Parfit Knight (27 page)

His Grace
sighed. ‘I do, of course. I also perceive that you now wish me to
set off … er ... hot-foot for White’s in pursuit of Harry
Caversham?’

‘Yes. That‘s
exactly what I want.’

‘How very
fatiguing.’ Rockliffe came reluctantly to his feet. ‘Doubtless this
is a punishment for my little victory of this afternoon. I do hope
that your shooting of tomorrow will be a thought better than your
driving of today. Or perhaps you wish me to carry out what is, in
fact, my foremost duty as a second – that of seeking a
reconciliation?’

The Marquis
looked up at him with reflective irony.

‘You can try,’
he said dryly, ‘but I imagine that even your unique resources are
likely to prove unequal to the task. Lord Philip, you see, is
convinced that he’ll be performing a public service.’

*

Although he did
not obtain a reconciliation, his Grace of Rockliffe proved his
worth not only by arranging the duel for noon of the following day
but also by providing as a location the garden of a house in
Kensington which he himself owned.

The day was a
fine one and the Duke did his principal the honour of personally
driving him to the meeting place. For a time, they maintained a
flow of gentle conversation which had nothing to do with the flat
mahogany box that reposed on the seat between them. The Marquis
suggested that, Louis XV having gone to meet his maker, Rockliffe
might consider taking advantage of Madame du Barry’s penchant for
him. His Grace retorted that, if and when he wanted to consort with
prostitutes, he’d visit a brothel. And then, with a swift change of
topic that was the very essence of cunning, he said, ‘Why the
hurry, Dominic?’

Amberley,
immaculate in slate-coloured velvet and seemingly a good deal less
tense than he had been on the previous evening, smiled a little and
replied with rare candour.

‘I’m still
trying to minimise the possible consequences. The only safe-guard
of this affair is its apparent lunacy – but that can’t last because
I doubt that either Vernon or I could keep up the pretence of it
being nothing but a friendly jest. And then the fat
would
be
in the fire.’

‘And the fair
Rosalind’s reputation with it. Yes. It is rather difficult to
understand why Lord Philip challenged you,’ said Rockliffe
meditatively. ‘He is not a fool … and neither, as far as I am
aware, is he in the habit of drinking to excess. Does he want to
kill you?’

The Marquis
shook his head.

‘No. He may
think he does – and, in the heat of the moment whilst pitting his
sword against mine, it’s just possible he may have tried. But not
in the cold light of day at twenty paces. For that you either need
the instincts of a murderer or a cast-iron motive … and Lord Philip
has neither.’

‘No,’ agreed
his Grace dryly, swinging his pair into a wide but extremely rutted
and overgrown drive. ‘He is merely stubborn with a deplorable
tendency to jump to conclusions. But the Dacre child ought to prove
a match for him … and that should be interesting to watch.’ The
phaeton drew to a halt in front of a shabby stable-block and the
Duke surveyed it with distaste. ‘Dear me. The place appears to be
falling apart. My apologies – I really had no idea.’

Amberley raised
one quizzical brow.

‘I thought it
belonged to you.’

‘It does. But I
have only been here once before – what you might call a courtesy
call, immediately following the death of my lamented father.’ He
smiled blandly. ‘It was then – and for some time afterwards – the
residence of the opulent and very accommodating actress whose …
performances … proved too much for him. Or so my mother
thought.’

Grinning, the
Marquis jumped lightly down on to the cobbles.

‘And what did
you think?’

‘That it was
all too likely,’ came the languid reply. ‘In my opinion, she had
too much of everything. Ah – this should be the doctor’s gig.’

It was and it
was followed almost immediately by a second carriage bearing Philip
and Lord Harry Caversham.

The Duke
withdrew a chronometer from the pocket of his vest, flicked open
the silver casing and smiled. It was five minutes to twelve.

After
descending from his seat, Philip remained quite still, staring at
the Marquis. The grey-green eyes looked gravely back at him and
then Amberley bowed, silent and formal. That Philip hesitated to
respond was due to the strange and rather sick sense of unreality
that had clung to him ever since he had awoken – but hesitate he
did and then the moment was lost as, having exchanged amicable
greetings with Lord Harry, the Duke led the little party through a
peeling door, once painted green, and into a large walled
garden.

There was a
sweet smell of new-cut grass and Philip heard Rockliffe explaining
that he had ordered the ground to be scythed, since no gentleman
could be expected to settle an affair of honour in a hayfield.
Harry laughed and Amberley made what seemed to be a joke about
Broody. Philip did not listen. He had given up wondering what
madness had possessed him to issue this challenge and was foolishly
annoyed with himself for failing to acknowledge his adversary’s
bow. Then he remembered that in ten minutes time he might be dead –
and after that nothing seemed to matter very much at all.

Rockliffe and
Harry were inspecting the pistols. They belonged to the Marquis and
were elegant things, their butts silver-mounted and inlaid with
mother-of-pearl and their graceful ten-inch barrels delicately
engraved with flowers and leaves.

‘They’re
beauties!’ breathed Harry enviously.

They’re
lethal
, thought Philip, walking absently away to stare at a
straggling bush of wild roses.
I should have written Isabel a
letter. Just in case
…

And then Harry
was calling to him that they were ready.

The pistol was
cold in his hand and for a moment he stared curiously at it, as if
wondering what it was doing there. Then he looked across at his
foe, deliberately reminding himself of the grievances that had
brought him here and wishing that he could believe them as strongly
now as he had last night. He had never before shot a man in cold
blood. He wondered if Amberley had.

The Marquis was
a little pale but as coolly composed as ever and even moderately
relaxed. Philip watched him expertly checking the loaded pistol and
resetting its trigger to half-cock. His hands were steady and his
face showed nothing but concentration for the task in hand. Then he
looked up into Philip’s eyes with a sort of wry understanding that
he seemed to be inviting Philip share; and a faint smile touched
his mouth.

Rockliffe’s
soft voice was instructing them and Philip took his place, held his
weapon so that its barrel pointed down at the bruised, scented
grass and concentrated on keeping his breathing steady. He had
never fought a duel in his life but everyone knew the procedure and
in the army they had often joked about it. Philip wished it seemed
funny now.

‘When I give
the signal,’ the Duke was saying, ‘you will walk ten paces on my
count, turn and fire at will. Are you ready, gentlemen?’

‘Perfectly,’
replied the Marquis calmly.

‘Yes,’ said
Philip and, in the same instant, felt the spell around him
dissolve. ‘Quite ready.’

Rockliffe
stepped back to stand beside Lord Harry.

‘Very well,
gentlemen.
One … two … three
… ‘

Philip and
Amberley paced steadily away from each other in time with his
Grace’s measured tones.

‘
Eight …
nine … ten
.’

They wheeled
smartly to face each other, levelling their pistols. Then the
Marquis jerked up his hand to fire in the air and an instant later
Lord Philip’s bullet sliced through his left arm just above the
elbow.

With a gasp,
Amberley dropped his own weapon to clamp his fingers hard over the
wound from which blood was already pouring down over his hand and
on to the bright grass. Then he glanced up to encounter the Duke’s
astounded gaze and said, with what might have been weak laughter,
‘Damn you, Rock – where’s that confounded leech of yours? Or are
you going to let me bleed to death?’

But the doctor
was already hurrying across the turf and, smiling a little,
Rockliffe strolled lazily after him.

‘My dear
Dominic – you would be well-served if I did,’ he remarked
resignedly. ‘I suppose you
had
to delope?’

The Marquis
stifled a curse as the doctor helped him out of his coat and then
he dropped to his knees.

‘You’re just
peeved because I didn’t tell you,’ he replied breathlessly. ‘But
you must have expected it.’

‘Yes.’ His
Grace sighed. ‘You know … there are times when I wonder if you
aren’t just too noble for this wicked world of ours.’

Amberley looked
up and, with a grimace of mingled pain and irritation, demonstrated
his nobility with one of Broody’s choicest phrases.

‘Your lordship
has been most fortunate,’ remarked the doctor primly. ‘The bullet
appears to have missed the bone by a fraction and passed straight
through. However, the wound is not inconsiderable and will require
further treatment if your lordship is to escape a fever.’

‘I know it’s
not inconsiderable,’ muttered Amberley. ‘It hurts like blazes.’

All this time,
Philip had been staring at the results of his marksmanship in utter
disbelief. He heard Harry say blankly, ‘My God, Phil – I didn’t
think you’d actually
shoot
him!’ And realised that he had
not thought it either – any more than he had expected the Marquis
to fire in the air.

White to the
lips, he strode across to Amberley’s side and stared helplessly at
the doctor’s attempts to stem the crimson tide trickling steadily
down one tapering hand. And then he met the Marquis’s slightly
furrowed gaze and heard him say cheerfully, ‘I don’t know whether
to commiserate with you for failing to make a good job of it or
congratulate you on hitting me at all – but I’m inclined to the
latter. You shoot remarkably straight … for a grenadier.’

Philip flushed
a little and then, just as he was about to utter a stiff reply, he
made a discovery that was wholly astonishing. There was no mockery
or anger in the grey-green eyes and the grin bracketing Amberley’s
mouth was there to cover the fact that he was in pain. It was more
than just unexpected - as it produced a stupidly illogical feeling
of liking that flooded Philip’s brain with shocked incomprehension
and set him at a loss.

He said
haltingly, ‘Too straight, perhaps. I – you won’t believe it, I
daresay – but I never wanted to kill you.’

‘No.’ The
Marquis smiled hazily. ‘I know you didn’t. If I’d thought you did,
I don’t suppose I should have deloped.’

‘Would you
not?’ asked the Duke sweetly.

‘Leave it,
Rock,’ came the laconic reply.

Philip cast a
doubtful glance at his Grace and then looked back at Amberley.

‘Why
did
you delope?’ he asked bluntly.

The Marquis
winced as the doctor began to bind his arm and said unevenly, ‘It’s
usually considered an acknowledgement of fault.’

‘I know. But I
don’t think that’s why you did it.’

A tinge of
colour stole into the bloodless cheek. ‘No.’

‘Then why?’
persisted Philip. ‘I think I’ve a right to know.’

‘Very true,’
agreed Rockliffe smoothly. ‘And since Dominic is too shy to tell
you himself … ‘

‘No – damn it!’
The Marquis struggled to get to his feet only to be pushed back by
the Duke’s hand. ‘You don’t
know
why – ‘

‘Not entirely,
perhaps,’ agreed his Grace. ‘But, having been acquainted with you
for some sixteen years or so, I think I have a tolerable idea of
how your mind works. And, if I am wrong, you can always correct me,
can you not?’

Amberley set
his jaw and said nothing. Indeed, there was nothing he could say
that was likely to stop his bloody annoying friend saying things he
had no doubt he’d much prefer were left unsaid.

Rockliffe
turned his heavy-lidded gaze on Lord Philip.

‘It may come as
a surprise to you,’ he said lazily, ‘but my lord Marquis is
possessed of a certain crude ability with firearms and could, I
believe, have put a bullet through any part of you he chose.
Possibly he would attribute this to the fact that he was not a
grenadier but a hussar.’

Philip shot a
surprised look at the Marquis. ‘Were you?’

‘Yes,’ replied
Amberley tonelessly. He did not look up but confined his attention
to the task of carefully rolling his blood-soaked shirt-sleeve down
over his arm.

Rockliffe
smiled faintly and went on, ‘He also, for some reason which I
cannot quite grasp, was convinced that he was in no danger from
you; and so, because he has some inexplicable notion that he owes
you something – but more because he happens to be very much in love
with your sister – he decided to forgo his options on your person
and delope. Anyone else,’ he concluded tolerantly, ‘would have been
content simply to shoot wide. But I suppose everyone is entitled to
one vanity.’

‘Have you quite
finished?’ demanded the Marquis glacially, rising unsteadily to his
feet. ‘Or do you want to add that I like dogs and am kind to my
aged mother?’

‘Thank you,
no,’ mocked his Grace. ‘I am merely waiting to hear you deny any
part of what I have said.’

There was a
long dangerous silence and then Amberley bent to retrieve his
ruined coat.

‘I’m going
home,’ he said with audible restraint. ‘Will you drive me – or
shall I ask Harry?’

Rosalind’s
second day of solitude was an ironic travesty of her first – for
where, yesterday, she had avoided her brother in order to think,
she now wished for his presence the better not to do so. But the
hours dragged slowly by and Philip showed no sign of returning; and
when, at around five o’clock, she received word that his lordship
would be dining at his club, she smiled wryly and reflected that
she was merely being repaid in her own coin.