Simon Scarrow - Fire and Sword

‘Whatever the feelings of people here in England? Surely you remember what happened when that man Gordon stirred up the rabble the last time there was an attempt at Catholic relief ?’

‘How could I forget?’ Arthur vividly recalled the days of rioting, the burning down of public buildings and the bloody manner in which the army had restored order to the streets of London. ‘But we were not at war then. People are more mindful of the need to do what is necessary to beat Bonaparte.’

‘You think so?’ Richard looked surprised. ‘Arthur, you are a fine soldier, but a poor politician. Forgive me for saying so, but the national interest is not at the top of most politicians’ list of priorities. If political capital can be made out of resisting Catholic relief, then it will be so.As surely as night follows day.Why, I have even heard that the King himself intends to intervene to prevent the passage of any such bill through Parliament.’

‘That would be an act of madness. He would not presume. Surely?’

‘Would he not?’ Richard smiled. ‘And as for madness, let us say that his majesty has hardly availed himself of a full measure of sanity since he came to the throne.’

Like many Englishmen Arthur did not wish to be reminded of King George’s mental infirmity in an age when the very principle of monarchy was under widespread attack. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘I am certain that the King would not challenge the authority of Parliament over such an issue. Especially when Britain is at war and a man’s service to his country is more important than the question of his faith.’

Richard was about to reply when Arthur raised his hand to still his brother’s tongue. He felt a sudden icy grip of terror fix on the back of his neck.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Richard asked.

‘It’s gone quiet.’Arthur glanced at the ceiling and muttered,‘By God, if anything’s happened to Kitty . . .’

The two brothers sat in silence for a moment, and Arthur felt his chest tighten anxiously at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later the door to the drawing room opened and Dr Hoxter entered. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as he wiped his hands clean on a bloodied piece of cloth. Arthur instantly feared the worst and swallowed nervously.

‘Kitty . . . is she all right, doctor?’

‘She is fine, sir.’ Dr Hoxter nodded and then smiled warmly. ‘And so is your son.’>

‘My son?’ Arthur felt the tension drain from his body, to be replaced by the warmth of love and unbridled joy. ‘I have a son.’

‘Indeed, sir. A fine-looking young fellow if ever I saw one.’

Richard stood up, reached across the table and grasped Arthur’s hand. ‘Then I’ll be the very first to offer my congratulations!’

Arthur turned to his brother, still dazed by the realisation that he was a father. ‘Thank you. Thank you, Richard.’

Dr Hoxter tucked the cloth into his waistcoat pocket and strode across the drawing room to shake Arthur’s hand in turn. ‘And here’s my congratulations to you too, sir.’

Arthur was no longer able to contain his delight and smiled broadly at the doctor and his brother. ‘Bless my soul. I’m a father!’

Richard laughed.‘Welcome to the club. Once the first flush of pride and novelty has worn off you’ll soon discover what a mixed blessing paternity can be.Take it from one who knows.’

‘Amen to that,’ said the doctor.

‘May I see the boy? And my wife, of course.’

‘I rather think Lady Wellesley would be rather aggrieved if you didn’t.’ Dr Hoxter grinned. ‘Come along, sir.’

As the doctor turned towards the door Arthur looked to his brother with an awkward expression. ‘Do you mind?’

‘No.’ Richard grinned. ‘I have had more than my share of such events.You go ahead. I’ll leave now.’

Arthur nodded his thanks. ‘I’m sure we will speak soon.’

‘You can count on it. New fathers are inclined to be boorishly persistent in telling all and sundry about their status. I was no exception to that rule.’

Arthur said a quick farewell and followed the doctor upstairs to the master bedroom. As they entered he saw Kitty in their bed, propped up against several cushions as she rested from her exertions. Her hair was plastered to her scalp by perspiration and her skin was pallid and waxy in appearance. She smiled weakly at her husband.

‘Arthur. Dear Arthur. Come to me.’ She raised a hand and he saw it tremble with the effort as he strode across the room and sat down beside her, taking her fingers and giving them a gentle squeeze.

‘I hear that we have a son.’

Kitty smiled. ‘Yes.’

‘Where is he?’

‘The midwife is just cleaning him up,’ Dr Hoxter explained.

Arthur nodded and turned back to Kitty.‘And you, my dear, how do you feel?’

‘Tired.’ She smiled bleakly. ‘Very tired.’

Arthur leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Kitty, you have made me so proud. I have never felt so happy.’

‘I am glad,Arthur dear.’ She stared into his eyes and he felt her fingers tighten around his. ‘I so want to make you happy, my love.’

‘And you have.’ Arthur smiled back and felt a stab of guilt in his heart as he recalled the bitter disappointment of their wedding and the days, weeks and months that followed it. He took a deep breath and continued, ‘I could not have asked for a better wife.And mother to my child.’

The door to the adjoining bathroom clicked open and Dr Hoxter clapped his hands together. ‘Ah! Here’s the little fellow. Come to say hello to his father.’

Arthur turned and saw the midwife approaching the bed with a bundle in her arms. She laid the swaddled infant gently down beside Kitty and Arthur leaned forward for a better look at his son. The face was tiny, wrinkled and pink and the lips moved slightly. The eyes were shut and the hands were raised on either side of the head, each one half clenched and no bigger than a penny.

Arthur felt his heart swell with such emotion as he had never felt before. He had a strange impulse to cry and only just stifled it as he swallowed and spoke with a tremor. ‘May I hold him?’

The midwife looked across the bed. ‘Why, of course you can, Sir Arthur.The moment he has fed.’

‘Fed? But he’s only just been born. By God, is the boy determined to eat me out of house and home the instant he is brought into the world?’

The midwife leaned towards Kitty. ‘If you’d pick the child up, my lady, and offer him your breast.’

‘Breast?’ Kitty looked round, startled. ‘Offer him my breast?’

‘Why yes, my lady. Of course. How else is the young ’un to feed?’

‘Oh, yes. I see.’ Kitty looked up at Arthur and the doctor apprehensively. ‘Would you mind leaving the room? I would feel more comfortable.’

‘Yes,’Arthur replied awkwardly.‘Certainly, my dear.’ He turned to the doctor. ‘I imagine you could use refreshment, sir.’

‘Indeed I could!’ Dr Hoxter paced towards the door, then stopped abruptly and turned towards Arthur and Kitty. ‘Have you decided on names for the lad yet?’

Arthur nodded. ‘He is to be called Arthur Richard.’

‘Capital!’ Dr Hoxter rubbed his hands together. ‘Then let us go and toast the health and long life of Master Arthur Richard Wellesley.’

The child thrived well enough, in spite of Kitty’s misgivings that she would not be able to feed him adequately.The pregnancy had not been comfortable on her thin frame and the birth itself had taken the best part of a day before the baby was delivered. She remained in bed for several days to recover from the ordeal. Arthur would have spent more time with his wife and son but for the increasingly serious situation in Parliament.The government was besieged by opposition to some of its more progressive measures. In addition to the Catholic relief bill there was the vexed question of the abolition of the slave trade. The debates raged on through the remainder of February and into March. It was on the seventeenth day of that month, emerging from the chamber as dusk fell across London, that Arthur caught the first scent of a new crisis. Members and clerks were clustered about the hall talking in excited tones. Arthur crossed to the nearest group and nudged the elbow of a Tory member he recognised.