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.'
'I beg your pardon.'
'The awkward squad. That's what the vicereine calls us – the aides that is. Sorry, I'm being terribly rude. Comes from being a bit hungover.' He stood up and offered his hand to Arthur. 'Buck Whaley's the name.'
'Buck?'
'It's what they call me here,' he smiled.'My real name is simply too hideous to repeat. How do you do?'
'Fine, thanks. Rather better than most of the officers on the staff, I suspect.'
'You heard about last night then?' Whaley laughed out loud, then winced and clapped a hand to his forehead. 'Damn!'
'Does this sort of thing go on all the time?' asked Arthur.
'You can't imagine. I tell you, Wesley, this place is far more dangerous than being on active service. If the drink doesn't get you then the creditors will. We lost two aides last year.'
'Accidents?' Arthur ventured.
'No.They just drank themselves to death.We lost four aides in accidents.'
'Oh.'
The sound of shouting echoed down the corridor and Whaley nodded his head in that direction. 'There's the captain now. I imagine he's got a bit of a head on him so watch your step,Wesley.'
'Right. I'll see you later.'
Arthur hurried back to his chair and sat down.
A man burst in through the door at the end of the corridor, bellowing back over his shoulder, 'I don't care where he's got to, Sergeant! Just make sure that coffee is on my desk, piping hot, in less than ten minutes. If it's not I'll have you broken back to private and shovelling shit from the stables before the day is out. D'you hear?'
Grumbling, he stamped down the corridor towards Wesley. His jacket was hanging half open and with a curse he tried to button it up as he stamped along. Not an easy task since Captain Wilmott was exceedingly overweight and the waistband of his breeches cut into the rolls of fat beneath, straining buttons above and below what might
