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‘What the devil is he doing?’ Arthur muttered.
‘Do you wish me to go and see, your grace?’ asked Somerset.
‘By all means. Tell the fellow to clear the way and let us through.’
Somerset nodded, and opened the carriage door. Immediately there was a deafening cheer from outside, which swiftly fell away as Somerset looked up and the people could see that it was not their hero. He stepped down on to the road, shutting the door behind him. ‘Let me through! Out of my way there!’
Arthur settled back into his seat and stared at the rear of the carriage, ignoring the faces pressed round the small windows of each door. Outside he heard a voice calling out above the din of the crowd.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, we don’t mean no ’arm. Me and these others are just wantin’ ter drag ’is grace’s carriage to ’is ’ome. Back to the arms of ’is good lady wife.’
Arthur hissed a sigh. This was the traditional way that the mob paid their respects to English heroes. They had done it for Pitt and Nelson, and now him. Five years earlier, during the Cintra inquiry, they had been bellowing for his head. He had no wish to humour their fickle mood. Besides, the spectacle of being dragged through London by this baying mob would be demeaning. As Somerset attempted to reason with the man, Arthur slapped his hand down on his thigh.
‘Damn it!’ he growled. ‘I’ll not stand for it.’
He rose from his seat and opened the door, dropping quickly to the ground. Those closest to him were stu
‘I need your horse.’
‘Your grace?’ The rider looked at him in surprise.
‘Be so good as to dismount,’ Arthur said evenly.‘I require your horse. I shall ensure that it is returned to you when I have finished with it.’
As soon as the man had slid down, Arthur climbed into the saddle and quickly took the reins. The nearest people in the crowd looked on curiously, while up ahead others continued to unharness the carriage, oblivious of what was going on behind it.
‘The escort can return to barracks,’ Arthur instructed the sergeant commanding the six men. He had no wish to attract undue attention as he made his way through London to the house in Hamilton Place. As the sergeant saluted, Arthur turned the horse towards a side street and waved his hand.
‘Make way!’
The horse clopped forward, and the crowd parted. Arthur trotted into a side street lined with small shops. Many of the windows were decorated with coloured ribbons and several had crude prints of a soldier whose uniform was gaudily hung with medals and stars. With a mental wince Arthur realised that these were depictions of him and he gave thanks that he was dressed in his blue coat. Doing his best to avoid the eyes of anyone he passed,Arthur followed the street and then turned right towards the Thames and emerged on to the embankment. Glancing downriver towards Westminster Bridge, he could see that the bridge and the approaches to it were packed with people, so he turned away to find another crossing.
It felt strange to be back in England again, after four years of campaigning in foreign lands. For almost all that time his companions had been soldiers. Now he was surrounded by civilians who had carried on with their lives largely untouched by the war that had been fought on the sea and over foreign lands, Arthur was not sure which felt more unreal, the world he had just emerged from, or the one into which he was returning.
He passed by familiar, and yet somehow not familiar, landmarks with a growing sense of trepidation as he entered Piccadilly. His heart began to beat faster, and he slowed his horse as he approached the entrance to Hamilton Place. There he stopped, looking down the houses lining the wide street towards the door where Kitty and his children awaited him. The news of his return to England would surely have reached them by now and Arthur wondered if they were sitting inside, watching the street for the first sign of him. He edged his mount over to the corner, to keep out of sight.
What was holding him back, he wondered. It was almost as if he dared not continue. For a moment he was tempted to ride on, and report his return to Horseguards, and perhaps visit Richard. Anything but face Kitty and two sons he barely knew.
‘Damned fool!’ he muttered to himself. This was how wars ended. No man could or should fight for his entire life. War was a necessary evil, as Arthur had frequently pointed out to his officers, and its sole purpose was the restitution of peace and the return of soldiers to the arms of their families. And yet here he stood, on the threshold of his return, reluctant to cross it.
With a quick kick of his heels and a tug on the reins Arthur turned the horse into Hamilton Place and trotted along the row of neat steps rising to imposing columned entrances. He drew up outside the house and eased himself down from the saddle. Hitching the reins to the railing, he took a calming breath and climbed the steps to the front door. Before he could reach it, the door opened, and there stood Kitty, in a plain muslin dress, drawn close beneath her bust as if she were still a young girl at the court of the Viceroy in Dublin. She squinted slightly and her bottom lip trembled until she bit down on it gently.
‘Arthur?’ She raised a hand to her face. ‘Arthur.’
He stood still and stared at her for an instant, and then nodded. ‘I’ve come home.’
He felt a fool as soon as he said it, and then stepped up and took her hands in his. Any more words he might have said dried in his throat as he looked down at her. She seemed older than he had thought she would. There were faint creases around her eyes and the eyes themselves had lost the sparkling lustre he had recalled whenever he had thought of her in the Peninsula. Yet there was still the same small nose and fine lips that had first caught his attention.
Then she smiled, shyly, and Arthur could not help a nervous laugh, relieved that his pleasure at seeing her felt genuine. ‘By God! I’ve come home!’ He laughed and drew her to him, kissing her on the forehead, then again on the cheek and lastly on the lips, until she pulled back with a surprised look.
‘Arthur! People will see.’
‘Let them.’ He cupped her cheek and kissed her on the lips again. Now Kitty laughed, and tugged his sleeve, pulling him inside the door. A servant stood to one side, staring at the opposite wall as he reached for the door and began to close it.
‘Wait,’ Arthur intervened. ‘That horse needs returning to its master.’ He turned to the servant. ‘Might I know your name?’
‘Jenkins, your grace.’
‘Well then, Jenkins, I have an errand for you. The horse belongs to a trooper of the Life Guards. I’d be obliged if you returned it to him at once.’
The servant glanced at the animal with little enthusiasm, and then bowed his head. ‘As you wish, your grace.’
He left the house, closing the door behind him. They were alone, and he kissed Kitty again, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent, as if for the first time. Then he pulled back and arched an eyebrow. ‘I believe I have two sons somewhere?’
She gri
‘Oh, come now!’ Kitty beckoned. ‘You know this is your father. He has returned home.’
They rose up obediently and stepped across the room, stopping two paces in front of Arthur and bowing their heads nervously.