Arthur received reports of soldiers and loyalists who had simply disappeared. Once in a while a body might turn up in a bog, or weighted down in a river, too badly decomposed to be identified.
After two weeks spent mostly in his carriage, closely confined with Stoper,Arthur finally gave the order to return to Dublin.As they rumbled along a rutted lane, Arthur stared out of the window at the passing fields, seeing the bent backs of Irish peasants as they laboured at their crops, or made improvements to their lands or rude cottages and shacks.
‘The danger to our interests here does not come from France,’ Arthur mused.
Stoper looked up sharply, having been trying his best to sleep as the carriage bumped along the crude track.
‘Sorry, sir. What did you say?’
‘I was just thinking. Following Trafalgar I doubt whether Bonaparte would consider another attempt at landing a force here in Ireland. He could never amass enough transports to carry the number of men necessary to guarantee the conquest of Ireland.’
‘No, sir. I suppose not.’
‘In which case the danger comes not from without but within.’ Arthur nodded towards the peasants in the field they were passing. A family of perhaps a dozen were busy seeding the tilled soil: a father, mother and children, some barely old enough to walk, let alone work. An infant was tucked in a sling round the mother’s chest. ‘As long as they endure such conditions, they will hold England responsible. Every time a child dies for want of a decent meal, they will blame England.’
Stoper nodded. ‘And it would be hard to blame them for doing so, sir. Not while they feel themselves to be oppressed.’
‘That may be true,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘Yet, whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation, one thing is certain. Britain cannot dismiss the threat posed by the prospect of an independent Ireland.The French would be interfering here in a trice, landing guns, equipment and men and encircling Britain in an iron fist so that Bonaparte need only clench it to crush us.That cannot be allowed to happen.
‘The trick of it is to instil an innate sense of superiority in those appointed to control Ireland, right down to the last soldier in every garrison. At the same time the people must be made to accept the superiority of Britain. They must believe it so that they shrink from taking action against our rule.’
‘Our rule?’ Stoper repeated the phrase thoughtfully. ‘You already speak as if we were two different peoples and not one.’
‘Yes,’ Arthur replied sadly. ‘That is so. It strikes at my heart to say it, Stoper, but we need to be cruel and heartless long before we can afford to make any kind of move towards relieving the burdens of the people of Ireland. We can only make concessions from a position of strength, or else open the doors to a flood of cries for reform. That would be a flood we could not control. So, for now, there is nothing I can do, save encourage the security of the state by whatever means are necessary.’
Stoper stared at his superior for a while before he pursed his lips. ‘If you say so, sir.’
It was long after dark when the carriage returned to the lodge at Phoenix Park. The driver wearily unloaded Arthur’s baggage as the Chief Secretary stepped down from the carriage and dismissed the dragoon escort before turning to his senior clerk.
‘You have the notes, Stoper. I want a report on our findings before the end of the week so that I can present them to his grace.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now then, you may take my carriage to convey you home. I expect to see you in my office before eight in the morning. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
As the carriage rattled off, Arthur climbed the steps to the house and rapped on the door. For a moment there was silence, then he heard the rapid patter of approaching feet and an instant later the door was opened. A footman peered cautiously round the jamb, holding a lantern up to inspect the late-night caller. He relaxed when he recognised Arthur.
‘Thank God it’s you, sir.’
‘Why, who else were you expecting? Now see to my baggage.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The footman’s face resumed its fretful expression and he glanced past Arthur into the drive until Arthur snapped at him. ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’
‘My apologies, sir, but we are expecting the physician at any moment.’
‘What?’ Arthur felt a stab of fear and anxiety. ‘What has happened, man? Tell me.’
‘It’s young Arthur, sir. He’s fallen ill.’
‘Ill?’ Arthur felt his stomach clench. ‘Out of my way.’
He ran up the steps and into the house. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced to the first floor and along the corridor towards the bedrooms, the sound of his boots echoing off the walls. A door opened at the end of the corridor and Kitty emerged from the baby’s room. By the dim light of the candle burning in a bracket outside the door Arthur could see that she had been crying and even in the warm glow of the flame she looked ashen. Arthur’s footsteps faltered as he approached and a sick certainty that their son was dying struck him like a blow to the whole body.
‘By God, Kitty, what has happened?’
‘Our son is stricken,’ she replied softly, her lips trembling.
Arthur took her hands and squeezed them, before leading her back into the room. A nurse was leaning over the crib and dabbing at the child’s face with a damp cloth.The baby stirred and moaned pitifully for a moment before
