."

He turned so hot at this that he rose quickly, and walked along all four sides of the quadrangle to cool himself before going to the door once more and giving a sharp ring.

"Are the servants going to lie in bed all day?" he said peevishly.

"They ought to be down before this."

But the ring meeting with no response, he sat down again to try and think out what the consequences of the events of the morning would be.

Here, however, he found himself confronted by a thick, black veil, which shut out the future. It was easy enough to read the past, but to imagine what was to come was beyond him.

At last, when quite an hour had pa.s.sed, he grew impatient, and rang sharply this time, to hear a window opened somewhere at the top of the house; and when he looked up, it was to see a head thrust forth and rapidly withdrawn.

Five minutes or so afterward he heard the shooting of bolts and the rattling down of a chain, the door was opened, and a pretty-looking maidservant, with sleep still in her eyes, confronted him ill-humouredly.

"How late you are!" cried Frank.

"No, sir; please, it's you who are so early. We didn't go to bed till past one."

"Is Lady Gowan up yet?"

"Lor' bless you, sir, no! Why--oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure, sir. I didn't know you at first; it's her ladyship's son, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course. I want to see her directly."

"But you can't, sir. She won't be down this two hours."

"Go and tell my mother I am here, and that I want to see her on important business."

"Very well, sir; but I know I shall get into trouble for disturbing her," said the maid ill-humouredly. "She was with the Princess till ever so late."

The girl went upstairs, leaving Frank waiting in the narrow pa.s.sage of the place, and at the end of a few minutes she returned.

"Her ladyship says, sir, you are to come into her little boudoir and wait; she'll dress, and come down in a few minutes."

Frank followed the maid to the little room, and stood waiting, for he could not sit down in his anxiety. He felt hot and cold, and as if he would have given anything to have hurried away, but there was nothing for it but to screw up his courage and face the matter.

"She'll be half an hour yet," he muttered, "and that will give me time to grow cool; then I can talk to her."

He was wrong; for at the end of five minutes there was the rustling of garments, and Lady Gowan entered, in a loose morning gown, looking startled at being woke up by such a message.

"Why, Frank, my darling boy, what is it?" she cried, as the boy shrank from her eyes when she embraced him affectionately. "You are ill! No; in trouble! I can see it in your eyes. Look up at me, my boy, and be in nature what you are by name. You were right to come to me. There, sit down by my side, and let it be always so--boy or man, let me always be your _confidante_, and I will forgive you and advise you if I can."

Frank was silent, but he clung to her, trembling.

"Speak to me, dear," she said, drawing him to her and kissing his forehead; "it cannot be anything very dreadful--only some escapade."

His lips parted, but no words would come, and he shivered at the thought of undeceiving her.

"Come, come, dear," she whispered, "there is no one to hear you but I; and am I not your mother?"

"Yes, but--"

That was all. He could say no more.

"Frank, my boy, why do you hesitate?" she whispered, as she pa.s.sed her soft, warm hand over his forehead, which was wet and cold. "Come, speak out like a brave lad. A boy of your age should be manly, and if he has done wrong own to it, and be ready to bear the reproof or punishment he has earned. Come, let me help you."

"You help me?" he gasped.

"Yes, I think I can. You dined at the mess last night; your face is flushed and feverish, your head is hot, and your hands wet and cold.

Phoebe tells me that in her sleep she heard you ringing at the bell soon after five. Is this so?"

"Yes," he said with his eyes and a quick nod of the head.

"Hah! And am I right in saying that you have had scarcely any or no sleep during the night?"

He nodded again quickly, and felt as if it would be impossible to try and set his mother right.

"Hah! I am angry with you. I feel that I ought to be. There has been some escapade. Your father would have watched over you while he was there. It must have been afterwards--Andrew Forbes and some of the wild young officers. Yes, I see it now; and I never warned you against such a peril, though it is real enough, I fear."

"Oh, mother, mother!" groaned the boy in agony.

"I knew it," she said sternly; "they have led you away to some card- or dice-playing, and you have lost. Now you are fully awake to your folly."

The boy made a brave effort to speak out, but still no words would come.