Read Online True Soldier Gentlemen (Napoleonic War 1) by Adrian Goldsworthy - Free Book Online Page B

silence in his house in Harley Street. There was great relief that the South American adventure had been cancelled, and far greater satisfaction that he and his army were to be put to better use in Europe itself. Whether in Spain or Portugal was yet to be decided, but the former seemed more likely, and it would no doubt enrage General Miranda even more to know that the troops once promised to him were now likely to find themselves fighting alongside the Spanish.
    His command of the force waiting at Cork had been formally confirmed, whatever its final destination, and many of hisLondon friends had gathered to dine the previous night in celebration. Their host, Sir Jonah Barrington, plump and red faced, his speech slurred before the evening was half over, had done a good job and enjoyed himself immensely. There was a brief moment of discomfort when he talked of the previous year’s attack on Copenhagen as ‘robbery and murder’. Wellesley had led a brigade in that expedition, something which Sir Jonah had only then remembered. His cheeks grew even more ruddy, and an apology formed. Wellesley had smiled at his old friend, and asked aloud whether the latter also suspected him of purloining some of his spoons. The host shamefacedly joined in the guffaws of laughter and the awkwardness quickly passed.
    It was hard to be proud of the whole Danish affair. Britain had demanded that the Danes hand over their powerful fleet of well-built warships to prevent them from falling into Napoleon’s hands. Neutral Denmark had not unreasonably refused, and so Britain had used force, bombardopenhagen until the Danes surrendered and the ships were destroyed or taken. ‘Robbery and murder’ just about summed it up, but Wellesley saw that if it was a crime, then it was a necessary one. Bonaparte would in time no doubt have ridden just as roughshod over Danish neutrality, and grabbing the Danish fleet might just have allowed him to challenge the Royal Navy’s dominance. The government had been right to act. Even so, he was
nimmukwallah
. At least the short and one-sided campaign had been well run, and offered a break from the drudgery of administration in Dublin.
    Tonight’s supper had been a quieter affair, with just a single guest joining Sir Arthur and Lady Wellesley. John Wilson Croker was a friend and ally from Ireland, and after Kitty had retired the two men plunged into business, running through the details of improvements to Dublin’s water supply. That settled, Sir Arthur fell silent, staring into the fire, which was a comfort on an unusually cold spring evening. The shadows added to the sharpness of his face, and most of all his great beaked nose. Croker had similar pale grey eyes, a nose almost as hooked, but there the resemblance ended, for his lips and chin were weak.Few people trusted him until they knew him well – and some not even then. Wellesley commanded confidence and respect of a different sort, and even at rest his friend saw an intent concentration in him which he had never seen in anyone else. For a good twenty minutes Croker said nothing, savouring the taste of an excellent brandy and allowing his companion to pursue his own thoughts. Only then did he break the silence.
    ‘Sir Arthur, as a lawyer I always endeavour to know that I shall win a case before it reaches court. I should imagine that a soldier’s struggle is similar. You must be giving great thought to confronting Bonaparte’s men.’
    Wellesley looked up sharply, fixing his gaze on his friend, and then gave the faintest of smiles. In fact his mind had been wandering more over the past few years, the disappointment of returning from victories in India to dull years of monotonous work. Indian reputations were ten a penny, almost a disadvantage in the army, especially since most of the men making decisions could not match them with achievements of their own. Marriage had proved a disappointment. Whether or not Kitty had changed in the years he had been