by Sandra Heath
The handguns gleamed in the luminous dawn light, and Dane looked at Thomas. “I leave the choice to you, Denham, but since I have no desire to be accused of taking an unfair advantage by using a favorite weapon, I suggest you eliminate any chance of such a benefit by taking my pistol yourself.”
Pendle stepped hastily forward. “But the advantage would still be with you, Sir Dane,” he said quickly.
“Meaning?”
“That the pistol you’ve used before is probably unbalanced because of the damage to its stock, and although you are accustomed to it, my nephew is not. It would be detrimental to his aim.”
“I assure you neither gun is unbalanced. Test them yourself if you wish,” Dane offered.
But Thomas prevented further discussion by reaching out to Dane’s pistol. “I prefer to rob you of any benefit, Marchwood,” he said tersely.
Pendle put a swift hand over his. “No, Thomas, take the other,” he urged.
“Have done with it, Uncle.” Thomas took the pistol with the damaged stock, and turned away.
“Thomas—”
“The choice is made,” Thomas replied.
Pendle stared at him, and then swallowed, returning his attention to Dane. “I suspect you of some sleight of hand, Marchwood!” he accused.
“No sleight of hand, I assure you,” Dane replied.
“You made certain of my nephew’s choice!”
George cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Come now, that’s hardly how it happened, and you know it,” he said to the banker.
“I don’t know anything, except that your principal deliberately steered mine to the selection of one pistol in particular.”
George looked at Thomas. “Are you satisfied with your weapon, sir?”
“Perfectly.”
“You have no desire to change?”
“None.”
George turned to the banker. “The matter is closed, I think,” he said firmly.
“I wish to register my strong objection,” Pendle said.
“As you wish, but the decision doesn’t lie with you.” George nodded at Dane and Thomas. “Very well, gentlemen, if you’re ready, please remove your coats, and then take up your positions.”
A few moments later they stood back to back, their pistols safely lowered.
“Twelve paces, if you please.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
In the woods just over a hundred yards away from the duel in the grove, Kathryn tried to think what to do for the dying gunsmith. Her first urge was to run for help, but Talbot’s claw-like hand closed convulsively over her wrist.
$“No, my lady, I’m done for,” he breathed. “My horse
took fright at the river and bolted toward the castle. When I fell I broke my back, I know it as surely as if a doctor told me. I didn’t know it was you that I struck; I panicked when I realized someone was there.”
Talbot was the intruder? She glanced down at the hand that gripped her wrist, and saw the scar she’d glimpsed in the seconds before she’d lost consciousness. Of course! Who better to tinker with a pistol than a gunsmith! But why would he do it? What possible reason could he have? The questions remained unasked as she looked at his ghastly face and knew his life was draining away. “Look, Doctor Eden is only a short distance away in the grove ...” she began.
He shook his head. “My time’s up, my lady, and I don’t deserve your help or kindness, for I’ve carried out the devil’s work.”
“The devil’s work?”
“I’ve done great wrong to save myself from debtor’s jail. My sins have caught up with me now, eh?” He coughed a little, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“Please let me go for the doctor,” she begged.
“It will do no good. I’m done for.” His fingers tightened. “He wanted Sir Dane dead, and, if it came to it, for you to take the blame. Oh, he’s clever, and no mistake. He knows how people think.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Why, Jeremiah Pendle, of course. Do this for me, he said, and I’ll forget your debts. Refuse, and I’ll see you in jail. So I did it. I had to. Now Sir Dane’s lucky pistol isn’t lucky anymore, and if it’s found out, Pendle will see you’re the one they’ll blame. The unfaithful wife who wants to be free of her husband. That’s what they’ll say, he’ll make sure of it.”
She stared down at him. That was what was supposed to happen, but it didn’t, for Dane wasn’t the one who died...
* * * *
As the two duelists walked their twelve paces, George and Pendle removed to safety at the edge of the clearing. The banker’s nerves showed now. He took out his handkerchief and began mopping the perspiration that appeared on his brow. His face had taken on a sickly pallor and his tongue passed nervously over his lips.
He looked at George. “This is badly done, Eden. Marchwood has somehow achieved an unreasonable advantage, I know he has!”
“If you continue in this vein, sir, I might construe it as an attempt to manipulate things in favor of your nephew!”
“Never!”
“Then hold your tongue!”
The banker fell silent, and George returned his attention to the men in the grove. “Turn and cock your pistols, gentlemen,” he called.
The clicking sounds carried clearly above the birdsong which still echoed over the woods.
“Take your aim, sirs.”
Pendle leaned weakly back against an oak trunk and closed his eyes.
“Fire!”
Both men squeezed the trigger, but only one shot rang out, silencing the birds.
* * * *
As the report echoed through the woods, Kathryn straightened with a dismayed gasp. It had happened! Thomas Denham had been killed. She glanced down at Talbot, but his lifeless eyes stared back. He was as dead as he’d intended Dane to be, and with him had died any proof of Jeremiah Pendle’s guilt. All she had was her word that Talbot had ever confessed to anything. She had no evidence that Dane was the real target, just that she was meant to take the blame. There was nothing to prevent history from damning Dane for everything.
Slowly she retreated toward the path, then she gathered her skirts to step across the stones to go to the grove. Even now she couldn’t finally accept that there was nothing she could do to alter the course of things.
* * * *
Blood welled over the front of Thomas’s shirt, and his face had a look of puzzlement as he desperately squeezed the trigger of his pistol several times more, all without effect. The bloodstain spread, and his sudden pallor was dreadful to see. He sank slowly to his knees, staring accusingly at Dane.
George was rooted to the spot, but Pendle lumbered distractedly to his fallen nephew. “Thomas! Oh, Thomas, my boy!” he sobbed.
Dane ran to his stricken opponent as well, but his steps faltered as Thomas’s dying words damned him. “My uncle was right! You arranged this, Marchwood...”
“Denham, I swear...”
“I curse you, Marchwood. May you burn in hell.” Thomas’s eyes closed and the pistol slipped from his fingers.
Pendle gave a terrible cry, and there were tears on his cheeks as he gathered the dead man in his arms. Dane gazed numbly at them, and then hurled his pistol away as far as he could.
George found his wits at last and ran to get his doctor’s bag, before hastening to see if Thomas was really beyond all help, although in his heart he knew by the size of the bloodstain and the swiftness with which it spread, that Thomas Denham was no more. He searched for a pulse, but found none, and slowly he straightened.
“He’s gone,” he said quietly.
Pendle looked savagely up at Dane. “Murderer!” he breathed.
Kathryn reached the edge of the clearing, but although she parted her lips to cry out that he was the murderer, not Dane, her voice wouldn’t obey. She couldn’t even enter the grove! A concealed barrier barred the way, and she herself seemed to have become invisible. She could only stand on the outside, like a ghostly s
tranger peering in through a window.
She gazed at Thomas’s body on the damp grass. Somehow she couldn’t think of him as dead, not knowing what she did. To her he was still alive, albeit in the future. He was Richard Vansomeren, and soon he and the real Rosalind would be together happily ever after. Happily ever after, like all the best fairy tales. But could the same ever apply to their former partners here in the past? She returned her attention to the others in the clearing. Maybe she couldn’t say or do anything, but at least the quieting of the birds meant she could hear what was being said.
George was uncomfortable. “You can’t accuse anyone of murder, Pendle. Accidents happen, and there’s always the chance that a weapon will jam. It was a fair duel.”
“Was it? Marchwood foisted that pistol on Thomas! Do you honestly believe its failure was an accident? Examine it, I say!” He grabbed the weapon and thrust it toward George, who took it reluctantly.
There was nothing for it but to do as the banker insisted. Giving Dane an apologetic look, George uncocked the pistol and looked closely at it, then his brows drew together and he bent to search in his bag for something slender enough to poke into the mechanism. He found what he needed, and began to prod the internal workings of the pistol. After a while the cleverly bent nail fell into the grass. George picked it up reluctantly.
Dane stared at the nail. “I—I don’t understand...”
Pendle scrambled to his feet. “You understand, all right! You fiend, Marchwood! You tampered with the pistol and made sure my nephew used it! You murdered him!”
Kathryn could have wept with frustration as she tried again to go into the grove, but there was nothing she could do; the barrier was complete. Oh, how she despised Pendle! How dared he accuse Dane, when all the time it was his own actions that had robbed Thomas of any means of defense!
Dane still gazed at the nail, but now raised his eyes to Pendle’s anguished face. “I swear I didn’t interfere with the pistol, Pendle. You have my word I knew nothing of any nail.”
“Next you’ll claim to have insufficient experience to know exactly how to bend and place such a nail! But who better than Sir Dane Marchwood, eh? He of the valorous exploits on the battlefield, and the three duels at dawn! Oh, you know what to do, all right!” The banker’s voice had risen hysterically.
Dane strove to remain calm. “I’m innocent of this, Pendle.”
“Liar!” screamed the other, and raised a frenzied hand to strike him, but George caught his wrist.
“No! Don’t be a fool, man!”
“He murdered Thomas!” Pendle cried, his voice catching on a sob, but he lowered his hand. Discretion was always the better part of physical valor where he was concerned. Instead, he made another verbal attack, but more levelly now. “Four duels now, Marchwood, and no doubt all won by foul means!”
“My previous opponents all fired back, I assure you,” Dane replied coldly. “Pendle, I concede you have reason to despise me, for this is the second nephew I’ve eliminated, but this is the one and only time anything like this has happened. I didn’t do anything to the pistol, and it was pure chance that I said what I did about not wanting any unfair advantage. If the weapon was interfered with, as it clearly was, then I believe I was the intended victim, not your nephew.”
Kathryn’s breath caught eagerly. Yes, Dane! And if anyone was to get the blame for your death, it was me! But the one who really did it all is facing you now! Can’t you see the guilt on his face? In his spiteful eyes and mean lips?
But Dane didn’t pursue the point, because at that moment something happened that brought the conversation to a sudden halt. Pendle gave a cry of pain and clasped his left arm to his chest. His face contorted with agony, and he pitched forward onto the grass, where he lay gasping for breath.
George knelt by him. “Damn it, man, how long have I been warning you about your heart?” he said, loosening the banker’s clothes and in particular his neckcloth. He glanced up at Dane. “There’s a clear glass bottle in the corner of my bag, can you get it out for me?”
Dane obeyed, and George held the bottle to the banker’s lips. “Take this, it’s a herb infusion and will help to calm you. Steady now, just a sip at a time.”
Pendle did as he was told, and gradually his color came back. George returned the bottle to Dane, and then fixed the banker with a reproving look. “It’s as well for you I took the precaution of bringing that bottle today. I had a notion you’d become overwrought for one reason or another. Look, man, you can’t go on like this. You eat too much, drink too much, take too little exercise, and you’re the most choleric fellow it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. If you don’t do something about all four, you’re not long for this world. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, doctor,” Pendle replied, wiping his face with his handkerchief. “I’m all right now, it was merely a spasm brought on by grief.”
At the edge of the grove, Kathryn took a grim satisfaction from knowing the banker wouldn’t live another day. She hoped he died in agony, for that was what he richly deserved. But dead or not, he’d still be able to do irreparable harm to Dane’s honor. That wretched diary and all its lies would lay false witness about this dawn confrontation, and even though she knew the truth, there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
George helped Pendle to his feet, but the banker shook him away. “Keep your advice and assistance, Eden, for it’s clear the only person whose well-being interests you is Marchwood. I suppose you’ll contradict anything I say regarding this infamous event?”
George didn’t reply, and Dane looked sagely at his friend. “You can’t defend me, can you, George?” he said quietly. “You can’t, because you aren’t sure, nor can you ever be. The pistols are mine, I brought them here, and gave them to you. I then steered Denham, albeit innocently, to the pistol that wouldn’t fire, and I made certain of his death by aiming very accurately indeed. I admit to the latter, for it was my intention to kill him, but I didn’t murder him. At the moment I fired, I fully expected him to fire back. That is all I can say.”
Pendle’s sharp eyes remained on the doctor. “Well, sir? I await your comments.”
“I cannot and will not say that Sir Dane interfered with the pistol,” George said after a moment.
Pendle gave a disgusted snort. “So much for upright, honorable George Eden! But can you say with equal conviction that he didn’t interfere with the weapon?”
“No, of course I can’t, for there’s no proof either way,” George replied uncomfortably, giving Dane another apologetic glance.
His discomfort offered hope to the banker, who pushed his face close to Dane’s. “Damned by your own second, sir! He cannot say anything one way or the other, but I can! I’m sure of my facts where you’re concerned, Sir Dane Fancy Marchwood, and I’m not going to let you get away with murdering two of my kinsmen. I’m going to lay charges against you!”
Kathryn had to turn away from the banker’s venomous hatred. You aren’t going to be able to bring anything to trial, you maggot! The Grim Reaper’s sharpening his scythe for you right now!
George couldn’t hide his distaste for Pendle either. “If you take this to court, you’d better be prepared for the worst,” he said quietly.
“What do you mean?” the banker demanded.
“I’d have to point out to judge and jury that you are biased against Sir Dane, that you came here today already hating him because of William Denham’s death ten years ago, and that your anxiety over the choice of weapons was quite extraordinary, almost as if you knew what had been done to one of them. That might point a few unwelcome fingers at you, sir, for it is not unreasonable for Sir Dane to say that he might have been the intended victim, not Thomas.” George held the banker’s eyes.
Kathryn was exultant. Go for it, George! You’re on the right trail!
Pendle’s clever little eyes were sharp. “What’s this, Eden? Are you suggesting that I am guilty of—?”
“I’m not
suggesting anything,” George broke in, “I’m merely drawing your attention to how things might go at a trial. You had as much motive as anyone to tamper with the pistol, and if you did, it would certainly explain your dismay when Thomas took the wrong gun.”
Pendle’s unpleasant little eyes narrowed still more. “A neat plot, Eden, I take my hat off to you, but it won’t work. Marchwood did it and I won’t rest until I’ve proved it. He should swing for this day’s work, and if you refuse to stand up for justice, I’ll do all I can on my own. Thomas’s death isn’t going to be in vain, on that you have my word.’
George met his gaze. “I’ve said all I’m going to say. Take this to court, and I’ll say my piece. On your head be it.”
A nerve flickered at the banker’s temple, and for a moment he couldn’t trust himself to speak, but then he gained control again. “Well, physician, at least show some honor now by assisting me with my nephew’s body. I can’t carry him to the curricle on my own, and must take him back to Denham Hall.”
“Of course.”
Dane stepped quickly forward. “Let me help. You can’t lift him, Pendle, not with your heart in such—”
“Don’t lay your evil hand upon me or my nephew,” the banker breathed.
Dane remained where he was as they lifted Thomas from the damp grass and carried him across the grove. Two minutes later the curricle drove out of the grove and vanished into what remained of the dawn mist.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Kathryn hoped that with the banker gone, she’d at least be able to enter the grove. Surely events were complete now! But still she couldn’t move from her place. There was nothing she could do except continue to watch from the perimeter.
As George returned to pick up his bag, Dane spoke. “What do you really think? Do you secretly wonder if I’m guilty?”
“You surely don’t need to ask? I know you to be innocent, but I’d put money on Pendle’s guilt.”
Kathryn could have kissed the little doctor.
George drew a heavy breath. “I don’t profess to know how he got at the pistols, but I’m sure he did. He came here today certain that you would take the disabled gun, and thus die at Thomas’s hand.”