Vice and Virtue

by Veronica Bennett

  Aurora was frightened. However profound her distress that Edward faced death, and however fierce her determination to save him from it, fear possessed her. The Fields were larger than she had thought. The darkness was blacker than she had imagined. There was no noise except the occasional rustle in the undergrowth of some nocturnal animal. Supposing the duellists chose another area altogether, behind some trees, or hidden by bushes? Supposing she neither saw nor heard them until it was too late?

  Although the dawn was some way off, the intermittent chatter of birds had begun. The creatures were aware of the warming of the air, and the most minute sliver of brightness, far beyond Aurora’s senses. The natural world was awakening, and as soon as there was enough light, the duel must be done.

  She tried to get her bearings. She had walked north-east from Covent Garden, and she was at the southernmost corner of the Fields. She must find the centre as accurately as she could, for there she would have the best chance of hearing anyone approach, from whatever direction.

  The sunrise, though as yet too weak to throw anything but the faintest grey light, aided her. She knew the sun must be due east, so she walked with it on her right, watching for the lumpy shapes of buildings to become visible over the trees, reasoning that when she was about the same distance from any building, in any direction, she must be near the centre.

  She came upon a space, apparently deliberately cleared for some sport. Bear-baiting, cock-fighting, she knew not. But here, it was certain, men had gathered, hidden from the world by a thicket of hawthorn and tall elms. She hung back amongst the trees; if they arrived first, Joe Deede and his accomplice must on no account catch sight of her. Stiff with pain and dread, she sank to the grass at the foot of a tree to wait while the world brightened around her and the birdsong gradually increased to a full chorus. Away to the south, she heard a quarter to four strike, and within minutes, heavy treads on the grassy path alerted her to the sight of two men approaching the clearing.

  Aurora recognized Joe’s plumed hat. He wore no other finery, though. Woollen breeches and sturdy riding boots showed beneath his cloak, and his sword hung at his side in a belt of plain leather. When he spoke to the other man, his breath made clouds in the cold air. Both wore thick gloves, and the accomplice had around his neck a kerchief, the purpose of which, Aurora guessed, was to disguise his face when the moment came. He did not seem to be carrying a sword.

  Her stomach lurched. She had eaten nothing since Sunday evening, and Tuesday morning was now dawning. But it was not lack of food that was churning her entrails. It was the knowledge that she beheld, here amongst the trees, her husband’s murderer.

  She must apprehend Edward before he reached the clearing. But which way would he come? She could not tell, because she did not know where he had spent the last few hours. Her heart drummed; she could not think. It was while she was cowering low beneath the hawthorns, cursing her helplessness, that the unmistakeable sound of horses’ hooves, their snorting and blowing, and then the sight of their steaming coats, came near.

  Richard must have had horses at the inn. Of course, he owned a carriage, did he not? Had he driven in it to London from Hartford House, when he had brought Flora’s letter? Why had Aurora not thought to ask Nathaniel if Mr Hoggart and Mr Drayton had taken horses, or Mr Hoggart’s carriage? Richard and Edward could have been at Hartford House all day, or visited any fencing-hall within twenty miles. Had desperation so affected her brain that this possibility had not struck her?

  Edward was more of a horseman than he had implied. He and Richard seemed to have ridden a long way, at a gallop. The horses were panting, and Richard removed his hat to wipe sweat from his face. The bandage round his head showed white in the mist-grey air. Edward dismounted in a swift, practised movement, soothing his horse. His clothes were covered with a dark cloak, and he wore his short wig and an untrimmed hat. He handed the reins to Richard and stood, his head raised, his sword sheathed at his side, watching the movements of Joe Deede and the man he assumed to be Deede’s second. Aurora’s heart had leapt into her throat. Seeing Edward’s breath as he exhaled, she realized with a stab of dismay that hers must be equally visible.

  Richard, still mounted, was leading Edward’s horse nearer her hiding place. Her cloak over her mouth, unable to attract his attention by calling, she picked up a small stone and threw it at Edward’s horse. She was not a very good shot; it landed short. But it disturbed the foliage enough for Richard’s head to whip round. He did not signal to Edward or cry out, but slipped quietly out of the saddle, came round to Aurora’s side of the horse and, using its body to conceal his action, peered between the bushes.

  There was not much light, and her face was shadowed by her cloak and hat. But he must see her. “Richard!” she hissed. “Warn Edward!”

  Surprise crossed Richard’s face, but he crouched, pretending to examine the horse’s shoe, and nodded.

  “The man with Joe Deede is not his second, but his accomplice!”

  He still said nothing, but beneath the shadow of his own hat Aurora saw his jaw stiffen.

  “You must believe me, Richard!” she pleaded. “The man is a paid assassin. I had this from Deede’s own lips. There will be no duel. You must get Edward away before it is too late.”

  Men on horseback could readily outpace men on foot. God had done His work. They would surely be saved. But Richard hesitated. “Can you ride?” he whispered.

  “No.” She understood what was in his mind. “Flee, and do not give thought to me! They are not aware that I know of their plot, and they have not seen me. I will be safe. Now, go!”

  To her relief, he stood up. Holding the reins of both horses, he led them into the middle of the clearing, where Edward and Joe faced each other. When Aurora saw that they had already shed their cloaks, and were waiting, swords drawn, for the en garde to be called, she had to stuff the edge of her own cloak into her mouth to suppress a shriek.

  “What the devil are you doing, man?” Joe’s enraged voice boomed in the silence as Richard led the horses into his path. “Get out of the way!”

  “Edward!” shouted Richard. “Mount and flee! It is a plot!”

  But before Edward could move, Joe Deede ran at him like a madman, his sword aimed at Edward’s chest. Richard shouted again, and Edward cast himself sideways onto the ground. Joe’s sword caught him a blow below the left shoulder, but Aurora was unable to see, in the tangle of horses and men, how badly he was hurt.

  To her horror, the assassin had drawn a short-bladed dagger, which he held aloft as he ran towards Edward. Richard’s horse, alarmed by the affray, wheeled round, its hooves churning the earth. One of its back legs struck the man. He fell, cursing mightily, his weapon landing a yard off. He managed to reach it, but Richard had drawn his own sword. “Stay!” he commanded, stern-faced, his sword at the assassin’s throat. The man fell back and lay on the ground.

  Aurora found herself whimpering. She could not help herself. She watched in horror as Edward leapt to his feet and thrust his rapier at Joe Deede, who had again raised his sword. Each man made another pass; Joe was accurate, but Edward, despite his injury, was agile. Screeching in frustration, Joe made another murderous lunge, but Edward was ready for it. He evaded Joe’s blade and, before his opponent could steady himself, ran him through with his own.

  Joe sank to the grass, clutching his breast. His wig had fallen off, displaying a short fuzz of hair, the colour of Celia’s. It was the first time Aurora had seen him without his wig. He strove to hold up his head, but Aurora could see he had little strength left. Blood had come into his mouth. Before his head finally dropped she heard him splutter the words, “Honoria! My dearest God, Honoria!”

  The assassin took advantage of Edward and Richard’s motionless horror. With one swift movement he pushed Richard’s sword aside and rose. Secreting his own blade beneath his waistcoat, he made off at a brisk pace between the trees.

  “Come, Aurora! Make haste! We must away!”

  It was
Richard’s voice. She felt his hands reach for hers; he pulled her to her feet. “Edward!” was all she could say. “Edward’s wound, is it…?”

  But Richard was not listening. He was gathering the reins of the horses, who had not bolted, to Aurora’s relief, but had merely retreated to the thicket on the other side of the clearing. One was still showing the whites of its eyes in fear, but the other, perhaps more used to witnessing its master’s swordplay, was calmer. “Edward!” Richard said sharply to his friend. “You must mount, if you can!”

  But Edward still had not moved. He stood above the body of Joe Deede, staring at it in disbelief. “He is dead,” he said, “by my hand. I killed him.”

  Aurora went to his side. His eyes were empty of everything but deep sorrow. He looked at her without love, without relief, almost without recognition. “I killed a man,” he repeated. “A man in full health. I am no better than a murderer myself.”

  She knew it was futile to try and comfort him. He could know no comfort. She turned away, overwhelmed suddenly by confusion and fear. She could look neither at the body of Joe Deede, the man whose feelings she had assumed she was trifling with, nor at Edward, the man whose feelings she had trifled with, and whose forgiveness she now so agonizingly craved. Bile rose in her throat; she feared she would vomit.

  Richard approached, leading Edward’s horse. “Joe Deede meant to kill you, Edward, regardless of any duel,” he said steadily, though Aurora could hear horror in his voice still. “He was not an honourable opponent. You had to defend yourself.”

  Edward’s face was as white as wax. Aurora saw his eyes pinken, as if they were suddenly hot, and tears gather on his lower lids. She had never seen a man cry. “Edward,” she said, her voice shaking, “my dear husband, you must come away.”

  The left side of his shirt bore a bloodstain from the neck to the waist. It was worsening; blood was still flowing from the wound. Aurora picked up his cloak from where he had discarded it on the grass, and put it around his shoulders. He still held the bloodied sword by his side. She grasped the hilt and laid it down, then she took Edward’s hand, which was sticky with Joe Deede’s blood. Again, nausea attacked her. She fought it, and it withdrew.

  “Away!” urged Richard. “Edward, it is done. We must go.” He retrieved Edward’s sword and, without stopping to wipe it, replaced it in its scabbard. Gently, avoiding his friend’s injured side, he steered Edward towards his horse and helped him mount. Then he lifted Aurora and placed her on his saddle. “I have no side-saddle,” he told her, “so you must sit astride. But I will ride behind you, you need not fear.”

  Aurora had never sat upon a horse before. The ground looked a very long way beneath her. But she was not concerned for herself. She could think only of Edward’s distress. She clung to the front of the saddle while Richard took the reins to guide the horse out of the clearing. Her eyes were fixed upon her husband, who rode ahead of them, his head bowed, one hand clutching the reins, the other bent lifeless across his body.

  Aurora felt Richard’s arms enclose her as he mounted the horse. He set it to follow Edward’s despondent figure. Aurora’s last glimpse of the place touched the body of Joe Deede, lying in a darkening mass of his blood. And at last, she wept.

  The room at the Black Swan was full of daylight. Edward lay on Richard’s bed with his eyes closed, his face as motionless as a mask. Mercifully, he was no longer bleeding. The stain on his shirt had stiffened and was turning brown.

  Richard was sitting on a bench in his shirtsleeves, his face pinched with anxiety. “He will live,” he murmured. “It is but a flesh wound. He will live.”

  Aurora sank to her knees by the bed. The sunlit room blurred into a shifting collection of wet colours. She blinked again and again, trying to push the tears away. “Thank God,” she whispered. Her head felt light, with relief and from many hours without food or drink. She took Edward’s hand. “Edward…” She could not tell if he had heard her, but she persevered. “It is I, Aurora. I will not leave you. Now, sleep.”

  “You too must sleep,” Richard told her. “You too are injured.”

  “I cannot sleep. I must keep vigil here. I must watch for signs of fever.”

  “That is true, indeed. But I can watch.” Richard’s voice shook. When Aurora turned to him she saw bewilderment on his face. He was still deeply unsettled by the treachery he had witnessed. “You are aware, are you not,” he asked, “that if Edward had not been so practised with the rapier, Deede would have pierced his heart?”

  Aurora nodded. “Luckily for Edward, Joe Deede did not practise yesterday. He spent the day at White’s.”

  “He had no need to practise,” observed Richard grimly. “Edward was supposed to be murdered before the duel ever began.”

  Aurora looked at him earnestly. “But Edward’s killing of Deede was not murder, was it? Edward laid down the challenge to a fair fight, governed by rules. You will bear witness to the fact that Joe Deede thrust illegally, before the en garde had been given, will you not?”

  “Certainly, but” – Richard sighed resignedly – “I do not think there will be a trial. Deede’s body will be taken away by his friends, who will put out that he died honourably in a duel, and Edward will not report what really happened.” His troubled eyes searched her face. “We must say nothing, Aurora. One danger has passed, but today’s events will give rise to further dangers.”

  She rose from the bedside and sat beside him on the scarred bench. She lowered her voice. “Richard, what do you understand by Joe Deede’s dying words?”

  His attention sharpened. “I heard nothing. What did he say?”

  “He said, ‘Honoria! My dearest God, Honoria!’ I heard it plainly, and I believe Edward heard it too.”

  There was utter silence. Aurora could not hear Edward’s breathing, or Richard’s, or her own. She could not hear servants going about their work, or horses in the street. It was as if the world had been frozen by an invisible spell. “Do you think it could be to do with Josiah Deede’s secret?” she asked. “The one he was blackmailed for?”

  Richard frowned, struck by this thought. “It may well be,” he observed. “A woman is often at the heart of blackmail.”

  Aurora asked the question that had been burning in her brain ever since they had left Lincoln’s Inn Fields. “Richard, could the blackmailer be Joe Deede?”

  Richard frowned more deeply, but said nothing.

  “Maybe Joe knew something concerning this woman Honoria, which his father wished to keep secret,” continued Aurora. “If it was also known to Henry Francis, Joe might have discovered this and blackmailed his father in Henry Francis’s name.”

  Richard rose and walked up and down the room several times. Then he looked piercingly at Aurora. “Joe Deede’s body will have been removed from the Fields and taken to Mill Street by now,” he told her. “Josiah Deede knows who Miss Drayton and her brother really are. He knows he is under suspicion of foul play with regard to the death of Henry Francis, and will be on his guard. Do you understand?”

  Aurora nodded. “But he does not know what his son’s last words were. He may not even know that Joe intended to murder Edward in cold blood. We must use his ignorance, and his grief for his son, to our advantage. We must tell him what Joe said as he died. Surely, under such duress, Josiah will confess to the murder of Henry Francis, and disclose the secret that has cost him so much?”

  She waited expectantly for Richard’s reply. He did not immediately give it; he seemed in deep thought. But after a moment he roused himself. “He may, if it be God’s will.”

  With fatigue in her legs, pain in her shoulder and dread in her heart, Aurora stood up and opened the door. “Watch over Edward well,” she told Richard. “Though it may lead me into I know not what danger, only I can confront Josiah Deede.”

  Blood Family

  The house at Mill Street looked exactly the same. There was no reason for it to have changed merely because one of its occupants was dead. But as Aurora stood on
the pavement and gazed up at it, an irrational thought possessed her that it might somehow have been affected by the passing of a young life, even one wasted by hatred. The windows still gleamed, however; the well-polished knocker still shone; the stone step was swept. Life did not stop for grief.

  She sighed. The first time she had been in this house, an excited Celia had scampered upstairs ahead of her. She had scorned her father’s insistence that she spend her time reading, and Aurora had lied about her “brother’s” similar misguidedness. What had she expected that day? She had entered the house fearfully, yet she had soon convinced herself, naïvely perhaps, that Joe Deede and his sister were innocent of their father’s crime. Today, as she waited upon the doorstep, with fear again in her heart, naïvety had turned to knowledge. This would surely be a strange meeting.

  For a long time no one answered her knock. Then, when she was about to knock again, the man-servant opened the door and gazed at Aurora with watery eyes. “Good afternoon, Miss Drayton,” he said.

  “Good aftrenoon, Harrison. I am come to pay my respects.”

  He nodded. “Miss Celia and the master are in the parlour, Miss. Please wait here.”

  But Harrison did not have a chance to inform his mistress of Aurora’s arrival. Celia flew down the stairs so fast she stumbled on the last one. Harrison went to her aid, but she brushed him off. Her near-fall had loosened some of her hair, which tumbled forward in crimped waves every time she tossed it back. “Throw that woman out of my house!” she demanded.

  “I wish to offer you my condolences upon the death of your brother,” Aurora told her steadily.