Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  Milla glared. “Very well,” she said gruffly after a long moment. “From all you are telling me, I’m not sure moving in society is worth it, mind.”

  “It depends – for some people it is like the air they breathe, and they would wilt away without it. Clearly you are not one of them, and I find I also can go on perfectly well in rural isolation. But even here we have a social position to uphold. Your mother visited the local gentry, I assume? I am thinking of calling on the vicar’s wife and some of the other neighbours tomorrow.” Abigail had begged off any social activities for the time being, and Susan did not blame her. “Do you want to come with me, Milla?”

  “We’d better wait until our brothers come back.”

  “You are probably right.” Susan had been trying to avoid the thought of the danger to her menfolk, and did not appreciate the reminder. But surely they would come back safe and sound – they simply had to. She was not prepared to lose either her brother or her husband. What would her father say, if anything happened to Jeremy? And the child she was increasingly sure she carried had to know his or her father. Anything else was unacceptable.

  ***

  To forget her worries, Susan threw herself into work, aiming to transform the castle in record time. She was making excellent progress, though it would take some more weeks to replace all the missing objects. For the most important, she would take her time, once she was back in town, with the nation’s best shops and craftsmen at her disposal. Still, it was surprising how much could be achieved with local resources and labour.

  “You are overdoing it,” Abigail told her, as she found Susan supervising the cleaning out of the attics. “And you with child! Go and lie down for an hour.”

  “I don’t feel tired. Look, Abby, we found the most curious things up here – Edward never looked into these dusty old chests, and there are some real treasures! A complete tea set from China that merely needs a thorough washing.” She hoped none of the nearly transparent cups would be broken in the process. “And look - a carved jade chess set. One of North’s ancestors must have travelled in Asia.”

  “Very interesting,” Abigail said, “but do come down now, and let’s have lunch – I am hungry after my walk. Have you not noticed what time it is?”

  “Is it lunchtime already? Sorry. I am coming.” Susan was not in the habit of losing track of time or meals, and wondered at herself. “I must plead a hitherto unrealised passion for exploring attics. You never know what will turn up, especially in a castle as old as this. Is Milla also waiting to lunch with us?”

  “Yes. Be careful what you say to her.”

  “Why?”

  “She and I have been practicing ladylike arts – wielding the fan, when to wear gloves, the best way to tie your hatbands. And more of her new dresses have arrived. Whatever you do, don’t praise her. Nothing is more likely to get her back up.”

  “I see. Thank you for assisting her, Abby.”

  “I don’t mind. Milla is a very unusual girl. I’d like to see for myself how she gets on in polite society. I wish I had her strength and independence. She is quite out of the common way.”

  “But will ladies and gentlemen appreciate that? Will they see beyond her face and figure to the fierce spirit of the girl underneath? Once she’s free of Fenton, one way or the other, her whole life is still ahead. I want her to be happy.”

  “Nobody can guarantee another’s happiness,” Abigail said. “I am coming to see that it depends on our own valour, or lack of it, more than outward circumstance.”

  “You don’t seem unhappy,” Susan said tentatively, “although your situation is still difficult.”

  “I am enjoying every day I am alive, and far from my stepmother – but I am also gathering strength in this beautiful place, and will not knuckle under so easily in future. After surviving the catastrophes of the last few weeks, nothing else is going to daunt me so easily.”

  Susan contemplated Abby’s serene face with astonishment. “I am very glad to hear you say so.”

  “Indeed, I have a feeling that I was meant to die – you don’t know how very close I came to just ending it all. But for you, it would have been inevitable.” Susan nodded, unable to speak; her threat closed up at the horrible thought. “But now, every new day seems like a present – I don’t know how to describe it, but I am enjoying life more, perhaps for the first time, even.”

  “I am glad,” was all Susan could say.

  “When I look back, it is all like a horrible story that happened to someone else – a dream from which I have woken up, to a sunny new day. I don’t even feel hatred for Fenton any more. He should be rendered harmless, particularly as Milla has foolishly tied her fate to his, but it’s as though it had nothing to do with you or me anymore.”

  Susan only wished that this was so. She still felt angry, even vindictive, and sometimes fantasized about torturing Fenton for what he had put Abby through. “You are far more forgiving than I. I would kill him myself, were it in my power, and not lose a minute’s sleep over the matter.”

  Chapter 28

  The meadow was not far from Truro, but deserted and ideal for their purpose. All six gentlemen had turned up on time – though you could not truly call Fenton a gentleman any more, North reflected, studying the angry red stripes on the man’s cheek with as much dispassion as he could muster, considering they had been made by his own younger sister – a sister he had signally failed to protect from the man about to shoot at his brother-in-law.

  If the marriage with Milla was allowed to stand, technically this would be a duel between his two brothers-in-law. He recoiled from applying the term to the Viscount who even now glared at him, ignoring his seconds and opponent. “You are leaving this to the stripling, then? Not man enough to defend your wife’s honour, Northcote?”

  North took a deep breath. Calm – he must not lose his temper as a second, no matter how far he was goaded. “If you emerge unscathed, Fenton, I’ll challenge you fast enough. Let’s take this one mortal offense at a time.”

  Fenton’s two seconds frowned. Young naval men on shore leave, they had been roped into the duel almost at random, since Fenton had no closer acquaintances in this part of Cornwall. They had been present when North and Barton had finally run Fenton down in an inn in Truro, and delivered the overdue challenge by throwing down a glove. Without the dozen witnesses present, North suspected, the whole thing might still be up in the air.

  “It is not customary to insult the other party’s seconds,” the older of the naval officers said. From his tone, he was regretting his involvement in this affair. “Why don’t we get on with matters? Is there any chance to come to a peaceful conclusion, through an apology?”

  “In view of the gravity of the offense, Lord Barton will not accept an apology, should it be proffered,” North said. His colleague, a local barrister he knew from his schooldays, nodded sombrely. Hopefully Dick’s legal expertise would not be required to get Barton off. Duels were illegal, and juries had been known to find the survivors guilty of murder, though in general the courts were lax enough in matters of honour.

  “You’ll have to wait for a cold day in hell before you’ll hear me apologize,” Fenton drawled. “Your sister is a tease and a wanton, Barton. It will give me satisfaction to see her in mourning for you.”

  All the other men exchanged looks of disgust, including Fenton’s seconds. “Right, then,” North said briskly. “Choose your weapons.” They had brought a physician, who was waiting in his gig a little distance away. North had seen all too many wounds from shooting during his army years, and suffered two of his own. How could he ever explain to Susan and her father, if Jeremy lost his life in this duel? So often a slight wound would become infected and lead to death days after the event. With an effort he shook off a host of sad memories, of friends and companions who had lingered on and not recovered.

  He glanced at Jeremy. A little pale, but resolute enough, and outwardly calm. He would have made a good officer.

  Th
e duellists chose from a pair of identical-looking Manton pistols, a set Jeremy had had in his luggage all this time. As was his duty, North had carefully examined them. Both were loaded and had hair-triggers. With their elaborate metal inlays, they looked like toys in comparison to the flintlocks he’d seen in wartime, but deadly enough for all that. There was ammunition for reloading if necessary.

  The seconds paced off the agreed distance – damnably short - and marked it with boughs from a nearby linden tree. The two principals took their places, facing each other. The alternative method, of having them pace off simultaneously and turn to shoot, was too susceptible to cheating, with a man like Fenton.

  Barton had written some farewell letters before the duel, missives that were even now resting among the clean shirts in North’s travelling valise. Pray God he’d have the chance to return them unopened. In a few more seconds he’d know. A niggle of unease made the small hairs of his back stand up.

  “I’ll drop the handkerchief, and you can shoot,” the older of Fenton’s seconds announced. There was a pregnant silence; even the little birds in the trees around the clearing fell silent, as though aware of the tension among the small group of men.

  North stood aside, as was customary for a second, but did not take his eyes off the wickedly gleaming pistol in Fenton’s hands. He held it steadily enough, damn him, his expression inscrutable.

  The white handkerchief dropped. Two shots rang out in swift sequence. North felt a burning pain in his shoulder, all too familiar from wartime. He swayed on his feet. He was not supposed to fall or faint – he was one of the seconds –the physician was running towards them. Why was everything flickering so? Before he could find the answer, everything turned black, and he sank to the ground.

  ***

  Jeremy cursed. He had hit Fenton, and was unwounded, but only because Fenton, against all custom and honour, had turned sideways at the moment of shooting, and directed his bullet at North instead of his challenger.

  The three unscathed seconds were in shock at this unexpected development. “Let me see him,” the doctor snapped, approaching Fenton’s prone form.

  “Never mind him – he shot at my second, Lord Northcote. Look after his victim first.” Jeremy grasped the physician by the arm and more or less dragged him towards North. Susan would never let him hear an end of it if her husband failed to survive. Blood was seeping from a wound in North’s left shoulder. At least it was not gushing. Fenton must have aimed for the head or heart. Numbly Jeremy tore off his coat, folded it up, and placed it under North’s head as a makeshift pillow.

  The physician produced scissors from his bag and started to cut away North’s jacket and shirt. “I might as well dig out the bullet now, while he’s unconscious,” he said pragmatically. “It does not seem to have hit any vital organ, but whether Lord Northcote ultimately survives is in the hands of the Lord.”

  “Just do your best,” Jeremy said roughly. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Not just now. It will need strength to carry him back to the inn. Since you all rode here on horseback, you’d better find some cart.”

  Jeremy nodded, and sped off to see how his erstwhile opponent was doing. He’d done his best to kill Fenton, and from his inspection, had come close enough. There was a wound in the man’s chest, but he was still alive, and looking at Jeremy with a scowl. “You may have got me, but at least he won’t get to enjoy Susan in my place,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “You’d better make your peace with God,” Jeremy advised. He sent the young barrister to look for two carts at the closest farms. From the location of Fenton’s wound and the relative lack of bleeding, he deduced that the blood was collecting internally, in the lungs. Within minutes Fenton’s breathing became laboured, but he still looked at Jeremy with hatred when his breath stopped at last.

  The first man I have killed, Jeremy thought, staring at the sightless eyes. It had to be done, and yet he felt a great fatigue and disgust; and determination not to engage in any more duels if he could help it. He’d make sure his younger brothers never had to feel like this. Jeremy was not as relieved at his own survival as might be expected – in his heart of hearts he had not truly believed he was in danger. An illusion, he saw now. Fenton had no doubt felt the same, and there he lay, dead and gone and rapidly cooling.

  The first cart to be found was used for the living. Jeremy went with North, who was still oozing blood into the thick bandages after the open-air operation, leaving Fenton’s body to his own seconds. The doctor had cast a glance at the body, and pronounced that there was nothing he could have done for him. “A very unfortunate affair,” he said, “and most irregular. I have never heard of a duellist firing at one of the seconds. What can he have been thinking? It greatly diminished his chances of victory before you got your own shot off. At this distance he could hardly expect you to miss.”

  “He was consumed with irrational hatred of my brother-in-law,” Jeremy said, not explaining Fenton’s reasons. Susan’s name should not be embroiled any more in this fiasco than it already was. “Strangely enough he was also his own brother-in-law.”

  “Talking of the law, milord, our local magistrate is rumoured to have fought a duel himself, in his youth. I don’t expect he will take a very serious view of this matter, once it has been explained to him how Lord Fenton behaved.”

  “I’m not about to run away to the continent,” Jeremy assured the physician. “But after this day, I am more in sympathy for those who reject duelling altogether.” The same might well be true of the magistrate, he thought glumly. Having committed a folly in one’s youth did not necessarily imply that you were forgiving of others doing the same.

  But all that was unimportant – he had to make sure North survived. If he needed nursing, maybe he’d better send for Susan – he should do that in any case, so she could take her leave of him, if worst came to worst.

  Only a short while ago he would have been happy indeed at the thought of Susan free, and a young widow rather than married to a man he had suspected of being a heartless seducer. Now he felt anguish at the thought of such an outcome. North was a good man, and in the short while since Jeremy had first arrived in Cornwall, they had laid the foundations of friendship and trust.

  Seeing North so pale and the bloody rags of what had been a decent jacket only an hour ago, he asked, “What are his chances?”

  “Impossible to say now. He looks to have a strong constitution, and the blood loss should be survivable with a strengthening diet. It all depends on infection, and if he is strong enough to fight it off.” Pistol shot wounds, especially through clothes, almost invariable became infected, and the mortality rate was high.

  “I’ll send for his wife – my sister - right away.”

  “Are you sure that is wise, my lord? A wounded and dying spouse is most distressing to a sensitive woman. The news is bad enough, seeing the effects herself will make it much worse.”

  “She has a right to see him,” Jeremy said. He knew Susan would never forgive him if he kept such disastrous news from her. “So has his sister – Lady Fenton.” Clearly the marriage ceremony would not be contested by Fenton now, and there was no harm in claiming young Milla’s rights. She’d be a widow – better than being a wife, with a fellow like that. But one widow in the family was more than enough.

  “Don’t die,” he murmured under his breath, watching the way North’s chest rose and fell – at least he was still breathing, unlike Fenton.

  The physician eyed him doubtfully, and said nothing more as they slowly approached the inn.

  Chapter 29

  North blearily opened his eyes to find Susan bent over him. His recent memories were vague, confused, and painful. At least his vision was clear enough to appreciate Susan’s unusual dishevelment. Where was the cool composure so characteristic of her?

  “Are you awake, North? Oh, I am so glad – but how could you allow this to happen! You were not supposed to endanger yourself!”

  “I’m
sorry,” he whispered. It came out in a dry rasp. She immediately brought a glass with weak tea to his lips. “Here, drink.” There was a straw in it, and he sucked gratefully.

  Unwilling to be served like an invalid or infant, he managed to grasp the cup with his right hand, more or less steadily, and only spilled a few drops. The burning pain in his left shoulder told him why he found himself abed in full daytime. “I gather I was shot again?”

  Susan blinked and passed the back of her ungloved hand over her eyes – surely she was not crying? He much preferred her angry.

  “Don’t you remember, North? But maybe not, they had doused you with laudanum before I arrived. The bullet is dug out, but you were feverish. I am very relieved to see you awake and aware now.” Her voice, although controlled enough, contained echoes of recent fear and anguish.

  North tried to recall the duel, without success. “What happened to Fenton?”

  “Dead, and I am glad of it. That barrister friend of yours, the other second, got Jeremy cleared with the local magistrate. My brother does not need to flee the country, though he says it would have been a small price to pay to rid us of this menace. He feels guilty that Fenton shot at you rather than him.”

  “He did? Deuced irregular, that,” North said. “It is not done. Jeremy could not possibly have foreseen it.”

  “Well, it was done, and if Jeremy had not killed Fenton at the same moment, I would do it myself. What went through Fenton’s head? Did he want me to be widowed, if he could not have me himself? He ruined his life for no good reason that I can see, but I don’t care about him – he tried to kill my husband. May he burn in hell.”