‘Another card, if you please.’

‘What? Oh, yes.’ Arthur glanced down and flipped the top card over on to the table in front of Richard. A nine of diamonds.

‘Damn.’ Richard frowned.

Arthur absent-mindedly gathered in the cards and added his brother’s stake to the small pile of coins in front of him. As he dealt the next hand he spoke with forced calm.

‘Is it always like this?’

‘What?’

‘All this pain? The suffering of the wife and the anxiety of the husband?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Richard smiled. ‘It was the same every time with Hyacinthe.A lot of noise, shouting, insults and so on. I soon learned that it was best to keep out of it and let the womenfolk tend to her.’

‘I think it would be best if I went and comforted her. Kitty needs me.’

‘No she doesn’t,’ Richard replied firmly. ‘Trust me. Now deal me another card.’

Arthur obliged and his brother examined his hand and laid it down. ‘I think I’ll stick with that.’

Arthur flipped his over. An ace and a king. Richard frowned as his stake was swept away once more.

‘I came here to offer you comfort and support and you insist on fleecing me. I’ve had enough of cards. Besides, your mind is not on the game.’

‘How could it be?’ Arthur replied with a nod to the ceiling as Kitty cried out again. ‘My mind is on my wife and her suffering.’

‘Then we must find other means of diverting your attention.’ Richard poured himself another glass of port from the decanter and topped up Arthur’s glass. ‘Drink. It will help. Now then, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how long do you think the present government will last? It seems that the so called ministry of all the talents is missing the most vital talent of all in the field of politics, namely that of self-preservation. ’

Arthur could not help smiling as he nodded his agreement.‘They do seem intent on failure.’

‘As well as undermining me as much as they can.’

‘That is just the Whigs, Richard. Most of the Tories are ambivalent about the charges against you, if not actually supportive of your position.’

‘That is small comfort.And I do question why my own brother lends his support to such a coalition of my enemies.’

Arthur sighed wearily. ‘Our country is at war, Richard. We cannot afford any unnecessary dissention in Parliament. So I must support the government, even if some of its members are hell-bent on ruining your reputation.’

‘War?’ Richard mused. ‘A strange kind of war it seems to me. After Trafalgar and Austerlitz Britain rules the seas while France rules the land, and we are condemned to regard each other warily, but unable to fight.’

‘That will change one day. And Britain has the advantage of being able to take the war to the enemy. Bonaparte does not have that choice. As for your situation, I wish it were otherwise. However, I doubt the present government will last much longer. And if Grenville and his coalition government fall, I pray to God that the next ministry is more determined to continue the fight against France.’

‘I pray so.’ Richard paused at a fresh cry from upstairs. When it had passed he continued,‘Grenville is doomed if he persists in attempting to mollify the Irish and the Catholics.’

Arthur nodded. As ever, the opponents of British rule in Ireland had drawn great comfort from Napoleon’s triumphs and once news of Jena reached the ears of the Irish revolutionaries there had been uprising in the countryside. Several land agents had been murdered and some estates burned to the ground. As usual, the officials in Dublin had called out the army and the militia and suppressed the rebels mercilessly, hanging any ringleaders they captured and scattering the bands of rebels with a volley or two of musket fire.The spirit of rebellion still festered in Irish hearts and in an attempt to assuage such passions the government had proposed to ease some of the restrictions placed on Catholics.

‘What else can the government do?’ Arthur shrugged. ‘Any prospect of peace with France died with Charles Fox. Britain is renewing the struggle and needs order. If that means satisfying the demands of the Catholics, so be it.’

‘Whatever the feelings of people here in England? Surely you remember what happened when that man Gordon stirred up the rabble the last time there was an attempt at Catholic relief ?’

‘How could I forget?’ Arthur vividly recalled the days of rioting, the burning down of public buildings and the bloody manner in which the army had restored order to the streets of London. ‘But we were not at war then. People are more mindful of the need to do what is necessary to beat Bonaparte.’

‘You think so?’ Richard looked surprised. ‘Arthur, you are a fine soldier, but a poor politician. Forgive me for saying so, but the national interest is not at the top of most politicians’ list of priorities. If political capital can be made out of resisting Catholic relief, then it will be so.As surely as night follows day.Why, I have even heard that the King himself intends to intervene to prevent the passage of any such bill through Parliament.’

‘That would be an act of madness. He would not presume. Surely?’

‘Would he not?’ Richard smiled. ‘And as for madness, let us say that his majesty has hardly availed himself of a full measure of sanity since he came to the throne.’

Like many Englishmen Arthur did not wish to be reminded of King George’s mental infirmity in an age when the very principle of monarchy was under widespread attack. He cleared his throat nervously. ‘I am certain that the King would not challenge the authority of Parliament over such an issue. Especially when Britain is at war and a man’s service to his country is more important than the question of his faith.’

Richard was about to reply when Arthur raised his hand to still his brother’s tongue. He felt a sudden icy grip of terror fix on the back of his neck.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Richard asked.

‘It’s gone quiet.’Arthur glanced at the ceiling and muttered,‘By God, if anything’s happened to Kitty . . .’

The two brothers sat in silence for a moment, and Arthur felt his chest tighten anxiously at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. A moment later the door to the drawing room opened and Dr Hoxter entered. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as he wiped his hands clean on a bloodied piece of cloth. Arthur instantly feared the worst and swallowed nervously.

‘Kitty . . . is she all right, doctor?’

‘She is fine, sir.’ Dr Hoxter nodded and then smiled warmly. ‘And so is your son.’>

‘My son?’ Arthur felt the tension drain from his body, to be replaced by the warmth of love and unbridled joy. ‘I have a son.’