Read Online Young Bloods by Simon Scarrow - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Scarrow
Tags: Historical, Military
Ads: Link
progress, the more miserable and introverted he became, so that eventually even Dr Buckleby commented on it.
‘Arthur, your mind’s wandering.You played the last section as if you were handling a weaving loom.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he mumbled.
Dr Buckleby saw that the little boy’s lip was trembling, and he leaned forward and gently took the violin and bow from him. ‘Tell me what ails you, child.’
For a moment Arthur was silent.
‘I - I hate school. I want to go home.’
‘We all hate school at times, boy. Even I did. It’s part of growing up. It’s what trains us to cope with later hardships.’
‘But I can’t bear it!’ Arthur looked up defiantly. ‘Sometimes I … I just want to die.’
‘Nonsense! Why would anyone want that?’ Dr Buckleby smiled. ‘It’s hard, but you will get used to it, I promise.’
‘But I won’t. I’m no good at it,’ Arthur sniffed.‘I’ve no friends. I’m no good at sports. And I’m not clever, like my brothers. I’m just not clever,’ he concluded miserably. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Arthur, we all learn at our own rate. Some skills merely take more time, and application. Some things we learn faster than others. Take your ability with the violin, for example.You’re like your father. It’s a rare gift you have. Take satisfaction in it.’
Arthur looked up at him. ‘But it is merely an instrument. It is of no account in the world.’
Dr Buckleby frowned and Arthur at once realised he had caused great offence. He felt ashamed that he might have hurt the feelings of this man who lived for music. It was tempting to surrender to the muse, to devote himself to music. In time he would win some recognition for his ability. But where would that lead? Would the reward be to end up in a small cottage in some provincial town earning his keep from teaching the sons of local worthies? It frightened Arthur. He wanted more from life.
Dr Buckleby sighed. ‘Is it so terrible a thing to have a gift for music? To be a master of the art that, above all others, distinguishes us from common beasts?’
Arthur stared at him, heart heavy with sorrow, weighed down by the intolerable burden of an honest nature. He swallowed.‘No, sir. It is not a terrible thing. It is, as you say, a gift.’
‘There! You see, all is not lost. Far from it. Come now, let us return to our practice. In years to come men will toast the great Arthur Wesley - maestro!’
Arthur forced himself to smile. Perhaps Dr Buckleby was right. Perhaps destiny had marked him out for such a career. Perhaps he should accept this. One day he would win some renown for his music.
In his heart of hearts he dreaded that this might be true.
Chapter 11
At Christmas, the Wesley family were reunited at Dangan. Anne was busy arranging the social calendar for the holiday. Besides the big party to be held in the hall for all the minor landlords and their families about the estate, there was the usual round of castles and manors of relatives and friends to be visited. Food and drink had to be ordered in, guest rooms to be dusted down and prepared, clothes to be selected and packed into trunks, and temporary staff to be taken on for the holiday period. Inevitably, due to the shortage of English servants, the temporary staff would be drawn from the Irish community. The prospect of having their sullen coarse features hurrying around Dangan caused Anne some heartache. Their brogue was almost incomprehensible, their posture poor and she regarded them as little better than beasts of burden.
While she anxiously made her plans at her bureau she could hear Garrett in the music room at work composing a piece for the small concert he had insisted on arranging for the big party. Every so often a brief snatch of melody would issue from the fortepiano, then there would be dark mutterings or an exclamation of surprise, the faint rasp of quill on paper, then another turn at the keys.This, Anne knew, could go on for days at a time,
‘Arthur, your mind’s wandering.You played the last section as if you were handling a weaving loom.’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he mumbled.
Dr Buckleby saw that the little boy’s lip was trembling, and he leaned forward and gently took the violin and bow from him. ‘Tell me what ails you, child.’
For a moment Arthur was silent.
‘I - I hate school. I want to go home.’
‘We all hate school at times, boy. Even I did. It’s part of growing up. It’s what trains us to cope with later hardships.’
‘But I can’t bear it!’ Arthur looked up defiantly. ‘Sometimes I … I just want to die.’
‘Nonsense! Why would anyone want that?’ Dr Buckleby smiled. ‘It’s hard, but you will get used to it, I promise.’
‘But I won’t. I’m no good at it,’ Arthur sniffed.‘I’ve no friends. I’m no good at sports. And I’m not clever, like my brothers. I’m just not clever,’ he concluded miserably. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Arthur, we all learn at our own rate. Some skills merely take more time, and application. Some things we learn faster than others. Take your ability with the violin, for example.You’re like your father. It’s a rare gift you have. Take satisfaction in it.’
Arthur looked up at him. ‘But it is merely an instrument. It is of no account in the world.’
Dr Buckleby frowned and Arthur at once realised he had caused great offence. He felt ashamed that he might have hurt the feelings of this man who lived for music. It was tempting to surrender to the muse, to devote himself to music. In time he would win some recognition for his ability. But where would that lead? Would the reward be to end up in a small cottage in some provincial town earning his keep from teaching the sons of local worthies? It frightened Arthur. He wanted more from life.
Dr Buckleby sighed. ‘Is it so terrible a thing to have a gift for music? To be a master of the art that, above all others, distinguishes us from common beasts?’
Arthur stared at him, heart heavy with sorrow, weighed down by the intolerable burden of an honest nature. He swallowed.‘No, sir. It is not a terrible thing. It is, as you say, a gift.’
‘There! You see, all is not lost. Far from it. Come now, let us return to our practice. In years to come men will toast the great Arthur Wesley - maestro!’
Arthur forced himself to smile. Perhaps Dr Buckleby was right. Perhaps destiny had marked him out for such a career. Perhaps he should accept this. One day he would win some renown for his music.
In his heart of hearts he dreaded that this might be true.
Chapter 11
At Christmas, the Wesley family were reunited at Dangan. Anne was busy arranging the social calendar for the holiday. Besides the big party to be held in the hall for all the minor landlords and their families about the estate, there was the usual round of castles and manors of relatives and friends to be visited. Food and drink had to be ordered in, guest rooms to be dusted down and prepared, clothes to be selected and packed into trunks, and temporary staff to be taken on for the holiday period. Inevitably, due to the shortage of English servants, the temporary staff would be drawn from the Irish community. The prospect of having their sullen coarse features hurrying around Dangan caused Anne some heartache. Their brogue was almost incomprehensible, their posture poor and she regarded them as little better than beasts of burden.
While she anxiously made her plans at her bureau she could hear Garrett in the music room at work composing a piece for the small concert he had insisted on arranging for the big party. Every so often a brief snatch of melody would issue from the fortepiano, then there would be dark mutterings or an exclamation of surprise, the faint rasp of quill on paper, then another turn at the keys.This, Anne knew, could go on for days at a time,
Similar Books
