Young bloods, стр. 80

'For the proposal, thirty-three. Against, forty-seven!'

The supporters around Arthur stood up and cheered and he felt someone shake his shoulder in congratulation. He rose with a smile and shook hands with several men in the crowd that had formed round him. At the front of the hall Henry Grattan had risen from his seat and was marching down the aisle towards Arthur, with O'Farrell dogging his footsteps. At his approach, the members around Arthur drew back expectantly. Grattan strode up to him, his expression struggling to contain the anger and embarrassment he felt at his defeat. He glared at Arthur for a moment before he thrust out his hand.

'Congratulations, young Wesley.You have the makings of a fine politician.'

Arthur smiled.'Men have been challenged to a duel for milder insults, sir.'

'True.' Grattan forced himself to smile back. 'So it's just as well for you that you will not win the election here in Trim.'

'I wouldn't place too much money on Mr O'Farrell winning the election if I were you, sir.'

Grattan stared at him for a moment longer, then abruptly turned away and strode out of the room.

The seeing-off of Henry Grattan resulted in an immediate rise in Arthur's support amongst the electorate of Trim, and in the last weeks before polling day Arthur spent all his time touring the borough and speaking to crowds lured out by the promise of roast meats, cheap claret and barrels of ale. Such public meetings often dissolved into drunken riots as rival supporters fought it out on the village streets and country lanes of the borough. Connor O'Farrell continued to play to the voters' liberal sentiments but while the poorest people took some comfort from the example of the French radicals, they did not qualify for a vote and so Arthur reaped the anxiety that was growing in the minds of those with property who feared the lurid stories of mob violence on the streets of Paris.

The polls opened on the last day of April and by the time the poll closed it was clear from the voter tallies that Arthur had won and was duly presented to the public as the freely elected member of parliament for the borough of Trim.

As he travelled back to Dublin, Arthur stretched out across the seats of the coach and luxuriated in the sweet taste of success. At last he had done something that his family might be proud of. Better still, his new status as a member of parliament might well go some way towards impressing a more important audience that had been preying on his thoughts for some time now. He resolved to write to Kitty Pakenham as soon as he arrived back in Dublin.

Chapter 56

'Of course, you'll be sitting with us on the Tory benches,' Charles Fitzroy motioned towards the seating closest to the Speaker's chair. Arthur mumbled his assent but he was looking upwards, his gaze fixed by the cupola curving over his head far above. Fitzroy noted the look and smiled.

'Impressive, isn't it? When the debates start to get tedious, I often find myself stretching back and staring up there. Makes a man forget his surroundings for a moment, which is always a good thing.'

Arthur smiled. He had been in the building before, sometimes to watch his brother William speaking, sometimes because the nature of the debate took his interest. But now he was there as a member, not a guest, and Arthur felt the thrill of exclusivity that all new members of parliament experience.

'As one of the new boys,' Fitzroy continued, 'you'll find the rules are simple. Keep quiet, unless you're cheering one of our side on, or shouting down the opposition.' He paused and looked at Arthur. 'I'm afraid that doesn't happen as often as you might think. Most of the debates would do good service in purgatory. I sometimes wonder if that's the true origin of our party's sobriquet.'

Arthur laughed politely. Fitzroy's son, Richard, had been a contemporary of Arthur's at Angers and he had met Fitzroy on only a few occasions in recent years. So Arthur was pleased when the MP's invitation to introduce him to the parliament had arrived at his lodgings. Charles Fitzroy was a tall thin man in his late fifties. He was gracious, in word and action, and had sat for the borough of Kinkelly for over thirty years. His taste in clothes was refined, if dated, but somehow the powdered wig suited him and the overall effect very much reminded Arthur of Marcel de Pignerolle. He felt a twinge of anxiety at the thought of the director of the academy at Angers. If the revolution in France was determined to tear down every last bastion of the nobility, then the unrepentant de Pignerolle would perish with the system he so admired. Arthur's heart felt heavy with dread at such a prospect and it showed in the pained expression that briefly crossed his face.

'Are you all right, young Wesley?' Fitzroy took his arm gently.

'Yes, I'm fine. Just thinking about something else.'

'Oh?'

'It's nothing. I was just reminded of my time in France. Someone I knew.'

'Ah, France.' Fitzroy shook his head. 'A sad business, this crude egalitarianism they are so intent on establishing. No good will come of it, you can be sure of that. If God had intended us to live in a democracy he would have made us all aristocrats or peasants. And where would be the fun in that?'

'Quite.'

'And the wretched thing about it is that some of our own people are becoming infected by their notions.'

Arthur nodded. 'I know. I had the pleasure of Mr Grattan's company while I was campaigning in Trim.'

'Oh, don't you worry about Henry Grattan.' Fitzroy waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. 'He talks about reform, but he has a patriotic heart. And he's wealthy enough to imagine the personal sacrifices implied by a more egalitarian society. He won't cause us any real problems as long as he is fed a diet of petty reforms to dangle before his followers.' Fitzroy smiled cynically. 'Bread and circuses, dear boy. Well, in this instance, potatoes and poteen. As long as they're fed and drunk there'll be no threat to our class.'

'I'm not so sure,'Arthur replied after a moment's reflection.'All it takes is a few inspired men and anything can happen. God help us if the Irish ever find a Mirabeau or a Bailly to speak for them.'

'That presumes a degree of similarity in sophistication between the French and the Irish, which simply doesn't exist.The Irish were born to serve, Wesley. It's in their blood. Revolution simply wouldn't occur to them.'

Arthur shrugged. 'I hope you are right.'

'Of course I am, my boy.' Fitzroy slapped him on the back. 'Now come and meet some of my friends.'

Arthur soon discovered that being on the back benches of the Tory faction was a frustrating experience. As Fitzroy had said, the duties of a new member of parliament were limited to voting along party lines and spending the rest of the time waiting for a chance to join the chorus of cheering or jeering, as the situation required. There were proposals for further measures of Catholic and Presbyterian relief, budget presentations, arguments over taxation and tax exemption, and all the time the spectre of the revolution in France became a touchstone for those resisting change, as well as serving as a rallying point for reformers.

It soon became difficult to combine his parliamentary duties with those of an officer on the staff at Dublin Castle. Arthur took his role seriously, unlike a number of members of parliament, who hardly ever attended a debate and could only be persuaded to vote by an offer of a bribe, usually in the form of a sinecure or pension at the public expense. And while Arthur enjoyed the political manoeuvring of the Tories and Whigs he found the endless corruption and dishonesty profoundly depressing at times. There was some relief to be found in the social life at the castle. Particularly now that Kitty Pakenham was old enough to take a regular position in the crowd of youngsters who filled out the ballrooms, the dining salons and the endless succession of summer picnics.