Agnes Or The Art 0f Friendship

by Catherine Bowness

  “So were you – to write a letter to a person living with my family. I was almost bound to see the writing and recognise it. There were, after all, plenty of examples amongst my father’s correspondence.”

  “I can’t think why he kept them – it seems a pretty bone-headed thing to do but then he wasn’t quite up to snuff in a number of ways, was he? Well, in any event, now you know the truth,” Danehill said with a shrug. “If I were you, I believe I would lay the blame where it belongs: on the shameful behaviour of your parent. What do you suppose would have happened if I’d announced what I’d seen to the world? Do you think ostracism would have made him any happier? Do you think your mother would have married him if she’d known what a wretch he was? Why, you probably have me to thank for being born at all!”

  “I will not deny he was foolish but at heart he was a good man who made one mistake; I daresay she would have forgiven him. I don’t think women set such store by honour at the gaming table.”

  “He would probably have been called out by the man he defrauded – who would otherwise have won that game. He was a coward as well as a deceitful, lying scoundrel. I cannot conceive why you’re defending him.”

  “Because he was my father and – if we’re talking of deceitful, lying scoundrels ... I’ll meet you when and where you choose.”

  “You want to fight a duel to avenge a man who doesn’t deserve the name of gentleman? For God’s sake, man, you’re not strong enough to fight and, in any event, they’re against the law.”

  “Perhaps; but I can’t think what else to do. If you prefer, I will hit you and we can engage in some sort of fisticuffs. Is that what you favour?”

  The Marquess curled his lip and looked up and down the emaciated Baronet with a disdainful eye.

  “It would be unfair to engage in any sort of physical tussle with you – I’d kill you in five minutes. You look barely equal to walking across the room.”

  “Very well. Name your weapon and your second.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to ask Hersham; he’s the only person I know well in this damned part of the country. As for weapons, it’ll have to be pistols.”

  “Have to be?”

  “I may be a crook but I’m a nobleman and I don’t want to kill you in cold blood. You’re an invalid, man, and wouldn’t be able to stay on your feet long enough to fight me with swords. I hope you’re strong enough to lift a pistol,” he added scathingly.

  The Baronet nodded and said, “I’ll send my second to speak to Hersham later this morning and will see you at dawn tomorrow. I suppose there is somewhere here where we can shoot each other’s brains out without the rest of the household watching.”

  “Who will you ask to be your second?” the Marquess asked.

  “My brother, I suppose.”

  Agnes was also awake because she suspected that the duel was to take place the following morning.

  When she and Lady Armitage had made their way to the stairs to retire for the night, Sir John had followed them, kissing his mother with what struck Agnes as unusual tenderness.

  “We’ll come about, Mama,” he said. “You shall go home very soon and, although nothing can bring Papa back, you must know how very much he loved you – always.”

  “I know he did,” she agreed, sniffing back a tear. “But I own I wish he had said something about our financial situation a little earlier. Surely we could have made more retrenchments and have kept the house, at least, for you?”

  “You did, Mama; it is still mine and, when the tenants come to the end of their contract, I will take it back and see what I can do with it – and you shall come with me.”

  “He should not have kept paying your debts,” she murmured. “If he had stopped, would you not have been forced to stop playing?”

  “Possibly; I’m not sure, but I have stopped now, I promise. I’m a reformed character.”

  He gave her a reassuring grin and handed her a candle.

  Agnes stood just behind but he stepped in front of her as she made to follow her former employer up the stairs.

  “I know you’re no longer employed by my mother,” he said, “but I hope you will have a care for her even so if, in the future, she should need it.”

  “You mean,” she said in a low voice as she heard the door of Lady Armitage’s chamber close, “if you are killed tomorrow.”

  “If something should happen to me at any time,” he amended with a twisted smile.

  “No doubt your brother will look after her.”

  He nodded. “Will you want to dust the memory of the Armitage family from your feet and never think of us again?”

  “You know I will not be able to do that.”

  He took her hand and led her back into the saloon, closing the door behind them. When he had seated her in one of the chairs by the fire, he kicked the dying embers into life again and threw another log on top. Agnes supposed he must have something to say that might take more than five minutes and waited quietly.

  When he was satisfied with the position of the log, he sat down in the other chair and said, “It is of no use my trying to pull the wool over your eyes; you know that I am to meet Danehill and have guessed that it is tomorrow. Charles will be my second. I have arranged to meet him at the corner of the lane and we will travel together to whatever site he and Hersham – who is acting for Danehill – have chosen. Pray do not attempt to stop me – I cannot withdraw from my own challenge.”

  “Did he take it up willingly?”

  “Not particularly, but he did in the end. He even chose pistols as a favour to me because he could see – and did not hesitate to point out – that I would be no match for him in a drawn-out sword fight. I thought I would point that out to you because I believe it shows a move towards redemption on his part.

  “We discussed his paying back some portion of what he extorted; although he insisted he could not do it – does not have the cash - I think that, if he kills me tomorrow, he may consider making provision for my mother. I will write her a letter tonight explaining, as gently as I can, what has happened. I will leave it on the mantelpiece in my room – your room.

  “For the rest: I know you disapprove of duels, probably you disapprove of killing – an attitude with which I cannot argue. You know, at least I assume you do, that duellists are allowed only one shot each. I do not intend to kill him and will not do so unless my aim has gone off markedly. I will wing him.”

  “Do you think he means to kill you? After all, if he does, perhaps he hopes no one will know what he did.”

  “I don’t think he’d be such a fool as to think that. I would be bound to leave a letter explaining all and, in addition, Charles is to be my second. As such, he will have discussed the reasons for the fight and will, with Hersham, try even at the last minute to stop it.”

  “Do you think he might succeed?” she asked, a glimmer of hope lighting her eye for a moment.

  “No; the only way it could be called off at this stage is for him to offer to pay back everything he took. In those circumstances, it would not be improper for us to shake hands and go home together for breakfast.”

  “Oh, God – if only he would!”

  “I do not think it likely.”

  He got up from the chair and, to her surprise, dropped down on one knee before her. Taking her hand, he said, “I did not feel able to declare my feelings before because I knew that we could never be married but I want you to know that, if things had been different, I would have begged you to become my wife. You know – I am certain you know – how strongly I feel. I have spent years pursuing heiresses, thinking that was how it must be, but it was only when I met you that I understood the truth about love: that it is without price and more to be prized and defended than anything else in the world. I cannot offer you anything but my heart but it comes with the certainty that no man – and I am in no doubt that there will be others – could love you more than I do.”

  He bent his head and kissed her fingers before rising and walking
over to the window where he drew the curtain a little aside and looked out into the night, still many hours from the dawn which might be his last.

  Agnes followed him. “You say you love me,” she said,“but you will not ask me to be your wife. What if I were to ask you to be my husband?”

  He turned to face her. “I would say you are a fool and do not know of what you speak. I would point out that we would be as poor as the meanest labourer on my farm, that our life would not be comfortable or easy and that our children, although I hope they would not go hungry, would have nothing but the clothes they stood up in.”

  “They would have loving parents and would not know what they were missing in the way of comforts or horses or toys. Does it really matter how poor people are?”

  “Of course it damn well matters! I could not ask it of you.”

  “No, but I have asked it of you. Will you not have me?”

  And then he took her into his arms and kissed her.

  “Yes, please, dearest Agnes, indeed I will have you if you are sure you will not mind the privations.”

  “I will embrace them with joy,” she declared, laughing and crying at the same time.

  It was a long time before they broke apart and he took her to the foot of the narrow stairs which led to her attic where, handing her the candle, he kissed her again.

  She undressed and lay down upon her bed but her heart was too full of the joy of love given and love received - and her mind too consumed with dread for the morrow - to sleep.

  Chapter 38

  The watcher in the garden had begun to doze when she was woken by the strident cries with which birds are accustomed to greet dawn. She had never in all her comfortable, indulged life slept in the open and, although she had of course listened to birds singing and marvelled at the sound, she had not been so close as to be startled awake by what could only be described as a cacophony.

  For a moment she was confused not only as to where she was but how she had got there. Then, as she became conscious of the stiffness of her limbs, the hardness of the bench and the dampness, not only of her shoes, but also the shawl in which she was swathed, a good portion of the previous day’s events returned to her senses.

  Had she, by falling asleep, missed Sir John’s departure? There was as yet only the smallest change discernible in the colour of the sky: it was no longer pitch black but lightening to cobalt blue. She was sitting with her back to the house so that when she got to her feet she had to turn to look at his window where she could see the light of a candle glowing behind the still-drawn curtains. Sighing with relief, she stepped back quickly into the shelter of the bushes. He had not yet left but had risen from his bed and was presumably dressing for his appointment with death.

  Which of them would die today? It would, she acknowledged, be altogether unjust if he were the one to breathe his last; on the other hand, she found she could not bear the thought of Danehill dying. She must stop the duel!

  But how? She had sat here all night because her courage had failed her at the last moment in the face of the Marquess’s unexpected tenderness. She had been too afraid of curdling the new sweetness between them to beg him not to fight and then had found herself unable to make contact with Agnes either.. Now, as the moment approached when she had intended to slip into the house after Sir John left – for he could not bolt the door behind him – she realised that this would not answer either for, by the time she had roused Agnes and put her in the picture, they would be too late to follow Sir John; he would be out of sight and very likely have arrived at the meeting place and killed Danehill before they could get there – even if they knew precisely where the duel was to take place.

  No, she would have to follow him by herself. Would he have instructed Paul to bring the carriage to the door? Yes, probably, for, if he killed the Marquess, he would need to make a speedy exit not only from Sussex but from the country. She wondered if she should go to the stable and hope to stop – or at least delay – Paul in getting the horses harnessed. As the house was so small, it did not have its own stable but shared one with several others so that, to reach it, she would have to walk a little way down the lane.

  As she agonised over her next move, she saw the candle move away from the window and the room become dark. He must have left his chamber and be on his way down the stairs. It was too late to go to the stable. She would just have to hope that, in spite of its being unlikely, he was intending to walk for, if the carriage was already waiting outside, he would jump in and be off before she could intervene in any way whatsoever – except perhaps to cast herself in front of the horses and hope to delay his arrival long enough for Danehill to assume he was not going to show up.

  He would surely come out of the front door because she knew that the cook and Jess slept in a small room off the kitchen at the back. They would probably already be awake and he would not want to be seen by them.

  She made her way round to the front and arrived there just as the door opened. He held a lantern but nothing else; he did not appear to have equipped himself with a valise, which he would need if he was intending to flee the country – unless of course he had given it to his brother the night before.

  She was relieved to note that there was no sign of a carriage. He set off up the lane, in the direction of her house, with a stride as long and quick as he was able to maintain at this stage of his recovery. This morning he looked almost athletic as he walked; the grace which he had originally possessed was apparent not only in his gait but in the set of his shoulders. He did not look anxious. Danehill must have chosen pistols, but why had he failed to take advantage of his challenger’s weakness and chosen swords?

  He was in riding dress with light-coloured trousers, boots and a coat whose colour she could not identify in the semi-dark; his head was bare. When they reached the end of the lane, she expected him to turn left towards her house and had begun to feel confident, if not of the outcome, at least of being able to follow as far as the meeting place.

  But there was an unexpected setback as she reached the corner for there, parked in the road and facing not towards her house but onwards down the lane, was a vehicle – not the antiquated Armitage one but a light travelling carriage – the sort you might hire if you anticipated being obliged to flee the country within an hour or two. Her heart sank as she saw the door open and the Baronet climb inside, upon which it set off at a fair pace up the road.

  She swore in an unladylike manner and cursed herself for her stupidity. Of course he would not go all the way on foot for what would he do when he had despatched his adversary? He would hardly be likely to dust off his hands and walk back in a leisurely fashion to eat his breakfast. She knew little about duels for they were not fought frequently these days. Consequently, she had forgotten that one of the jobs the seconds undertook was to see that their principals arrived at the proper place in the appropriate manner – in a carriage which could take them away again at speed if necessary after the fight. She supposed that Mr Armitage would be acting for Sir John and that it was he who had hired the travelling carriage and arranged to meet his brother on the corner, well away from any prying eyes or listening ears at the cottage.

  Clearly she could not follow on foot for she still had little notion whither they were bound. For a few moments she stood, furious, in the road. Should she go home and hope to find evidence or prise it out of the stable staff as to where the Marquess had gone or should she return to the cottage and, belatedly, enlist Agnes’s help?

  Suspecting that even her own stable staff would not divulge the Marquess’s destination – if they even knew it for it seemed likely that he too would have ordered a travelling chaise – she decided to go back to the cottage. She and Agnes must put their heads together and decide what to do.

  By the time she got back to the little house, she was gasping for breath for she had run all the way. Guessing that the front door would still be unlocked, she turned the handle and went inside. No sooner had she closed it behind h
er than Agnes emerged from the saloon.

  In spite of the fact that dawn had still not broken, she was fully dressed and looked exceedingly anxious. Her face fell when she perceived who had entered the house.

  “Did you think it was he returning already?” Louisa asked.

  “No, of course I did not – but I suppose I hoped all the same,” Agnes admitted. “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh,” Louisa cried, drawing a ragged breath and beginning to wring her hands. “I spent the night in the garden and when Sir John came out I followed him.”

  Agnes frowned. “Where did he go?”

  “He got into a carriage on the corner. I suppose his brother must have hired it but I was on foot and could not follow.”

  “No, of course not, but what did you plan to do if you had followed?”

  “Stop it, of course. I am so afraid that Danehill will die.”

  “He won’t,” Agnes said. “John intends to wing him.”

  “What? Did he tell you that?”

  “Yes. It is far more likely that he will die for I don’t suppose Danehill will stay his hand.”

  Agnes’s tone was bitter and Louisa fired up at once. “Wing him?” she exclaimed. “Are they to fight with pistols then?”

  “Yes – thank God!”

  “But why in the world did Danehill choose pistols when everyone knows Sir John is one of the best shots in England?”

  “Apparently he considered it would have been unconscionable to engage in a swordfight with a man as infirm as John but, although such an attitude does him credit, it does not by any means imply that he will not shoot to kill.”

  “I suppose it depends who shoots first,” Louisa said. “We must go – now - to try to catch them before they’ve fired.”

  “Do you know where they will be?”

  “No, but I suppose there are only so many places that are suitable. Come on, we can make Paul take us in your carriage.”

  “But he won’t know where to go – and I wouldn’t be surprised if he refused if he knew what we were doing. Louisa, we can’t go after them and stop them; for one thing we’re already too late and for another, do you really think they would take any notice of us if we suddenly ran on to the scene crying, ‘Hold!’”