‘Good.’ William raised his glass. ‘To the next member of parliament for Trim.’
Chapter 54
Events moved rather faster than Arthur had expected. William announced his resignation from parliament early in the new year of 1790 and an election was called for the end of April. Arthur requested and received leave to stand for the seat and set off for Trim. The season’s rain had turned the surface of the roads into mud so profusely that in many places it was hard to tell where the road ended and the surrounding bogs began. It took three days to travel the thirty-five miles to Trim and Arthur arrived tired and anxious for a hot bath and a good night’s sleep.Through the mud-spattered window of the coach the market town looked bleak and unwelcoming in the icy rain. Dark clouds crowded the sky as far as the faint grey line of the foothills on the horizon. Arthur had not visited the town since he was a boy and was surprised how poorly the grim little place accorded with the memory from childhood. The coach drew up outside the large inn that overlooked the town’s market square and, pulling his cloak tightly about his neck, Arthur climbed down from the coach and hurried inside, leaving the baggage to the two youngsters who had scrambled from the coach yard to help the driver.
The innkeeper shut the door behind the new arrival and inclined his head in greeting. ‘You’ll be wanting a room, sir?’
‘Yes.Your best, if you please.’
‘Ah, well. Now that would be a problem, sir.’ The innkeeper smiled faintly.‘You see the best room is already let.To a gentleman from Dublin.’
‘Oh?’Arthur wondered if he might know the man.‘And he is?’
‘The other gentleman? A Mr Connor O’Farrell, sir.’
‘O’Farrell?’ The name was familiar, but Arthur struggled to place it. ‘Never mind. Perhaps I can have the room when Mr O’Farrell leaves.’
The innkeeper shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, sir. The gentleman has rented the room for some weeks. But I’m sure I can find another room that will satisfy you.’
Arthur was not in any mood to argue. Besides, he could talk to this man, O’Farrell, later on and appeal to his good nature over a drink. ‘Oh . . . very well.’
The innkeeper led him up some ancient stairs that creaked underfoot like the timbers of a ship in a rough sea. At the top of the stairs was a large gallery off which a dozen or so doors opened.The innkeeper led Arthur to one at the end of the gallery and into a large, comfortably furnished room with a window overlooking the market square. The window was flanked by a small writing table on one side, and an old chest on the other. As Arthur glanced round, the innkeeper looked at him hopefully.
‘This will do, for now.’
The innkeeper smiled and his shoulders slumped a little as the tension eased. ‘Very good, sir. I’ll have your bags brought up immediately.’
‘Good. And I’ll have a bath.’
‘A bath, sir?’
Arthur stared at him. ‘You do have a bath, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, sir. I’ll look for it straight away, and have my boys boil some water up.’
‘Warm water will do. I’m not a bloody lobster.’
‘Yes, sir.’The innkeeper was flustered. ‘I mean, no, sir. I’ll see to it straight away.’
He ducked out of the room and closed the door quietly as Arthur crossed the room and sat down on the cushions of the narrow window-seat. The panes of glass, and the rain, running in streaks down the outside, distorted the view of the market square and made the buildings on the far side look as if they had been sculpted from melted wax. A handful of townspeople scurried across the muddy square, hunched down into their coats with hats and scarves pulled tightly over their heads.
As darkness closed in on Trim, the streets glistened in the lights that gleamed in the town’s windows and Arthur drew the thick curtains before he dressed for dinner. Despite the heat from a small fire glowing in the grate in the corner of the room, the air was cold and clammy, and Arthur hurriedly pulled his clothes on. At least the bathwater had been well heated and he had been able to recline in the tub with water up to his chin, and relax in its warm embrace. Not that there would be much opportunity for such moments in the months to come, he reflected as he wound the stock around his neck and neatly tucked the ends into the collar of his shirt. William had impressed upon him the need to meet as many people as possible, arrange public meetings and ensure that the electorate were well fed and watered, though not so well watered as to be incapable of casting their ballot when the time came.
Arthur left his room and descended the creaking stairs into the hall. The innkeeper had given him directions to the small dining room reserved for his better customers, at the opposite end of the building from the raucous chaos of the public bar, and Arthur was pleasantly surprised to find a well-lit, panelled room with eight small tables arranged either side of a large fireplace. A man was sitting at one of the tables, carving a slice from a shank of lamb. He was young, though some years older than Arthur, with dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. A frock coat did little to hide the powerful physique beneath. He glanced up as Arthur entered the room and smiled.
‘Lieutenant Wesley. How are you, sir?’
‘Well enough, sir. But you have me at a disadvantage.’
‘My apologies. Connor O’Farrell, from Dublin. I recognise you from the castle.’
‘Indeed? I’m afraid I cannot claim the same familiarity.’
‘Never mind.’ O’Farrell smiled. ‘Will you join me at my table? I fear we are the only two men of any social distinction staying at the inn and it would be a shame to dine alone.’
‘Thank you.’ Arthur returned his smile, pulled out the chair opposite O’Farrell and sat himself down. A small door opened at the side of the room and the innkeeper bustled out and hurried across to the table. He glanced at the two guests anxiously before he turned to address Arthur.
‘Would you care for some lamb as well, sir?’
‘What else is there?’
‘Beef brisket, or boiled pork.’
‘Boiled pork?’ Arthur winced. ‘Then I’ll have the lamb. And what of your wines?’
‘Only Madeira left, sir.’ The innkeeper shrugged his heavy shoulders in apology. ‘Unless you’d like an ale?’
‘No. The Madeira will do well enough.’
‘Very well, sir.’ The innkeeper turned back towards the side door. ‘Won’t be long.’
Once they were alone again,Arthur looked closely at O’Farrell and the latter laughed lightly.
‘You’re trying to place me.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m a lawyer. I share some offices with a member of parliament. Henry Grattan. I take it you know of him.’
‘I know of his reputation,’ Arthur replied, ‘although I can’t say I approve of it.’
‘Oh?’ O’Farrell slipped a small piece of lamb into his mouth and chewed as he looked to Arthur, evidently expecting some kind of elaboration.
‘Yes, well, you know. Grattan’s somewhat of a radical. I expect you understand that, given that you share premises.’
O’Farrell nodded and swallowed. He sipped some water from a glass before he spoke. ‘Grattan’s a radical all right. That hasn’t won him many friends in Dublin. At least not up at the castle.’
‘Can you wonder? What with all the froth he spouts about reform and the inspiration we should draw from public affairs in France. The man appears to be quite blind to the dangerous waters our French neighbours are swimming in.’
‘Ah, but you can hardly blame the man for using the French example to excite support for reform here in Ireland. It’s long overdue, after all.’
‘Some might argue that,’ Arthur conceded. ‘But Grattan is an opportunist, like all professional politicians. He is a public figure for as long as he plays to the baser instincts of the common people. So he milks their anger and frustration for his own ends. If he was truly a gentleman he would know that his first duty is to his country. He should be supporting the government, not playing on t
he frustrations of the common people and whipping them up into some kind of fervour. If they take to the streets, they’ll be innocents led to the slaughter. Led there by Grattan. The man is not fit to sit in parliament. I aim to make that quite clear when I get my chance to speak from the government benches.’
O’Farrell raised his eyebrows. ‘I had no idea you were a member of parliament.’
Arthur waved his hand. ‘I am not yet, but in due course I aim to succeed my brother in the borough of Trim. That is why I am here - for the election. After which I aim to make Mr Grattan answerable for his folly when I face him across the floor of parliament.’
‘You don’t need to wait that long.’ O’Farrell smiled broadly. ‘The man’s due to arrive in Trim at the end of February.’
‘Really?’
‘Surely. The good folk of Trim intend to present the Freedom of the town to Henry Grattan. He’s something of a hero amongst the common people of Meath.’
Arthur frowned. This was the first he had heard of the move to honour Grattan. So, the scoundrel was already stirring up public opinion to snub the will of the authorities back in Dublin. ‘I’ll be damned if that man thinks he’s going to get away with this!’
‘Why? What can you do, Lieutenant?’
‘My family seat’s at Dangan Castle. I can claim our place on the board of the corporation. I’ll make sure that the other members see this Grattan for the blackguard that he is.That’s what I can do. It might cost me a few votes, but it’ll be worth it.’
‘I hope so,’ O’Farrell replied with a smile. He dabbed his lips with a serviette and eased his chair back. ‘Please excuse me, Lieutenant. I’m afraid I have an early start to my business tomorrow and need to make sure my affairs are in order.’
‘Of course. But before you go, there’s a favour I’d like to ask of you, Mr O’Farrell.’
‘Oh, yes? How can I be of service?’
‘It’s to do with the rooms.You see, I will be in Trim until after the election and I’ll need the best rooms this inn can provide, in which to meet with my supporters, and to entertain various guests. That sort of thing. I’m sure you understand?’
O’Farrell nodded with a good-natured smile. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Good.’ Arthur felt his spirits rise. The man was going to be quite a decent about the awkward matter of switching accommodation after all. ‘Then I’m sure you’ll see that it makes good sense for us to exchange rooms. I’m certain you’ll find my present quarters perfectly suitable for your purposes, and I will make good use of the rooms currently at your disposal.’
‘Ah, well, I’m sorry to have to disappoint you there.’ O’Farrell shook his head, and gave an apologetic shrug as he rose to his feet. ‘The truth is I need the rooms too.You see, I happen to be hoping to win the parliamentary seat of Trim for myself. I’ll be bidding you a good night then.’ He stepped round the table and gave Arthur a pat on the shoulder before he turned for the door. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other in the weeks to come, Lieutenant Wesley.’
Arthur stared at the empty seat opposite him as O’Farrell paced heavily away. As the door to the dining room closed behind the Dublin lawyer,Arthur breathed out softly and whispered,‘The scoundrel!’
Chapter 55
The committee room of the town hall at Trim echoed with the high-spirited conversation of the members of the corporation. Arthur paused just inside and tried to gauge its mood. His eyes flickered over the men standing in front of the long table at the head of the room. Henry Grattan stood in their midst, a commanding figure listening attentively to the local worthies, who clustered about the great man to bathe in his reflected glory. By Grattan’s side stood Connor O’Farrell and he flashed a brief wave at Arthur as his bright blue eyes spotted him from across the room. Arthur smiled back, even as he seethed inwardly.
The election campaign for Trim had been under way for nearly a month and it was clear that O’Farrell had a good start on the young officer from Dublin. As Arthur travelled round the borough to court the favour of the local people eligible to vote in the coming election, he arrived in the wake of O’Farrell more often than not, and had to work hard to solicit their support. Once, when Arthur had arranged a feast, with plenty of ale, to accompany an address to the voters at one of Trim’s inns, he discovered that his opponent had offered an even more elaborate spread in a neighbouring bar, without any long-winded appeal for their votes.
Now it had all come to a head at the corporation’s meeting to confer the Freedom of the town of Trim on Henry Grattan. O’Farrell had placed himself at the head of the movement to honour Grattan and was going to propose the motion. If he won the day, then he would surely gather enough momentum to win the coming election. Arthur knew that this was his last chance to swing the vote towards him. He took a deep breath, and made his way over to his opponent and the guest of honour.
‘Mr Grattan. Welcome to Trim, sir.’ He extended his hand.
Henry Grattan turned to Arthur and scrutinised him with pale blue eyes. Then his lips flickered in a smile and he took Arthur’s hand in a powerful grip and after a brief shake he held on to it as he spoke. ‘You must be young Wesley. Connor has told me all about you. It seems you have a nose for politics . . .’
As the men around them stifled sniggers, Arthur kept his expression neutral. ‘Mr O’Farrell is an excellent judge of character, and I shall miss his ready wit when I enter parliament.’
Grattan nodded. ‘You’d do well, Wesley. But first you have to beat my man.’ He placed a hand on O’Farrell’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘So don’t count your chickens, eh?’
‘As long as you don’t cry fowl when I win, sir.’ Arthur bowed his head. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to join my friends.’
Arthur turned away and was almost out of earshot when he heard Grattan murmur,‘That’s a cool one, Connor.You face more of a challenge than you think.’
The Wesley supporters respectfully offered their greetings to Arthur and he quietly reminded them that they must do their utmost to win the day’s vote. If Grattan was given the Freedom of the town then it would send a signal across Ireland that the government could be openly defied.
There were nearly eighty men present who were eligible to vote.Arthur’s party numbered nearly half that, and he could count on several more votes against Grattan from amongst the more independent-minded of the corporation’s members, who tended to support the establishment view without an instant’s thought. However, such was the renown of Henry Grattan that Arthur was surprised, and a little angered, to find that even amongst his own supporters there were a few who announced they were minded to support the proposal. Before Arthur could deal with them the town speaker announced the presence of the mayor. The arrival of the mayor and his staff stilled tongues into a respectful silence. Once the mayor had assumed his seat at the head of the table he nodded to the speaker and the latter drew a breath and addressed the men in the room.
‘Gentlemen, please take your seats.’
With muted murmurs of conversation the members of the corporation and their guests shuffled over to the neat ranks of chairs in front of the table and slowly found places to sit. When everyone was seated the speaker called the meeting to order and then backed to one side of the table and deferred to the mayor. The latter was a corpulent merchant, dressed in puritan black.The only concession to liberal taste were the shining brass buttons on his coat and the discreetly patterned trim of his collar. He raised his hand and coughed.
‘As you know, the members of the corporation have been gathered to debate the issue of awarding Mr Henry Grattan the Freedom of Trim. Now, this is not an honour that is awarded lightly and I know that the members of the corporation are mindful that the proposal be fully debated before we move to a vote . . .’
The mayor continued to elaborate the significance of the process for the next ten minutes and Arthur’s attention swiftly wandered as the man droned on. He had tried to prepare for the meeting, but i
t was impossible to decide on a rhetorical strategy until he had heard the case put to the members by Grattan’s proposer, Connor O’Farrell. And yet so much rested on his response, not least his chances of success in the coming election. The mayor wound up his introduction and motioned towards O’Farrell to begin the debate.
The Dublin lawyer rose to his feet and paced over to the clear stretch of floor between the mayor’s table and the seated audience. Tucking his thumbs into his waistcoat he drew himself up to his full imposing height and began to propose Mr Grattan in a model example of well-trained legal delivery. O’Farrell started with a paean to the great borough of Trim and the inestimable honesty and industriousness of its voters.After several minutes of this Mr Grattan coughed loudly and nodded to his proposer to stop overgilding the lily and get on with it. O’Farrell obligingly introduced Henry Grattan, summarised his career and then developed his main theme - the respectability of this hero of the people. Grattan, he averred, had not only won the respect of the common man, but had won a far wider respect from across the British Isles, and into France, where even this day the example of Grattan was cited in the great debates about democracy that were taking place in the hallowed hall of the National Assembly. At this there was a ripple of approving noises in the audience and Arthur looked round his supporters anxiously and was shocked to see some of them regarding O’Farrell with open enthusiasm.
At last O’Farrell concluded his performance, with yet another stream of flattery aimed squarely at the electorate of Trim and finished with an elaborate bow to his audience. At once the members burst into applause, and for the sake of good form Arthur joined in. The mayor waited for complete silence before he glanced round the committee room.
‘Are there any speakers against the proposal?’
Arthur swallowed and then raised his hand. ‘Sir, if I may?’
The mayor squinted in Arthur’s direction before he responded. ‘The chair recognises the Honourable Arthur Wesley.’
Young Bloods Page 35
