Young bloods - Scarrow Simon (библиотека электронных книг txt) 📗

The shouts and thuds from inside the house were punctuated by loud crashes as the men looking for him began to search for loot. But now there were more voices in the street, rushing to join the hunt for the man who had denounced Paoli. Leading the horse as quickly as they could go Napoleon headed into the tangled streets of the old town before heading east to find a quiet lane leading out of Ajaccio.

The sounds of his pursuers slowly faded behind him. Once, close to the edge of town he had to wait in the shadows as a party of men clattered past the end of the street, armed with muskets and swords, some in the uniform of the volunteer battalion. Only a few weeks before they had been fighting alongside him in the assault on the fort at Maddelena; now they were his enemies.

When they had passed by, and their footsteps had faded, Napoleon continued towards the fringe of town. There, a track curved up through the olive trees towards the main route heading north along the base of the mountains. Napoleon continued on foot until he was some distance from the last building and then mounted the horse. There was just enough light to see the track, and with a click of his tongue he urged the horse forward. The trees on either side blocked the view of the town and it was not until the track reached the crest of a hill that Napoleon was able to rein in, and gaze back at Ajaccio. The black bulk of the citadel loomed over the dense mass of town houses, illuminated here and there by lanterns and lights visible in windows. The delicate tracery of masts and rigging were just discernible in the harbour, beyond which the sea was a dark grey sheen stretching out towards the horizon. Above, the stars looked down on the scene in pinpoints of unblinking brilliance.

Napoleon felt a sudden, exhausting sadness overwhelm him. This had been his home. Even through all the years he had spent in France, he had carried Ajaccio, and Corsica, in his heart. He had been certain that he was destined to achieve something lasting here on this island. Now all that was gone. The house, whose every stone and nook and cranny were as familiar to him as his own body. The wharf where he had played as a child and listened to the tall stories of fishermen and sailors. The citadel where he had befriended the soldiers of the garrison, and later tried to seize it from them. All the places and people he had grown up with, all of that was lost to him.

'What now?' he asked softly and the horse's long ears twitched at the sound. Napoleon leaned forward to give his mount a gentle reassuring pat on the neck. 'Easy there.'

Now? Now there was nothing but making his escape from this place. A long, hard ride to Calvi to join the rest of his family, and then they would take the first ship to France. The Buona Partes would arrive refugees, in a strange land torn by revolution, war and insurrection. No matter what fate had in store for them, one thing was certain, Napoleon reflected. All his ambitions for Corsica were a thing of the past. From now on, whether he liked it or not, his destiny was irrevocably bound to that of France.

Chapter 70

Dublin, 1791

One morning in March, nearly a year after he had begun his campaign to win the seat for Trim, Arthur was wandering down Connaught Street, moving from shop window to shop window as he looked for a pair of riding boots. In the afternoon he had an appointment with the family's land agent, John Page, and Arthur hoped to have a quiet lunch in the dining room at Carlton's, where the windows looked directly on to the Liffey, and the distant roofs and towers of Dublin Castle rose up above the buildings on the opposite bank. His meetings with Page were never enjoyable since Arthur had little interest in the financial details of the family's holdings. More aggravating still was the fact that he owed the man thirty guineas from two years before and Page rarely passed up the chance to remind Arthur of the debt, in a manner of finely honed deference. Now, to cap it all, Arthur had need of more money, to pay off an outstanding mess bill and to purchase a new pair of riding boots. Page was the best source of a small loan since the only interest he charged was the pained look of disapproval he affected when discussing Arthur's financial situation.

So ran Arthur's thoughts as he gazed into the bay window of one of the gentlemen's shoemakers. Before him stood a fine pair of boots, the dark brown leather gleaming like varnished wood. He imagined himself arriving at the hunt on Sunday in those boots and drawing admiring glances. But were they really worth twelve guineas? He stood back a few paces into the street to see how the boots looked from a less intimate distance and once again pondered the justification for such an expensive luxury.

'Why don't you just go in there and try them on?'

Arthur started, and turned towards the voice. Standing a short distance away Kitty Pakenham laughed at his surprised expression. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump.'

Arthur blushed and struggled to recover his composure, quite unsure of how to react to the sudden discovery of Kitty smiling at him in the middle of a Dublin street.

'Ah, hmm,' he managed, and then bowed his head formally. 'Miss Pakenham, a pleasure to see you again.'

'You make it sound like we have not attended the same party for months on end. Why it was only last Tuesday that we conversed over a light supper at Lady Tremayne's soiree. Am I so forgettable that you do not recall the event, Mr Wesley?'

'Forgettable? No, ma'am. Not at all. I think of you all the time. I…' Arthur frowned. 'Forgive me, what I meant to say was-'

'That you think of me none of the time?' Kitty teased. 'Oh, pardon me. That doesn't sound terribly grammatical. Or syntactical. ' She waved her hand dismissively. 'Whatever the dreadful expression might be, it doesn't sound it. Oh dear. Nor did that.'

Arthur laughed, and after a moment Kitty joined him.

Once they had recovered from their amusement Arthur smiled and said, 'Shall we start again, Miss Pakenham?'

'Yes. And let's begin by calling me Kitty. Otherwise I shall think that you really don't like me at all.'

'Very well, Kitty it is.' Arthur relished the sound as his tongue moved from his palate and its tip pressed against the back of his teeth. Kitty. Here in the street and all to himself. He felt his heart lift as he realised this was the very opportunity that he had been waiting for. Then there was a rush of anxiety as he feared that he was not ready for it and that he might make a complete mess of this chance – surely his only chance – to make a favourable impression. Already he had let slip that she was on his mind and he cringed at having exposed his true feelings so clumsily. He must guard against that in future. Looking into her clear eyes, he continued, 'And you must call me, Arthur. Well, that is, I'd like you to call me Arthur, if that's not an imposition?'

'It would be a pleasure to be on first-name terms after all this time. Do you remember that picnic where we first met?'

'Of course.'

'That was nearly two years ago. I thought you a terribly dashing young soldier then.'

'Then?'

'Of course. Now you are more mature.' She swept an appraising glance over him. 'Quite the gentleman, and a member of parliament as well. Why, you are almost respectable, Arthur. The only thing missing is that fine pair of boots you were admiring in the window. Shall we go inside and have a proper look at them?'

'Miss – Kitty, I wouldn't presume to-'

But she had already swept past him, and was standing by the door of the shoemaker's, waiting for him to open the door for her. Arthur hurried over, opened the door and stood to one side as she swept past, her skirts rustling as she entered the establishment. One of the staff immediately hurried out from behind the counter and bowed to the two customers.