Young Bloods (23 page)

Napoleon nodded. ‘I’m honoured to be chosen, sir.’

‘Do you good to see some wider aspects of the trade,’ the colonel replied, then clicked his fingers as he recalled some detail. ‘Almost forgot! There’s an invitation from the director of some military academy in the Anjou region. They offer a little training to young gentlemen from across Europe.The director is keen that they should meet with French officers of their own age to foster a little friendship. He thinks that might go some way to avoiding wars in the future.’ The colonel shook his head. ‘Precious little hope of that … Still, there’s the prospect of good food and wine. You might enjoy it, and you can certainly fit it in on the way down to Nantes.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Where exactly is this academy?’

‘One moment …’The colonel twisted round and searched his desk for a moment before turning back with a letter. ‘Here you are. The Royal Academy of Equitation at Angers.’

Napoleon frowned. He was finding it hard enough tolerating the sons of the French aristocracy. Now he would have to endure the company of foreign aristocrats and was already dreading this visit to Angers.

Chapter 29

Eton, 1783

As the months passed Arthur settled uneasily into his new school. For the first time since the Wesleys had moved to London he was living away from home and he suspected that his mother was more than happy with the new arrangement. Indeed, the letters he received from home contained little sign of any genuine affection for him, merely an endless litany of complaints about the accommodation that Richard had arranged for her. How was she to cope with so few servants? Already, she said, many of her former society friends were cutting her out of their circles. All of which she blamed on her ungrateful sons and her irresponsible husband.The only hope for her now was that her daughter might marry well, or that her sons, if they studied hard, might one day rise to positions of significant influence and wealth that they could afford to make their mother comfortable in her old age, after a lifetime of toil, hardship and sacrifice. Only once she had run through her list of complaints did Lady Mornington ask after the wellbeing of Arthur and Gerald, how well their studies were progressing, and whether they needed anything. Each time that he read her letters Arthur laid them aside with a heavy heart, and a new resolve to defy her.

While he made every effort to improve his technique on the violin, he neglected his studies with cool deliberation. Even more, he refused to subscribe to the set of values that Eton demanded of its students. While other boys threw themselves into sports, Arthur gazed on with cool detachment and even shouted insults and criticism from off the field, until even the teachers got tired of his wearying presence and sent him away.

At the same time Bobus Smith, one of the older boys, contrived to take every opportunity to make the new boy’s life a misery, deliberately excluding him from any game that took place in the dormitory, and making fun of his large nose and delicate-looking features. Even Arthur’s prowess at the violin was mocked as the pursuit of an oversensitive and weedy boy. If Arthur had felt that he had a loving home to return to he might have been homesick and yearned for the holidays when he could enjoy the hearth and security of his family. As it was, Lady Mornington refused to permit him to stay with her during the holidays, saying that she did not have room enough for a ‘colony’ of children. Instead, at the end of term, when Gerald returned to his mother, Arthur’s trunk was packed and he was sent to Wales to live in the crumbling isolation of his grandmother’s house.

When the holidays were over, it was back to Eton, and the familiar routine of being teased by Bobus and his friends, and failing to excite the admiration of his teachers, who were increasingly inclined to consider him a little backward. Especially when compared to Gerald, who developed a ready grasp of the classics and soon progressed beyond the level of his older brother. So the months dragged on, and with a growing sense that he had been uprooted from his family and abandoned, Arthur sank into a profound lethargy that exasperated all those around him. Peculiarly, he found a perverse sense of satisfaction in failing to meet the expectations of others. Since he was destined to fail and to be unloved and unlovable he might as well be good at that at least.

 
Two years passed by with little improvement in his attitude or academic ability, except for a good grasp of French. The family’s fortunes had not improved in the intervening time. Indeed, the labyrinthine nature of his father’s financial affairs consumed most of Richard’s time, and so he was exasperated by the tedious lack of progress in Arthur’s school reports. He wanted the best for Arthur and he was convinced that Arthur had it in him to achieve some measure of success, even if his mother did not. She took his disappointing performance simply as proof of her judgement that he was destined to fail, as she made clear when her eldest son came to visit her shortly after Christmas, at the modest apartment she was renting in Chelsea.

‘Richard, he’s quite hopeless. And he’s ungrateful. Arthur knows we can hardly afford to keep him at Eton.With the cost of living in London these days it’s a miracle that I manage to survive. In fact I’ve been giving serious thought to moving to Brussels. Apparently it’s possible to live well there on a fraction of the cost of London. Until then you and I have to go without in order to keep Gerald and Arthur at Eton. And this is how he repays us.You must speak to him about it.’

‘Why? Because you won’t?’

‘Because I can’t. He won’t listen to me any more.’

‘Can you blame him? When was the last time you saw him, Mother?’

Lady Mornington paused in an effort to recall the last meeting. ‘I have it! Easter.We dined at Hills before he went up to Wales for the holiday.’

‘That was over six months ago. And yet you spend far more time with Gerald, Anne and Henry.’

‘Well, we enjoy each other’s company. Arthur’s different. He has made it quite clear that he resents me. Although why he should is a complete mystery.’

‘No it’s not,’ Richard said firmly. ‘It’s clear to me that he feels left out. Ever since the family moved to London he’s felt it. You and Father were so busy building up your social contacts that you neglected him.At least Father came to realise that towards the end and tried to make up for it. But you …’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve given up on him. And now, it seems, he’s even given up on himself. Poor soul. Can you imagine what it must be like to feel so alone? So excluded.’

Lady Mornington raised her hand to her mouth and gently bit her finger. ‘Is that true? Is that what he thinks?’

‘I think so. Mother, he needs us. Most of all he needs you. Someone must have faith in Arthur or he’ll just give up.’

Lady Mornington was thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Very well, I must make more of an effort to see him. I’ll have him to stay with me this Easter.’

‘That would be a good start,’ Richard replied tactfully. ‘And meanwhile, write to him more often, and take an interest in his affairs. Then we might see some kind of improvement.’

‘And if we don’t?’

Richard looked down at his hands, and for the first time Anne saw him as the man he had become, laden with responsibilities that had forever closed the door of childhood behind him. The clean lines of his face were already marked with creases. Richard glanced up with a sad expression. ‘If we don’t see any improvement this year, then I’m afraid we will have to take him out of Eton.We’ll need every penny to make sure that we can see Gerald through school. He’s doing well - very well - and the money would be better spent on him.’

‘If you do withdraw Arthur, what will become of him?’

‘There’s little choice in the matter. If he can’t achieve anything at school then it’ll have to be the Church, or the army. Believe me, I want something better for him, but we have to be realistic. We can try to save him from himself, but I can’t help feeling that it’s already too late. The damage is done.’

‘I see. So it’s all down to his progress this year?’

Richard nodded. ‘His last chance.’

 
It was a week before the end of the Lent Half - a hot day for the time of year and already most of the boys had discarded their coats as they played on the bank of the Thames. The sun shone down on them from a clear turquoise sky as Arthur watched the other schoolboys from the shade of an oak tree. He was leaning against the trunk and had been reading from a poetry collection he had borrowed from the school library. But the plain words on the pages had soon lost their attraction compared to the far greater aesthetic magic worked by the arrival of spring on such a fine day, and his attention slipped from the book and stretched out across the lawn to the easy glide of the river beyond.

For the first time in months Arthur felt a surge of pleasure and contentment flow through his body. In a few days he would be going home to his mother, and would not be exiled to the gloomy hills of Wales for the Easter holidays. Already, he had planned a series of excursions to see the sights of London and attend the best public recitals that the capital had to offer. Arthur was looking forward to being part of the family again, and not just an embarrassment to them.

A splash of white and silver drew his eye to the river and Arthur saw a group of boys had dived in and were racing across to the far bank.Their clothes lay in untidy heaps on this near side of the Thames. For an instant Arthur was sorely tempted to join them.

‘Why not?’ he said aloud. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Snapping the poetry book shut, he quickly rose to his feet and before he could change his mind he set off for the river bank, in long, purposeful strides. Ahead of him, the boys in the river had reached the far side, and as he approached Arthur recognised them: Bobus Smith and his friends. Before he could change direction and head for a different spot along the river Smith caught sight of him and, cupping his hands to his mouth, he called across the river to Arthur.

‘Wesley! Hey, Wesley! Are you coming for a swim?’

Arthur’s heart sank. All he wanted was a pleasant swim on his own. Now Bobus Smith had seen him and no doubt would not let him enjoy the moment in peace.Very well, he would just have to find another place to swim, out of sight of the other boys.

‘Are you coming in?’ Smith called out again.

Arthur shook his head. Then to make sure that he was understood he shouted back, ‘No. I’ve got a book to read.’ He raised the volume of poetry as proof of his intention.

‘Bookworm!’ someone cried out, and at once the others joined in, instinctively co-ordinating into a chant that carried clearly across the river and turned the heads of those on the bank around Arthur. His face burned with embarrassment and anger as he turned away from the river and began to walk along the path, away from his tormentors. He did not get very far when he heard a splashing commotion behind him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Bobus Smith and his friends were swimming along the river, trying to keep up with him, some of them still calling out as they churned through the current.

‘Bookworm! Bookworm!’

Arthur gritted his teeth, and abruptly stopped. It was not that he minded being thought bookish, especially given his poor academic record. Quite the contrary, since it provided an excuse for his refusal to take part in physical games. What angered him now was the knowledge that Smith would not leave him in peace. He would follow him up the river, and if Arthur turned and went in the other direction he knew they would shadow him like jackals. If he turned away from the river and went back to the school it would mark yet another petty victory in their campaign of intimidation.

‘Damn you, Smith,’ he growled. ‘Damn you and all those fools to hell.’

‘What did you say, Wesley?’ Bobus called out from the river, swimming closer to the bank.‘Spit it out! If you are man enough, that is.’

Without thinking, Arthur bent over, snatched up a handful of gravel from the path and hurled it towards his tormentor. A scattershot of small pebbles and pieces of grit thrashed the water around Smith and several stung his face. He cried out, more in surprise than pain, and with a howl of rage swam straight for Arthur.

Arthur’s guts turned to ice as he stared towards the river. He had no wish to fight Smith on a day like this, and the prospect of having his good spirits dashed made his heart fill with a simmering anger and resentment.

‘All right, then,’ he muttered to himself. He dropped his book on to the grass and clenched his fists as Smith’s feet scrambled for purchase on the river bottom and then he waded ashore like a rock bursting from the sea. There was no preamble, no studied taking of position, just a mad scramble as Smith, naked and dripping, hurled himself forwards. Arthur crouched to lower his centre of balance, and raised his fists. At the last moment, he ducked to one side and stuck out his foot, hoping to trip his enemy. But the movement was mistimed. Instead of tripping Smith, the shoe stamped down on his toes with a loud crack and Smith pitched forward on to the ground with a howl of agony. For an instant Arthur was too shocked by his mistake to act. His fists relaxed and he was about to apologise when he saw the merciless look of hatred in Smith’s expression.Any hesitation now would be fatal. Arthur tightened his fists again and closed in on Smith. He swung his foot back and kicked the boy in the knee, causing a fresh cry of pain, then in the knee again, before stamping on his other foot.When Smith, screaming now, reached for his toes Arthur moved round and slammed several blows against the side of Smith’s head, and finally, and with all the strength he could muster, threw his fist straight at Smith’s pug nose. When his knuckles connected Arthur felt the blow jar his arm all the way up to the shoulder. Smith’s head jerked backwards and he fell flat on the grass and lay still.

Arthur stared at him. ‘Oh Christ! What have I done?’

Around him there was a moment’s stillness before the other boys on the river bank began to move hesitantly in his direction. From the river came the sound of splashing as Smith’s friends swam to the bank and emerged. A circle formed around Arthur and the still form of Smith, sprawled in the grass.They glanced at Smith and then Arthur, and he saw the nervousness in their expressions. One of them looked him straight in the eye and gave an approving nod. A small boy, a first year, squeezed through the crowd and stared open-mouthed.