Young bloods - Scarrow Simon. Страница 64

Schiller jabbed a finger towards him. 'Which is why you must be ready when the time comes. We will need men like you, who are prepared to kill and be killed to achieve our aims. Of course, the choice of which side you fight on will be yours. Old regime, or new order. I think you are no mindless drone, citizen.You are a thinker as well as a soldier, and once you've considered what I have said there can be only one logical outcome.'

Napoleon shook his head and rose from his seat. 'I'm sorry, Citizen Schiller. I cannot make that choice. Now, I must leave before I hear anything that might endanger you further.'

Duman slowly rose from his seat and eased himself off to the left, and Napoleon suddenly realised he might have taken a step too far. This was not a meeting one could leave without having signed up to the cause. He glanced at Duman, then turned back to Schiller.

'You have my word that I will breathe no word of tonight. My sympathies are not with the government, as you must know. But I can not make the choice you demand of me. I must leave.'

Schiller stared at him for a moment. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension and Napoleon felt afraid. He should have known better. He should have left Cardin's shop and never returned. It was too late for that now. His life was in the hands of the man at the end of the table. Schiller pursed his lips briefly before he spoke again. 'Very well. I trust you.You may go.'

Napoleon backed away towards the door, watched closely by everyone in the room.As he reached the door and turned to open it he fully expected a pistol shot, or a knife blade to crash home into his spine. But there was nothing, and he took his first step on to the stairs.

'Lieutenant Buona Parte,' Schiller called after him, 'one last thing. Old regime or new order. You will have to make that choice, sooner than you think.'

Napoleon gave a faint nod and turned to descend the stairs, not daring to look back as he heard Duman walk to the door behind him. The door was closed, throwing the narrow staircase into darkness.

When he returned to the Pays Normandie there was a letter under his door. For a second he thought it might be from Annabelle and his mind raced with images of her deserting her man to come to him. Then, as he pushed the door open, he saw that it was an official message. His name was inscribed in a fair round hand and the seal on the back bore the crest of the War Ministry. Napoleon closed the door behind him, took off his coat and hat and sat down at his table. There was just enough light from the night sky filtering through the window to see the candle and his tinderbox. He lit the candle and sat down to break the seal and open the letter. Inside there was a brief formal note from a clerk of the War Ministry.

The War Minister acknowledges receipt of your letter requesting a further extension to your leave. It is his opinion that your presence in Paris is proof of your return to full health, and ability to continue your service with the army of His Most Catholic Majesty. Therefore the request is denied. Furthermore, you are requested and required to return to your regiment at the earliest possible date, and no later than the start of March. Failure to comply with this instruction will imply a desire to cease holding the King's commission and you will be discharged from his service.

I am your obedient servant, J. Corbouton, secretary to the Minister.

'Shit…' Napoleon muttered as he set down the letter. There would be no chance to settle the claim for compensation now. Once he returned to duty the army would be certain not to let him take any more leave for years. And with that his family, back home in Corsica, faced the prospect of certain ruin.

Chapter 45

Ireland, 1788

A fall of snow the night before had given Dublin a clean and fresh appearance, and thick white mantles clung to the pitched roofs of the capital. Almost every house had a fire lit and smoke billowed from thousands of chimneys into the brown haze that covered the city. Arthur pulled up the collar of his greatcoat as he made his way up Eustace Street to the castle. He had rented a room from a bootmaker on Ormonde Quay, ten minutes' walk from the Cork Hill gate into the castle. It was still early enough that not many people were abroad. The snow had not yet turned to slush and crunched softly under his boots.

It was the middle of February and he had been in Dublin for over ten days, spending the first few with old friends of the family while he had found comfortable and affordable accommodation of his own. He was wearing his best uniform and hat to create what he hoped would be a pleasing impression. Arthur was well aware that his tall figure, light brown curls and elegant manner would complement the uniform perfectly.

As Arthur approached the Cork Hill gate a sentry stepped into his path and saluted. 'Good morning, sir. What is your business here?'

'I'm taking up a position as aide-de-camp at the castle.'

'Your name, sir?'

'Lieutenant Arthur Wesley.'

'Very well, sir. If you'd follow me…' The sentry turned away and marched through the gate leaving Arthur hurrying to keep up.They passed into the Great Courtyard and turned immediately towards the entrance to Bedford Tower.The sentry held the door open for him and then marched back to the gate. A sergeant rose from behind a desk.

'Sir, can I help?'

'I have an appointment to see Captain Wilmott at half-past eight.'

'Captain's not here yet, sir. I'll take you up to his office.You can wait there, sir.'

Arthur followed the sergeant up some stairs and through a door into a long corridor lit by a handful of skylights.There were offices on either side and many bore signs indicating that they belonged to other aides, but only a handful were occupied.

'I thought the court returned to the castle yesterday afternoon.'

'That's right, sir,' the sergeant nodded.'But the vicereine threw a party last night. Went on into the wee hours. I expect many of the young gentlemen are sleeping it off.'

'Including Captain Wilmott?'

The sergeant shrugged. 'I imagine so, sir. The captain likes his Tokay. Here we are, sir.' The sergeant indicated a row of chairs lining the end of the corridor. 'You can sit here. That's the captain's office directly opposite.'

Arthur nodded his thanks and the sergeant strode back down the corridor towards the staircase. Arthur unbuttoned his greatcoat and slipped it off his shoulders before he sat down, placing the coat on the chair next to him.Through the open door in the captain's office he could see through the window inside the fine views across the courtyard to the state apartments on the opposite side. He sat patiently for the first ten minutes, then crossed his legs and adjusted his seat and waited another ten.

After half an hour had passed and there was still no sign of Captain Wilmott, Arthur stood up, went back down the corridor and found an occupied office.The room was large and had a high ceiling. Long windows looked out over the roofs of Dublin towards the Liffey. There were two desks in the room and an officer in a red tunic sat behind one of them. Arthur tapped on the doorframe.The officer looked up from his desk where a book lay open.There was nothing else on the desk and, glancing round the office, Arthur saw that, apart from the furniture, there was little sign of paperwork or record books.

'Can I help you?' asked the officer, a lieutenant, like Arthur.

'Look, I'm supposed to have an appointment with Captain Wilmott. Half an hour ago. Do you have any idea where he's got to?'

'Who are you?'

'Arthur Wesley, just been appointed aide-de-camp.'

'Ah, another recruit to the awkward squad.'