Young bloods

He seems a nice enough man,' said Arthur, with a quick glance towards his mother, 'for a landlord.'

'Quite.' Anne turned and looked up at the facade of the lawyer's house. 'To think that we once had a bigger house than this in Dublin, and a better house in London.'

'Mother, things have changed,' Arthur said gently. 'We cannot expect to retain a style of living that is beyond our purse. Our fortunes will change one day, you'll see.'

'Ha! And pigs might fly.' She turned to the men unloading the carriage and ordered them, in French, to take the luggage up at once. Then she took her son's arm. 'Come, Arthur, let's go inside and inspect our little bolt hole.'

The suite of rooms that she had taken were on the second floor and comprised an entrance hall, two bedrooms, a parlour and a study. There was a bathroom at the end of the landing that was shared with the occupants of the other suite on the second floor – a Norwegian merchant and his family.The rooms were all of a decent size and comfortably, but not expensively, furnished. Even so, Arthur watched his mother make her way round, running her gloved fingers over the fittings and occasionally prodding the upholstery, until she finally shrugged and turned to him.

'It will do, for now.'

Lady Mornington did her best to settle into Brussels society as swiftly as possible.Within days of their arrival she and Arthur were invited to a ball at the Chambre de Palais, a formal affair of silk gowns, glittering jewellery and military decorations. As his mother launched herself into the corner of the room taken over by Brussels' English contingent, Arthur climbed up to the gallery that ran along the sides of the ballroom and, leaning against the pillar, he gazed down at the hundreds of guests milling around below. The loud warbling of conversation was pierced here and there by the shrill laughter of women but he could not pick out a word of what was being said. He idly wondered if there was indeed anything being said – anything worth listening to, at least. He spotted his mother, engaged in animated discussion with an army officer. The latter stood tall and aloof, in shiny black boots that reached up to his knees and ended in a golden tassel. He was a tall, slender man with cropped, curly brown hair above a thin face dominated by a long prominent nose.

With a shock, Arthur realised that this was how he might look in years to come. He watched the man with a growing sense of fascination and saw how he conversed with another man in a constrained and dignified manner that gave no hint of the inner workings of his thoughts and emotions. Even though his scarlet uniform with its white facings and gold lace made him stand out in the crowd, the fact that he did not wear a powdered wig, unlike most of the other men present, made him seem unaffected and somehow more impressive. A striking figure indeed. The officer seemed to be listening intently to Arthur's mother and with a twinge of embarrassment he saw that she was starting to flirt with the man. Right there, in front of everyone.

Arthur's attention was drawn to some motion on the far side of the ballroom. The musicians started to take up their positions. As the musicians took their instruments out of their cases and began to tune the strings and resin their bows, the orchestra leader distributed the sheet music. It was a small orchestra for an event this size, and reflected the less affluent nature of Brussels' social circles.

At length the orchestra appeared to be ready and the conductor stepped up to them, baton tapping the side of his thigh impatiently. Then Arthur noticed that one of the two seats in the violin section was empty. The conductor glanced round the ballroom with a furious expression until his eyes fixed in the direction of the discreet servants' door in one corner. Following the direction of his glare Arthur saw a man, clutching a violin case, staggering through the door, along the wall and up the staircase. It was clear he was either very ill, or very drunk, and he nearly toppled backwards down the stairs at one point before a desperately windmilling arm steadied his balance and he stumbled up the remaining steps into the gallery.

His antics had drawn the attention of some of the guests and they roared with laughter as the man stumbled along the gallery, waved his apologies to the conductor, caught his violin case between his legs and tumbled headlong, smashing his head against a pillar and passing out. Arthur joined in with the laughter as he watched the conductor place his hands on his hips with disgust as he prodded the unconscious man with his shoe. Then he turned back to the orchestra and called them to order. The remaining violinist shook his head in protest and indicated his unconscious companion.

As the dispute escalated into a seething row, Arthur felt light-headed as a thought struck him. It was a mere fancy, he chided himself. Then he looked down into the ballroom and sensed the growing impatience amongst those who had moved on to the dance floor.

Arthur took a deep breath, stood away from the pillar he had been leaning against and started walking round the gallery towards the orchestra. He knew he was being foolish, that there was every chance he would be refused, or that if they did let him replace the unconscious violinist he would be made to appear a rank amateur. But weighing against this was the thought that he might just carry it off. He might actually achieve something he could be proud of, and more importantly that his mother could be proud of. So he forced himself to continue towards the orchestra, grouped around the still form of the violinist.

As the conductor sensed his approach he turned towards the boy with a raised eyebrow. 'I am sorry, sir, but we are a little preoccupied right now.'

'Perhaps I can help,' Arthur replied in French. He indicated the man on the ground as the stench of brandy reached his nose. 'I can take his place.'

'You?' The conductor smiled. 'Thank you for the offer, but I think we have enough of a problem already.'

'I'm not playing alone,' the surviving violinist said firmly.

The conductor whipped round and stabbed towards the man with his baton. 'You'll play, damn you!'

'No.'

'Gentlemen!' Arthur stepped between them with raised hands. 'Gentlemen, please. You have an audience waiting for you. An increasingly impatient audience…'

The conductor peered over the balcony and noted the unambiguous expressions below on the floor of the ballroom. He turned back to Arthur. 'So you can play the violin. How well?'

'Well enough for your needs.'

'Really?' the conductor asked. 'Dances?'

'I can manage that, sir.'

The conductor considered the offer for a moment and then slapped his thigh in frustration. 'Oh, very well! I've got nothing to lose except tonight's fee, and perhaps my reputation.' He nodded towards the drunk. 'You can take his instrument.'

With a quick smile Arthur leaned down, grabbed the violin case and undid the catches. Inside the varnished instrument gleamed. He took it out, and under the watchful eye of the conductor, he plucked each string to check for tuning and made a minor adjustment to E before he tucked it between chin and shoulder, slid his left hand down towards the nut, flexed his fingers and raised the bow. 'Ready.'

'All right then.Take a seat.We'll start with something slow and simple. Here.' He slipped some sheet music on Arthur's music stand. 'Know this one?'

Arthur glanced over the notation: a gavotte by Rameau. 'Yes, sir. I've played it before. I'll keep up.'

'I hope so,' the conductor muttered. 'For all our sakes.'

The conductor called his orchestra to attention, indicated the beat and began. It was a short piece, intended to do little more than signal that the dancing was about to begin, and offer the audience a chance to ease themselves into a straightforward series of steps. Arthur knew the piece well enough to keep up with the other musicians, and when it came to an end the conductor nodded to him. 'Well done, sir. Are you ready for something a little more pacy?'

Arthur nodded and the conductor moved on to the next dance on the programme. As the next piece began Arthur found that he felt happier than he had been at any time since his father died. The familiar feel of the instrument and the pleasure he derived from playing it meant that he played as a fully integrated part of the orchestra. When he looked up at the conductor and received a nod of acknowledgement that he was performing well Arthur smiled and continued with a growing sense of delight. Dance followed dance, and down on the floor of the ballroom the finely dressed audience moved with a synchronised grace. The hours passed with a short break halfway through the programme, when Arthur shared some bottles of wine with the other members of the orchestra and basked in their appreciation of his talent.