Chapter 6
Ireland, 1773
Anne poured herself a fresh cup of tea and gazed out through the doors of the orangery to where her children were playing on the lawn. The two older boys, Richard and William, were once again commanding Anne and Arthur about as they arranged a collection of drying racks and sheets into the outline of a ship. A book on pirates had gone round the nursery, being avidly devoured by each child in turn, and for the last few weeks of the summer they had played nothing else. As ever, the quiet Arthur, now four years old, said little but did as he was bid and carried out his orders with focused intensity. Anne watched him with a keen sense of pity. He had developed a sensitive face. His nose had a faint downward curve and his eyes were a brilliant light blue, the whole fringed by long fair hair that wafted in the gentle breeze as he went about his work.
Anne raised her cup and sipped delicately from the rim. On the floor beside her slept her youngest son, Gerald, born a year after Arthur, and she was expecting yet another, who was to be named Henry, if it turned out to be a boy.
On the other side of the table Garrett sat with a folio of sheet music spread across the table. He was working on a new composition and every now and then he would raise his violin and pluck at the strings as he tried out a new arrangement. Then he would suddenly lower the instrument, snatch up a quill and start scribbling alterations to the notes marked on the staves.
Anne coughed lightly. 'Garrett, what do you think will become of him?'
'Eh?' Her husband grunted, frowning. He dipped his nib and irritably scratched out several notes.
'Arthur.'
Garrett glanced up, frowning. 'What about him?'
'Please lower that quill before we continue this conversation.'
'What? Oh, very well. There.' He sat back in his chair and clasped his hands together with a smile. 'I'm all yours.'
'Thank you. I was wondering what you thought about Arthur.'
'What I think of him?' Garrett turned to gaze at the children playing in the garden, as if he had only just realised they were there at all. 'Oh, he'll do well enough.'
'Really? And just what kind of future do you think he might have?'
'Oh, I don't know. Something in the clergy, I should think.'
'The clergy?'
'Yes. After all, he's displayed no signs of any intellectual mettle. Not like Richard and William. Even young Gerald there seems to have a more lively grasp of numbers and letters than Arthur.We'll do our best for him, of course, but I dare say he'll never go up to Oxford, or Cambridge.'
'Well, yes. Quite.'
Just then their conversation was interrupted by a piercing cry from the garden and their heads snapped round. Arthur had fallen to his knees and was clutching his head. A wooden sword lay on the ground beside him and William was staring at his younger brother angrily.
'Oh, for heaven's sake, Arthur! It was just a tap. Anyway, I told you to defend yourself.'
Garrett shook his head and glanced down at his music. Then he looked up again, struck by a sudden notion. 'Arthur! Come here, my boy.' As Arthur toddled in from the garden Garrett smiled. 'I think it's time you learned to play a musical instrument. And what better than the violin? Come here, child. Let me show you.'
As Anne watched, her husband carefully handed his full-size violin to the young boy, and named each string for him.Then he reached for the bow and began to play some notes. In a few minutes Arthur had forgotten about his sore head, and his bright eyes eagerly soaked up every detail of the instrument as he concentrated on his father's instructions. At length Garrett drew up a chair and let the boy sit down with the violin in his lap and Arthur sawed happily away in a series of blood-curdling screeches and scrapes. Gerald was duly disturbed from his sleep on the cushions and rose quickly, alarmed by the discordant noise.
Anne smiled. 'Time for supper, I think. Run along, boys. Arthur, put that down and get along to the kitchen. Your father and I will follow directly.'
'Yes, Mother.'
Garrett held out his hands for the instrument. 'Thank you. Do you want me to teach you how to play this instrument properly?'
The boy's eyes sparkled. 'Oh yes, Father! I should like that.'
Garrett laughed. 'Good. And one day we shall compose music together.'
Arthur smiled brilliantly, then hurried round the table to help his brother up from the cushions. The two of them walked towards the kitchen with stiff little steps, still holding hands. Both parents watched their progress and then turned to each other and smiled.
'A musician, I think,' said Garrett.
'God help us,' Anne muttered. 'Your charity concerts will be the ruin of us yet.'
'Shame on you! We can afford it. Besides, it's my Christian duty to spread culture to the less advantaged.'
'I'd have thought your first Christian duty was to the wellbeing of your family.'
'It is, my dear.' He stared at her intently. 'Now, we were talking about young Arthur. Seriously, though, I think he might be suited to a musical career.'
'How wonderful,' Anne replied with acid-laced irony.
'Yes, well… Meanwhile we must find him a school. I have one in mind.'
'Oh, yes?'
Garrett nodded. 'The Diocesian School at Trim.You know the place. St Mary's Abbey.'
Anne stared after her son. 'Do you think he's old enough?'
'My dear, if we don't start preparing him for life now, when will we begin? If he is not to fall behind the achievements of Richard and William we must work him hard.'
'You're right, of course. It's just that he seems so… vulnerable. I fear for him.'
'He'll do well enough,' Garrett said comfortingly.
Chapter 7
Corsica, 1775
'I won't go! I won't go!'
Letizia shook the boy by his shoulders.'You will, and there's an end to it! Now get dressed.'
Outside, the first light of day was picking out the details in the houses across the street. Letizia led her son to the clothes laid out on his bed and pointed to them. 'Now!'
'No!' Naboleone shouted back and crossed his arms. 'I won't go!'
'You will.' Letizia slapped his cheek. 'You are going to school, my boy, and you will get dressed. You will come and eat your breakfast, and you will behave impeccably when you are introduced to the abbot. Or you will have the thrashing of your life. Do I make myself clear?'
Her son frowned at her, eyes blazing with defiance. Letizia crossed herself. 'Mary, Mother of God, give me patience. Why can't you be more like your brother there?' She nodded across the room to where Giuseppe was just tying his bootlaces. His clothes were neat and clean, and his hair gleamed from a fresh brushing.
'Him?' Naboleone laughed. 'Don't make me laugh, Mother. Who would want to be like him? The big sissy.'
Letizia slapped him again, much harder this time, leaving an imprint of her slender fingers on his cheek. 'Don't you dare talk that way about your brother.' She pointed to the clothes again. 'Now get dressed. If you're not ready by the time I come back you'll have hard bread for supper tonight.'
She stormed out of the room and made for the kitchen, where Lucien – her new child – was bawling for more food.
For a moment Naboleone stood quite still, arms folded, and glared at his clothes. On the other side of the room Giuseppe finished tying his laces and stood by his bed, gazing at his younger brother.
'Why do you do it, Naboleone?' he said softly.
