Leaning to her, Lisette breathed, "And did he strike you very hard?"
"No." Her grandmother chuckled. "Not really. It was the humiliation hurt the most, and the knowledge I had indeed been most naughty. But never had I admired him more, through I did not let him see that, of course, and wept so that he was horrified by what he had done and—oh, so sweetly repentant."
"And—and so you forgave him?"
"Of course." My lady cackled and gave Lisette a conspiratorial dig in the ribs. "But not before I had made him promise never to raise his hand to me again. He never did, and although we had our squabbles and differences from time to time, I gave him no cause to doubt me, and I always held him in respect—to the day he died, God rest his dear soul…" With another sigh for yesterdays, she put her snowy head back against her chair and closed her eyes for a moment. Strand's letter slipped from her hand, and taking it up to fold it absently, Lisette said, "But I thought you had many lovers!"
"So I did!" The fierce eyes snapped open again. "Cicisbeos merely, but I'd the largest court of any woman in London, I'll have you know. In fact—" The door burst open. Irked, she swung her head around and began, "How dare—"
Amanda Hersh rushed in, dropped the old lady a hurried curtsey, and turned a distraught countenance to her friend. "Thank heaven I found you Lisette! You must stop him you must!"
Standing to greet her, Lisette was struck by foreboding. "What is it? Has something happened to Lord Bolster?"
"I pray not!" cried Amanda, wringing her hands. "I do not know the cause but Strand struck Jeremy in the face with his whip!"
Lisette gasped, "He—what? Oh, your pardon, but you must be mistaken. They are the very best of friends."
"They were! No longer. Strand must be all about in his head but he struck him I tell you!''
"The devil he did!" Lady Bayes-Copeland rose with unusual alacrity and, proceeding straight to the heart of the matter, said "They'll go out, then?"
"This—this afternoon!" wailed Amanda.
Too stricken to utter a word, Lisette stared at her.
"Where?" barked the old lady. "When?"
"Alas I do not know ma'am I can discover naught of it I am sure Mr. Devenish knows but he would not tell me." Amanda moved to clasp Lisette's arm imploringly. "I cannot understand it but they are to fight with pistols that much I did learn and it means—that— Oh, Lisette help me! For pity's sake help me!"
Lisette raised a trembling hand to her brow. "Yes, but what— whatever are we to do? This afternoon! My God! Why ever must it be so soon?"
"Because men are incredible ninnies!" raged my lady, rapping her cane on the floor in frustration. "And this is no time to stand on ceremony. Come!"
Two terrified pairs of eyes turned to her. "Where?" asked Lisette.
"To the servants' hall." My lady began to march to the door, her step surprisingly brisk. " 'Tis the one sure source of information. But if those two idiots kill one another before we can stop them, I shall never speak to either of 'em again! And so I warn you!"
The drizzle had stopped by the time the carriage halted, and pale rays of sunlight were beginning to slant through the warm, misty air. Strand drew the collar of his greatcoat higher about his throat and, shivering, started off with his usual rapid stride, only to check as a shattering howl blasted the damp silence. "That damnable hound will raise every constable for miles around does he keep that up!" he gritted.
Marcus Clay nodded and, praying that Leith would receive his message, offered to go back and let Brutus out of the carriage.
"Lord, no! He would hang on everyone's neck, blast him!"
Walking on, Clay asked, "Why did you bring him if he's such a nuisance?"
"I didn't invite him! The brute jumped in just as my groom was putting up the steps and raised such a fuss when we tried to drag him out that two old ladies who chanced to be passing threatened to have me arrested for cruelty to animals! It seemed less trouble to haul him along, but that is why I'm late." He scowled to see Bolster's chaise drawn up beside some trees. "Damn it! I knew he'd be punctual!"
Clay muttered that he'd best consult with Devenish and wandered over to the small group awaiting them. The surgeon, a cold-eyed man with a military bearing, vouchsafed the information that he'd not been in attendance at a duel since "poor young Hedges" was killed in May. Clay and Devenish exchanged grim glances and went off to measure the distance.
"Any word?" Devenish asked, low-voiced.
"None. Even if my man finds Leith, I doubt anything can be done. What a damnable coil this is! Poor Bolster's face looks dreadful. How's he taking this?"
"A sight calmer than I would do. But there's an air of resignation about him. I've an idea he means to delope."
"Good God! He must be mad! But if he does fire in the air, I give you my word Strand won't! He's like a man possessed. Have you learned what set it off?"
"Something about Lisette, which I cannot fathom, because Bolster's crazy for his Amanda. This spot's level, eh? Strand's— Jupiter! What was that?"
The long-drawn-out howl echoed eerily through the swirling vapours. Glancing in some amusement at Devenish, Clay saw the fine young face was pale and scared—a most uncharacteristic reaction from this fire-eater. "It's only Brutus," he said reassuringly. "He stowed away in Justin's chaise. Something bothering you, Dev?"
Devenish snorted. "Oh, no! Only that two of my good friends are about to slaughter one another!" He then offered an apologetic, "Sorry, Marcus. Nerves a bit tight. I'd have sworn we were followed here. You didn't see a black brougham lurking about, by any chance?"
Before Clay could respond, Strand marched up to ask with some ire what was causing the delays. "I've an—an appointment," he said curtly.
"If you Will move out of the way, we'll finish here," Clay answered.
Strand stamped off. Devenish and Clay marked the distance, then went to inspect the pistols. There was some further delay when Devenish affected to mislike the balance of his principal's weapon, but Strand, managing somehow to avoid looking at Bolster's calm but cruelly bruised countenance, snarled that he would take the offending pistol, and moments later the protagonists faced one another across twenty yards of mist-wreathed turf.
Strand stood very straight, the gleaming pistol held at his side. It all seemed quite unreal, but that, he knew, was because the chill he had taken on the boat was tightening its hold on him. His head felt wooden and stupid, he knew he was feverish, and his hand was none too steady. Still, it was done. The seconds had conferred and argued and procrastinated for as long as they possibly could. The final instructions had been given by Clay, his pleasant features very grave. The only thing remaining now •
was the count—and these last moments of grief and farewell. He recalled Lisette's face as he first had seen it, angelically lovely, framed by the dark window of her coach. How little he had dreamed then that his foolish heart, so instantly and irrevocably given, would lead him to this bitter moment. She'd never cared, of course. He was no Don Juan, not like that blasted Leith! Yet what a blessing he did not face Leith today. Poor Rachel would have been—
"One…" Devenish's voice echoed across the quiet meadow.
Scarcely hearing, Strand frowned. Why was he thinking of Leith? He did not face that tall, dark Adonis. The yellow hair that gleamed in the diffused light of this mist-shrouded afternoon belong to Jeremy Bolster… It was Bolster who had betrayed him, who evidently, having lost his own love, had decided to trifle with another lady. The wife of his good friend! Bolster! Had it been Garvey, now, that would have been logical enough. It would have fit. He'd thought it would be Garvey, and never dreamed—
"Two… !"
That ominous call came slightly muted through the trees, and the man who moved so stealthily forward stopped, then sighted carefully along the barrel on his fine Manton. To anyone observing the actions of Mr. James Garvey, it must have seemed that he directed the pistol at Lord Bolster's broad back, but actually, he aimed past Bolster, his target t
he heart of Justin Strand. Even with his hated rival at last in his sights, however, Mr. Garvey, that pink of the ton, was not a happy man. He had fashioned a very neat little scheme whereby Strand, having read the letter cunningly misdelivered to him, would be maddened with jealousy. By rights, he should have returned home to find Lisette gone, pursued her to Cloudhills and discovered her with Leith, who had also been deftly tricked into returning to his estate. Very neat, Garvey had thought, and the inevitable duel would have resulted in both men (one way or another) being killed. So tidy and convenient. Leith's death would have pleased the Frenchman; Strand's death would have wiped out the insult against himself and paved the way for his courtship of, and eventual marriage to, the beautiful and by that time extremely wealthy widow. A delicious touch would be that there was nothing to link him with the matter. He could scarcely be held responsible for the deaths of two men who faced one another in an affair of honour. It was most regrettable that things had not progressed according to plan. Bolster's curst intervention had been as disastrous as it was quixotic. Firstly, it had removed Leith, and thus one could not count on the reaction of the Frenchman. Secondly, Bolster was not nearly so reliable a shot as the intrepid Colonel, and anyone willing to incur the wrath of a jealous and justifiably incensed husband might also be so addlebrained as to delope—especially a marplot who had cried friends with Strand since childhood!
Nourishing feelings of betrayal, Garvey had embarked on his present course with considerable reluctance. It was risky. He had at first intended to follow Claude Sanquinet's advice and hire a professional assassin to ensure Strand's demise, but the threat of blackmail at some later date had deterred him. Besides, his own marksmanship was second to none, and this shot must not be missed. He was quite sure that even if Bolster did fire, it would be with the intent to inflict some superficial wound. There was the possibility that his lordship would aim wide, which would be obliging. One could not take chances, however. Two wounds on Strand's lifeless body could prove embarrassing, and to ensure his swift departure from the scene, Mr. Garvey had brought his hired brougham up as close as he dared. His tiger was holding the nostrils of the horses at this very moment, to ensure they did not whinny and betray his presence. There was, at least, no cause to doubt the discretion of his tiger. That young villain had committed many indiscretions, any one of which would be sufficient to ensure his transportation, to say the least!
"Three … !"
The fatal word resounded through the stillness. Two hands gripping the deadly, long-barreled pistols were flung up simultaneously. Garvey, his pistol already in position, timed his shot exactly. But again, the unexpected occurred. Having succeeded in coercing a groom to open the carriage door so as to quiet him, Brutus leapt forth with the full power of his muscular body, toppled the groom, and raced off in search of his master. His path was chosen for directness rather than good manners, and took him straight between Garvey's team, who at once reared, screaming their terror. Jolted by the sudden outburst at that crucial instant, Garvey's hand jerked.
Three shots rang out, the third sounding merely an echo of the first two.
Bolster fired into the air. He heard a scream from somewhere close by. In the same instant, he was dealt a sledgehammer blow which sent him sprawling.
Strand, the smoking pistol falling from his hand, stared numbly at Bolster's motionless form. He had aimed for the arm, but must have erred. What a ghastly error! But God knows he'd not meant to kill Bolster! He'd not! Shattered, he stumbled away; Brutus, who had been petrified by the shots, creeping out from beneath a bush to slink after him.
Clay, Devenish, and the surgeon were running to the downed man. Tristram Leith suddenly burst through the trees, flashed a grim glance at Strand, then raced to Bolster. Lisette and Amanda followed, and Strand checked and stood rigidly as they halted before him. Amanda's horrified gaze darted to the quiet little group hovering above someone who lay very still on the ground. With a strangled moan, she crumpled in a faint. At once dropping to her knees, Lisette took up one of Amanda's limp hands and began to chafe it. Looking up at her husband, she demanded, "What in heaven's name were you thinking of? Must you al—"
Strand stepped back, an expression of such agony on his pale face that she was struck to silence. "Do you not know what has brought me to this pass?" he cried in distraught fashion. "My closest friend lies there—dead belike! And by my hand! Go, wanton! Go and look upon your handiwork!" And with a wild, despairing gesture, he turned and strode rapidly away.
Bolster, however, was very soon struggling to sit up. "Where's S-Strand?" he muttered, but encountering the firm hands of the surgeon, he winced and sank back again.
Alain Devenish straightened, drew a deep breath of relief and, meeting Clay's equally relieved gaze, said a thankful, "Jove! I thought for a minute…!"
"So did I," Clay nodded. "And I perfectly loathe funerals!"
"W-well, you may have to go to one, at all events," asserted his lordship, faint but persisting. "Of all the filthy tricks! I am so n-noble as to delope, and Strand d-damned well shoots me in the back!"
Bending over him again, Devenish smiled. "A neat trick, I grant you, Jerry, old fellow. But hardly possible, you know. It may have seemed that way, but—"
"D-devil take you, Alain! You ain't the one lying here! I tell you, I was hit from behind! Ask the sawbones."
Clay glanced enquiringly at the doctor, who condescended to remark that he preferred to be addressed as Dr. Cholomondeley, and that the ball had scored Bolster's side and may have broken a rib, but did not appear to have penetrated the lung.
"Could the shot have come from behind him?" asked Clay, humouring his incensed friend. "I heard Strand's horses going wild about something or other."
"Brutus," said Devenish succinctly. "He all but turned inside out when he heard the shots."
"His lordship did appear to fall forward," vouchsafed Cholmondeley, working deftly. "Shock, however, effects odd reactions at times, and I scarcely think that—" He glanced up. "Hello, Colonel. Are you a party to this?"
Devenish started and turning, said, "Jove, Tris! I wish you'd come a sight earlier!" His gaze shifting, he added a shocked, "Gad! Is that Miss Hersh? Poor girl. Looks like you've another patient, Cholmondeley."
"What?" Bolster hove himself upwards.
"Lie back, you idiot!" said Leith. "No, Cholmondeley, I am not a party to this insanity! Mandy is better now, Jerry. There, she's already starting to get up. Play your cards properly and we may yet turn this tragedy to good account."
Struggling, Bolster gasped out, "D-d da-da- now blast you, Tris! Mandy swooned! Let m-me—"
Noting Amanda's wavering approach from the corner of his eye, Leith swore under his breath. "Will you lie still?"
Bolster, however, had one thought in mind, and that to catch a glimpse of his beloved. He glimpsed instead a flying fist which, connecting with his jaw, obliterated all thought for a time.
"The devil, sir!" exploded the physician, outraged.
"By God, Leith!" Clay protested.
"Quiet!" hissed Devenish, as Amanda tottered to them, Lisette standing back so as to be out of the way.
The Colonel said gravely, "Do not lose hope, Mandy. Poor old Jeremy just might pull through."
Amanda viewed the limp and bloody form of her love and, dropping to her knees beside him, wept, "Oh, Jeremy… my dearest one do not die I implore you else I must die too."
Opening dazed eyes, Bolster saw the adored face above him. "Mandy…" he uttered faintly. "You c-came! D-don't leave me—please, Mandy."
"Oh, I won't. I won't!"
With this, he was happily content until a hard and most unkind pinch in his left arm drew a yelp of shock and pain. Looking up, he met Leith's eyes and an imperative grimace. For a moment baffled, he suddenly comprehended. He sighed gustily and closed his eyes.
Amanda clutched at one unresponsive hand and gasped, "Doctor! Is he—"
Dr. Cholmondeley had been securing the temporary dres
sing about Bolster's hurt, while benefitting from a tersely whispered explanation from Devenish, and save for a grim shake of the head, made no response.
Bolster was in not a little pain, but he was so overjoyed by the close proximity of his love, that he performed quite creditably, saying as one at the gates of death that he could have gone with less regret had he only known his Amanda might have borne his name. And callously disposing of the several relatives who would most willingly move closer to the title in that unhappy event, added, "It d-dies with me… you know…"
Amanda gave a stifled wail, and Leith bent to her and whispered, "Offer him some encouragement if you can, Mandy. Old Jerry's too good of a fellow to go without hope."
"Oh!" sobbed Amanda, nursing Bolster's hand to her cheek. "I love you, my dearest one. Only get better and I will prove how much!"
Bolster was so encouraged that he gave every indication of being about to spring up and smother her with kisses, wherefore it was necessary for Devenish to pinch him again, which he did so heartily that Bolster was hard put to it to refrain from cursing him. Fortunately, he bit back that impromptu utterance. Misinterpreting the set of his jaw, Amanda supposed him to be restraining his groans', and deposited several damp and sympathetic kisses in his palm. "As soon," she gulped, "as you are better I will marry you and—"
"You will?" beamed the ecstatic Bolster. "Did you hear that, you fellows? I am betrothed! If th-that don't beat the—"
With rare tact, Dr. Cholmondeley chose that instant to tighten his bandage, otherwise his lordship might have ruined the entire thing.
"Thank heaven you are come home!" Hurrying into the entrance hall, only slightly leaning upon her cane, Lady Bayes-Copeland stretched her thin hand to her granddaughter, and demanded, "Tell me quickly. Is someone killed?"
"No, ma'am." Lisette was cold and felt drained and bereft of all hope. "Lord Bolster was shot, but he is alive. Amanda is with him now, and—"
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption Page 30