‘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 grinned and gestured towards the open door of the front parlour. Arthur walked slowly towards it, seeing a mental image of the two infants he had left behind years before. Sunlight was pouring in through the tall sash windows and seated on a window seat, looking out into the street, sat Arthur and Charles. They looked round as he entered and stared at him.
‘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.
‘How do you do, Father,’ the older boy said formally, as he had been taught to do.
Arthur gazed at them, his heart filled with a profound melancholic ache. These were his sons. His flesh and blood, whom he had come to love in the abstract. He felt that he should show them some affection. He should do what any father would in the same circumstances. Yet something held him back. Both boys were unable to conceal their nervousness as they looked up at him warily. There was a pause, then Kitty touched Arthur on the sleeve.
‘You have had a long journey. I expect you might like some refreshment.’
‘Yes. Yes, I would. Some tea, if you please, Kitty.’
She smiled warmly as he spoke her name. Then she looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. ‘No baggage?’
‘It is on the carriage. It will come shortly.’
‘Good.’ She smiled again. ‘I’ll leave you with our boys.’
Arthur felt a stab of panic but before he could reply Kitty had left the room. He turned back to his sons and cleared his throat. ‘Hah. Hm. Well then . . .’
They stared back mutely, and the silence was painful and awkward. Then the youngest, Charles, looked down at his feet and spoke quietly. ‘Did you really beat the French tyrant, Father?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Arthur cocked his head to one side. ‘That is to say, I beat his minions. Alas, I did not have the chance to beat the tyrant himself.’
‘Oh . . .’ The boy looked so surprised and disappointed that Arthur could not help chuckling.
‘But the war is over, isn’t it, Father?’
‘Yes, it’s over. Bonaparte is defeated and we shall have peace, and with luck you two shall never have to go and fight an enemy for as long as you live.’
‘But I want to be a soldier,’ the older boy said. ‘Just like you.’
Arthur looked at him fondly. ‘A soldier you may be, but I pray that you shall never have to fight in such a war as I have. Come.’ He reached out to them and they hesitantly let him take their hands. Arthur squeezed them lightly. ‘Let’s go over to the window seat and we shall talk all about it.’
The celebrations that had begun in Paris continued in London with equal extravagance. Tsar Alexander and King Frederick William, together with their courts, joined the great pageant. Once again the focus was upon Arthur as the foremost man amongst the ranks of those who had opposed Bonaparte. The flow of rewards and honours laid at his feet seemed endless. He entered the House of Lords bearing the titles of Viscount, Earl, Marquess and Duke. He was presented with the freedom of towns across England while Oxford awarded him an honorary doctorate. At the service of thanksgiving in St Paul’s Cathedral, Arthur carried the sword of state. The leading politicians of both the Whig and the Tory persuasion courted him relentlessly, entreating him to name his political office in return for his allegiance. Arthur turned them down with as much politeness as he could muster.