Outside of these duties the aides' time was their own and as young gentlemen will, they squandered it in an orgy of drinking, gambling, duelling and whoring. The latter was a pleasure Arthur had discovered as a member of the officers' mess in Chelsea.
Over the last hundred years Dublin had expanded at an astonishing rate, quickly spilling out into the surrounding countryside even as the slums filled to overflowing. With the establishment of an Irish parliament in Dublin, the city had drawn all those seeking political favours and sinecures, all of which were in the power of the viceroy to grant. It had also attracted swarms of lawyers, doctors, builders, brothel keepers and any manner of other professions that could smell money like hounds smell a fox. There was no pleasure, luxury or vice that could not be bought somewhere in the city if you had the right connections. The officers serving at Dublin Castle were well connected in that respect, and within a matter of weeks Arthur was familiar with the best clubs and brothels. The problem for Arthur was that these pursuits came at a price that far exceeded the modest income of a lieutenant of infantry.The reserve that he had hoarded from the gifts of money given to him by members of the family before he left for Ireland was soon eaten up.
That was when he discovered his first true weakness in life. With the arrival of spring the racing season began again and the rattlers, dashers and rompers – as the officers like to style themselves – descended on the racecourse to watch the horses, look over the women and place their bets. One day, early in May, Arthur shared a carriage to the racecourse with Buck Whaley and two other aides, Piers Henderson and Dancing Jack Courtney. The sun, for once, was shining down from a clear blue sky and the good weather seemed to have lifted the spirits of the crowds streaming along the lanes to the racecourse. The officers descended from the carriage and, wielding their canes, forced their way through the crowds and into the main enclosure. The air was filled with the cries of hawkers and bookies, struggling to be heard above the excited hubbub of the racegoers.
Whaley nudged Arthur towards one of the bookies. 'That's O'Hara. He's the man for us. Gives decent odds and pays winnings out promptly. I've got an excellent tip for the first race. Come on.'
They pushed through the crowd towards O'Hara: a tall, broad-shouldered man with the build of a prizefighter and the scars to match. He stood on a box, while beside him crouched a young urchin, bent over a book, recording the bets as they were taken and handing receipts out to the punters.
'Hey!' Whaley called out. 'O'Hara!'
The Irishman looked round and caught sight of the English officer at once. 'Why, it's Mr Whaley. And what can I be doing for you this fine day, sir?'
'What odds will you give me on Charlemagne?'
'Charlemagne?' O'Hara closed his eyes for a moment and his lips moved silently. Then the eyes snapped open again. 'Nine to one. But for you, sir, twelve to one.'
'Taken! I'll have five guineas on him.' Whaley turned and nodded towards Arthur. 'My friend will have the same!'
O'Hara looked at Arthur, a shrewd calculating look. 'I don't know this gentleman, sir. We haven't been introduced yet.'
'My apologies. This is the Honourable Arthur Wesley, newly arrived at Dublin Castle.'
O'Hara bowed his head. 'Sir.' Then he prodded the boy with his boot. 'Liam, son, did you get the gentleman's name?'
'Aye, and he's down for five guineas, so he is.'
'Good boy.' He ruffled the child's hair before he bowed his head again to the two officers. 'Enjoy the race, sirs.'
Whaley waved a farewell and pulled Arthur towards the stands. Arthur brushed his hand off. 'What did you do that for,Whaley?'
'Do what, Arthur?' Whaley frowned. 'What are you talking about?'
'Making me take that five-guinea bet. That's almost all the money I have right now. If that Charlemagne loses I'll have no money to pay the rent at the end of the week.'
'Nor will I,' Whaley laughed. 'If we lose, we'll just have to do what every other young officer does, and borrow some money. Besides, how can that horse lose with a name like that?'
'Oh, that's very scientific, Buck. I don't suppose you bothered to check his form.'
'Why should I? The source of my tip is unimpeachable. Come on now, Arthur, or we'll be too late to find a good spot to watch the race.'
With a bitter sigh of frustration at his friend's thoughtlessness, Arthur followed him into the stands and they climbed up until they had a view of the whole track.The horses were already being marshalled down by the starting line and the jockeys urged their mounts into place with quick twitches of the reins and pressure from their knees as the crowd grew quiet in anticipation. The starter waited until all the mounts were as close behind the line as possible, then he dropped his flag and with a throaty roar from the crowd the horses kicked out and galloped down the opening straight.
'Which one's ours?' Arthur shouted into his friend's ear.
'Green and black colours! There, in third, no, fourth place.'
'Fourth? I thought you said he couldn't lose.'
'The race has just started, Arthur. Give the poor bloody horse a chance. Now do be quiet and let me watch.'
Charlemagne managed to stay up with the leaders as the horses swung round the first bend, but made up no ground as they pounded down the next straight towards the final bend. Arthur watched with a sinking feeling of despair. Then the animals swept round, with Charlemagne a full five lengths behind the three leaders. Suddenly, the lead horse reared to one side as the jockey's reins snapped. The second animal drew up and was immediately knocked flying by the horse in third place.
'Ahhhh!' roared the crowd, and then, as Charlemagne swerved past the tangle of horses and riders and thundered down the home straight towards the finishing line the crowd began to jeer and boo. As their horse safely crossed the line and the jockey punched his fist into the air in triumph Whaley and Arthur shouted with delight and pounded the rail with their hands.
'What did I tell you?' Whaley screamed. 'He did it! Come on, let's go and see O'Hara!'
Despite having to pay out a considerable sum to the two officers the bookie was cheerful enough since he had raked in all the money placed on the three unfortunate horses that had come to grief on the home straight.
'You gentlemen care to make another bet?' O'Hara indicated the board behind him on which he had chalked details of the coming races. Arthur was about to walk away when Whaley held him back. 'Just a minute. There's good odds on that last name in the fifth.'
'With good cause, no doubt,' Arthur responded. 'Come on. We've chanced our arm enough already today. Let's take the winnings and go.'
'But look. The odds are twenty to one.'
'Yes, but I doubt we can rely on another freak of fate today.'
'Oh, come on, Arthur. Let's just give it five guineas. We can afford that now. And if we win, we're almost twice as well off. Come on,' he pleaded. 'Just one more bet.'