The Queen's Scarlet Part 7

"You miserable sneak!" growled Mark, in a hard, husky voice.

"No, I'm not; I'm your cousin, and I want to help you, Mark," said Richard. "I spend so much time at the music that I know very little about these money matters; but I do know that this fellow Simpson has been working to get you under his thumb, and running up an account twice as much as you justly owe him."

"Go on," said Mark, "preach away! I won't quarrel with you; because, prig as you are, d.i.c.k, I don't believe you will refuse to help me. Look here, it's only signing your name. Will you do it?"

"I'll give you all I've got, and undertake to let you have three-quarters of my next allowance from the lawyers. I can't do any more than that."

"Once more," said Mark, huskily, "will you help me?"

"I have told you," was the reply, "I'll lend you all I can sc.r.a.pe together, or go with you straight to Mr Draycott."

"Once more," said Mark, with an ugly, vicious look in his eyes, "will you come in to old Simpson's and sign?"

Richard Frayne sat looking firmly at his cousin, but made no reply.

"All right," said Mark, with a laugh; "then the game's up! I shall make a bolt of it, and go to sea. No: every cad does that. I'll take my dearly beloved, sanctified cousin for a model, and be very good and saving. I won't waste all old Draycott's military teaching; it would be a pity!"

"What do you mean?" cried Richard.

"To go over to Ratcham and take the shilling. Perhaps I shall rise from the ranks."

"Go and think about what I've said, and come back when you get cool. I won't go out all day, and--"

_Bang_, _rattle_, and a crash!

Mark Frayne had gone out and closed the door with so much violence that the dragoon officer's helmet was shaken from the peg upon which it hung, and fell, bringing with it the cavalry sabre.

Richard sprang from his chair to pick them up, a frown gathering upon his face as he saw that an ugly dint had been made in the helmet which resisted all his efforts to force it out.

Then he stood gazing down at it and the sabre, which he had raised and carefully laid upon the table beneath where it had hung.

It was a fancy, he knew. He told himself that it was a silly piece of superst.i.tion; but, all the same, a strange feeling troubled him; and it seemed as if the fall of these old mementoes of the gallant officer, his dead father, was a kind of portent of trouble to come--trouble and disaster that would be brought about by his cousin.

CHAPTER FIVE.

RIGHT FORWARD.

The dreamy sensation of unreality pa.s.sed away for the moment, and Richard Frayne flung himself upon his knees beside his cousin, to raise his head, after hurriedly taking out and folding a handkerchief to form a bandage; while, after eagerly watching him for a few moments, one of the two pupils turned and dashed off as hard as he could run in the direction of the town.

But the bandage was too short; and, after looking wildly up at his companion, Richard tore off his necktie, made a pad of the handkerchief, and bound it firmly to the back of his cousin's head, conscious, as he did so, of the fact that the bone was dented in by its contact with the stone.

"Go for help!" cried Richard, huskily.

"No, no; I can't leave you now," said the other, who stood there, white and trembling. "Andrews has gone for a doctor. Somebody else is sure to come. Oh, Frayne! what have you done?"

The lad looked up at him wildly, but he could not speak. The strange sensation of everything being unreal came over him again, and, in a dreamy way, he saw the coming of his aunt and uncle to ask him the same question; while Mark was lying, pale and cold, lifeless in his room.

There was the rushing, murmuring sound of the river from close at hand, and the deep tones of the great Cathedral bell striking the hour; but to Richard's excited imagination it was tolling for his cousin's death, and thought succeeded thought now in horrible sequence.

He had in his pa.s.sion killed Mark Frayne. It was in fair fight; but would people believe all this? They had quarrelled, and about that money trouble. Would people believe his version, or take the side of the dead?

Then a black cloud of misery and despair seemed to close him in, and he knelt there as it stunned--unable to think, unable to move. He could only gaze down at the pale, rigid features before him, drawing back involuntarily at last as he awoke to the fact that his companion had been down to the river to fill his hat with water, with which he began to bathe Mark Frayne's face.

Then came a buzz of voices as boys and men approached. Two or three people began at once to ask questions, which Richard Frayne could not answer, while his companion's replies were confused and wild.

"Yes, he's dead enough," said someone, coa.r.s.ely, and the words seemed to echo through Richard's brain.

Then there was hurried talk about carrying him back to the town, calls for a gate or a shutter, and the little crowd constantly on the increase, till the pressure grew suffocating.

At last someone shouted--

"Here he is!" and Richard was conscious of a tall figure in black forcing its way through the crowd, scolding and ordering the people to keep back.

"How did this happen?" someone said, sharply; and Richard gazed up at the speaker, but made no reply, only stared with dilated eyes as a rapid examination was made and the rough bandage replaced.

Then, in a dreamy way, Richard Frayne saw that his cousin was lifted on to a gate, and a ragged kind of procession was formed, as the men who had raised the bars on to their shoulders stepped off together under the doctor's direction; while he seemed to be, as the nearest relative, playing the part of chief mourner.

That march back appeared endless. People joined in, others stood in front of house and shop; and the buzzing of voices increased till, panting and flurried, the great heavy figure of Mr Draycott was seen approaching without his hat.

"Much hurt?"

"Can't say yet, for certain," rang ominously in Richard's ears. "Fear the worst! I want Mr Shrubsole to be fetched!"

"I'll go, sir; I'll go!" came from a couple of boys; and then Richard felt Mr Draycott's heavy hand upon his shoulder as they still went on.

"A terrible business, Frayne; a terrible business!" he said; and for the rest of the distance to the gate of the carriage drive these words kept on repeating themselves to the beat of feet and the buzz and angry excitement, as one of the policemen who had hurried up refused to let the crowd follow to the hall-door.

Then, still in the dreamy, confused way as of one half-stunned, Richard Frayne paced up and down the dining-room, hearing from time to time what was going on, for he had been sent out of his cousin's room by the doctor. Here he was conscious of the fact that his fellow-pupils all kept aloof, grouping together and talking in low tones. They were discussing the affray, he knew, and a word here and there told him that the causes of the encounter were well to the fore.

Twice over he heard something which made him draw near, but his approach was followed by a dead silence, and the blood flushed to his temples; but that was no time for angry remonstrance, and he shrank away.

"They don't know!" he muttered, as he resumed his weary walk up and down till Andrews, who acted the part of scout, entered the room to communicate what he had gathered on the stairs.

Richard went to him, but the lad avoided his eyes and turned to his companions, to whom he whispered a few words, and then went out again to get more news.

This went on over and over again, with the feeling growing on Richard that he was to be "sent to Coventry," the two who had witnessed the encounter having evidently heard a great deal that pa.s.sed between the cousins and communicated the words that had fallen at the time.

All this was maddening, but it was overborne by the one dread thought-- Suppose Mark really were dead, what should he do?

The leaden minutes went slowly on, and somehow he gathered that the two doctors had been performing a crucial operation and one of them had gone; and, unable to bear the suspense longer, Richard turned to go and ask for himself, when the door was opened and Jerry appeared, to raise his hand and beckon to him to come out.

Richard obeyed the sign, and hurried into the hall in the midst of a profound silence.

"How is he?" whispered the lad, excitedly; and the man shook his head.

"Don't ask me, sir," he cried. "Master wants to see you in the study."

Richard uttered a low, piteous sigh, and everything seemed to swing round him, while an intense desire came to rash wildly out of the house and hurry away anywhere--to woods, or out on some vast plain, where he would be alone to think, if it were possible, and get rid of the violent throbbing in his brain.