Arthur looked at him a moment, and relented. After all, he was already more than fifty guineas better off. 'Just one last bet then. But I'll place mine both ways.'
The outsider came in third and Arthur smacked his fist into his hand as it crossed the line, much to the chagrin of Whaley, who had bet to win.The betting did not end there. Several more races went by and Arthur backed almost as many losers as winners by the end of the day, but he had been careful with his initial winnings and was pleased to leave the racecourse twenty guineas richer than when he had arrived.They went and found the other two officers and returned to the hired carriage. Henderson and Courtney had lost a small fortune but were putting brave faces on it.
'It's only money,' Jack Courtney shrugged.'I'll just have to send home for some more.'
'Wish I could,' Henderson replied unhappily. 'I already owe several months' pay to those sharks in Dublin. My father's paid 'em off once already. Swears he won't do it again.'
Arthur smiled. 'I'll wager he does.'
'How much?'
'Twenty guineas.'
'Done.'
'But you must let me write the letter to him.'
'What?'
'I write the letter or the bet's off.'
Henderson considered the stakes for a moment and then thrust out his hand. 'You're on.'
It amazed Arthur just how far one could go in placing a bet. In the months that followed he bet on the weather, the colour of the vicereine's dress for the next ball, Captain Wilmott's waist measurement, and once he even bet Whaley that the latter could not walk six miles round Dublin in less than an hour. Even though Whaley was quite drunk at the time, he took the bet, and through a supreme feat of endurance, won it. Other bets Arthur won, most he lost, and as the summer of 1788 settled on the city he found that he was in debt. He owed Dancing Jack money over a bet who could down the most Tokay one night at the castle. When Jack pressed for the money Arthur had none to give him.
'That's bad form, Wesley,' Jack responded with unusual seriousness. 'A bet is a matter of honour. It's like pledging your word. A gentleman always honours his debts.'
'And it will be honoured,' Arthur said firmly. 'As soon as I find the money.'
'Then see to it, before word gets out that you are not good for your bets.'
The first person Arthur turned to was his landlord, the bootmaker on Ormonde Quay. The bootmaker did not have to be persuaded; he had already made loans to a number of his gentlemen lodgers and knew that they would go to almost any lengths to repay him rather than be publicly dishonoured. Besides, the interest rate on the loans provided a nice source of income in itself. For Arthur, the problem got progressively worse as he was compelled to borrow money from one lender to pay off another, and all the time the sums he owed grew as fast as a vine, threatening to wrap itself around him and choke him to death in the long run. He briefly considered approaching his brother William for a loan, since William was now a respectable member of the Irish parliament, with enough sinecures to provide a comfortable living. But the prospect of enduring one of William's sermons on debt was too much for Arthur to bear. After a certain point, when it was clear that he would not be out of debt as long as he remained in Dublin, Arthur simply ceased to worry about his debts and accepted them as a fact of life.
Dublin offered other pleasures of the most carnal and sophisticated kind. And there was no more infamous club than Fitzpatrick's on Birdsall Street. So infamous, in fact, that it had an appendix all of its own in the latest edition of Harris's List of Covent Garden Ladies. It was to Fitzpatrick's that Arthur and Dancing Jack were making their way on a humid July evening. Even though it was past eight o'clock Dublin was bathed in a warm orange glow, accentuated by a thin mantle of smog. Aside from a brief shower earlier that day the weather had been glorious for the last week and the streets stank of sewage.The two officers were passing through one of the slum neighbourhoods and the streets were filled with ragged barefoot children, gaunt with hunger but still playing games amid the rubbish and filth strewn the length of the street. Loud singing spilled from a drinking-house at the end, and several men were slumped against the wall, having drunk themselves into oblivion. A haggard-faced whore was calmly going from one man to the next, rifling their pockets.
'Away with you!' Jack lashed at her with his cane and she shrieked as the blow landed across her shoulders. 'Bloody thief!' He raised his cane again and the woman scrambled back, rose to her feet and scurried round the corner.
Arthur glanced about and saw that the people in the street were gazing at the two smartly dressed officers with open hostility. 'Come, Jack, this is not a friendly place.'
'Not friendly? Pah! This lot are nothing more than craven cowards.' He waved his hand dismissively at the people in the street. 'Like all the Irish. Black-hearted barbarians fit for nothing but growing potatoes.'
'Quiet, Jack.You'll get us killed.'
The door of the drinking-house burst open and two men rolled into the street, cursing and snarling as they grappled on the filthy cobblestones. One of the men snatched a shillelagh from his coat and before the other could react he smashed the small club down on the other man's skull. There was a dull crunch and the man fell back unconscious, blood welling up from under his hair. His assailant did not spare a second in bending over him and pounding away at the head of his victim, until his face was spattered with blood and brains. He glanced up, saw the two officers watching and took to his heels.
Jack looked over his white breeches to make sure that they had not been hit by any of the flying droplets of blood. 'Like I said, black-hearted barbarians. Where else in this world are you likely to come across a thieving whore and a murderer in the space of less than a minute? Tell me that, Arthur.'
Arthur took a step towards the man lying in the street. 'We should get him to a doctor.'
'No point, Arthur. He's well beyond help now, and we're late. If we're not at Fitzpatrick's by the appointed hour then my sweet Mary will have found herself another man for the night. Let's go.'
Arthur took a last look at the body, wincing as blood trickled around the cobbles towards the gutter. Then he straightened up and hurried after his friend.
With the arrival of summer the vicereine gave fewer balls and instead concentrated on planning and holding fine picnics in the surrounding countryside. Before he began to attend these events Arthur had conceived of picnics as being largely informal affairs consisting of a hurriedly packed picnic basket in response to a spontaneous call to take advantage of a hot summer's day. His parents and brothers and sisters would go scrambling across the fields around Dangan until a quiet spot was found by a stream in which they could cool their bare feet as they ate bread and cold meats and cheeses. By contrast the picnics organised by the vicereine amounted to a complex culinary campaign that would have rivalled a military exercise in the demands it placed upon staff officers to co-ordinate movements of guests, supplies of food and entertainments.These arrangements tended to keep the aides fully occupied for days at a time, and Arthur could not help thinking that they represented her revenge on the awkward squad of Dublin Castle.
On picnic days, the carts and wagons of those hired to prepare the food arrived at the spot chosen before the vicereine's guests arrived. Tents were set up, orchestras tuned their instruments in the shade of trees and vast amounts of cold meats and delicacies prepared.
The general high spirits amongst those who attended the picnics thoroughly infected Arthur, and he was often to be discovered talking at the top of his voice to his cronies. Once he had taken a few drinks the alcohol brought out a malevolent mischief in him, and many picnics were spoiled for some by finding some rather unpleasant wildlife in their picnic hampers. Or he might push someone into a river, or inform their coach drivers that their vehicles were no longer needed, so that the owners faced a long walk back into Dublin.