Текст книги "Young bloods"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 42 страниц)

Chapter 69

When he reached the house, the absence of his family and the unaccustomed silence of its walls made him more determined than ever. He could not stay in Ajaccio. The rumour that the Paolists wanted to assassinate him was bad enough, but once the Jacobin Club turned on him Napoleon would be torn apart the moment he showed his face on the streets. He had arranged for a good horse to be saddled and ready to leave that night. It was tethered in the storage shed at the back of the house. All that remained was to pack essentials and go. Joseph had left a hundred gold louis from Uncle Luciano's chest and Napoleon shoved the leather purses in his saddlebag, on top of a few clothes, and his notebooks.

Just then he heard the front door crash open and footsteps thudded into the hall.

'Napoleon! Napoleon! Where are you!'

He recognised the voice with a wave of relief. 'Alessi! Just a moment!'

Napoleon quickly heaved the saddlebag onto his shoulder and hurried to the door. Alessi rushed to him and grabbed his arms. 'You have to go! Get out of Ajaccio tonight.'

'What happened?'

'They passed the proposal, then someone added a clause to condemn the Buona Parte family to perpetual execration and infamy – that was the phrase.You know what it means.They mean to kill you, and your family if they lay their hands on them.'

There were shouts in the street and the sound of footsteps echoing off the sides of buildings. Alessi started at the noise. 'They're already here!'

'Come! This way.' Napoleon grabbed Alessi and thrust him towards the cellar door. Napoleon closed it behind him and ran down the steep stairs. At the bottom he carefully took the candle and directed Alessi over to a small wooden door at the far end of the cellar. On the ground floor the front door burst open and several men entered the house, their footsteps pounding across the floorboards as they shouted for Napoleon in harsh, angry tones that left no doubt about their intentions. As Napoleon and Alessi hurried over the damp cellar floor, the candle flickered and went out.

'Keep going!' Napoleon whispered. 'It's straight ahead.'

Alessi stumbled on with Napoleon grasping his coat-tails to stay in touch. Just before he calculated they must be approaching the door Alessi suddenly pitched forward and something glass shattered on the floor.

'Hear that?' a muffled voice called out. 'Over here!'

The cellar door was wrenched open as Napoleon picked Alessi up and reached round him, fingers groping through the air until they made contact with the rough surface of the door. Footsteps thudded down on the creaking cellar stairs.

'It's pitch-black down here. Get some light!'

Napoleon's fingers slid down the wood to the latch and he lifted it.The metal was old and there was a protesting squeak from the hinges as the door swung inwards.

'There's someone in here!'

Beyond the door the ground rose steeply into the yard behind the house and Napoleon scrambled up after Alessi until they stood on the flagstones in the faint light of the stars. Napoleon pulled the other man across the yard to where an arch opened on to the street beyond. 'Go home.You've risked enough already.'

Alessi nodded and grasped Napoleon's hand. 'Good luck!'

Then he was gone, running off into the dark shadows of the street. Napoleon turned the other way, feeling his way along the wall. He smelled the horse and heard it champing before he found the bolt. Not wanting to give himself away again, he eased it aside and gently opened the door. The horse stirred uneasily in the darkness as Napoleon groped for the reins, undid them and led the horse out into the street. His first thought was to mount the animal and ride like the devil. But if the horse lost his footing on the street cobbles it could fall and injure itself, or, worse still, injure him.

The shouts and thuds from inside the house were punctuated by loud crashes as the men looking for him began to search for loot. But now there were more voices in the street, rushing to join the hunt for the man who had denounced Paoli. Leading the horse as quickly as they could go Napoleon headed into the tangled streets of the old town before heading east to find a quiet lane leading out of Ajaccio.

The sounds of his pursuers slowly faded behind him. Once, close to the edge of town he had to wait in the shadows as a party of men clattered past the end of the street, armed with muskets and swords, some in the uniform of the volunteer battalion. Only a few weeks before they had been fighting alongside him in the assault on the fort at Maddelena; now they were his enemies.

When they had passed by, and their footsteps had faded, Napoleon continued towards the fringe of town. There, a track curved up through the olive trees towards the main route heading north along the base of the mountains. Napoleon continued on foot until he was some distance from the last building and then mounted the horse. There was just enough light to see the track, and with a click of his tongue he urged the horse forward. The trees on either side blocked the view of the town and it was not until the track reached the crest of a hill that Napoleon was able to rein in, and gaze back at Ajaccio. The black bulk of the citadel loomed over the dense mass of town houses, illuminated here and there by lanterns and lights visible in windows. The delicate tracery of masts and rigging were just discernible in the harbour, beyond which the sea was a dark grey sheen stretching out towards the horizon. Above, the stars looked down on the scene in pinpoints of unblinking brilliance.

Napoleon felt a sudden, exhausting sadness overwhelm him. This had been his home. Even through all the years he had spent in France, he had carried Ajaccio, and Corsica, in his heart. He had been certain that he was destined to achieve something lasting here on this island. Now all that was gone. The house, whose every stone and nook and cranny were as familiar to him as his own body. The wharf where he had played as a child and listened to the tall stories of fishermen and sailors. The citadel where he had befriended the soldiers of the garrison, and later tried to seize it from them. All the places and people he had grown up with, all of that was lost to him.

'What now?' he asked softly and the horse's long ears twitched at the sound. Napoleon leaned forward to give his mount a gentle reassuring pat on the neck. 'Easy there.'

Now? Now there was nothing but making his escape from this place. A long, hard ride to Calvi to join the rest of his family, and then they would take the first ship to France. The Buona Partes would arrive refugees, in a strange land torn by revolution, war and insurrection. No matter what fate had in store for them, one thing was certain, Napoleon reflected. All his ambitions for Corsica were a thing of the past. From now on, whether he liked it or not, his destiny was irrevocably bound to that of France.

Chapter 70

Dublin, 1791

One morning in March, nearly a year after he had begun his campaign to win the seat for Trim, Arthur was wandering down Connaught Street, moving from shop window to shop window as he looked for a pair of riding boots. In the afternoon he had an appointment with the family's land agent, John Page, and Arthur hoped to have a quiet lunch in the dining room at Carlton's, where the windows looked directly on to the Liffey, and the distant roofs and towers of Dublin Castle rose up above the buildings on the opposite bank. His meetings with Page were never enjoyable since Arthur had little interest in the financial details of the family's holdings. More aggravating still was the fact that he owed the man thirty guineas from two years before and Page rarely passed up the chance to remind Arthur of the debt, in a manner of finely honed deference. Now, to cap it all, Arthur had need of more money, to pay off an outstanding mess bill and to purchase a new pair of riding boots. Page was the best source of a small loan since the only interest he charged was the pained look of disapproval he affected when discussing Arthur's financial situation.

So ran Arthur's thoughts as he gazed into the bay window of one of the gentlemen's shoemakers. Before him stood a fine pair of boots, the dark brown leather gleaming like varnished wood. He imagined himself arriving at the hunt on Sunday in those boots and drawing admiring glances. But were they really worth twelve guineas? He stood back a few paces into the street to see how the boots looked from a less intimate distance and once again pondered the justification for such an expensive luxury.

'Why don't you just go in there and try them on?'

Arthur started, and turned towards the voice. Standing a short distance away Kitty Pakenham laughed at his surprised expression. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump.'

Arthur blushed and struggled to recover his composure, quite unsure of how to react to the sudden discovery of Kitty smiling at him in the middle of a Dublin street.

'Ah, hmm,' he managed, and then bowed his head formally. 'Miss Pakenham, a pleasure to see you again.'

'You make it sound like we have not attended the same party for months on end. Why it was only last Tuesday that we conversed over a light supper at Lady Tremayne's soiree. Am I so forgettable that you do not recall the event, Mr Wesley?'

'Forgettable? No, ma'am. Not at all. I think of you all the time. I…' Arthur frowned. 'Forgive me, what I meant to say was-'

'That you think of me none of the time?' Kitty teased. 'Oh, pardon me. That doesn't sound terribly grammatical. Or syntactical. ' She waved her hand dismissively. 'Whatever the dreadful expression might be, it doesn't sound it. Oh dear. Nor did that.'

Arthur laughed, and after a moment Kitty joined him.

Once they had recovered from their amusement Arthur smiled and said, 'Shall we start again, Miss Pakenham?'

'Yes. And let's begin by calling me Kitty. Otherwise I shall think that you really don't like me at all.'

'Very well, Kitty it is.' Arthur relished the sound as his tongue moved from his palate and its tip pressed against the back of his teeth. Kitty. Here in the street and all to himself. He felt his heart lift as he realised this was the very opportunity that he had been waiting for. Then there was a rush of anxiety as he feared that he was not ready for it and that he might make a complete mess of this chance – surely his only chance – to make a favourable impression. Already he had let slip that she was on his mind and he cringed at having exposed his true feelings so clumsily. He must guard against that in future. Looking into her clear eyes, he continued, 'And you must call me, Arthur. Well, that is, I'd like you to call me Arthur, if that's not an imposition?'

'It would be a pleasure to be on first-name terms after all this time. Do you remember that picnic where we first met?'

'Of course.'

'That was nearly two years ago. I thought you a terribly dashing young soldier then.'

'Then?'

'Of course. Now you are more mature.' She swept an appraising glance over him. 'Quite the gentleman, and a member of parliament as well. Why, you are almost respectable, Arthur. The only thing missing is that fine pair of boots you were admiring in the window. Shall we go inside and have a proper look at them?'

'Miss – Kitty, I wouldn't presume to-'

But she had already swept past him, and was standing by the door of the shoemaker's, waiting for him to open the door for her. Arthur hurried over, opened the door and stood to one side as she swept past, her skirts rustling as she entered the establishment. One of the staff immediately hurried out from behind the counter and bowed to the two customers.

'Welcome, sir. And how may I help you or your good lady wife?'

Arthur coloured and glanced at Kitty, who raised a gloved hand to smother her smile. She coughed, made a sober face and gestured towards the window.

'My husband was interested in those riding boots you have in the window. Would you fetch them, please?'

'Of course, madam.' The man bowed and hurried across the shop floor to the display window. Arthur turned to her anxiously. 'Kitty, what on earth are you doing?'

'Shhh! Arthur,' she whispered.'I'm having some fun. I've never been married before. Let's see what it's like.'

He glanced across at the shop assistant leaning over the rail to retrieve the boots. 'I really don't think this is appropriate.'

'Quiet. He's coming back. Just play your part and everything will be fine.'

'What?' Arthur felt his cheeks tingle with embarrassment.

'Here we are, madam!' the assistant smiled as he returned to them, holding the gleaming boots aloft. He turned to Arthur and, looking at his buckled shoes, he made a quick estimate of his customer's size. 'They should be a fair fit. Would sir like to try them on?'

'Erm, yes. I suppose so.'

'Very well, sir. Please take a seat.'The assistant gestured towards a couch to one side of the counter and Kitty bustled over to it, sank herself down and patted the cushion beside her.

'Don't keep the man waiting, dearest.'

Arthur winced, and then resigned himself to going along with her little game with as much good grace as he could manage. Taking a deep breath he crossed to the couch and sat down beside Kitty, and smiled at her in the indulgent manner with which he had seen real husbands smile at their wives. Arthur leaned forward to unbuckle his shoes and remove them, before taking the boots proffered to him by the assistant. He slipped them on, stood up and walked a few steps up and down in front of Kitty.The leather was stiff and uncomfortable and chafed the tendon at the back of his heel so that even though they looked undeniably elegant Arthur could not wait to be out of them. He turned to Kitty.

'Well, what do you think, my darling?' He added the last words lightly, but there was a little thrill of pleasure as they passed his lips. 'I'm not really sure they suit me.'

'They suit you admirably, Arthur dear. You must buy them immediately.'

'Oh,' Arthur hadn't been expecting such an affirmation and did not want to part with twelve guineas for a pair of boots that would be excruciatingly uncomfortable. But if Kitty liked them…

'Very well,' he nodded to the assistant. 'I'll take them.'

'Thank you, sir. Will that be cash or account?'

Arthur felt a warm flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. 'I don't have an account here, and don't have the required cash with me.'

The smile faded a little from the assistant's face. 'That is unfortunate, sir.'

'Yes. Would you be kind enough to put the boots aside while I visit my bank to draw some cash?'

'Of course, sir. But a small deposit will be required. Ten shillings will suffice.'

Arthur nodded unhappily, sat down and pulled the boots off, relieved to take the pressure off his heels. He frowned as he saw that the heels of his stockings were already stretched and torn. Slipping his shoes on, he fastened the buckles while the assistant started to write a small note.

'May I have your name, sir?'

'It's Simpson,' Kitty said quickly. 'The Honourable Miles Simpson.'

'Thank you, my lady.' The assistant completed the note and slipped it between the two boots on the counter. 'Our policy is to hold the boots for a week,' he explained. 'After that they will be returned to the window. The deposit is, alas, non-refundable, sir.'

'I understand.' Arthur rose to his feet, took out his purse and handed the man the required money, and then offered his arm to Kitty. 'Come, my dear.'

She slipped her hand through his arm and the assistant hurried to the door to open it for them as they swept out of the shop and on to the street.

Kitty pressed her spare hand to her face to conceal her laughter as she pulled Arthur along the street, out of sight of the shoemaker's shop.

'Simpson?' he queried. 'Why Simpson?'

'Why not? It's a perfectly admirable name. Besides, I had a wonderful governess called Simpson.' She took her arm back from Arthur. 'Well, that was fun.'

'Yes. I suppose it was.' Now that the moment was over Arthur was not sure what to do next. He had Kitty to himself and should not waste the opportunity to further their friendship. 'Miss Pakenham – Kitty.Would you do me the honour of having some lunch with me?' He nodded towards the better end of the street. 'At Brown's.'

'Lunch at Brown's?' She raised her finely plucked eyebrows. 'Well, I don't know.What would people say if they saw me in the company of a young rake?'

'Ah, but since we are married, there would be absolutely nothing for people to remark at.'

Kitty stared at him a moment and then laughed. 'Well, Miles, my dear, it seems the Simpsons are dining at Brown's today.'

They did not dare to keep up the charade when they reached the hotel's dining room. Brown's was the kind of establishment that drew heavily on the best of Dublin society for its clientele and Arthur had to nod greetings to several acquaintances before the maitre showed them to a table overlooking the street. Arthur did not pay much attention to the food he ordered and as he ate his mind was wholly fixed on Kitty. Her conversation maintained the light-heartedness she habitually affected. When he tried to shift the ground to a more serious subject, she artfully directed the conversation back to gossip and frivolous humour. But Arthur was happy to go along with her in the way that young men are inclined to defer to women they are keen to impress.When at last he happened to glance at the case clock against the wall opposite the window, Arthur was shocked to see that nearly two hours had passed and that he was already fifteen minutes late for his meeting with John Page.

'Damn!'

Kitty started. 'What on earth?'

'I completely forgot an appointment,' Arthur blushed. 'Kitty, I must go.'

'What?' She looked hurt. 'Already?'

Arthur asked for the bill. When it arrived, he was horrified to see that it came to more than he had in his purse. Kitty read his expression precisely and reached over to pat his hand.

'Please allow me. It's the least I can do if I have made you late.'

'Good God! No.' Arthur leaned back in his chair with an insulted expression. 'I couldn't possibly allow that.'

'Ah, but I have the advantage,' Kitty smiled. 'You can't pay for the meal, and I can.'

Arthur cringed inside. This was awful. Quite the most awful thing that could happen to him. He had hoped to impress Kitty Pakenham, yet here he was, financially embarrassed and worse still, beholden to her in a way that no gentleman should ever be. But what could he do? There was the bill on the table before him and the rude mathematics were quite incontestable. He cursed himself for paying the ten-shilling deposit on the boots.That was at Kitty's instigation, he reasoned. So there was at least some responsibility on her part for his embarrassment. He looked at her and nodded.

'I insist on paying you back at the earliest opportunity.'

'I should think so! I am not in the habit of subsidising the eating habits of others. In fact I insist that you repay your debt as soon as possible. This Saturday afternoon.You will come to tea at our house in Russell Square. And you can repay me then,' Kitty said firmly.

Arthur nodded his agreement, and bowed his head as he rose from the table. When he reached the door he glanced back at Kitty and smiled as he saw her watching him. She flapped her hand to usher him away and Arthur hurried off to the offices of John Page.The agent was sipping from a cup of tea as Arthur was shown into his room.

Page was a stout man with a fleshly neck and heavy cheeks that were ruddy and had a misleadingly cheerful red hue. His cold dark eyes revealed his true nature, that of a pitiless individual dedicated to amassing as large a personal fortune as possible from the commissions he drew from the income of his landed clients. He rose ponderously from his chair and ostentatiously drew a heavy gold pocket watch from his fob, and raised his thick eyebrows. Arthur ignored the gesture and got straight down to business.

'My brother Richard has written to me from London to request that you realise his assets here in Ireland as soon as possible.'

Page sat up in surprise. 'Sell everything, my lord?'

'Everything. Starting with the house in Merrion Street. Then the Kildare estates, and finally, Dangan.'

Page frowned thoughtfully for an instant before he responded. 'The first two shouldn't present too much of a problem. Prices in Dublin have been steadily improving since the establishment of the parliament. However, since the trouble in France, there is a perception that Irish property is no longer the safe investment it once was. Not that anything will come of these unnatural French notions of egalitarianism, but there is a fear amongst property speculators that the Irish might revolt, and perception is everything in the property market, sir. If we sell now, the Merrion Street house should fetch a good price. The Kildare estates likewise. Dangan is the problem. It is, as you must realise yourself, not in saleable condition at present. The castle will require considerable work on it to achieve a good market price. I take it you wish to authorise me to act on your behalf in such remedial expenses?'

'Of course, as long as the costs are contained.'

'I'll do my best, sir.' He smiled at Arthur, and there was a moment of silence before Page coughed and continued politely, 'Is there anything else?'

'Well, yes,' Arthur began awkwardly. 'You see, the thing is that I'm somewhat financially embarrassed myself at the moment and-'

'How much do you require, sir?'

'How much?'

'I assume you wish me to extend your line of credit?'

'If it's not too much trouble.'

'None at all, sir. I have, in my time, been of similar service to many young gentlemen like yourself.'

Arthur was sure he had. It was a fine way to maintain clients from one generation to the next. Arthur raised his eyes as if making a quick mental calculation.'Let me see. A trifling amount, say forty guineas.'

Page nodded, and reached down to a drawer behind his desk. There was a rattle of a key and then Arthur heard the dull chink of the agent's hand reaching into a large pile of coins. Page glanced at him. 'Forty, you say?'

Arthur nodded and Page counted out the coins, in four neat piles on the desk. He pulled out a small ledger, flicked through the pages until he came to Arthur's entry and then dipped his quill and made a note. 'There we are, sir. On the same terms as the existing sum.'

'Thank you, Page.That's damn good of you.' Arthur placed the coins in his purse and rose to leave. 'I'm sure I am imposing on your valuable time.'

The agent opened his hands out and shrugged modestly. 'A pleasure, as always, sir. I'll see to that business of your brother's at once.'

As soon as he had quit the agent's offices Arthur made his way back to the shoemaker on Connaught Street and paid the balance on the riding boots. Uncomfortable as they were, he looked at them fondly. After all, it was thanks to these boots that he had at last been able to make some ground in his pursuit of Kitty Pakenham.