by Jenny Hambly
Michael turned quite green. “I will only say that I delivered the letter and Lord Allerdale then went for his morning ride – if anyone asks that is.”
“That’s the ticket,” Tibbs said approvingly.
By Miles’ calculation, it should take a good forty minutes to reach his destination, but his horse was swift and he an excellent horseman, so it was not impossible that he would make it in time. He flew down Whitehall, the Admiralty and Horse Guards passing in a blur. People on foot and cart drivers alike, who were making their way across Westminster Bridge, stopped and stared at the dark-haired man upon the sleek horse that was so fleet of foot it seemed it had wings. They could be forgiven for thinking that the man did not ride as if the devil was after him but as if he were the devil himself, for his eyes burned with a strange intensity and he appeared oblivious to their presence, manoeuvring around them effortlessly without ever checking his speed.
Once across the bridge, Miles hugged the river as much as possible, passing Vauxhall without a glance and breathing a sigh of relief as he came at last to the hamlet of Nine Elms. He only hoped the poor condition of the wooden Battersea Bridge had discouraged them from going that way, or he would certainly not make it in time. He left the road and had ridden only a short distance across a flat stretch of common when he saw a carriage and a horse grazing, and beyond them, two figures stripped to their shirt sleeves. He groaned as the ring of steel on steel reached him. He was too late; they had already begun. At least Charles had had the wit to choose the sword over the pistol, for although it was just as lethal, if not more so, it would ensure that the engagement was a true test of skill. A shaking hand or an unfamiliar gun brought an element of luck into the situation that he could not like.
He dismounted a little way behind the carriage, careful not to distract the duellers. He felt a surge of relief as he saw no sign of blood on his cousin’s white shirt. He soon saw that they were evenly matched. Both Charles’ and Sandford’s brows gleamed with a sheen of sweat, their eyes never leaving each other’s as they attacked, parried, and counter-attacked in turn. Miles thought Charles had the slightly better footwork, but Sandford had an astonishingly flexible and quick wrist.
“It’s a close-run thing,” said a voice behind him.
Miles turned and saw a man still seated in the coach. Although his clothes were respectable, his eyes were bloodshot, and he held a small silver flask in a hand that trembled. Miles ignored him, disgusted, and turned back to the fight. This was the doctor Sandford had called on! If either of them needed his aid, God help them!
He held his breath as Charles suddenly quickened his footwork and forced Sandford into retreat. Sandford looked like he was tiring and seemed to realise it; he swiftly turned his wrist and attempted to cross his opponent’s blade, but Charles closed first, and Sandford’s sword went sailing through the air, whether due to the slickness of his hand or the force of Charles’ thrust was anyone’s guess.
“Stop this, insanity!” Miles yelled, his voice deep and commanding. “I would not wish either of you to risk your lives over a drunken spat!”
Sandford wiped his hand on his breeches and picked up his sword.
“You will not interfere,” he said, a little breathlessly. “You know the rules as well as I, Allerdale. Only when one of us cannot continue will this be over.”
He suddenly turned and before Charles had time to read his intention, he closed on him again. Charles staggered backwards, raising his sword just in time to stop his opponent scoring a hit. Miles clenched his fists. If Charles did not kill him, he would!
But even as Charles recovered his balance, the sound of thundering hooves signalled an approaching carriage. It drew up and two burly constables jumped down.
Charles and Sandford were fighting in earnest but now in anger and did not seem to notice.
“Choose your moment carefully,” Miles warned.
“I know my business, sir,” said the man nearest to him.
When they next broke apart, the constable reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol. Before they could close again, he fired into the air.
“Drop your swords, gentlemen,” he said. “Duelling is against the law, as well you know. You are both under arrest.”
“Good man!” Miles murmured.
“Damn you, Allerdale!” Sandford hissed. “You had no place to interfere.”
“Oh, it was not this gentleman who informed on you,” the constable said cheerfully.
“Then who?” Sandford demanded.
“I don’t know precisely,” he said, “but I believe it was a lady. Now come along, nice and peaceful like, for the magistrate is awaiting your pleasure.”
Charles picked up his coat and came towards them.
“I’d rather you dropped that sword, sir.”
“Keep them for me will you, Quarlberry?” Sandford said to the doctor as he passed his coach.
He threw Charles a look of unmitigated scorn. “Bleat about this morning’s meeting, did you, to some female whose sympathy you wished to arouse?”
“Don’t be an ape, Sandford. No sane man would mention an affair of honour to a woman. I mentioned it to no one but you, last evening at the theatre.”
Miles met Sandford’s narrowed stare with a hard look.
“If you are going to ask me a similar question, don’t. You will get nothing out of me.”
“Come along, sir,” the constable said. “Things will only go harder for you if you make trouble.”
Lord Sandford looked coldly at him. “Remove your hand from my arm, or I shall have to throw away this coat.”
The constable did not release his grip but waved his pistol and grinned. “It’s no skin off my nose if you do, sir.”
Miles grasped Charles by the shoulder as he came up to him and said in a low voice, “You will no doubt be fined and bound over to keep the peace, come to my rooms afterwards, there is much I have to say to you.”
Chapter 12
Eleanor’s dreams were unsettled and vibrant. She was not prone to flights of fancy, yet the duel played itself out in various incarnations. She saw Lord Sandford striding out of a rising mist, a reckless grin on his face, but a cold, almost inhuman expression in his eyes. Captain Bassington came in the other direction, his sword hanging loosely by his side, his fair, wavy hair and blue eyes making him appear like an angel to Sandford’s devil. Then the scene shifted, they stood some distance apart, pistols in their hands, with only the doctor to give the word or make some sign that the duel should commence. Before he gave that word, Sandford raised his pistol and fired. His opponent was thrown backwards, his hand clutching his chest, and when he raised it to his face, it was drenched in blood. But it was not Captain Bassington’s pale face and unfocused eyes that observed it, but Lord Allerdale’s.
Eleanor awoke, her heart beating rapidly in her breast, wondering for a moment if she had indeed put Lord Allerdale’s life in danger. A few moments’ reflection restored her calm; she was not fully conversant with the gentleman’s code of honour, but she was certain that it would not allow such a thing to happen. An overwrought imagination had led Diana to demonise Lord Sandford, but he had done nothing to suggest he would behave in such a wicked manner.
Eleanor rose and went to the window. She drew back the heavy curtains and blinked as the sun shone in her eyes. The outcome of this morning’s events would already have been decided. The half-formed fears that had beset her the evening before now seemed foolish in the bright light of the day. She had thought it sinister that Lord Sandford had been so sure he would be free to meet Diana a bare two hours after the duel, but now it seemed far more likely that only his pride had prevented him from drawing back from the engagement and once it had been satisfied, the gentlemen would shake hands and there would be an end to it. He would hardly have arranged to see Diana in the park if his intention had been murder.
Linny tutted and fretted when she understood Eleanor intended to masquerade as Lady Haverham’s maid.
“No one will discover it. I shall wear the hat I wore when I was still in mourning, the one with the black veil.”
“That you won’t,” the maid said. “It is far too elegant. You shall have to wear one of mine. It will be easy enough to attach a veil and you had best take my long cloak to cover your dress.”
As the servants were at breakfast, they managed to leave the house unnoticed. Diana wore a mulish look, her confidence still buoyed by her indignation over the manner of her summons. The park was quiet but not deserted. Although no one of fashion was strolling there, a lady with a small group of children about her could be seen walking in the distance, and beyond them, a few horses were being put through their paces. None of them, however, appeared to be coming in their direction. Eleanor put her veil back, feeling rather stifled by it. Linny had attached the thickest one she could find, and Eleanor could barely see more than two steps in front of her.
“Surely it must be eight o’clock by now?” Diana said, fretfully.
Eleanor took a small silver pocket watch from her reticule.
“Yes, it is ten minutes after the hour.”
They strolled slowly along the wide avenue for some time but still no horseman or carriage moved in their direction.
“Oh! This is too bad of him!” Diana complained. “I have practised over and over precisely what I should say to him and now he has not come after all. I am hot, tired, and my feet ache. What does he mean by it?”
Eleanor resisted the impulse to tell her about the duel; neither Captain Bassington nor Lord Allerdale would thank her for spreading the tale, and she would only make Diana’s irrational fears worse. She damped down her own feeling of unease and said brightly, “Nothing, I am sure. He must have been unavoidably detained. Let us walk over to that stand of trees; there is a bench underneath one of them, and we can rest a little.”
The dappled shade did not appear to bring Diana much relief. She sat with drooping shoulders, her eyes downcast, and was unusually quiet, her confidence seeming to ebb with each minute that passed. Eleanor presently checked her watch again and rose to her feet.
“It is nearly nine o’clock. I think we have waited long enough.”
Diana did not move and when she spoke her voice was faint. “Eleanor, I do not feel well. I think I am going to be sick!”
Barely had she uttered the words when she leaned forwards and started to retch. Eleanor waited until the paroxysms that shook her body lessened, and then passed her a handkerchief to wipe her face.
“Take a few deep breaths, my dear.”
“Yes, I am better now, I think,” Diana said shakily.
Eleanor put an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet.
“You are trembling,” she said softly, “you poor thing.”
“Being sick always makes me tremble,” Diana murmured.
The sound of horses galloping suddenly reached their ears. Diana groaned.
“I cannot speak to Sandford now. I can barely walk or speak,” she whispered.
“It is not Sandford,” Eleanor said, hastily pulling her veil down. “It is Lord Carteret. Thank heavens! He can take you home. Listen carefully, Diana. There will not be room for me in his curricle, but do not worry. No one will look twice at a maid walking alone through the streets. I doubt very much if Frederick will have emerged, but if he has, just say that we went for an early morning walk and you were taken ill. Oh, and tell Stanley to keep a look out for me, will you?”
They had been slowly limping towards the carriageway and Lord Carteret could not fail to spot them as the park was still bereft of company. Seeing that Diana was being heavily supported by her maid, he came to a swift halt, said something to his groom, and descended swiftly from the curricle.
“Lady Haverham! You are ill. Allow me to take you home.”
“Thank you,” Diana murmured, accepting his arm. “I am feeling a little faint.”
“We might be able to cram your maid in with us,” he said doubtfully.
Eleanor shook her head and said in a fair imitation of Linny, “Don’t you worry about me, sir. I can find my own way.”
With no more ado, Lord Carteret lifted Diana into his arms and deposited her in the curricle. Eleanor smiled behind her veil. He really did have lovely manners, yet there was a coolness about him that did not attract her. She sincerely hoped that Diana had not left any lasting impression upon his heart, for he deserved better.
She was not overly concerned for Diana as she felt fairly certain of the cause of her malady. Her frequent tiredness, recent mood swings, and now her sickness all suggested she was in a delicate condition. Her brow wrinkled as she considered how Frederick would react. Would he insist they return immediately to Standon? That would not suit her.
She paused when she came to South Audley Street. She had asked her solicitor to enquire into the truth of the rumour that Madame Lafayette was going out of business, and if so, to discover if the lease on her shop was available, but he had not yet replied to her letter. Perhaps she could learn something useful in her guise as maid. It would not cause any occasion for remark if a maid visited a milliner’s shop on behalf of her mistress, and Bruton Street was only a few minutes away, so what harm could it do?
She walked carefully down Mount Street, skirted Berkeley Square, and soon arrived at Bruton Street, revelling in the freedom her disguise accorded her. She came to a stop outside Madame Lafayette’s establishment, pulled her veil to one side, and observed the window display. Only a few tired looking bonnets and a selection of ribbons graced it and set between them was a notice stating that from this time forth no credit would be extended to customers. It seemed the rumours were true.
A barouche came to a halt behind her and Eleanor saw Lady Langton and Miss Farrow clearly reflected in the window. She hastily entered the shop and went over to a collection of shawls that were displayed on a table in the far corner.
“Can I help—”
Madame Lafayette broke off as Lady Langton and Miss Farrow entered the establishment.
“Good morning, Lady Langton.”
Eleanor raised a brow at her tone. It was not rude, but neither was it particularly respectful, and she had dropped her affected French accent.
“It is not a good morning, Madame Lafayette. I am most displeased,” Lady Langton said peevishly. “My new bonnet should have been delivered yesterday, and as it was not and I particularly wished to wear it today, I have had to come to you.”
“Your bonnet was not delivered, my lady, because it has not yet been paid for. I have been run into the ground by late payment of bills and it has ruined me.”
“But I have always paid my bills,” Lady Langton protested.
“So you have, ma’am – eventually. I have your hat ready and I have changed the ribbons as requested. I shall hand it over as soon as I am paid.”
“But I do not think I have that much about me, and I need the bonnet.”
Eleanor had heard enough. Madame Lafayette would hardly speak to her customers in such a way if she was not going to shut up shop. But whilst Eleanor could well imagine that late payments of bills had contributed to her downfall, she felt sure that was not the main cause of her unfortunate predicament. Madame Lafayette had become lazy and her hats were overpriced and unimaginative. She put down the paisley shawl she had pretended to be so engrossed in and walked towards the door.
“Then I suggest you come back later, my lady.”
“Wait! I shall see how much I have with me.”
Lady Langton stepped back as Eleanor passed and she brushed against her.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” she murmured.
Before Miss Farrow could reply, she screeched, “You, maid! Stop! You have stolen it.”
Eleanor froze for a moment and then went quickly out of the shop. If Eliza Langton recognised her, the whole of London would soon know that she had been going about alone dressed as a maid.
Lady Langton followed her into the street. “Stop her!” she screeched at her driver. “She has my reticule!”
Eleanor picked up her skirts and began to run, but the combination of her panic and the darkness of her veil caused her to bump into someone and she stumbled and fell. She was still lying face down in the dirt when she heard the coachman’s voice say, “No, milady, I’ve got it. You left it on the seat, and I thought I’d best look after it for you.”
“Oh,” Lady Langton said. “How silly of me. But why did she run if she had nothing to hide?”
Her voice, which had but a moment ago been that of a harpy, was now gushing and girlish.
“Lord Allerdale! How kind of you to stop her, but it now appears that I was quite mistaken. I feel terrible. Is the poor girl injured, do you think? She does not appear to be moving.”
Eleanor could not move; not only was she winded but her veil had become detached from one side of her hat in the fall. Despite her awkward situation, she felt a rush of relief flood through her as she heard Lord Allerdale’s voice.
“I did not intentionally stop her, ma’am, she ran into me. And if she is not injured, it will be no thanks to you,” he said in biting tones. “What reason did you have to accuse her?”
“She brushed against me, and then I could not discover my reticule. It was a simple mistake to make.”
“It was a foolish mistake to make,” he corrected her, going down on one knee beside the prone body. “You may carry on with your day, ma’am. I shall see to this poor lady.”
Eleanor felt herself being gently turned as he spoke. She quickly pulled the veil across her face.