“I suppose I have.” They said nothing more until they reached Hill Street.
Lady Ocott and Bess Chase were there waiting for them, and Thea was immediately borne off in a flurry of female embraces and cluckings. As they started to climb the stairs Thea stopped, her aunt on one side, her friend on the other, and called back to Chase.
“Tony? You’ll go back to him, won’t you? In case he needs you?” There was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice.
For the first time since they had left Joaquín’s house together Chase smiled. “I will. Don’t fear, I won’t let anything happen to him.” He drew himself up and bowed to her. “Your obedient servant, Lady Matlin. I mean that.”
Thea smiled back. “It’s more than I deserve, I think. Thank you, Tony.” She turned and let the other women take her up the stairs.
o0o
After he had watched Tony Chase hand his wife into the phaeton and depart for Hill Street, Matlin turned weightily toward Joaquín.
“I suppose that now you will tell me why I should not kill you or at least surrender you to the authorities as a spy? You Spanish are still Bonaparte’s allies.”
Joaquín spat. “Bonaparte! You do not know. I told you, my message is more important than my cousin’s comfort or yours or my own. Do you know what is happening in Spain, Señor?”
“I have a good idea. British intelligence is not wholly inefficient. If you’re going to tell me Bonaparte has offered the crown of Spain to his brother....”
“I am going to tell you that Spain will come to Britain begging for her help. It is my mission to make sure that whoever comes, they will have a welcome, people who will be sympathetic.”
“You can’t plead the Spanish cause yourself?”
“I am not a representative of the government, Señor. I had word only last night that there are provisional governments forming. My people will not sit still under Bonaparte, I promise you. It is better for all that our government treat with yours, not with one lone man.” His face darkened. “Can you have any idea what my country is like now, Señor?”
“I have a good idea,” Matlin protested. “My wife and I left your country not five weeks ago.”
“It was bad enough then, but since the uprising the French have turned vengeful. If you thought my country was under the thumb of the French before, Sir Douglas, you should see Spain now. Murat made a proclamation that made criminals out of old women carrying scissors, for God’s sake. Hundreds have been shot down, Señor....”
“Spare me your rhetoric, Señor Ibañez.” Matlin said dryly. “My government is not unsympathetic, you know. Nor are we totally out of touch.”
“You will take me to see the minister?”
“Good God, man, of course I will, but why the Devil had you to go creeping about my wife in that fashion—let alone abducting her? If you had come straight to me and laid the whole before me....”
“Would I have got in your door? Your secretary or your man of business would have fobbed me off.”
“This is not Spain, Señor. Our retainers and relatives do not hedge us off from honest petitioners.”
“If you refer to my grandfather and Doña Clara de Silva—I mislike your tone.”
“I mislike more than your tone, Señor. You abduct my wife as if it were a matter of no consequence simply because you wish to speak with her husband....”
“Who does not concern himself overmuch with whom he is seen embracing in a public garden,” Joaquín finished.
“I warn you, Señor.”
“Sir Douglas, I will meet you whenever and wherever you wish, to give you the satisfaction you think you deserve, but the message I have is too important....”
Grudgingly Matlin admitted that Joaquín was right. “I will take you to see Canning. Afterward, I will do my best to blow your head off your damned shoulders.”
“You may try,” Joaquín agreed silkily. “Perhaps we should start for Whitehall now. I will require a few moments to clean up.” He gestured to his rumpled coat and the smudged bruise on his cheek. “If your friend has not returned shortly with your carriage, we shall take mine. Perhaps you will like to leave him a note?”
Matlin thanked Joaquín stiffly. When provided with pen, paper, and ink, he sat down to write a few words for Tony Chase, to tell him that he and Joaquín had gone to Whitehall and to ask him to wait at White’s Club until word should reach him there. That way, he hoped, Dorothea should be spared any worry on his behalf, if indeed she was worrying about him at all. Think about that later, he told himself.
Joaquín re-entered the room. “You are done? Good. Do you think we will find Mr. Canning there already?”
They drove toward Westminster in Joaquín’s barouche, rattling in the narrow a few streets away from Whitehall with a villainous-looking groom.
Canning was indeed in his offices. A clerk, a reedy, dry-looking elderly man in a half-powdered peruke, offered a few cursory protests before showing Matlin and his companion in to him.
The minister’s eyes lit at the sight of his visitors. “Douglas, you’re here betimes. Who?” Canning rose from his chair. His acute eyes took in the bruise on Joaquín’s cheek and the stiff carriage of his visitors, and he sat back again. “Well, you had as well tell me what’s to do; hadn’t you?” Gratefully Matlin made the introductions. He took a chair then, confident that Joaquín had sufficient bombast to fend for himself, and listened with one ear, while his mind was taken up with strategies for winning his young, very young wife’s favor again.
Chapter Fifteen
It was past six when Matlin and his guest left the offices of the Admiralty. “You may be assured that any official deputation from the Spanish people will be welcomed and attended to,” Lord Musgrave said fulsomely. “Let them apply to me direct, or to Castlereagh, at the War Office. God knows we’ve been looking for the wedge to split Boney’s forces. If you believe your people will cooperate....”
Joaquín bristled. “Cooperate? You are speaking of a country, señor, my homeland. The Spanish know the British for their allies....”
“If they do, it’s more than they did when I was there,” Matlin broke in, hoping to forestall more oratory. Joaquín gave him a look of dislike and lectured on for a moment or two more.
“Well, quite so, quite so; we’ll discuss the whole with your delegation, if and when they appear. Damned Corsican must be stopped, that’s the point.” Musgrave did not give Joaquín the opportunity to begin his lecturing anew; he bade both men a curt good evening and turned away. As an afterthought he added, “Tell your Lady Matlin I send my compliments, Sir Douglas.”
Matlin and Joaquín shared a conscious look as they left the office.
Once out in the street again Matlin stopped abruptly and looked at the other man. “Well, your message is delivered, and you have had the reply you wished for. All your obligations to your people are met, at least for the moment; are they not?”
Joaquín nodded slowly. “You wish satisfaction?”
“Good God, man, you abducted my wife! London is not a backdrop for some damned tragedy, nor am I content to say ‘Heigh-ho, all in a good cause’ and let you go off into the sunset. Have you no family feeling, if no other? The child is your cousin; you scare her half out of her wits, keep her boxed up in that place in Chiswick—Chiswick, for God’s sake!—then are surprised that I want satisfaction?”
Joaquín bristled. “Not everyone is fortunate enough to live in Hill Street, Sir Douglas. As for family feeling—I gave my cousin the chance, the honor to work for her country, her people, and she failed, not once but twice, three times. It was obvious, Sir Douglas, that you did not care a whit what she said; she could not get near enough to you to introduce me as I wished her to do. She might have redeemed her mother’s fault, become part of our family again....”
“Fine family,” Matlin muttered sourly.
“Señor!” With an effort Joaquín calmed himself. “I do not see the need to insult my House. When all is said and done Dorot
ea is only a woman....”
“Only....” The rage which had simmered off and on all day boiled up in Matlin; he aimed a blow at Joaquín which caught him full on the jaw, a little off center but effective. The Spaniard staggered back a few paces; Matlin stood over him and glared.
Hand to jaw, Joaquín glared back. “That is twice; I must admit I did not realize you cared for my cousin in the least, Sir Douglas. You give very little evidence of it publicly, you know.”
“I don’t think we need discuss my manifold shortcomings as a husband on the steps of Whitehall,” Matlin said tightly. “Do you have someone who will act for you?”
“As a second?” Joaquín admitted sulkily that he had not.
“I’ll see if I can find someone to do so. If that is acceptable, of course. I had rather settle this as soon as possible. Let us go to my club; young Chase is there, he has already agreed to act as my second.”
Joaquín stroked his jaw. “Let us go immediately,” he agreed. “This is a barbarous country,” he added obscurely.
“A barbarous country which will save Spain for you.” Matlin had the last word.
Tony Chase was waiting for them at White’s; he was a little bleary-eyed with ale and lack of sleep.
“You want to duel now? B’God, that’s the stupidest thing I ever heard of....” He shut up at the sight of the two men’s faces. However irregular the situation might be, they were in earnest, and Chase could hardly blame Matlin. “Who’s to act as Mr. Joaquín—I mean, Señor Ibañez-Blanca’s second?”
“Isn’t there someone here with nothing better to do?” Joaquín waved his hand at the men settled around the gaming room.
“Just ask a stranger? Like that?” Chase was plainly horrified.
“Why not?” Joaquín asked offhandedly. After a moment he excused himself, made his way toward a crowd of men, and entered into their conversation. Not five minutes later he returned to them. “This gentleman has agreed to act for me.”
Chase and Matlin exchanged horrified glances. It was Matlin who spoke first. “Joaquín, do you know who this is? Is this some sort of bad joke?”
“The man offered to stand up for me; I presume one of you will introduce me?”
Chase gave a strangled yelp. “It’s Towles! By God, it’s Towles!” He had the satisfaction of seeing Joaquín’s jaw drop open while Sir Charles Towles surveyed his companions with mild, befuddled amiability.
“Affair of honor,” he drawled after a moment or so. “Attended to several in my day, ask anyone. Didn’t realize you were the other party, of course, Matlin.” He turned with interest to Joaquín. “D’ye mean to kill your man?”
It was Matlin’s turn to smother his reaction. After a moment he turned back to Joaquín. “Are you satisfied with your second?”
“I assure you I did not realize...” the Spaniard began.
“I’m sure you did not,” Matlin agreed. “Well, dammit, let us go if we’re going to do. I’d rather this did not become some damned picnic.” Sir Charles appeared breathtakingly innocent of understanding and lumberingly drew Chase to one side to begin a discussion of weapons and place. To Matlin’s surprise Towles displayed a calm familiarity with protocol which appeared to unnerve Tony Chase somewhat.
“Of all the damned choices to make,” Matlin marveled some minutes later, when he and Chase were in his phaeton and rolling toward the Hempstead Heath and a spot which Towles had described as “a cozy little hollow, just the thing for our business.”
“My God, that gabble-ratchet! That bag-pudding! This will be all over London by the time we’re half way home,” he added bitterly. “That rattle, that slug....”
“Sir Douglas?” Chase ventured.
Matlin raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Are you sure? I mean, do you really mean to kill him?”
“Kill him? I....” Matlin choked. “I don’t want to kill him. Like to knock his damned head off his shoulders for him, but I don’t really want to kill him. He is Thea’s cousin, after all.”
Chase murmured something inaudible.
“Let us go out there, fire off a few shots, go back to White’s, have a brandy. Then I have a deal of business to settle with my wife, if she’ll listen to me.”
“She will, sir. I think.”
“God. I hope you’re right. Where the Devil did Towles say the turn off was?’
The evening light was fading; it took them some time to find Sir Charles’s “cozy hollow.” They found Joaquín and his second waiting there; Joaquín had obviously worked himself into a state of wrath out of all keeping with Matlin’s notion of the duel’s magnitude.
“Are you sure....” Tony started dubiously.
“Good God, man, let us get it over with,” Matlin answered.
The seconds conferred. Since neither party would agree as to which was the injured party— “Dammit, he stole my wife! Don’t you consider that an injury?” Matlin fumed to Chase—they tossed a coin for position and paced out the field.
Finally, Matlin and Joaquín stood back to back. The light was almost gone; the shade of nearby trees threw uncertain black shadows across the field.
“Did you wish to leave a note for my cousin?” Joaquín asked solicitously over his shoulder.
“I intend to go home and to clear everything with her. It is high time I did so.”
“I hope you will convey my apologies to her?”
“Certainly.” Matlin called in answer to Towles’s question: “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Ready,” Joaquín agreed.
Sir Charles gave them instructions in his usual drawl. “You will walk fifteen paces. When I say turn, you turn. When I say fire, you, well, you....”
“Fire,” Matlin finished for him. “Get on with it, for the love of God. I have somewhere else to be.”
With a sigh at this lack of finesse Towles gave the command to mark. Matlin and Joaquín paced forward, stopped, and waited.
“Turn,” Towles drawled. They turned.
For a brief moment, awaiting the command to fire, Matlin wondered if Joaquín meant to kill him. He knew himself for a crack shot, but he found himself curiously loath to kill the other man. It was a question of what Joaquín’s feelings in the matter were. I should have written a note, he thought urgently. Thea....
“Fire!”
Matlin raised his gun, aimed, and fired.
The report was shockingly loud in the evening stillness. A moment behind his own shot, like an echo, he heard the report of Joaquín’s pistol; the shot went no where near him. In the dim light, giddy with relief, Matlin wondered if he saw a stain on Joaquín’s sleeve.
“Are you satisfied?” Towles called to them.
Matlin drew a breath. Had he really been holding his breath since the turn? “God’s sake, yes,” he said hoarsely. Then, as much to distract himself as to amuse the others, he added, “So long as my opponent promises not to abduct my wife hereafter.”
Across the field Joaquín’s voice rose a little thickly. “I promise. After all, I have my introduction. Milord Towles, you have perhaps an extra kerchief?”
Towles lumbered heavily to Joaquín’s side and waved his handkerchief like a pennant. Matlin stood bemused, watching as Chase and Towles bound Joaquín’s arm. When it seemed to be satisfactorily done Chase hurried to Matlin, enthusing like a puppy.
“I never saw anything like it, sir! You were such a cool hand! You winged him! He deloped, you know; he’d as well admit aloud that he was at fault....”
“Of course he was at fault; he kidnapped my wife! In any event, it is over.” Matlin drew a deep sigh and handed his pistol to Chase. “Go tell my opponent and his second that I will stand them a brandy at the nearest creditable posting house. I’m sure Towles will know of one nearby,” he added sardonically.
Joaquín, having suffered Sir Charles’s ministrations for several minutes, at last joined Matlin and Chase; he protested that the wound was nothing, a mere scratch. The four men retired from the field and made for a sm
all inn which Sir Charles had, indeed, suggested.
An hour later and in a state of considerable relaxation, Matlin left his companions and started the drive to London and to Hill Street.
o0o
Bess Chase had spent the whole of the day with Thea and Lady Ocott. There had been a brief note from Tony some time after noon; it informed them that Matlin had taken Joaquín to Whitehall; he had very sensibly said nothing in his note of the possibility of a duel. Excuses went out from Ocott House, pleas of sudden indisposition, and Thea, Lady Ocott, and Bess all begged off their day’s engagements. They settled in to wait, fiddling nervously with ’broidery thread and linen, playing backgammon and killarney; they chatted nervously.
“This is a wretched way to spend an afternoon, and so I shall tell Douglas. Your cousin, too.” Lady Ocott surveyed her parlor with disfavor. “I have come to the conclusion that I shall have to buy new drapes. These are horrid.”
Thea said nothing.
By six o’clock, when the dressing bell was rung, Thea was plainly distracted. Lord Ocott made an appearance for dinner and tried his best to amuse his female audience, but he had little success. Lady Ocott frowned nervously, Bess twisted her napkin and bit her lip, Thea looked miserable.
“Why don’t they come? Or send word. Something!” Dinner, like the rest of the day, stretched to the screaming point, and still there was no word.
At ten that night Bess went home, attended by Lord Ocott, who had appeared again hoping for news. Not until after midnight did Thea, exhausted to the point of spurious calm, give up her vigil and retire to her room. Ellen was waiting; she undressed her, combed out her short curls, and laced her into a pale blue satin negligee which had been Lady Ocott’s gift to her. When the maid had left her, Thea sat, staring at the folds of the satin under her hands, remembering that the gown had been a honeymoon gift. So much, she thought, for that.
Where was he?
She could not sleep; even lying still was impossible. She tried to read, laid the book down, picked it up again and flipped through the pages, and laid it down again. She looked out her window and tried to read the inky darkness of the garden; she wondered. She had been so certain, had wanted so desperately for him to come tonight so that she could apologize, talk to him, tell him everything at last, and at least have no more secrets.
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