Blaze of Glory

A discreet throat-clearing drew Aubrey's attention to the head of the table.

Sir Darius Fitzwilliam was tall and slim. His centre-parted hair was beginning to grey, dramatically standing against the original blackness. Aubrey had often heard his father described as dashing but he'd always thought that if he grew a beard he'd look like a pirate, such was the glint in his eye.

'Father,' he said. He kissed Lady Fitzwilliam on the cheek. 'Mother.'

'Aubrey,' she said. 'Are you well?'

'Of course he is, Rose,' snapped Duchess Maria. 'Can't you see?'

'I'm not sure.' She put her hands on Aubrey's arms and turned him this way and that, allowing the light to fall on his face. 'You look pale.'

'He always looks pale, Rose,' Duchess Maria said. A touch of acid lay on her response like frost on a well-kept lawn.

'George, Aubrey, why don't you sit down?' Sir Darius said, amused. 'They could be at this for hours.'

Aubrey admired his father's voice. He could understand why the man had been able to inspire loyalty in his troops, leading them into – and out of – certain death. He also knew why the government flinched every time Sir Darius stood up in parliament.

'Thank you, sir,' George mumbled, taking his seat.

'Your parents are well, George?' Sir Darius asked.

'Mother's healthy as ever, sir. Dad's leg has been playing up, but he doesn't complain.'

'He wouldn't,' Sir Darius said. 'He never did complain.'

George's father had been Sir Darius's sergeant-major, saving his life in the Battle of Carshee – but losing his leg at the same time. Sir Darius had never forgotten, making sure that William Doyle received the best hospital treatment. After the war, Sir Darius had kept up the friendship and their sons had grown up together, Aubrey spending much time at the Doyles' farm. Aubrey knew that his father had sponsored and paid for George to attend Stonelea School, but only after much arguing with George's father. This was only one small part of Sir Darius's ongoing gratitude, but Aubrey also knew that such things were not spoken of. Loyalty, duty, honour were fundamental values, as important and as unnoticed as breathing. Debts were repaid, friendships maintained.

'You too, Aubrey. Don't let the ladies keep you.'

Aubrey nodded and took a chair. The instant he had, servants brought soup.

Lady Fitzwilliam wouldn't be diverted. 'I hope this has convinced you that the army isn't for you, Aubrey.' Her gaze was direct, not allowing him to escape.

'Of course he hasn't,' flared Duchess Maria. 'Every Fitzwilliam goes into the army.'

'And many's the Fitzwilliam who regretted it,' Sir Darius murmured. 'If they had the chance to. As the Scholar Tan said: "Warriors are often chosen, sometimes made, but seldom remembered."' Every eye at the table was on him. He lifted his head. 'My, this soup is good.'

Aubrey looked down. He realised it was pumpkin and that he'd eaten half the bowl. He hadn't tasted it, which was fortunate as he hated pumpkin soup.

Lady Fitzwilliam picked up her spoon and attacked the bowl much as she took to her specimens at the museum. 'George,' she said, 'you were there, weren't you? Tell us what happened.'

George froze in the middle of buttering a roll. 'Tell you what happened?' he repeated.

'I don't think so,' said Sir Darius. He wiped his lips with a napkin and glanced at Aubrey, then George. 'Hardly fair to expect a brother-in-arms to report on another. Loyalty, you know. Camaraderie, the spirit of the regiment, that sort of thing.'

Neither Lady Fitzwilliam nor Duchess Maria looked happy at that. 'Ridiculous,' Lady Fitzwilliam said and attacked her soup again.

'Splendid soup,' George said into the silence. 'Much better than anything we get at Stonelea. Potato and leek, isn't it?'

'It's pumpkin, George,' murmured Aubrey.

'Ah.'

'School food is meant to be bad,' Sir Darius said, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. 'It means you'll be grateful for the comforts of home.'

So the rest of the evening went. Nothing more was discussed of Aubrey's failure, nor of his future. Lady Fitzwilliam and Duchess Maria were polite as they asked after school affairs, George's musical studies and his family. Sir Darius regaled them with gossip from parliament. Aubrey noted how George looked shocked at some of this, and he chaffed him. George tried to explain that he wasn't accustomed to knowing so much about the great figures of the day, but they would have none of that.

'Sweet, innocent George,' Lady Fitzwilliam said, smiling and touching him on the arm. 'May we always have plenty of sweet, innocent Georges.'

Much to Aubrey's amusement, George blushed mightily and tried to hide it under his napkin.

It was when an immense coconut, strawberry and cream pudding had been placed in front of them that Duchess Maria directed a fierce gaze at Sir Darius. 'Now. How are you going to win this election, Darius? You've been out of power for too long. Look how the Royalists are ruining the country!'

Sir Darius looked pained. 'Mother, I don't want to discuss this at the moment.'

Aubrey wanted him to. He wanted to know how his father was going to combat the Prime Minister's sublime scheduling of the election. The traditional King's Birthday procession, with the King and the PM in the great golden open carriage, would be winding its way from the Palace, over the Old Bridge and the other six great bridges and through the heart of the city. It was one of the few public roles that the King had insisted on maintaining and that the Crown Prince had been unable to distract him from by adding another exotic beast to the burgeoning royal menagerie. The parade was vastly popular, hundreds of thousands of people lining the route and cheering. What a start to the Royalists' campaign, as long as the King didn't do anything bizarre.

What were the Progressives going to do?

'I wasn't happy when you renounced your title,' Duchess Maria went on. 'But if you're going to keep up this ridiculous pastime of being in the Lower House, then at least you should be at the forefront again.'

Aubrey leaned forward, not wanting to miss a word. Since Sir Darius had lost the position of Prime Minister and been expelled from the Royalist Party, he'd been doing his best to consolidate the Progressive Party, the new party he had founded. The difficulty was that the Progressives were a disparate lot, with many different needs, desires and motivations. Making sure that they were all pulling in the one direction was a gargantuan task.

'We face a difficult election,' Sir Darius said.

'If the Royalists win,' Duchess Maria said, 'you'll be condemned to the Opposition benches for years. I couldn't imagine anything worse.'

'What about the war we're about to have with Holmland? Surely that would be worse,' Aubrey put in, before he realised it. Did I actually say that aloud? he thought and he chased a strawberry around his bowl.

All faces turned to him. Duchess Maria looked shocked, as if a dog had spoken up. A smile hovered on Lady Fitzwilliam's mouth and she covered it with one hand.