Young bloods r-1

by Simon Scarrow

  'Gentlemen! Please be upstanding for the director and his wife.'

  Chapter 33

  The artillery officers and the cadets leaped up and stood to attention as the director of the academy entered the room, with his wife on one arm. Madame de Pignerolle was now wearing a crimson silk dress embroidered with silver and had powdered her face and put on a wig. From a distance Napoleon saw that she appeared half the age she was when she had shown them into the room. Her husband wore full dress uniform of a colonel, his last rank in the army before taking up the directorship of the academy. They strode to the centre of the room like royalty and then the director waved a hand at the young men he had invited.

  'Please be at ease, gentlemen.'

  His guests relaxed their posture but kept their silence as they waited for the director to continue speaking. Napoleon saw that he was an old man, with a wrinkled face and glasses below his neat powdered wig. Nevertheless, under his uniform he was powerfully built and moved with a lithe self-confidence that was born of good health, fitness and breeding. He drew a breath and began.

  'I trust our guests from the Artillery Regiment have been well looked after?'

  Napoleon and the others nodded politely.

  'Good! It is always a pleasure for my wife and me to invite professionals to the small gatherings we hold here from time to time. I'm sure, despite your age and junior rank, you will already have some useful experience to pass on to our young gentlemen. In return I trust that you will welcome the chance to be acquainted with men who will soon be returning to their own countries to take up military careers. You all share a noble profession, and while its ultimate goal is proficiency in battle, today we meet as friends, an international fellowship of gentlemen. I trust that the amity that is established here will in some small way guarantee peace between all our nations in the future. Now,' the director smiled,'I am sure that you have no wish to hear an old man prattle on interminably for the rest of the day…'

  Laughter rippled through the cadets' ranks, and the artillery officers, unsure of the permissible degree of levity, smiled politely, before Monsieur de Pignerolle continued, 'If you would be so kind as to follow me through to the dining room…'

  The director led them towards a pair of double doors at one end of the room. They were frameless and might have been mistaken for part of the wall but for a set of discreet handles, and the two footmen who had quietly moved over to the doors and now stood to attention on either side. At the director's approach they gently pulled the doors open. Beyond, Napoleon could see another room, smaller and with a wooden floor inlaid with ornate marquetry. A long table, laid for a banquet, stretched the length of the room and a dozen waiters lined one wall.The director handed his wife to a seat at one of the tables before striding its length to be seated at the far end. To one side of the room stood a pianoforte.

  Napoleon and the other young men searched for their name places and then stood behind their chairs. The director waited until everyone was in position.

  'Please be seated.'

  There was a ragged cacophony of chairs scraping across the floor as his guests sat down. Immediately the waiters moved forward, plucked the napkins off the table and arranged them on the laps of the young men. Glancing at the place-names to each side of him Napoleon saw that he was seated between a Prussian and one of the English cadets. Directly opposite him was another Englishman and the other artillery officers had been distributed round the table in such a way as to make conversation with them impossible. The isolation from his comrades made Napoleon feel anxious and as the meal began he found that he had completely lost his appetite, and pushed much of his food to one side of his plate. The Prussian's French was almost incomprehensible and all that Napoleon could make out was that he was a firm advocate of the sabre as a duelling weapon. The rest was an unintelligible torrent of garbled vowels and consonants. The Englishmen paid Napoleon almost no attention and chattered away in their own tongue. So he was able to watch his fellow diners surreptitiously, and found his gaze wandering back to Wesley. The Englishman was seated at the right hand of Madame de Pignerolle and was evidently one of her favourites. She laughed gaily at his jokes and looked deeply attentive when Wesley launched into deeper discussion.

  As darkness fell outside the long windows the meal came to an end. The waiters cleared the table and, using long tapers, they lit the candles in the chandeliers that hung over the table.Then they set up decanters of brandy and fine cut-glass goblets on the table and withdrew to the side of the room once again. Once everyone's glass was filled Madame de Pignerolle rose from her seat.

  'Gentlemen, if I may ask for your attention…'

  The chatter died away quickly.

  'Thank you. I hope you will indulge me with your kind attention for the start of the evening's entertainment.'

  She made her way over to the pianoforte and sat down. The sheet music was already set up in front of her and after a moment's adjustment of her feet on the pedals she looked back towards the table.

  'Arthur, will you join me?'

  Wesley smiled, rose at once from his chair and strode over. He bent down behind the pianoforte and emerged with a violin. Napoleon realised that this was all carefully prearranged between his hostess and her favourite. The cadet tucked the violin under his chin, raised its neck and held the bow poised just in front of the bridge. Madame de Pignerolle nodded her head three times and they began to play a minuet.

  At once Napoleon was mesmerised. All his earlier hostility to the Englishman faded in an instant.The range of sound that came from the violin and the purity of the notes was sublime. Music had always been a distant pleasure for Napoleon, who could appreciate its quasi-mathematical order and the swirling patterns and variations of theme and melody. Most of the music he had heard before had been played by those with technical competence, and occasionally some feeling. But this cadet played his instrument as if he had been born to it. Indeed, from the ecstatic expression on his face it appeared that life had no greater joy for Wesley than when he was playing his violin. Glancing round the table Napoleon saw that everyone was caught up in the virtuoso display of talent, and watching and listening in rapt silence. And so it went on for more than an hour, each piece of music performed to near perfection, and even Napoleon found himself uncommonly moved by the final performance, played solo, a mournful piece that slowly faded in intensity until there was a last note that Wesley seemed to hold for an impossibly long time, before it diminished, leaving just silence. For a moment the audience was still. Then a chair scraped.

  'Bravo!' The director clapped his hands together. 'Bravo Wesley!'

  The rest of the guests joined in and the cadet blushed with pleasure and bowed before returning to his seat.

  Later, when the dinner party was breaking up, Fitzroy began to collect the artillery officers together to take them to the bedrooms that had been prepared for them.

  'Just a minute,' Napoleon raised his hand. He walked over to Wesley and, slightly shame-faced, he smiled. 'I must apologise for what I said to you before the meal. I did not intend to offend you.'

  'No offence taken, sir.'

  'Good. Might I ask where you learned to play the violin so admirably?'

  'I was taught by the best. My father, Garrett Wesley, amongst others.'

  'And that last piece. I've never heard it before. What is it?'

  'A composition of a friend. I gather he based it on a folk song, popular amongst some of our people in Meath. He wrote it shortly before he died.'

  Napoleon mentally flinched at the reference to 'our people'.'It was beautiful. Quite beautiful. And finely performed.'

  'Thank you, sir,' Wesley bowed his head. 'It's my favourite piece.'

  Napoleon smiled, and raised his hand. 'We're leaving at first light. So I'll say goodbye now.'

  With the slightest hesitation the Englishman shook his hand and then returned the smile. Napoleon turned to go, walked a step and then paused and turned round.

  'A wor
d of advice, if I may?'

  'Of course, sir.'

  'Any man who has such a God-given talent for a musical instrument has no business being a soldier.'

  Wesley nodded and they exchanged a polite smile before Napoleon turned away and followed Fitzroy and the others off to bed.

  Chapter 34

  London, Christmas 1786

  'I do believe that is my ugly boy, Arthur.' Lady Mornington discreetly pointed across the crowded foyer of the Haymarket Theatre.

  'Where?' asked her friend Sarah Ponsonby, stretching her neck.

  'The tall boy, over there on the staircase. Talking in a rather animated manner with those rakes.'

  'Oh, I see him now.' Sarah stared for a moment in surprise. 'That's Arthur?'

  'Yes, I'm certain of it now.'

  'That's the same Arthur you've been telling me about? "Thin, surly and quite dull" is how I believe you described him to me. Well, Anne, he's certainly not how I imagined him.'

  'No.' Anne looked confused. 'Follow me. Let's go and speak to him. I'm interested to know how long it is since he returned from France.'

  They moved through the crowd towards the staircase. The crowd was emerging from a revival of The Rivals, still high-spirited from the performance of the dashing lead. After much genteel shoving and muttering of apologies they reached the foot of the staircase and Anne waved a gloved hand to attract her son's attention.

  'Arthur!'

  As soon as he heard his name, the young man turned his gaze in her direction. After a word of apology to his friends, he strode down the steps and took his mother's hands. She offered her face for a kiss and then looked him up and down.

  'You've changed. Taller, somehow, and you carry yourself so much better.'

  'Thank you, Mother.' He bowed his head graciously. 'I'm glad you approve. It seems that your money was well spent in sending me to Monsieur de Pignerolle's establishment.'

  'When did you get back from France?'

  'The tenth of December. I travelled back with Simpson there.' He pointed towards one of the young men watching the reunion from the stairs. 'He invited me to stay with his family in Mayfair for a few days. After that, it was my intention to come to you.'

  'I see.'

  There was no hiding Anne's hurt expression and her companion quickly intervened. 'I'm delighted to meet you, Arthur. I've heard so very much about you. I am Sarah Ponsonby.' She extended her hand and Arthur made a pretty bow and kissed her hand before straightening up with a good-humoured smile.

  'I trust not everything my mother said was derogatory.'

  'Oh, no!' Sarah glanced at her friend. 'Not everything. Although one would struggle to recognise you from her descriptions. '

  'No doubt!' They shared a spontaneous laugh while Anne blushed. As she looked at Arthur she found it hard to believe the difference in him. So self-assured and with an easy charm that was already working its way with Sarah Ponsonby.When the laughter had subsided she addressed her son again.

  'So, Arthur, how was it in France?'

  'Very pleasant, Mother. My French has improved considerably, my riding is first rate, my manner is far more dignified and I have learned to drink the hardest old sweat of a drill instructor under the table.'

  'Your accomplishments are most impressive,' she responded acidly. 'I merely asked to see if you had a good time in Angers.'

  'The best of times, Mother.'

  'That's good. And what now? Have you entertained any thoughts of a career?'

  'The army. I think I will like the military life enormously. As soon as Christmas is over I'll ask Richard if he can use some influence to find me an opening. I believe he's still employed on the Board of the Treasury?'

  Anne inwardly winced at the mention of employment, but it was true: Richard had made a place for himself within the government and had been rewarded with a senior position in the Lord Chancellor's department. It was said that he had a very promising political future ahead of him, and therefore should be in a good position to help advance the prospects of his far less gifted brother.

  'Yes, you can speak to him about it as soon as possible.'

  Arthur frowned.'Not as soon as possible, Mother. I'm enjoying myself too much at present. Let me approach Richard when I've had a little more time to enjoy London.There'll be plenty of time to consider my career in the New Year.'

  'Why wait? Richard is joining us for Christmas Day.You can speak to him then.'

  'Christmas Day…' Arthur considered. 'Very well. If it will make you happy.'

  He turned to Sarah Ponsonby and flashed a brilliant smile. 'So tell me, what did you make of the play?'

  'Oh, it's a fine piece of fiction, but bears little resemblance to real life.'

  'You think so?' Arthur raised an eyebrow and turned to his friends up on the staircase. 'Christopher! That fellow Sheridan. You say he told you that Captain Absolute was based on an actual acquaintance of his?'

  'That's right.'

  'Surely not.' Sarah refused to believe a word of it. 'That can't be true.'

  'Oh, it is.' Arthur lowered his voice and leaned closer. 'Absolutely true.'

  He started laughing, a peculiar dry barking noise that always aggravated his mother, and she tapped him gently on the shoulder.'That will do,Arthur. It appears that you have not grown up quite as much as I'd hoped. So I think we'll leave you to amuse yourself with your little friends. Do send word to me when you are ready to come home.'

  'As soon as I've had some fun, Mother.'

  'By Christmas, at any rate.'

  The day, when it came, was cold, wet and windy, and Arthur was glad to shut the door on it when he arrived at his mother's small house in Chelsea, not so very far from Brown's establishment where he had passed a few miserable years as a child. He handed his coat and hat to a servant and followed the sounds of conversation down the carpeted hall to an open door at the end. The parlour was a decent size, but seemed bigger due to the small amount of furniture it contained. A fire was glowing in a large grate and seated around it were his mother, Richard and William. Lady Mornington's other children were staying with friends to celebrate Christmas. Or so she claimed, thought Arthur. Far more likely was the prospect that they had been sent away so that she could engineer a small conference of the more senior members of the family to settle Arthur on a career as expeditiously as possible.

  Richard rose from the chair with a smile and crossed the room to shake his hand. 'Welcome, Arthur! It's good to see you again after, what, over a year?'

  'A year and a half actually.'

  'Mother tells me that you had a profitable time in France. That's good. Better still, you have settled on a military career.'

  'Yes, that's what I intend, eventually,' Arthur replied. 'I should quite like to be a soldier.'

  'Excellent! Then I shall see what I can do to further that aim.' Richard stood aside and waved his younger brother towards an empty seat by the fireplace. 'There. We can talk until the meal is ready.'

  Once Arthur was seated, it was William's turn to make small talk. 'So, Arthur, what did they teach you in France?'

  Arthur had been asked this many times since his return from Angers, mostly by relatives and friends of his mother, and the temptation to be flippant was overwhelming. 'Let me see. In addition to French, riding and fencing I became quite adept at drinking.'

  His attempt at levity met with a stony silence. He shrugged. 'So, how are things at Oxford? Still dabbling in the classics?'

  'Dabbling?' William smiled. 'I see, you are teasing me.'

  'Am I?' Arthur looked surprised. 'Why, bless me. I think you may be right!'

  He laughed and after a short delay the others joined in, before William stopped and addressed his younger brother. 'Actually, I'm doing very well. I have been told that I should have a chair at one of the colleges before the end of next year.'

  'Congratulations. I'm very proud of you.'

  William sat back with a warm smile of satisfaction, then noted the cross expression on h
is mother's face and sat forward again with a start as she entered the conversation.

  'William and Richard are both making the family proud. So is young Gerald. I would not be surprised if he followed William's example and became a scholar.' She fixed her eyes on Arthur. 'That leaves you, Arthur. You lack a purpose in life. You always have. Playing the violin and carousing with your friends is not very fulfilling.'

  'Oh, it is. I can assure you.'

  'Arthur,' Richard said wearily, 'don't be so tiresome. Don't pretend you don't know what we're talking about. It's time you made your own way in life. Mother and I will not continue to subsidise your idle pleasures any longer.You must make something of yourself in uniform, that has been agreed. I have already taken the liberty of broaching the subject with a friend of mine, the Duke of Rutland, who happens to be the lord-lieutenant of Ireland. He has some influence at the War Ministry and is trying to secure a commission for you. We will need to move quickly, before he forgets his promise.'

  'I'm not sure I'm quite ready to commit myself just yet,' said Arthur. 'A few more months in London should allow me to mature to the point where I can make a decent soldier.'

  'Arthur, you are almost eighteen. I know of scores of youngsters who have been in uniform for over a year already. If you are to make up for lost time and compete with them then we must secure a commission for you at once.'

  'Supposing, for argument's sake, that I didn't want to join the army just yet?'

  'Arthur!' Lady Mornington snapped in frustration. 'Be quiet! You are going to join the army, whether you like it or not. And do you know why? Because it is all you are fit for. You are so lacking in aptitude for anything that we have been forced to make the choice for you.'

  Inside his breast Arthur felt something give way and a torrent of injured pride and anger finally poured through his veins and found its voice. He stood up. 'Enough! I've had enough. All my life I've had to listen to you berating me. Sure, I'm not as clever as Richard and William. I'll never show the promise of Gerald. I won't ever be as accomplished a musician as Father. I know all that, Mother! And you know what? The knowledge sits in my heart like a rock.'