Under the Mendips Part 42

"Yes, mother," the boy said. Then with a sigh, "I hope the riots are over now. At first I liked to hear the noise, and watch the crowd, but I got tired of it. Are we to go to church, mother?"

"If I can get back in time, darling, you shall go to church with Mary, but I don't think I shall go to-day."

Then she gave Falcon his basin of bread and milk, moving so gently that no one heard her lighting the nursery fire, and performing with her accustomed nicety all the little household duties which had been familiar to her from early childhood. Then she shared Falcon's breakfast with him, gave him a volume of the old "Children's Friend," with the funny little woodcuts, which were the delight of the children of fifty years ago; and, establishing him in the window-seat in his father's room, left him on guard. It was beautiful to see how the noisy, high-spirited child, responded to his mother's hand, and felt a proud sense of serving her, as he was left in the room to take care of his father.

The clocks were chiming a quarter to eight as Joyce reached Park Street, where all was quiet, but she heard several pa.s.sers by, say that Queen's Square was again thronged, and that the "roughs" were forcing their way back to the scene of the previous day's disturbances.

By the turn to Berkley Square, Joyce met Mr. Bengough, who was hurrying down to the Guildhall, where, he said, Major Mackworth was attempting to organise the special constables; but that Colonel Brereton's folly in removing his troops to the Leigh stables, had given the mob every encouragement.

"You may be glad, Mrs. Arundel, that your husband is out of the fray; there will be more broken heads before midnight, I expect."

"I trust and pray, you may be kept safely. Come in, later in the day, and let us hear," Joyce said, as she parted from Mr. Bengough and walked quickly towards Clifton. All was quiet there, and when Joyce arrived at Down Cottage, her two little girls came flying to meet her, looking like two daisies, fresh from their morning bath.

Joyce was struck with her mother's admirable management. She was always up with the lark in her old home at Fair Acres, and she kept up her country habits.

The breakfast was ready in the little dining-room, and everyone was there but Charlotte. Piers had the baby Joy, upon his knee, and Mrs.

Falcon declared she had been as "good as gold" all night.

It was hard to believe that Clifton Down Cottage could be so near to the tumultuous city; everything seemed going on as it did every day, and no one appeared excited or troubled. When Joyce had told her story of the previous night, however, the real state of affairs seemed brought home to the little party, and Lota said:

"I want to go home to kiss father, and make his head well."

Presently Joyce said she must see Susan, and she asked Piers to come with her for a moment into his own room.

Piers delivered the baby to her grandmother, and, taking up his crutches, followed Joyce. In the pa.s.sage they met Charlotte.

"How early you have come," she said. "I was called so early, as Mrs.

Falconer wanted the rooms to be made tidy; but really I was not fit to get up at all. I am so dreadfully upset by yesterday's events."

"Joyce has more reason to be upset, as you call it," Piers said, "than you have, with Gilbert laid up with a blow on his head."

"Oh! how _dreadful_! how shocking! dearest Joyce; what _can_ I do?"

"Nothing; but go and have your breakfast; mother hates having the things kept on the table."

"I have no patience with her," Piers said, wrathfully, as he closed the door of his den behind him and his sister; "I do verily believe she thinks she is going to be Lady Maythorne, I do indeed."

"Oh! Piers, impossible! she cannot be so foolish."

"My dear, it would be a long plumb-line to sound her folly, or his either."

"But he is in difficulties as to money; he came here because he wanted to get some out of his sister."

"Has Aunt Let.i.tia any money?" Piers asked.

"Of course, she has her own income, and----"

"Will leave it all to Charlotte. Now do you see?"

"I see what you mean, but it must be prevented, it is too preposterous."

"But now, Piers, dear Piers, I want to ask your advice. I could not trouble Gilbert, he is very much hurt," and Joyce's voice faltered. "The man who saved Gilbert's life is Susan's father, Bob Priday."

Piers made a gesture of astonishment. "The man who took our father's life," he murmured.

"Indirectly, not intentionally quite, as we always thought. Piers, I should like to go to the Infirmary, and take Susan with me. Will you help us, and come with us?"

"You may get into another scrimmage, Joyce; is it right?"

"I think it is right," Joyce said, gently; "I asked G.o.d about it, you know."

Here was Joyce's sense of strength in weakness; she had always a refuge and a Councillor at hand. Her religion was not one of many words; it was emphatically the religion of Peace--and in quietness and confidence she could rest.

"It seems to me, Piers, as if it would be cruel to deny a dying man this last act of grace."

"He does not deserve it."

"Ah! Piers, what do we deserve of G.o.d?"

"Well," he said, "I will go with you if I can get a hackney-coach; a lame fellow like me can't very well trudge down there on foot. But as you do everything to please other people, it is only fair I should try to please you."

"I don't wish to tell mother yet, but I will go and call Susan, dear, good Susan, and tell her to get ready."

"I hope she won't make a scene," Piers said, "I hate scenes, and I don't see what good you will do, but here goes;" and Piers took his hat and went to do his sister's bidding.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XVI.

"FIRE SEVEN TIMES HEATED."

Taking a circuitous route by Granby Hill, where two little urchins were waiting to scotch the wheels, the lumbering coach, of much larger proportions than the modern fly, reached the gate of the Infirmary before ten o'clock.

The coachman was very much excited by the events of the previous day, and was rather glad to have the opportunity of taking back to Clifton reliable information as to the state of the city.

He skirted the suburbs of Bedminster, and was somewhat proud of his achievement.

Joyce left Piers in the coach, and, taking Susan's arm she went into the large, gloomy entrance of the building.

Here people were standing in groups; some crying, some talking in angry tones, and the surgeons and attendants all pa.s.sing to and fro, as news of those who had been wounded was hastily given to their friends.

As Joyce stood waiting to see the surgeon of the ward where Bob Priday lay, a man came rushing in.

"The mob are in the Mansion House," he said; "they are throwing out the furniture; it is worse than ever."