Young bloods - Scarrow Simon - Страница 30

'Really?' She drew her hand back from him. 'And your schooling, and your clothes, and that wretched sheet music your father kept you supplied with. I suppose you paid for all of that?'

'Stop it!' Richard said harshly from the doorway.'Both of you!' He strode over and stared down at them. 'The debts are the responsibility of us all. This bickering is pointless. Arthur,' he pointed to a chair, 'sit down. I need to speak to you.'

Richard joined him on the long seat and rested his chin on folded hands as he began to explain.

'I've been through Father's accounts. I've read through the reports from the agent in Ireland and, taken as a whole, the family's finances are in poor shape. Since we moved to London we've been living on borrowed money and, from what I've seen, we can't even afford the interest, let alone any repayment of the principal. We simply cannot afford to continue living as we are.'

He looked at the others to make sure they understood the significance of the situation and continued, 'In order to take on Father's responsibilities I'll have to abandon my studies at Oxford. That will save some money. William can remain where he is for now. He's doing well and it would be a shame to stifle his talent at the moment. As for you, Mother, you must know that we can no longer afford the upkeep of a property this size, nor can we afford so many staff.You will have to take some rooms elsewhere. Something affordable.'

Lady Mornington cringed. 'I imagine you'll be insisting that I take in washing next. Have you no shame, Richard?'

He ignored her remark and continued, 'At present Anne and Henry can live with you, but I have other plans for Gerald and Arthur.' He turned to his brother. 'I understand that you have made little progress at Brown's. From what I've heard of the school, I'm not surprised. So I've decided to send you and Gerald to Eton. The family can afford it from what we save in rent. But, Arthur, you must promise me to make the most of the opportunity.'

'What if I don't want to go?'

Richard shrugged. 'Your wishes have nothing to do with it. I am the head of this family now, and I will decide what is in your best interest.'

'I see.'

'Good. Then it's settled.'

Chapter 23

Brienne, 1782

Napoleon slowly lowered the letter from his father on to the library reading desk. He was alone in the room on a Sunday morning. From outside the window came the muffled sounds of the other students playing in the courtyard. Snow had fallen overnight and a thick layer of brilliant white covered the bare landscape around Brienne. Even now a fresh flurry of flakes whirled past the window. Napoleon's heart felt leaden with despair.

A month earlier Napoleon had finally had enough of being the butt of practical jokes and the other petty cruelties relentlessly heaped on him by Alexander de Fontaine and his friends. Even though there had been no repeat of that night in the stables, the very thought of it filled Napoleon with dread, disgust and a bitter hatred for the faceless aristocrats responsible for his torment. Shortly before Christmas, Napoleon was finally driven to act.

He had written a long letter to his father. In it he explained the situation as gently as he could, since he did not want to make his father aware of the shame that soured him. It would be the unkindest act of all to make his father think that he was ashamed of his family's social station, even if that was the truth of the matter. So Napoleon tried to express himself in pragmatic terms. He wrote of all the activities he was excluded from by virtue of his financial situation. He explained that the wear and tear of college life exacted a heavy toll on his clothing and that without money he could not replace outworn clothes and so he was reduced to a tramp-like appearance. He was concerned that he did little honour to his family and reflected badly on them. He felt guilty about this. As a consequence Napoleon felt driven to request that his father must either arrange that a far more substantial allowance be paid to him, or that he should be withdrawn from Brienne and educated back at home, where he would fit in and do far more justice to his family's noble traditions.

The reply from Ajaccio was a blunt refusal. His father told him that there was simply no more money to spare. There was more to being a gentleman than money, and if Napoleon would only conduct himself in the proper manner and behave in a way that befitted a gentleman then his father was sure that he would prosper at Brienne. Inside Napoleon cursed his father for not seeing through the careful phrases of his son's letter to the raw agony of the life he had been forced to endure at the school. Perhaps he should have written in a more forthright manner so that his father could understand the depth of his misery. Another letter then? Napoleon considered the idea for a moment before rejecting it.That would only make him look even more weak and pathetic to his father.The opportunity for an effective appeal had been lost.All that was left to Napoleon now was to make the most of the situation.

Impulsively, his fingers closed round his father's reply and crumpled it up, working the paper into a tight ball. Napoleon turned from the reading table and, taking aim on the waste basket, he lobbed the ball of paper over towards it.The missile hit the rim of the basket and dropped to the ground at its base.

'Buona Parte! Pick that up!'

Napoleon jumped in his seat at the sound of the voice, then turned to look over his shoulder. Father Dupuy had just entered the library to supervise the morning borrowers.

'Pick up that paper!'

'Yes, sir!' Napoleon jumped down from his stool. He hurried over towards the crumpled letter, scooped it up and quickly deposited it in the bin.

'I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again.'

Father Dupuy, accustomed to the Coriscan boy's ill humour and bouts of fiery temper, was surprised by his meek response. 'Is anything the matter?'

'No, sir.'

'What was that piece of paper?'

'It was personal, sir.'

'I'll be the judge of that. Let me see it.'

There was no avoiding the order. Napoleon retrieved the tight bundle of paper and placed it on to the teacher's outstretched hand. While the boy stood in front of him the teacher carefully unravelled the paper and read through the contents. When he finished, he returned the letter to Napoleon.

'Sit down.'

Napoleon pulled back the chair with a scrape, and sat, shoulders loose and drooping as he looked dolefully across the table at the teacher. Father Dupuy took the chair opposite and, folding his arms, he returned the boy's gaze.

'I take it that you want to leave us, Buona Parte.'

Napoleon nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

'I see.' Father Dupuy considered the young man for a moment before he continued.'You'd be a fool to leave Brienne, Napoleon. This institution is the only opportunity for advancement for people like you and me.'

'Sir?'

'This.' He waved his hand around. 'The college. It's one of the few places in France where people from our background can prosper. As for the aristos, once they leave Brienne and some relative finds them a nice, secure, well-paid position, they will have the whip hand.' He shrugged. 'That's the way things are here in France. You must get used to it, Buona Parte. Or you will go mad under the burden of the injustice of it all.'

Napoleon bristled. 'But it isn't fair, sir. I'm better than them. Far better than them. Why should I have to suffer being their inferior?'

'Because there is nothing you can do about it.There is nothing I can do about it either.That is the curse of our social class, Buona Parte. Believe me, I know how you feel. Despite wearing the same uniform, eating at the same table and being taught at the same desk, you feel that there is a vast gulf between you and them. It makes itself felt the moment they open their mouths. They talk differently, they think differently and they live differently.You sit there and you wish all they had was yours. And yet you know it can never be. So then, let's accept that the world is unfair. What then do you do?'