With a shock, Arthur realised that this was how he might look in years to come. He watched the man with a growing sense of fascination and saw how he conversed with another man in a constrained and dignified manner that gave no hint of the inner workings of his thoughts and emotions. Even though his scarlet uniform with its white facings and gold lace made him stand out in the crowd, the fact that he did not wear a powdered wig, unlike most of the other men present, made him seem unaffected and somehow more impressive. A striking figure indeed. The officer seemed to be listening intently to Arthur's mother and with a twinge of embarrassment he saw that she was starting to flirt with the man. Right there, in front of everyone.
Arthur's attention was drawn to some motion on the far side of the ballroom. The musicians started to take up their positions. As the musicians took their instruments out of their cases and began to tune the strings and resin their bows, the orchestra leader distributed the sheet music. It was a small orchestra for an event this size, and reflected the less affluent nature of Brussels' social circles.
At length the orchestra appeared to be ready and the conductor stepped up to them, baton tapping the side of his thigh impatiently. Then Arthur noticed that one of the two seats in the violin section was empty. The conductor glanced round the ballroom with a furious expression until his eyes fixed in the direction of the discreet servants' door in one corner. Following the direction of his glare Arthur saw a man, clutching a violin case, staggering through the door, along the wall and up the staircase. It was clear he was either very ill, or very drunk, and he nearly toppled backwards down the stairs at one point before a desperately windmilling arm steadied his balance and he stumbled up the remaining steps into the gallery.
His antics had drawn the attention of some of the guests and they roared with laughter as the man stumbled along the gallery, waved his apologies to the conductor, caught his violin case between his legs and tumbled headlong, smashing his head against a pillar and passing out. Arthur joined in with the laughter as he watched the conductor place his hands on his hips with disgust as he prodded the unconscious man with his shoe. Then he turned back to the orchestra and called them to order. The remaining violinist shook his head in protest and indicated his unconscious companion.
As the dispute escalated into a seething row, Arthur felt light-headed as a thought struck him. It was a mere fancy, he chided himself. Then he looked down into the ballroom and sensed the growing impatience amongst those who had moved on to the dance floor.
Arthur took a deep breath, stood away from the pillar he had been leaning against and started walking round the gallery towards the orchestra. He knew he was being foolish, that there was every chance he would be refused, or that if they did let him replace the unconscious violinist he would be made to appear a rank amateur. But weighing against this was the thought that he might just carry it off. He might actually achieve something he could be proud of, and more importantly that his mother could be proud of. So he forced himself to continue towards the orchestra, grouped around the still form of the violinist.
As the conductor sensed his approach he turned towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. 'I am sorry, sir, but we are a little preoccupied right now.'
'Perhaps I can help,' Arthur replied in French. He indicated the man on the ground as the stench of brandy reached his nose. 'I can take his place.'
'You?' The conductor smiled. 'Thank you for the offer, but I think we have enough of a problem already.'
'I'm not playing alone,' the surviving violinist said firmly.
The conductor whipped round and stabbed towards the man with his baton. 'You'll play, damn you!'
'No.'
'Gentlemen!' Arthur stepped between them with raised hands. 'Gentlemen, please. You have an audience waiting for you. An increasingly impatient audience…'
The conductor peered over the balcony and noted the unambiguous expressions below on the floor of the ballroom. He turned back to Arthur. 'So you can play the violin. How well?'
'Well enough for your needs.'
'Really?' the conductor asked. 'Dances?'
'I can manage that, sir.'
The conductor considered the offer for a moment and then slapped his thigh in frustration. 'Oh, very well! I've got nothing to lose except tonight's fee, and perhaps my reputation.' He nodded towards the drunk. 'You can take his instrument.'
With a quick smile Arthur leaned down, grabbed the violin case and undid the catches. Inside the varnished instrument gleamed. He took it out, and under the watchful eye of the conductor, he plucked each string to check for tuning and made a minor adjustment to E before he tucked it between chin and shoulder, slid his left hand down towards the nut, flexed his fingers and raised the bow. 'Ready.'
'All right then.Take a seat.We'll start with something slow and simple. Here.' He slipped some sheet music on Arthur's music stand. 'Know this one?'
Arthur glanced over the notation: a gavotte by Rameau. 'Yes, sir. I've played it before. I'll keep up.'
'I hope so,' the conductor muttered. 'For all our sakes.'
The conductor called his orchestra to attention, indicated the beat and began. It was a short piece, intended to do little more than signal that the dancing was about to begin, and offer the audience a chance to ease themselves into a straightforward series of steps. Arthur knew the piece well enough to keep up with the other musicians, and when it came to an end the conductor nodded to him. 'Well done, sir. Are you ready for something a little more pacy?'
Arthur nodded and the conductor moved on to the next dance on the programme. As the next piece began Arthur found that he felt happier than he had been at any time since his father died. The familiar feel of the instrument and the pleasure he derived from playing it meant that he played as a fully integrated part of the orchestra. When he looked up at the conductor and received a nod of acknowledgement that he was performing well Arthur smiled and continued with a growing sense of delight. Dance followed dance, and down on the floor of the ballroom the finely dressed audience moved with a synchronised grace. The hours passed with a short break halfway through the programme, when Arthur shared some bottles of wine with the other members of the orchestra and basked in their appreciation of his talent.
When the final piece came to an end the conductor turned to the audience and they applauded loudly. As the last echoes of the clapping subsided he raised a hand to attract their attention.
'Ladies and Gentlemen, my orchestra and I thank you most humbly for your appreciation, but before the evening is concluded I wish to draw attention to one amongst us in particular.' He turned and indicated to Arthur that he should stand up. For an instant Arthur was too embarrassed to respond, then as the conductor beckoned to him again, Arthur rose hesitantly to his feet.
'We were indeed fortunate to have this young gentleman in the audience tonight,' the conductor explained. 'With the, er, sudden incapacitation of one of my violinists, this young man offered his services. While I admit that I had my doubts, and was reluctant to accept his offer of help, it soon became quite clear that he is an accomplished violin player. Ladies and Gentlemen, please join me in expressing our gratitude to…' He turned quickly to Arthur and whispered, 'By God! I never asked your name.'
'Arthur Wesley, sir.'
The conductor swept his arm out to indicate the boy and announced. 'I give you, Arthur Wesley.'
The audience applauded and Arthur blushed as he acknowledged their appreciation.
Then there was a sharp cry of surprise from the floor of the ballroom. 'Arthur? My Arthur?'
Looking down,Arthur caught sight of his mother, still standing next to the army officer. She looked furious, but as she became aware of the people smiling around her, she nodded to her son and beamed, like any parent basking in the reflected glory of a child's public achievement. Arthur felt his heart surge with pride and waved back to her.Then he placed the violin on his chair and after a round of handshaking with the rest of the orchestra, and much slapping
of his back, he quit the gallery and descended to the floor of the ballroom. Passing through the crowd he acknowledged the odd comment of praise or gratitude, until he joined Lady Mornington.
She smiled at him and, embracing him by the shoulders, whispered close to his ear, 'Oh, well done, Arthur! I imagine that everyone thinks we're the kind of family that has to sing for our supper. I've never been so ashamed in my life.'
She drew back from him with a frigid smile. He stared at her with a hurt and surprised expression that contrasted sharply with her look. Before Arthur could respond, the army officer stepped forward and grasped his hand.
'Well done, Wesley. That was brave of you. Not many boys of your age could have been cool-headed enough to carry that off.'
'Brave?'
'Yes.'The army officer was about to continue when he stopped himself with a self-deprecating smile. 'My profound apologies, I haven't introduced myself to you. Forgive me.' He raised his hand and grasped Arthur's hand firmly. 'Colonel William Ross. I'm an attache at the embassy. Delighted to make your acquaintance.'
'As am I, sir.' Arthur bowed his head.
'Fine piece of work, lad. No wonder your mother's so obviously proud of you.'
'Oh, fie!' Anne feigned embarrassment. 'Colonel, you're making me blush!'
'Lady Mornington has told me all about you.'
'Has she, indeed?'
'Yes, my boy. Seems that you have no thoughts about a career at present.'
'That is true, sir. I am trying to improve my French while we are in Brussels, but beyond that I have only my music.'
'You have a rare talent for the violin, Wesley. That's clear enough, but I think that you will find that is not enough for someone of your background.' He leaned forward a fraction to fix Arthur with his piercing blue eyes.'And, I suspect that, despite the pleasure you obviously derive from your musical skills, you crave something a little more exciting, eh?'
'Yes, sir,' Arthur replied politely, even though he was not sure that he did really want to do anything more exciting than devote himself to his violin playing. But, as he stood in front of Colonel Ross, he drank in the fine style of the man and again felt that he would like to exude the same self-confidence by the time he reached a similar age.
As if reading Arthur's mind, the colonel smiled at him and spoke lightly. 'Ever considered a career in the army?'
'The army? No, sir. Not yet, at least.'
'Perhaps you should. Lady Mornington has explained that you are a younger son. I know from personal experience the burden of not having first call on the inheritance. The younger sons of aristocrats have a choice of drinking themselves to death, becoming priests or joining the army, or all three if they are gluttons for punishment, although not in that precise order, of course.' He laughed lightly, and Arthur laughed with him, before Colonel Ross continued,'I can't see you as a drunk or a priest so the army looks like the safest option.Your mother is of the same opinion.'
'Yes. She is good at making decisions for others,' Arthur said evenly.
Anne ignored her son's ironic tone. 'It's worth considering, Arthur. Richard' – she turned to the colonel to explain – 'that is my eldest son, the Earl of Mornington.' She turned back to Arthur. 'He should have some useful connections who can help find a position for you in the army. I'll write to him soon and see what he can do.'
'And if the Earl is unable to assist, then I should be only too happy to help,' the colonel added graciously.
'You are very kind, sir,' Arthur replied. The conversation was slipping out of his control. If he did not attempt to curb the direction it was taking his mother would have him in uniform and posted to some God-awful part of the world before the month was up. 'A career in the army might well be the best thing for me, but one should always consider choices carefully.'
'Indeed,' the colonel acknowledged. 'Spoken like a true soldier! Perhaps the best solution might be to spend some time at a military school. Get the feel for the military way of life, without being committed in any way. How does that sound?'
'Military school?' Anne sounded wary. 'Is that expensive?'
'No more so than any other kind of school.'
'Oh, I see.'
The colonel immediately sensed the delicacy of the situation. 'Of course, most students only attend such schools for a short period of time, no more than a year, I should think, and the fees vary a great deal.There are some bargains to be had in France, for example. If you like, Lady Mornington, I'll talk to some of my army contacts at the other embassies and see if they know of any likely spots for your son.'
Arthur's mother smiled. 'I'd be most grateful. Thank you.'
'Now, my lady, I'm afraid that I must leave you.'
Anne placed a hand on his sleeve. 'Surely you're not ending such a fine evening at this early hour?'
'Indeed I am not, my lady. I have an engagement with some other officers at a club, and I regret to say I am already late to that appointment, thanks to your engaging conversation.'
She smiled. 'I can imagine that your excellent company will be missed, and I have been selfish. Perhaps, on another occasion…'
He nodded.'There is a ball at the Prussian Embassy later in the month. I'll have an invitation sent to your lodgings. Might I enquire where-'
'We have rooms at Monsieur Goubert's house on Rue de Poincon.'
'Rue de Poincon. Very well, I shall make arrangements.' He bowed.'Good night, my lady.And I'm sure I'll see you again soon, Arthur.'
'Yes, sir. I hope so.'
As soon as the colonel was out of earshot Anne turned on her son.While keeping her face devoid of expression, she lowered her voice and spoke in an angry undertone. 'Just what did you think you were doing?'
'Mother?' Arthur shrugged. 'I don't understand.'
'Don't play the fool with me. Other people might think you're a simpleton, but I know you better.What was the meaning of that shameful display up there in the gallery?'
'They were a man short. I could fill his place on the violin so I thought I'd help out.'
'You thought you'd help out…' she mimicked him spitefully. 'I see. So the next time someone's horse goes lame, you'll just pop yourself into its harness and just help out, I suppose?'
'Mother, you're not being fair.'
'No,' she snapped back at him, 'it's you who isn't being fair. I brought you to Brussels to improve your French. God knows, you've learned nothing else for the last few years. And I thought we were supposed to be spending some more time together. First chance you got this evening, and off you went. Abandoning your poor mother in the crowd.'
'You didn't seem that abandoned to me.'
'Don't be insolent.' She stared at him a moment and then continued in a hurt tone, 'I'd just like to have known where you had got to. That's all, Arthur. It would have been the considerate thing to do.'
Following his impromptu performance at the Chambre de Palais, Arthur and his mother were invited to many more social events. He adjusted to the attention he was paid very quickly and soon had a ready tongue for light conversation, and an easy, almost charming manner. Anne was surprised to discover that her son actually impressed other people, to the point where it was clear that a section of Brussels society preferred his company to hers. Even though, she consoled herself, he was hardly good-looking.
Colonel Ross made enquiries about the most reputable military schools in Europe, steering a fine line between quality and affordability. In the end he recommended the institution of an old friend of his family, Marcel de Pignerolle. The Royal Academy of Equitation at Angers, despite the name, was no mere riding school, and offered a wide curriculum covering maths, the humanities and swordplay. The clientele was sufficiently exclusive to impress Lady Mornington and the reasonable fees would be much to her taste as well. A perfect combination for Arthur Wesley. Shortly before Christmas Anne announced that she had enrolled Arthur at the Academy in Angers. He would begin his training there in January. She would be returning to England. Brussels, she announced, wa
s too small and too provincial to sustain her interest a moment longer. Besides, she was missing her family.
Arthur listened to all this with the same sad empty feeling that he had felt at Eton. He was being abandoned again.This time, he resolved, he was not going to grieve in the ill-humoured manner that he had adopted at Eton.Then he had hoped that if he seemed to be suffering enough he would provoke some guilt in his mother and she would give him the affection he deserved, and craved. But now, he concluded, it was quite clear how limited her affection for her third son was. In turn, he owed her nothing. Besides, he was on the cusp of a great change in his life. He could sense it. For the first time in his life Arthur could see a way ahead. No longer was music the only purpose in his life. He would dance to a different tune: the deep rolling drumbeat of the army and the shrill call of trumpets.
In January he would travel to Angers and begin his life as a soldier.
Chapter 31
Angers, 1786
As the carriage passed through the gatehouse, Napoleon shifted himself to the side and looked eagerly out of the window. The iron-shod hoofs of the horses clattered on the cobbles of the courtyard that opened out into a vast space before the main entrance to the academy. A troop of riders was being instructed in the centre of the courtyard. Napoleon regarded them closely. They were, no doubt, the sons of various Prussian, Austrian and British aristocrats, dilettantes in their scarlet coats with yellow buttons and light blue facings. Not real soldiers. Not professionals like himself, trained by the finest military minds in Europe. Even though he had received his commission and completed his probation there would be further training to undertake in the months to come before he could consider himself a fully fledged officer of artillery. And when he was off duty there would be manuals to digest and histories to read, aside from the works on philosophy and literature that he read for pleasure. Against that experience Napoleon was inclined to look upon this fashionable academy as no more than a finishing school, run by the cultivated Marcel de Pignerolle and his wife.
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