The Queen's Scarlet.

by George Manville Fenn.

The 17-year old Sir Richard Frayne, Baronet, and his cousin Mark, are both at a coach for the Army exam, after which, if successful, they would join the Army as officers. But Mark is seen to be a cad and liar, and there is a fight between them, Mark being apparently dead. d.i.c.k, who is a good musician, goes off with his flute in its case, intending to make his way to a city where there is an Army barracks and a Naval port, presumably Chatham, since we are in Kent. He had intended to cross a river by a certain bridge, but the river was in flood, and the bridge had been washed away. As he is looking at this, a drowning shepherd boy is washed by, and d.i.c.k dives in to try and rescue him, unsuccessfully. But d.i.c.k's servant had followed him, and seen him dive in, a.s.suming that d.i.c.k had committed suicide. Furthermore the shepherd's body is later recovered, and presumed to be d.i.c.k's, so that it is buried at d.i.c.k's home church-yard. Mark recovers, his sickly father inherits d.i.c.k's estate and baronetcy, but dies, and Mark in turn inherits.

Meanwhile d.i.c.k had joined up as a bandsman. Another regiment marches into the garrison town, and d.i.c.k's former servant turns up, and to his astonishment recognises d.i.c.k. Mark is also an officer of this second regiment. After various events in which d.i.c.k and Mark are both involved, though Mark pretends not to recognise d.i.c.k, there is a confrontation, in which Mark shoots his cousin in a hop-field, leaving him for dead. But some workers who are spraying the hops for aphid, come across the body, and realise it is not quite dead. Eventually d.i.c.k is nursed back to health in the barracks hospital, and Mark leaves, never to be seen again. d.i.c.k easily recovers his estates and the t.i.tle, finding that Mark had greatly lost the value of the estate, but with care he manages to recoup most of the loss. He also pa.s.ses the Army exam, and joins a regiment as an officer, having a distinguished career in the Army, as his father had done before him.

It's a fairly short book, less than nine hours to read aloud, but an interesting one, and you will enjoy it.

THE QUEEN'S SCARLET, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

CHAPTER ONE.

HEAD FIRST.

Two rooks flew over the Cathedral Close, and as they neared the old square Norman tower they cawed in a sneering way.

That was enough. Out like magic came the jackdaws from hole and corner--snapping, snarling, and barking birdily--to join in a hue and cry as they formed a pack to drive away the bucolic intruders who dared to invade the precincts sacred to daws from the beginning of architectural time; and this task over, they returned to sit on corbel, leaden spout, crevice, and ledge, to erect the feathers of their powdered heads and make remarks to one another, till the chimes rang out and the big bell boomed the hour.

"Bother Mark!" said Richard Frayne, Baronet. "If he had ten thousand a year, he'd spend twenty. I can't do it, and I won't."

Richard Frayne puckered up his brow and began reading away at Lord Wolseley's Red Book--after being interrupted by the jackdaws--trying to master the puzzling military details, but finding it impossible while his brain was full of his cousin's money troubles; and at last, in despair, he pitched the little leather-covered book aside, walked to the side-table, took his handsome flute from its case, set up a piece of music on a stand, and began to run through a few preliminary flourishes that were peculiarly bird-like in their trilling, when there was a tap at the door and Jerry Brigley thrust in his head.

"Wants to see you, sir."

"Who does?" said Richard, hurriedly putting aside his flute.

Jerry held out a card.

"'Isaac Simpson, clerical and military tailor,'" read the young man.

"What does he want with me?" Then, quickly: "Oh! of course! I know.

Show him in."

A little, stoutish, smooth man, in shiny broadcloth and a profuse perspiration, entered directly after, carrying a brown leather handbag and his hat, which he took from his left finger and thumb and used to make a most deferential bow. There he stood, smiling and sleek, dabbing his face with a red silk handkerchief.

"Very hot morning, sir, and your room's a bit 'igh."

"You wanted to see me?" said Richard rather distantly.

"Well, yes, sir--begging your pardon, sir. By Mr Mark Frayne's introduction, sir. Said business was business, and I might venture to call, sir. Been Mr Mark Frayne's tailor, sir, three years come next quarter, sir; and I've ventured to bring my new patterns with me, sir."

"My cousin should have spoken to me first, Mr Simpson," said Richard, "and I could have saved you this trouble."

"Trouble, sir? Oh! dear me, no, sir! It's a pleasure to me to have the honour. You see, I almost knew you personally though before, sir: Mr Mark Frayne was always talking about you and your country place. Now, I have here, sir," said the visitor, rattling open his patterns like a card-trick, "some fashions that only come down by post this morning, sir; and I said to myself, 'Here's your opportunity. You can't expect a gentleman as has his garments from Servile Row to care about goods as every counter-jumper in Primchilsea has seen. Go and let him have the first selection.'"

"Thank you, Mr Simpson," said Richard, coldly, as he thought of his cousin and the money; "I have no reason for exchanging my tailor.

Greatly obliged to you for calling."

"No trouble, sir; no trouble--a pleasure, as one may say. I thought I'd bring all the patterns as I was coming. Then shall we settle that other little bit of business, sir, at once? Some other time, p'raps, you may be able to give me a line."

"What other business?" said Richard, flushing a little.

"That little affair of the money, sir."

"I have nothing to do with Mr Mark Frayne's affairs," said Richard, warmly.

"Oh, sir, don't say that to a poor tradesman, sir!" said the tailor, shaking his head reproachfully, as he reopened the little handbag and drew a flat bill-case of large size from among the cards of patterns.

"Mr Mark said if I would make it a bit easy, and drew at three, six, and nine, you would put your name to the paper, and there would be no more trouble."

"My cousin had no right to say such a thing to you!" cried Richard.

"Oh, sir, don't say that; it's such a little amount to a gentleman! I have drawn it in three bills, a heighty and two fifties--hundred and heighty! Why, it ain't worth thinking about twice for a gentleman like you! Ha, ha, ha! it's like making three bites of a cherry!"

"How much?" said Richard.

"Total, hundred and eighty-three--five--six, with the stamps, sir," said the tailor, producing three slips of blue paper.

"My cousin said he owed you only about eighty pounds!" cried Richard.

"For clothes, sir," said the tailor, with a deprecating smile. "The hundred was the cash advanced to oblige you, sir, as a gentleman."

"What!"

"The hundred I advanced for you two, Sir Richard."

"For us two? My good fellow, I had none of the money."

"Oh, sir, don't say that!" cried the tailor, reproachfully. "Of course, I know that gents wants a little money extry sometimes, and that it's a tradesman's dooty to help and oblige a customer if he can; and I did."

"But--but--"

"Don't, sir; please don't--you hurt me! I respect Mr Mark Frayne very much; but you can't know him without seeing as he's a bit too free with his money, and I should never have dreamed of letting him have it if it hadn't been for you, sir."

"It was not for me!" cried Richard, who was regularly roused and indignant now. "I have nothing whatever to do with my cousin's debts."

"Oh, sir, please don't! I have not come for the money now, though it would be very convenient, for wholesale houses objects to waiting.

There you are, you see! You have only to sign the three bits of paper, and there'll be no more trouble for you at all."

"But, look here," cried Richard, angrily, "you are insinuating that I received part of this money!"

"Wouldn't it be better, Sir Richard, to say no more about it?" said the tailor. "Money is money, sir; gold's gold; and, as for silver, why it's quicksilver, ain't it, now? Of course, I know what young gents is, as I said before; and I don't want to make any trouble about it."

"But listen," said Richard, trying to be quite calm and cool. "Do I understand you aright?"