Chapter 30
‘Ah! I see that you have a musician in the
family,’ Monsieur Goubert smiled, as he caught sight of a violin
case amongst the bags being unloaded from the carriage.There were
several valises, a collection of hatboxes, a chest of toiletries,
some boxes of books and sheet music piled in front of the door of
the lawyer’s house. It was an imposing residence, a short distance
from the centre of Brussels, and for several years Monsieur Louis
Goubert had let suites of rooms to foreigners attracted by the
reasonable cost of rent and amenities in Brussels. Most of his
tenants were down-at-heel aristocrats looking for somewhere more
affordable to live while keeping up the appearance of being from
the finest families in Europe. As a result Brussels had become a
far more interesting place in recent years and Monsieur Goubert
welcomed the arrival of socialites into the city, whose lustre
might just rub off on him and his wife. Socialites like this
English lady, and her young son.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Lady Mornington regarded the violin
case. ‘My boy Arthur does occasionally like to strum the
instrument.’
Arthur winced at the gibe, but kept his mouth shut
and forced himself to smile.There was no point in rising to the
bait. Since he had left Eton and come to live with her, Arthur had
learned the rules of the game quickly enough. If the whim took her,
his mother could become extremely cutting and sarcastic to enemy,
friend and family alike. If one took offence then she would accuse
her victim of being too sensitive and lacking in humour. If the
target of her spite chose to respond in kind, she would become
hurt, and burst into tears. And, as Arthur had quickly discovered,
there would follow a long tirade about filial ingratitude and the
suffering of a widow left in reduced circumstances by a
spend-thrift husband and a useless fiddler for a son. Arthur found
such accusations particularly painful and therefore did his best to
avoid provoking his mother.
Monsieur Goubert turned to the boy. ‘Well, I must
say, it would be a pleasure to hear you perform, sir. Indeed, there
is in my house another boy your own age who professes to like
music. The Honourable John Armitage. I must introduce you to him as
soon as you have settled in.’
‘Please do,’ said Lady Mornington. ‘It would be
good for Arthur to make some friends. God knows, he has few
enough.’
‘Aha!’ Monsieur Goubert laughed, and slapped his
chest. ‘The robust English humour!’
Anne frowned. ‘What do you mean, humour?’
‘I, er, thought that Your Ladyship . . .’The lawyer
wilted under her gaze and turned back to Arthur. ‘Later then, if
you wish.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Arthur bowed his head. ‘I would
be most grateful for the introduction.’
‘Good.’ Monsieur Goubert smiled. ‘Now I must be off
to work. I trust you will settle in well.’
‘We will do our best,’ Anne replied. ‘The house
looks to be in a decent state of repair, and I trust we will find
the accommodation as described.’
‘I’m sure you will be most comfortable, my lady.’
Monsieur Goubert raised his hat. ‘Until later.’
He waddled down the steps and then walked up the
street with a stiff rolling gait.
He seems a nice enough man,’ said Arthur, with a
quick glance towards his mother, ‘for a landlord.’
‘Quite.’ Anne turned and looked up at the façade of
the lawyer’s house. ‘To think that we once had a bigger house than
this in Dublin, and a better house in London.’
‘Mother, things have changed,’ Arthur said gently.
‘We cannot expect to retain a style of living that is beyond our
purse. Our fortunes will change one day, you’ll see.’
‘Ha! And pigs might fly.’ She turned to the men
unloading the carriage and ordered them, in French, to take the
luggage up at once. Then she took her son’s arm. ‘Come, Arthur,
let’s go inside and inspect our little bolt hole.’
The suite of rooms that she had taken were on the
second floor and comprised an entrance hall, two bedrooms, a
parlour and a study. There was a bathroom at the end of the landing
that was shared with the occupants of the other suite on the second
floor - a Norwegian merchant and his family.The rooms were all of a
decent size and comfortably, but not expensively, furnished. Even
so, Arthur watched his mother make her way round, running her
gloved fingers over the fittings and occasionally prodding the
upholstery, until she finally shrugged and turned to him.
‘It will do, for now.’
Lady Mornington did her best to settle into Brussels society as swiftly as possible.Within days of their arrival she and Arthur were invited to a ball at the Chambre de Palais, a formal affair of silk gowns, glittering jewellery and military decorations. As his mother launched herself into the corner of the room taken over by Brussels’ English contingent, Arthur climbed up to the gallery that ran along the sides of the ballroom and, leaning against the pillar, he gazed down at the hundreds of guests milling around below. The loud warbling of conversation was pierced here and there by the shrill laughter of women but he could not pick out a word of what was being said. He idly wondered if there was indeed anything being said - anything worth listening to, at least. He spotted his mother, engaged in animated discussion with an army officer. The latter stood tall and aloof, in shiny black boots that reached up to his knees and ended in a golden tassel. He was a tall, slender man with cropped, curly brown hair above a thin face dominated by a long prominent nose.
With a shock, Arthur realised that this was how he
might look in years to come. He watched the man with a growing
sense of fascination and saw how he conversed with another man in a
constrained and dignified manner that gave no hint of the inner
workings of his thoughts and emotions. Even though his scarlet
uniform with its white facings and gold lace made him stand out in
the crowd, the fact that he did not wear a powdered wig, unlike
most of the other men present, made him seem unaffected and somehow
more impressive. A striking figure indeed. The officer seemed to be
listening intently to Arthur’s mother and with a twinge of
embarrassment he saw that she was starting to flirt with the man.
Right there, in front of everyone.
Arthur’s attention was drawn to some motion on the
far side of the ballroom. The musicians started to take up their
positions. As the musicians took their instruments out of their
cases and began to tune the strings and resin their bows, the
orchestra leader distributed the sheet music. It was a small
orchestra for an event this size, and reflected the less affluent
nature of Brussels’ social circles.
At length the orchestra appeared to be ready and
the conductor stepped up to them, baton tapping the side of his
thigh impatiently. Then Arthur noticed that one of the two seats in
the violin section was empty. The conductor glanced round the
ballroom with a furious expression until his eyes fixed in the
direction of the discreet servants’ door in one corner. Following
the direction of his glare Arthur saw a man, clutching a violin
case, staggering through the door, along the wall and up the
staircase. It was clear he was either very ill, or very drunk, and
he nearly toppled backwards down the stairs at one point before a
desperately windmilling arm steadied his balance and he stumbled up
the remaining steps into the gallery.
His antics had drawn the attention of some of the
guests and they roared with laughter as the man stumbled along the
gallery, waved his apologies to the conductor, caught his violin
case between his legs and tumbled headlong, smashing his head
against a pillar and passing out. Arthur joined in with the
laughter as he watched the conductor place his hands on his hips
with disgust as he prodded the unconscious man with his shoe. Then
he turned back to the orchestra and called them to order. The
remaining violinist shook his head in protest and indicated his
unconscious companion.
As the dispute escalated into a seething row,
Arthur felt light-headed as a thought struck him. It was a mere
fancy, he chided himself. Then he looked down into the ballroom and
sensed the growing impatience amongst those who had moved on to the
dance floor.
Arthur took a deep breath, stood away from the
pillar he had been leaning against and started walking round the
gallery towards the orchestra. He knew he was being foolish, that
there was every chance he would be refused, or that if they did let
him replace the unconscious violinist he would be made to appear a
rank amateur. But weighing against this was the thought that he
might just carry it off. He might actually achieve something he
could be proud of, and more importantly that his mother could be
proud of. So he forced himself to continue towards the orchestra,
grouped around the still form of the violinist.
As the conductor sensed his approach he turned
towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. ‘I am sorry, sir, but we are
a little preoccupied right now.’
‘Perhaps I can help,’ Arthur replied in French. He
indicated the man on the ground as the stench of brandy reached his
nose. ‘I can take his place.’
‘You?’ The conductor smiled. ‘Thank you for the
offer, but I think we have enough of a problem already.’
‘I’m not playing alone,’ the surviving violinist
said firmly.
The conductor whipped round and stabbed towards the
man with his baton. ‘You’ll play, damn you!’
‘No.’
‘Gentlemen!’ Arthur stepped between them with
raised hands. ‘Gentlemen, please. You have an audience waiting for
you. An increasingly impatient audience . . .’
The conductor peered over the balcony and noted the
unambiguous expressions below on the floor of the ballroom. He
turned back to Arthur. ‘So you can play the violin. How
well?’
‘Well enough for your needs.’
‘Really?’ the conductor asked. ‘Dances?’
‘I can manage that, sir.’
The conductor considered the offer for a moment and
then slapped his thigh in frustration. ‘Oh, very well! I’ve got
nothing to lose except tonight’s fee, and perhaps my reputation.’
He nodded towards the drunk. ‘You can take his instrument.’
With a quick smile Arthur leaned down, grabbed the
violin case and undid the catches. Inside the varnished instrument
gleamed. He took it out, and under the watchful eye of the
conductor, he plucked each string to check for tuning and made a
minor adjustment to E before he tucked it between chin and
shoulder, slid his left hand down towards the nut, flexed his
fingers and raised the bow. ‘Ready.’
‘All right then.Take a seat.We’ll start with
something slow and simple. Here.’ He slipped some sheet music on
Arthur’s music stand. ‘Know this one?’
Arthur glanced over the notation: a gavotte by
Rameau. ‘Yes, sir. I’ve played it before. I’ll keep up.’
‘I hope so,’ the conductor muttered. ‘For all our
sakes.’
The conductor called his orchestra to attention,
indicated the beat and began. It was a short piece, intended to do
little more than signal that the dancing was about to begin, and
offer the audience a chance to ease themselves into a
straightforward series of steps. Arthur knew the piece well enough
to keep up with the other musicians, and when it came to an end the
conductor nodded to him. ‘Well done, sir. Are you ready for
something a little more pacy?’
Arthur nodded and the conductor moved on to the
next dance on the programme. As the next piece began Arthur found
that he felt happier than he had been at any time since his father
died. The familiar feel of the instrument and the pleasure he
derived from playing it meant that he played as a fully integrated
part of the orchestra. When he looked up at the conductor and
received a nod of acknowledgement that he was performing well
Arthur smiled and continued with a growing sense of delight. Dance
followed dance, and down on the floor of the ballroom the finely
dressed audience moved with a synchronised grace. The hours passed
with a short break halfway through the programme, when Arthur
shared some bottles of wine with the other members of the orchestra
and basked in their appreciation of his talent.
When the final piece came to an end the conductor
turned to the audience and they applauded loudly. As the last
echoes of the clapping subsided he raised a hand to attract their
attention.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, my orchestra and I thank you
most humbly for your appreciation, but before the evening is
concluded I wish to draw attention to one amongst us in
particular.’ He turned and indicated to Arthur that he should stand
up. For an instant Arthur was too embarrassed to respond, then as
the conductor beckoned to him again, Arthur rose hesitantly to his
feet.
‘We were indeed fortunate to have this young
gentleman in the audience tonight,’ the conductor explained. ‘With
the, er, sudden incapacitation of one of my violinists, this young
man offered his services. While I admit that I had my doubts, and
was reluctant to accept his offer of help, it soon became quite
clear that he is an accomplished violin player. Ladies and
Gentlemen, please join me in expressing our gratitude to . . .’ He
turned quickly to Arthur and whispered, ‘By God! I never asked your
name.’
‘Arthur Wesley, sir.’
The conductor swept his arm out to indicate the boy
and announced. ‘I give you, Arthur Wesley.’
The audience applauded and Arthur blushed as he
acknowledged their appreciation.
Then there was a sharp cry of surprise from the
floor of the ballroom. ‘Arthur? My Arthur?’
Looking down,Arthur caught sight of his mother,
still standing next to the army officer. She looked furious, but as
she became aware of the people smiling around her, she nodded to
her son and beamed, like any parent basking in the reflected glory
of a child’s public achievement. Arthur felt his heart surge with
pride and waved back to her.Then he placed the violin on his chair
and after a round of handshaking with the rest of the orchestra,
and much slapping of his back, he quit the gallery and descended to
the floor of the ballroom. Passing through the crowd he
acknowledged the odd comment of praise or gratitude, until he
joined Lady Mornington.
She smiled at him and, embracing him by the
shoulders, whispered close to his ear, ‘Oh, well done, Arthur! I
imagine that everyone thinks we’re the kind of family that has to
sing for our supper. I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.’
She drew back from him with a frigid smile. He
stared at her with a hurt and surprised expression that contrasted
sharply with her look. Before Arthur could respond, the army
officer stepped forward and grasped his hand.
‘Well done, Wesley. That was brave of you. Not many
boys of your age could have been cool-headed enough to carry that
off.’
‘Brave?’
‘Yes.’The army officer was about to continue when
he stopped himself with a self-deprecating smile. ‘My profound
apologies, I haven’t introduced myself to you. Forgive me.’ He
raised his hand and grasped Arthur’s hand firmly. ‘Colonel William
Ross. I’m an attaché at the embassy. Delighted to make your
acquaintance.’
‘As am I, sir.’ Arthur bowed his head.
‘Fine piece of work, lad. No wonder your mother’s
so obviously proud of you.’
‘Oh, fie!’ Anne feigned embarrassment. ‘Colonel,
you’re making me blush!’
‘Lady Mornington has told me all about you.’
‘Has she, indeed?’
‘Yes, my boy. Seems that you have no thoughts about
a career at present.’
‘That is true, sir. I am trying to improve my
French while we are in Brussels, but beyond that I have only my
music.’
‘You have a rare talent for the violin, Wesley.
That’s clear enough, but I think that you will find that is not
enough for someone of your background.’ He leaned forward a
fraction to fix Arthur with his piercing blue eyes.‘And, I suspect
that, despite the pleasure you obviously derive from your musical
skills, you crave something a little more exciting, eh?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Arthur replied politely, even though he
was not sure that he did really want to do anything more exciting
than devote himself to his violin playing. But, as he stood in
front of Colonel Ross, he drank in the fine style of the man and
again felt that he would like to exude the same self-confidence by
the time he reached a similar age.
As if reading Arthur’s mind, the colonel smiled at
him and spoke lightly. ‘Ever considered a career in the
army?’
‘The army? No, sir. Not yet, at least.’
‘Perhaps you should. Lady Mornington has explained
that you are a younger son. I know from personal experience the
burden of not having first call on the inheritance. The younger
sons of aristocrats have a choice of drinking themselves to death,
becoming priests or joining the army, or all three if they are
gluttons for punishment, although not in that precise order, of
course.’ He laughed lightly, and Arthur laughed with him, before
Colonel Ross continued,‘I can’t see you as a drunk or a priest so
the army looks like the safest option.Your mother is of the same
opinion.’
‘Yes. She is good at making decisions for others,’
Arthur said evenly.
Anne ignored her son’s ironic tone. ‘It’s worth
considering, Arthur. Richard’ - she turned to the colonel to
explain - ‘that is my eldest son, the Earl of Mornington.’ She
turned back to Arthur. ‘He should have some useful connections who
can help find a position for you in the army. I’ll write to him
soon and see what he can do.’
‘And if the Earl is unable to assist, then I should
be only too happy to help,’ the colonel added graciously.
‘You are very kind, sir,’ Arthur replied. The
conversation was slipping out of his control. If he did not attempt
to curb the direction it was taking his mother would have him in
uniform and posted to some God-awful part of the world before the
month was up. ‘A career in the army might well be the best thing
for me, but one should always consider choices carefully.’
‘Indeed,’ the colonel acknowledged. ‘Spoken like a
true soldier! Perhaps the best solution might be to spend some time
at a military school. Get the feel for the military way of life,
without being committed in any way. How does that sound?’
‘Military school?’ Anne sounded wary. ‘Is that
expensive?’
‘No more so than any other kind of school.’
‘Oh, I see.’
The colonel immediately sensed the delicacy of the
situation. ‘Of course, most students only attend such schools for a
short period of time, no more than a year, I should think, and the
fees vary a great deal.There are some bargains to be had in France,
for example. If you like, Lady Mornington, I’ll talk to some of my
army contacts at the other embassies and see if they know of any
likely spots for your son.’
Arthur’s mother smiled. ‘I’d be most grateful.
Thank you.’
‘Now, my lady, I’m afraid that I must leave
you.’
Anne placed a hand on his sleeve. ‘Surely you’re
not ending such a fine evening at this early hour?’
‘Indeed I am not, my lady. I have an engagement
with some other officers at a club, and I regret to say I am
already late to that appointment, thanks to your engaging
conversation.’
She smiled. ‘I can imagine that your excellent
company will be missed, and I have been selfish. Perhaps, on
another occasion . . .’
He nodded.‘There is a ball at the Prussian Embassy
later in the month. I’ll have an invitation sent to your lodgings.
Might I enquire where—’
‘We have rooms at Monsieur Goubert’s house on Rue
de Poincon.’
‘Rue de Poincon. Very well, I shall make
arrangements.’ He bowed.‘Good night, my lady.And I’m sure I’ll see
you again soon, Arthur.’
‘Yes, sir. I hope so.’
As soon as the colonel was out of earshot Anne
turned on her son.While keeping her face devoid of expression, she
lowered her voice and spoke in an angry undertone. ‘Just what did
you think you were doing?’
‘Mother?’ Arthur shrugged. ‘I don’t
understand.’
‘Don’t play the fool with me. Other people might
think you’re a simpleton, but I know you better.What was the
meaning of that shameful display up there in the gallery?’
‘They were a man short. I could fill his place on
the violin so I thought I’d help out.’
‘You thought you’d help out . . .’ she mimicked him
spitefully. ‘I see. So the next time someone’s horse goes lame,
you’ll just pop yourself into its harness and just help out, I
suppose?’
‘Mother, you’re not being fair.’
‘No,’ she snapped back at him, ‘it’s you who isn’t
being fair. I brought you to Brussels to improve your French. God
knows, you’ve learned nothing else for the last few years. And I
thought we were supposed to be spending some more time together.
First chance you got this evening, and off you went. Abandoning
your poor mother in the crowd.’
‘You didn’t seem that abandoned to me.’
‘Don’t be insolent.’ She stared at him a moment and
then continued in a hurt tone, ‘I’d just like to have known where
you had got to. That’s all, Arthur. It would have been the
considerate thing to do.’
Following his impromptu performance at the Chambre de Palais, Arthur and his mother were invited to many more social events. He adjusted to the attention he was paid very quickly and soon had a ready tongue for light conversation, and an easy, almost charming manner. Anne was surprised to discover that her son actually impressed other people, to the point where it was clear that a section of Brussels society preferred his company to hers. Even though, she consoled herself, he was hardly good-looking.
Colonel Ross made enquiries about the most
reputable military schools in Europe, steering a fine line between
quality and affordability. In the end he recommended the
institution of an old friend of his family, Marcel de Pignerolle.
The Royal Academy of Equitation at Angers, despite the name, was no
mere riding school, and offered a wide curriculum covering maths,
the humanities and swordplay. The clientele was sufficiently
exclusive to impress Lady Mornington and the reasonable fees would
be much to her taste as well. A perfect combination for Arthur
Wesley. Shortly before Christmas Anne announced that she had
enrolled Arthur at the Academy in Angers. He would begin his
training there in January. She would be returning to England.
Brussels, she announced, was too small and too provincial to
sustain her interest a moment longer. Besides, she was missing her
family.
Arthur listened to all this with the same sad empty
feeling that he had felt at Eton. He was being abandoned again.This
time, he resolved, he was not going to grieve in the ill-humoured
manner that he had adopted at Eton.Then he had hoped that if he
seemed to be suffering enough he would provoke some guilt in his
mother and she would give him the affection he deserved, and
craved. But now, he concluded, it was quite clear how limited her
affection for her third son was. In turn, he owed her nothing.
Besides, he was on the cusp of a great change in his life. He could
sense it. For the first time in his life Arthur could see a way
ahead. No longer was music the only purpose in his life. He would
dance to a different tune: the deep rolling drumbeat of the army
and the shrill call of trumpets.
In January he would travel to Angers and begin his
life as a soldier.