Dublin, January 1809
Even when the news reached Ireland that the senior officer of the British army, the Duke of York, had signed the report on the Cintra treaty, Arthur did not feel remotely like celebrating. He had come out of the affair somewhat better than either Burrard or Dalrymple. Those senior officers in the know at Horse Guards would ensure that the two generals were steered away from further field commands. Arthur had proved his ability to command at Vimeiro, and his services would be required again one day. He just hoped that the day would not be too long in coming. However high his stock with senior officers, he knew that his chief difficulty was that politicians have enduring memories, and it was likely that his enemies would protest if he was given a new command too soon.
Such a delay was a depressing prospect. Partly because he felt the injured pride of the wrongly accused, but mostly because he was honest enough to admit to himself that he was one of the most capable generals in the army. By rights his talents should be utilised in frustrating the enemy. Instead, it was he who was frustrated, and he regarded those who controlled Britain’s political affairs with steadily growing cynicism.
Kitty and the two boys bore the brunt of his ill humour, which tended to manifest itself in a brooding silence and coldness to those closest to him. At first Kitty tried treating him with a forced cheerfulness and insistence on the most trivial of conversations in the hope that it might lift his spirits. But the harder she tried the more terse he seemed to become, and in the end she fell to matching his silences with her own.The long winter evenings of the first months of the year crept by under a cloud of mutual frustration and neglect.
Arthur’s mood was not helped by the steady flow of bad news from London. The evacuation of the British army from Corunna and the death of General Moore had struck at the very core of the nation’s morale. Then came word of a scandal involving the Duke of York. A former mistress of the Duke, Mary Anne Clarke, had revealed that she had been trading her sexual favours for army commissions and promotions, which she had sold on at a tidy profit.
‘Rubbish!’ Arthur growled as he tossed the newspaper down on the dining table. Night had fallen and he had been reading about the scandal after the dessert had been cleared away.
Kitty looked up from her coffee, licked her lips and asked, ‘What is rubbish, my dear?’
‘The allegations made by the Clarke woman, of course. Damn lies, all of it!’
Kitty had read the newspaper before Arthur had returned from his office at the castle. She took another sip of coffee before responding in a measured tone, ‘It seems to me that her claims have some truth to them, and others corroborate what she says.’
Arthur frowned.‘I accept that she was selling offices on, but I cannot believe that the Duke of York can have been aware of it.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ Arthur asked in an astonished tone. ‘He is the highest-ranking army officer in the country.A royal.Why would he take the risk of exposing himself to such a scandal? It makes no sense.’
Kitty shrugged. ‘He would not be the first man in high office to fall from grace because of a woman.The Duke should have known better.’
‘But that is my point. She must have been selling the offices behind his back. Otherwise he would have known about it and dropped her at once.’
‘Yes, that would make sense.’
‘He is an honourable man,’ Arthur insisted. ‘I cannot believe he would be involved in such corruption.’
‘Yet you accept that the Clarke woman was his mistress.’ Kitty looked down into her coffee.‘It seems to me that if the Duke is capable of taking a mistress, who is to say that his immorality does not extend further?’
‘Taking a mistress is one thing, Kitty. Taking liberties with one’s office is quite another.’
‘Both are immoral,’ she replied. ‘It is not what good people do.’
Arthur shook his head. ‘Half the men in Parliament have mistresses. It is hardly uncommon. Yet they balance their physical needs with integrity in public office.’
‘Really? And what about you, Arthur?’
He glared at her, lips pressed tightly together. In the bleak months since his return from Portugal he had visited a discreet club called the Game of Hearts on several occasions, and been entertained by Harriette Wilson. She had been good in bed, but he rather feared that his would be another name she bandied about in due course. He hoped that Kitty would not find out, and be hurt, yet at the same time he could not help wanting something more diverting than the stilted sex available at home. He was silent for a moment, and then said, ‘My conscience is clear, and I’ll thank you not to ask me that again.’
Kitty set her cup down with a sharp rap and folded her hands together. ‘I ask it because of the way you are presently treating me, Arthur. I am your wife, yet you hardly ever speak to me. Never take any interest in me or my opinions. Lately, you have barely even acknowledged your children. Under such circumstances can you wonder if I should fear that you are seeking affection elsewhere?’
He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.‘I will not discuss such accusations, Kitty, do you hear? And you are quite wrong about the Duke of York, as you shall see.’
Without another look at her, he left the room and retired to his private study. Pouring himself a large glass of port, he dropped into his chair and stared at the small pile of official papers and letters he had brought home with him from the castle. Almost all the latter were fresh requests for patronage, some specifically requesting positions that entailed few actual duties so that the incumbent could be assured of an income without the inconvenience of having to work for it. Arthur scowled at the papers for a moment and then took a hefty swig. The country was at war, and while every resource should be dedicated to providing the means to secure victory over France it seemed that many of his countrymen still placed selfishness above service to the nation. The situation was even worse in Parliament, where political factions spent their energies scoring points over each other, regardless of the wider peril that threatened to engulf Britain.
And now this business with the Duke of York. Arthur shook his head.Whatever the Duke might have done, he had a first rate talent for administration and making sure that his country fielded the best trained and equipped army in Europe. If the scandal that embroiled him was not quashed, Britain might very well end up deprived of his services. Simply because Mary Anne Clarke had decided to take her revenge on him for ending their affair. No doubt she was also being rewarded for her accusations by some Whig politician. At present the Whigs were spoiling for peace with France. Peace at almost any price.
It was madness, Arthur reflected. Bonaparte did not strike him as the kind of man who placed a premium on peace.The French Emperor was a soldier through and through and the conquest of nations and the subjugation of people had become his obsession. But then, Arthur wondered, did he himself not share something of that taste for war? He never felt so complete as when he commanded men on campaign. Gone were the duplicities of politics, the pretensions of London society and the endless ennui of domestic compromises that had come to define his life with Kitty.