The Chevalier

  I feel I’m near my final page.

  “Did I hear someone use my name?” A large red-headed figure vaults through the window.

  “Damnation!” Guerchy’s eyes shoot sideways. “And who might you be?”

  “The real Lord Douglas. Now, this is not a fair match.” He grabs Monin, putting a dagger to the back of his neck. Marie staggers free, hands flying to her wounds.

  “It’s not your quarrel, sir,” I say. “Stand back, if you please.”

  Lord Douglas inclines his head to show a sword in his own scabbard. “But I beg to disagree. I take issue with anyone who usurps my name. See to her, Antoinette.” A shapely, dark-haired young woman emerges from behind the curtains and takes a cloth to soothe Marie, ungagging her and holding her head close to her bosom.

  The scene before me is more bewildering than any in a book. It is as though I’m at play in the last act of one of those English tragedies.

  “Then I’ll deal with you when I’ve finished off this creature.” Guerchy’s sword swishes the air in his impatience.

  “Woman or man, I’m your superior,” I whisper. I marshal my remaining strength to make a last great stand.

  Guerchy attacks again. “Is that a fact? Look at the evidence staring you in the face. The day is mine. So don’t ask me what sex you are – the plain man has won.”

  He swaggers forward, drenched in arrogance, assured of his victory. Despite my grim defence, he forces me into a corner. My back is to the wall: I have one chance. At the final moment, I slide down the wall and bring the point of my sword up to slash across Guerchy’s hand, ripping the flesh. Blood spurts over his arm, the floor and me.

  In agony, the General howls and drops his sword. Mine is within an instant at his throat.

  “Will you help me up, my dear? My guest has forgotten his manners.”

  Marie leaves Antoinette’s embrace and rushes forward. Slowly, eyes fixed on Guerchy, I let her assist me as I rise to my feet.

  “Are you all right, my love?” Her voice is faint.

  I nod assent, still watching Guerchy. “Bookish, sir, you say? My last chapter’s not yet closed.”

  A little jab from my sword pricks Guerchy’s neck. He stiffens and half chokes with fright. I keep my swordtip tight against his skin, the folds of flesh stretching under the constant pressure.

  “Let me stop your bleeding…” urges Marie.

  “Later, my love. Meanwhile, I wish to extend hospitality to the real Lord Douglas.” I glance at him. “We meet at last, sir. You and Antoinette are most welcome here. This usurper, as you rightly call him, is not.” I poke Guerchy again.

  While Lord Douglas drags Monin across the floor, Marie opens the window to the balcony. My sabre at Guerchy’s throat, I push him backwards with slow steps to the curtains. A chasm beckons behind him into the night. Guerchy teeters on the precipice. I prod him and he falls out. His yell curdles the blood.

  The very harvest we are celebrating saves him from death. Bales from the surrounding farms have been piled on the ground below. He lands in the middle of the hay. As he crawls across the shifting surface of the bales, I see Monin hurtling into the nearby bushes, propelled by Douglas from the next window along.

  “Goodnight, General. Don’t bother to call here again.” I turn to acknowledge my helper. “Lord Douglas, thank you for your assistance. France owes you a great deal.” He bows to me; now I have leisure, I can admire his blue jacket beneath a white cravat, above dark green pantaloons. Antoinette’s revealing dress of palest mauve draws my attention even longer.

  From below, a groan disturbs me. In anguish, Guerchy starts to haul himself away across the courtyard, followed by the slithering shape of Monin.

  Marie is incredulous. “Are you letting him go?”

  “He won’t be troubling us any more.” I’m breathing heavily.

  “You’re mad!”

  “That may be. Didn’t you always say so?”

  She pulls a face, dabs at my wounds with her handkerchief, and gives me a gentle kiss. I spike my sword onto the floor, and call out for La Borde.

  “Let us find something for you and Antoinette to eat, Lord Douglas.”

  “Do you not need to change first?” he answers, with the merest hint of reproof.

  Ignoring this, I reach for Marie’s arm, avoiding her breast and shoulder, bound hastily in a sling by Antoinette. We hobble together onto the landing. Now the crowds are gone, I’m reminded a large mirror covers one whole wall there.

  I catch sight of our reflection in the glass. We are two splashes of red and gold, bandaged and bloody. My face is white and drawn with strain, but my eyes glisten in exhilaration. Marie’s face is also pale, yet she is suffused with total peace. I am changed, I’m sure. When last I stood with her before the looking glass, I saw only myself. This time, my eyes are fixed on her, the great mirror echoing our new-found harmony.

  First published in United Kingdom in 2015 by Oxfordfolio

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2016 by

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © 2015 by Mike Hobbs

  The moral right of Mike Hobbs to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781910859377

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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