'Thank you, William,' Richard cut in. 'But we need to be a little more productive in our contributions right now.'

Arthur smiled tiredly, and carried on up the stairs. The room his mother had suggested was dark and cold, but the bed was comfortable and had been made up with thick quilts. Once his shoes had been removed he drew his stockinged feet up beneath the covers, curled up in a ball and closed his eyes. For a while his mind turned over his prospects. In truth he was tired of being directionless.The diversions that he had enjoyed in London were just that and nothing more. His heart and mind ached for something more nourishing, and he was not yet wholly convinced that a life in the army would fill that need. Even though Colonel Ross had cut an elegant figure, and one that Arthur would happily emulate, he could not help suspecting that the military regime was as subservient to routine as the dull halls of Eton, though marginally more dangerous.

Chapter 35

On 17 March 1787 a message arrived at Lady Mornington's house. It was addressed to the Honourable Arthur Wesley and although there was no external indication of where the message had come from, she knew at once what it must be and had it sent up to her son's room as soon as it arrived. At the tap on his door Arthur laid down the book he had been reading.

'Come.'

The door opened and one of the two footmen that Lady Mornington could afford stepped into the room. He carried a small silver tray on which rested a letter. Arthur tried not to smile. The letter salve was one of his mother's latest affectations, picked up on the tail end of a fashion that had swept through the best houses in the capital.

'For you, sir.' The footman offered him the salve with a slight bow. 'Arrived just this minute.'

'Thank you, Harrington.' Arthur took the letter. 'You may go.'

The footman bowed again and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Arthur wasted no time in breaking the wafer that sealed the letter and unfolding it.The message was terse and formal, as he had expected, and briefly informed him that he had been gazetted as an ensign in the 73rd Highland Regiment. Not terribly exclusive, Arthur mused, but Richard had done his best. Arthur would have preferred a cavalry regiment commission with all the associated dash, but Richard had been adamant that such a commission would have been unreasonably costly to obtain and sustain. The artillery was out of the question since it would make quite unfair demands on Arthur's intellect. Besides, that branch of the army tended to be so professional that its officers might as well be employed in some form of trade. So his commission had to be in an infantry regiment. But, by God, did it have to be a Scottish regiment? Did that mean he had to wear one of those bloody ridiculous kilts? Or were officers permitted to dress in a more civilised manner? Arthur read on.

The regiment was temporarily attached to the garrison in Chelsea Barracks. Ensign Wesley was requested and required to attend the barracks to formally take up his commission on 24 March. Thereafter, he would be inducted into the duties of an officer of infantry by the drill instructor at the barracks.

Arthur folded up the letter and tapped it against his chin as he reflected that his military career was at last about to begin. In the months since Christmas he had resigned himself to this path, and had therefore done as much background reading into military matters as possible. Whatever else he may have failed at in his life so far, Arthur was determined that he would be a good soldier at least. One that even his family would come to admire, however grudgingly.

The uniform and other accoutrements he had ordered arrived from the tailor the day before he was due to attend the Chelsea Barracks.With a sense of excitement that was palpable to all those who shared the house with him, Arthur dressed in the full uniform and then stood in front of a full-length mirror in his mother's room and gazed at his reflection. He presented quite a striking image, he decided. He buffed the shiny buttons on his coat with his sleeve and left the room, descending the narrow staircase into the hall, before striding purposefully towards the door to the parlour. Inside, his mother and oldest brother turned to look at him.

'Now that is something to see!' Richard grinned. 'Quite the man.'

Anne raised her hands and beckoned to him. 'Arthur, I had no idea that you could look so… so gallant! You'll have to use that sword of yours to fight the young ladies off.'

'In that case, you have my word that the blade shall never see the light of day,' Arthur laughed. 'But I doubt I shall be able to afford much entertainment on an ensign's pay. Eight shillings a day! It's a wonder that the army can attract any new officers. I had no idea that offering to fight for one's country was charity work.'

Richard punched him lightly on the shoulder. 'I agree with you. Eight shillings a day is hardly a fortune. So you must earn quick promotion, bed and wed a wealthy woman, or we must find you as many powerful patrons as possible. The present Duke of Rutland will not be with us much longer. But there are others who owe me favours.'

'Good,' Arthur replied. 'Because, in the absence of war I'll need all the help I can get.'

At nine o'clock the next morning Ensign Arthur Wesley presented himself at the barrack gates with his official letter of introduction. A corporal conducted him to the officers' mess and he was immediately taken through to the office of the 73rd's adjutant. Captain Braithwaite was a middle-aged, middle-weight man with a sour expression and a face blotchy with burst blood vessels from too much drinking. As Arthur entered his office the captain was walking up and down the room in great strides. He glanced up at the new arrival as he turned and strode back across the room.

'New boots,' he explained. 'The shoemaker claims to have a technique for enhancing the comfort, but I can't feel a bloody thing.' He stopped close to Arthur and scowled angrily. 'Man's a confounded liar!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Who the bloody hell are you?'

'Ensign Arthur Wesley, reporting for duty, sir.' Arthur held out his document.

'Where's the salute then, Wesley? I'm your superior officer. Come on, man, salute me!'

Arthur reproduced the effort he had made at the barracks gate and the captain snorted with derision. 'You'll need to work on that, Wesley. Before you meet the colonel.'

'Yes, sir. Is the colonel at headquarters? I was given to understand that I was supposed to report to him.'

'The colonel's not here. Went to a party with him last night and he disappeared with some slip of a girl. Still shagging her senseless, if I'm any judge of the man.'

'Oh…'

'So you'll have to let me write you into the books. You'll be the replacement for that fool, Ensign Vernon. Got himself crushed by an ammunition cart.That was three months ago.We applied for a new ensign and, well, you can see how swiftly the bureaucratic cogs turn in the army. It's a wonder we got a replacement at all, I suppose. So you are most welcome, Mr Wesley.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Now, if you don't mind, I have some boots to return to my shoemaker. My staff sergeant will take care of the paperwork. Then he can show you around the barracks and you can be introduced to that rabble you'll be commanding.' He turned his head and shouted over Arthur's shoulder. 'Phillips!'

'Yes, sir!' A voice answered from another doorway and a moment later a tall, thin and perfectly turned-out sergeant stamped to attention.

'This is Ensign Wesley. Get him entered on the strength and written into the pay books. He's taking over MrVernon's position in Captain Ford's company. Once you're finished at headquarters take Mr Wesley over to the mess and open an account for him.'