The Heart That Lies (6 page)

“No one’s
as good a shot as they think they are.”

“Some
men practise in the same way that you practise with your wretched knife.”

Meldon knew that
Finch was such a man. He also knew that his friend practised with his own knife.

“Do you think he
practises?”

Finch nodded. “He was frightened, but confident.”

“Perhaps he’ll be less confident when he’s looking down the barrel of my pistol.”

“Meldon, this is a mess.”

“I’ve fought duels before.”

“With a sword. God
knows why, but you’re better with a sword than a pistol.”

“
Because a sword is an extension of oneself and a pistol is just something that you hold in your hand.” This was the only explanation that Meldon had ever come up with to explain his complete lack of skill with a pistol.

“Then y
ou’d better start thinking of your pistol as an extension of yourself before tomorrow morning.”

“Does he have a suggestion for a
referee?”

“No. He leaves it in your hands
, since he knows so few people in London. He said the strangest thing. He said that you were a man of honour and would choose wisely.”

“That doesn’t sound like a man with a grudge.”

“No. It sounds more like a French agent, but such a man would have to be honourable himself.” Finch examined his nails while he let the thought sink in. Meldon could make no sense of it. “I thought Lord Philpott,” he continued.

“Hmm?”

“For the referee?”

It was a good choice and Meldon said so.

“I’ll go to him when I leave here.” Finch paused. “Meldon, I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Smith what would happen if you apologised.”

“I don’t mind,” said Meldon.
“It’s your job as my second to protect me against myself.”

“Hmm. He said he would not accept an apology.”

“We said as much yesterday.”

“I know, but the strange thing was the way he said it. As if he didn’t want to fight you
, almost as if he’d hoped that you would apologise to give him an excuse to back out of it, even knowing that he wouldn’t accept it.”

Meldon thought for a while, but could not work it out. Eventually he shook his head.

“Go and see Philpott,” he said. “Then perhaps we could go somewhere where I can practise with a pistol, or just get very drunk.”

When he arrived with Finch and Perkins at the place appointed for the duel, Meldon was horrified to see that Smith was alone. He stood in the small clearing on Wimbledon Common, looking towards the carriage. Meldon would have preferred Hyde Park, as it was much closer to his house should one or both of them be wounded, but the risk of discovery was much greater there.

He stepped out of the carriage
.

“Smith, where’s your second?”

“Second?”

The boy had no idea
what he was doing and obviously hadn’t understood what Finch had told him. Meldon was tempted to call a halt to the thing there and then, only the fear that Smith would call him a coward held him back.

“
Your second. A man you trust to make sure everything is done properly and to look after you should you be injured.” Had his voice really shaken at the thought that he might hurt the boy? He hoped not. He had tried not to think about accidentally killing him, but pistols were so unpredictable.

“I have no second.
Mr Finch did explain, but I’m new in London and duelling is illegal. There is no one I trust that much.”

“Then you are a fool.” He was angry.
He had been right that Smith knew enough about duels to know how to call him out, but not enough to know how to proceed with the duel itself. “Finch, you’ll have to do it.”

“But, Meldon...”

“Enough. Make sure Mr Smith knows what he has to do. I don’t want this to be murder.”

Smith paled and Meldon hoped that his blunt speaking would cause him to withdraw his challenge, but the boy straightened and bowed his head slightly.

“Thank you, my lord. I should be very grateful for Mr Finch’s assistance. And the other gentleman, is he the referee?”

“It is usual to bring a
doctor to a duel. Perkins is not a doctor, he’s my valet, but he knows enough to look after either one of us if we’re wounded and to keep his mouth shut. And, before you ask, the carriage is at your disposal should I merely wound you and not kill you. Should I kill you, we will use it to remove your body from this place.”

Satisfied that he had laid out the possible outcomes of the duel well enough to scare the boy, he took Finch aside and said quietly, “Try to talk him out of this.”

Finch nodded and went to Smith. Meldon watched from a distance as Finch explained. Occasionally the boy looked in his direction and Meldon hoped that he was starting to reconsider.

Philpott arrived in his carriage and went straight to Meldon.

“Are you trying to get a reputation as a duellist?” he asked as he approached.

“I’m the one called out.”
Meldon did not bother to hide his frustration at this situation.

“Yes. Finch said it was for cheating at cards.”
The older held Meldon’s eyes as if daring him to look away.

“Yes.”

“Damn! You have faults enough, but cheating is not, as far as I know, one of them.”

“Nothing has changed since the last time we met in that regard.”

“Don’t make a joke of it, boy, this is serious.”

Philpott had been a friend of Meldon’s father
and had known Meldon all his life, so Meldon was not offended that he was being treated as a wilful child.

“I know that well enough. There’s every chance that I shall be dead in ten minutes time
, sir. Smith doesn’t fence.”

Philpott shook his head sadly.

“It’s not as if your father didn’t tell you often enough that you should improve your skill with a pistol.”

“And he was correct.”

“I’ve never understood how you manage to fence so well with that leg.”

“Neither have I, sir, but I
should be a lot more confident of surviving if we were fencing.”

He would have been more confident of finding a way for them both to survive if they had been fencing. It was easier to hide a deliberate mistake with swords than with pistols. Fortunately Lord Philpott knew that Meldon could not shoot well, so would not be surprised when the shot went wide. Meldon’s only worry, apart from being killed by Smith’s shot, was that even shooting wide would be dangerous for the boy; he really had no idea how to make the shot go where he wanted it to go.

“Let me introduce you to Smith.”

“Why’s he talking to Finch?” asked Philpott as they approached the other two men.

“Finch is his second.”

“Not yours?
Surely you two haven’t quarrelled, not after all this time.”

“Smith knows no one in London, so I let him have Finch.”

“Most irregular,” muttered Philpott.

Meldon stopped walking and turned to the other man.

“Do you wish to abandon the duel?”

Philpott considered for a moment.

“Would Smith consider that a suitable conclusion?”

“No.”

“Then I will accept Mr Finch as Mr Smith’s referee. It’s not that I doubt he will do his best for the man, just...”

“
That it’s so irregular. I’m sorry, this is not what I wanted.”

The two men started walking again and came to Finch and Smith. Smith stopped talking and Finch turned round to meet them.

“Mr Smith, please allow me to introduce Lord Philpott, our referee.”

Smith t
urned away from Finch and bowed.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Lord Philpott.”

“I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

“And I.”

“You understand the rules of engagement?”

“Mr Finch has been very clear.”

“Very well, your pistol, please.”

Smith handed it over for Philpott’s ins
pection. When he was finished Philpott held out his hand for Meldon’s pistol. He was satisfied.

“Are you ready to begin?” he asked.

“I still have a few things to explain to Mr Smith,” said Finch.

“Meldon, will you wait until Finch has finished?”

“Of course,” replied Meldon, although he wanted to get it all over with.

“Perkins is with you, then?” asked Philpott as they walked back to the carriages.

“Yes. I thought it best not to involve a surgeon. Perkins is perfectly capable and discreet.”

“Yes,” agreed Philpott. “Discretion is everything in these affairs.
”

They fell into an easy silence while Finch continued to talk to Smith a few yards away.
For Smith’s benefit, Meldon tried to appear as relaxed and confident as possible. This was not his first duel, but he preferred swords, where it was more a matter of skill and experience. Duelling with pistols was all the rage now and he felt the disadvantage keenly. Increasingly fewer men had the patience to learn to fence, believing that pointing a pistol at a man and pulling the trigger was simplicity itself. Perhaps it was, but most underestimated the strain it put on a man to stand still and wait for their opponent’s shot. Some proved themselves not up to the task and were branded cowards as a result. Meldon knew he would not run, would not even shake, but he would still avoid this if he could.

Meldon loaded his pistol, having checked, once again, that it was clean and that everything moved smoothly. He had no intention of using it unless he had to, for even a shot aimed to
disable Smith could kill him. Only once Smith had fired would he fire and he would fire wide. Meldon was under no illusions about his ability as a marksman, nor about the reliability of his pistol. He was a terrible shot and very rarely hit his target.

Since Smith had gone to such trouble to call him out
, he had to assume that the boy was the better shot and would try to kill him and might even succeed. Still Meldon feared more for the boy than for himself. Meldon had killed men, not with a pistol, but with a sword or a knife and once with his bare hands. Soldiers were often called on to do such things and he did not regret what he had done, but he did know that it had diminished him somehow. He felt that a poet like Smith might be destroyed if he took someone’s life.

Distractedly, he presented the pistol again to Philpott for inspection. Then he noticed that Finch was coming towards him.

“Does he withdraw his challenge?” he asked, hopefully.

“No
and, Meldon...”

“Yes?”

“He seems to know what he’s doing with that pistol.”

Meldon nodded.
The boy’s actions in calling him out only made sense if he thought he had a better than average chance of killing his opponent. The chances were good that he had made a study of Meldon and knew that he could not shoot.

“Very well. I am ready.” He took
off his coat and laid it on a seat in the carriage.

“Then we will begin.”

“Finch?”

“Yes?”

“If it should end badly, look after the boy.” He paused to make sure that Finch was paying attention. “I don’t mean just today.”

“I understand.”

Meldon doubted it, but knew that Finch would make sure no harm came to the boy.

“One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Make sure you stand well out of the way. Who knows where my shot will go if I have to fire.”

Finch didn’t smile; he knew the danger to his own life. He would also have to ensure that Lord Philpott was not endangered. They shook hands, then Finch led him and Philpott to where Smith stood waiting. There was no need for them to say any more. Meldon looked to see if the boy’s hands were shaking, but they were perfectly still. Smith seemed completely calm. Meldon knew that his own hands did not betray the feelings that were raging within him. He was not a coward, but only a fool felt no fear at the prospect of his own death. He dared not look into Smith’s eyes, for he was sure he would see the boy’s own fear there.

“Gentlemen,”
Philpott began, “you will stand back to back and on my command walk ten paces. If one of you should turn before I count to ten I will shoot you.” He raised the pistol he held in his hand. Meldon wasn’t entirely sure that this was an empty threat. Philpott was a good enough shot to wound if it was his intention. “On ten you will turn and fire. Do you understand?”

Meldon and Smith nodded
, then bowed to one another.

T
hen they turned back to back. Philpott took a step backwards, then started to count aloud.

Even as he started to pace
Meldon wondered why Philpott was counting so slowly; each step lasted a lifetime. By the time Philpott got to ten he would have forgotten which direction to turn and how to shoot and what he should be shooting at. He became aware of the unevenness of his gait. Although he was not leaning heavily on his stick, he felt the damp ground give beneath it at each step. Briefly he wondered if the ground would swallow him up if he were shot and fell, then knew the thought for nonsense. A bird flew overhead and he tried to recognise it by its song. There was another noise in the trees and he turned his head towards it. The low sun was in his eyes and he blinked. It was going to be a beautiful day; the sun had just risen and a faint mist was rising from the narrow river that was just beyond the trees. Calm settled around him like a blanket and he tightened his grip on his pistol. As usual, it felt false, as if it had no business being in his hand.