In All Honour

by Beth Elliott

  Greg crossed the Pulteney Bridge and strode on towards the Parade Gardens. A cheerful noise came from the taverns, which were full tonight.

  Greg paused for a moment, tempted to go in and join the crowd, forget his quest and simply enjoy a few tankards of ale. Then he shook his head and forced himself to continue on his way.

  His own interest seemed now to be entwined with Sarah’s problems. At the thought of her he felt his heart beat faster. How foolish! How many times these last two years had he sworn not to allow any woman to get close to him again. It was simply that she was a lovely young woman and he was a red-blooded male. But she was also a damsel in distress and he was a gentleman … and it was clear that she was being pursued by Lord Percival against her wishes.

  Of course he must do what he could to help her. How could he do otherwise, when her own brother seemed intent on pushing her into the arms of that devil Percival? Only today, Greg had seen James call at General Gardiner’s lodgings twice and then emerge, obviously in a bad temper, to go and report back to Lord Percival at the Pump Room.

  Greg thought of Sarah, struggling to keep her dignity as her brother persisted in pushing her at the man she disliked so intensely. And, now he thought about it, he remembered that in London, she had been avoiding Lord Percival – and then her sister had also tried to throw her at the fellow. God help any woman who fell into his clutches!

  When he entered the Lower Rooms, Greg was pleased to hear music. As he had hoped, the tea interval was over and the dancing had begun again. The entrance was almost deserted. He began by sauntering into the ballroom. There he exchanged a word of greeting with one or two acquaintances of his father while he made a careful but unobtrusive survey of the people there. It was noticeably more crowded tonight than at any previous gathering. No doubt the poor weather had decided people to leave their country homes to seek the many pleasures of life in town.

  By degrees he reached the card room. Here he wandered slowly around, watching the play at different tables but declining to join in. At last he spied his quarry and casually wandered up to watch the play at that table. When at last the game broke up, Greg moved forward and addressed James Davenport.

  ‘A game of piquet with you, my lord?’

  James looked up. He frowned blankly, then recognized Greg. His eyes widened. He gave a convulsive swallow. Greg was blocking the way out of the room. Reluctantly, James rose and moved to the small table that Greg was indicating. Awaiter brought fresh cards and Greg ordered port. James cut the pack. Greg picked up the cards and fumbled a little as he dealt them.

  ‘You will have to excuse me,’ he drawled. ‘Until I can get the muscles in my upper arm working properly again my hand is clumsy.’

  ‘Of course,’ mumbled James, flicking him a nervous look. They played the first rubber. James began to relax, getting absorbed in the game. The second rubber eventually fell to Greg. James tossed off his drink and dealt the cards impatiently. He scowled at his hand, made a discard and drew another card from the stack. Greg went to put down his own card but dropped it.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said cheerfully, ‘my hand is tired, I think. He laid down his remaining cards and refilled both their glasses, using his left hand. ‘What a pity I cannot use my left hand to play,’ he remarked.

  James was looking angry at the interruption. He nodded but said nothing.

  Greg looked at him over the rim of his glass. ‘If you will be kind enough to allow me five minutes or so, I shall endeavour not to do that again.’ He leaned forward. ‘Cards are your great passion, are they not?’

  James looked at him warily. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you ever play with my brother? I mean my older brother, Henry?’

  James seemed to shrink in his chair. He shook his head. ‘No. Never.’

  ‘But you did know my brother?’

  James looked away. He licked his lips. ‘Not very well.’

  Greg affected surprise. ‘Yet you were both guests of Lord Hazelwick at his hunting lodge back in the spring.’

  James nodded. His hands were gripping the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles showed white.

  ‘So you must have had some degree of acquaintance. My brother was a very easy-going fellow.’ He sighed, then brought his attention firmly back to James. ‘And, at Hazelwick’s party, I would wager cards were the usual evening’s pastime?’

  ‘Cards … or billiards,’ stammered James. His skin, always pasty, had gone grey.

  ‘And which did my brother prefer?’ Greg’s eyes hardened as he watched the perspiration bead on James’s forehead. His voice was quiet but insistent. ‘You do appreciate that I want to know how my brother spent his last days.’

  James’s eyes bulged. He was staring at something behind Greg’s shoulder. Greg heard his sharp intake of breath and turned round himself. Across the room Lord Percival was watching them. His left hand rested on his hip. There was a distinct menace in his gaze.

  Greg turned back. ‘Well?’

  But James shook his head and rose. ‘Excuse me … have to abandon the game….’ His bloodshot eyes did not meet Greg’s as he scuttled away.

  Greg finished his wine. He was not totally dissatisfied. James had shown that there was definitely some mystery concerning Henry’s end. As for that damned George Percival…. Then the helpless anger swept over him again at the loss of his brother – especially if his death had not been accidental. Greg stared grimly at his clenched fists. He would get to the bottom of it!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sarah let herself out of the house quietly. It was early and she was almost the only person in the street. She took a deep breath of fresh air and lifted her face towards the pale blue of the sky above the rooftops. The last two days of rain had given her an excuse to stay at home. Now she was angry with herself for such cowardice. She was going to meet Lord Percival some time and she would make it plain that she was not interested in his attentions.

  She walked up Milsom Street to the top and then turned left. In a couple of minutes she reached Queen Square, where she walked around, enjoying the quiet open space. Apart from a few servants there was nobody out at this early hour. She smiled as she reached the building that housed her old school. No doubt the same teachers were still giving the same instruction to a new generation of young ladies. She looked at the windows but could see no sign of activity there. Well, her schooldays had been happier times, when her parents were alive and life seemed more secure.

  Now she had to face the fact that she was alone in the world. The tiny annuity left to her by her mother would not be enough for her to live on. The future seemed bleak. Sarah knew she could make Russeldene profitable again, given time, but only if James stopped taking every penny and more out of the estate. But far worse was the nagging fear of what would happen if, as James kept saying, Lord Percival had now won all his assets. If Russeldene passed into his hands, she would be cast adrift in the world.

  She would face endless reproaches from Alice and James, both seeming to think that she should sacrifice herself and accept Lord Percival in order to save the family home. Sarah shuddered. Even for Russeldene, she could not endure to sell herself to someone she instinctively knew was a villain.

  So she could not live with Alice – who did not want her anyway – and therefore she would have to earn her living in some way. Deep in weighing up the possibilities open to her, Sarah kept walking. She felt too much anxiety to stay still. She did not even notice that the streets were filling up with people and carts. Eventually she turned a corner and walked straight into a large woman with a basket of apples.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ she apologized, waking up to her surroundings. She had reached Union Passage. The main street ahead was busy with coaches and carts. Sarah shook her head to clear it. She decided to continue her walk around the abbey and towards the river. To do that, she would have to cross Cheap Street, but there was such a press of traffic she remained on the pavement for some time, waiting for a gap between the fast-moving co
aches.

  Then, as she gazed across the street through the constant procession of carriages and a mail coach going in the direction of Bristol, she saw a tall, familiar figure. It was Greg, waiting to cross from the other side. He had not seen her as he was looking for a gap in the traffic. It gave Sarah a chance to observe him. She dwelt admiringly on the clean lines of his face and his very masculine outline with his splendid height and broad shoulders. Yet she knew it was foolish to feed her longing.

  She then saw that he was holding his right arm across his chest and rubbing it with his left hand. So his arm was still troubling him. Another coach rumbled past, then a tilbury appeared, driven by a very young gentleman and going much too fast for a city street. Just then a rough-looking man in a green jacket came racing from the archway. Sarah saw him run up behind Greg and push him hard into the path of the tilbury. Greg stumbled and fell forwards. Sarah pressed her hands to her cheeks in horror.

  ‘Stop!’ she screeched at the young driver. He sawed on the reins, pulling his horses further out into the road. But at the same instant Sarah watched helplessly as Greg struck against the side of the vehicle and then slumped down in a heap into the roadway.

  Sarah darted across the street. She caught a glimpse of the rough man hurrying away down Cheap Street. Then she reached Greg and bent over him. There was blood trickling down the left side of his face. His eyes were open but not focusing. Sarah could hear the next coach approaching fast. She glanced up in a panic. To her relief, a couple of men were waving handkerchiefs and shouting to divert it away from the accident. Another man stepped forward and helped her haul Greg off the road. They pulled him back against the wall but he slid down sideways until his head was on the paving stones.

  Sarah knelt beside him and raised him, laying his head against her bosom. She pulled out her handkerchief and pressed it against the cut on the side of his forehead. She was panting from her rush across the road and from the effort of heaving such a large man on to the pavement. How badly was he hurt? Suppose he…? No, just at that moment she felt him give a sigh and move his head a bit.

  ‘What…? Where am I?’ He turned his head and nestled closer against her. His eyes were closed now.

  ‘Are you badly hurt?’ she asked. Her voice came out as a squeak.

  He seemed to think about it. ‘Bruised my shoulder,’ he managed.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Left side.’

  He made no effort to move. Sarah looked down at the thick copper hair streaked with mud and blood. ‘Can you sit up now?’ she asked. ‘I need to see to your injuries.’

  He sighed again and struggled into a sitting position. Sarah hastily stood up and came round in front of him. She bit her lip. The left side of his face was already swollen, the skin scraped and raw. He winced as he tried to raise his left hand to feel his cheek. Then he struggled to get up but it seemed he had no strength in either arm. Helped by the same man who had pulled him out of the road, Greg finally scrambled upright. He leaned against the wall and looked at Sarah.

  ‘Someone pushed me.’ He frowned. ‘Can’t believe it!’ He paused for a moment. ‘How do you come to be here, Sarah – I mean Miss Dav—?’

  ‘Sarah will do,’ she interrupted him. ‘I was just taking a walk. I was waiting to cross the street and then I saw a man run at you and deliberately push you. He made off that way.’ She pointed up Cheap Street. She looked back at Greg. He stared at her frowningly.

  ‘You are bleeding,’ she pointed out, ‘and it is going to spoil your clothes.’ She offered him the handkerchief. He took it and dabbed at his forehead. Then another thought occurred to him. ‘Where is my hat?’

  ‘It’s ruined, gov’,’ said another voice. The squashed and muddy hat was handed forward by the crowd. Sarah looked at it and shuddered. That could have been him. That was what the man had tried to do.

  The young man from the tilbury had by now pushed his way through the crowd to reach them. ‘How bad is it?’ he enquired. ‘Awfully sorry, sir, but it just happened so fast….’

  ‘It was not your fault,’ said Greg. He dabbed his face again and looked at the blood on the cloth. ‘I will have to return home.’

  ‘Happy to drive you,’ said the young man, ‘Insist! Least I can do.’

  He indicated the way through the onlookers to his coach. While he turned his horses, Sarah stood beside Greg. She could see that he was far more shaken than he wanted to admit.

  ‘I fear you are going to discover a number of other injuries when you have recovered from the first shock,’ she said. ‘How about your right arm.’

  He grimaced and moved it gingerly. ‘It has not helped, but I do not think I struck it against the carriage.’ He gave her a keen look. ‘Miss Da— Sarah, I mean – this was an accident.’

  ‘It was not!’ she began hotly, but he silenced her with a small gesture.

  ‘No, please say nothing yet. I do not want to alarm my father.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘I understand. But if he sees you, he will be alarmed. Your face is swelling fast.’

  ‘Well, I shall not attend the assemblies for a few days – wouldn’t do to frighten the young ladies.’ The good side of his mouth lifted in a grin. ‘What a blessing you were here. You must call me Greg from now on,’ he told her as he climbed stiffly into the tilbury. ‘It is across the bridge,’ he directed the young man. ‘I am staying in Sydney Place.’

  He looked down at Sarah. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. His face was ghastly with a livid bruise growing rapidly and blood smeared across the left side. But his eyes glowed at her and Sarah felt her heartbeat quicken. She stood watching until the tilbury was quite out of sight.

  Why did Greg not want to tell his father that someone had tried to injure him? Perhaps there was some quarrel between Greg and another man. The ghost of a smile touched her lips. Greg was big and powerfully built but in general he seemed to be the most pleasant-tempered of men. She knew he had a more dangerous side to him, which was natural, given his years in the army. But, on the whole, it was difficult to imagine him quarrelling. Could this be a case of mistaken identity? Somehow, she knew that it was not.

  Now that he had gone and the urgency was over, she found she was shaking. It had been a lucky escape. Sarah stood there for a moment longer, then turned back up Cheap Street. Perhaps she could find the man in the green jacket. She walked briskly, looking in every doorway and side alley. There was no sign of him, however. She went as far as Westgate Buildings, but on her own she could not venture any further into this area full of alehouses and smoky, rubbish-laden dens. Already she was attracting attention. Ragged children were following her and men in the alehouses were whistling as she passed by.

  Disappointed at her failure to find the villain, she retraced her steps to Union Passage. She was standing waiting to cross the street again in order to go back home when a hated voice addressed her.

  ‘Why, Miss Davenport, what an age since I last saw you.’ Lord Percival swept off his hat, revealing his pomaded curls. He was looking at her with those cold eyes that seemed to miss nothing. They narrowed now. ‘Do you know that there is blood on your clothes?’ His voice was sharp, almost eager, quite different from his usual languid drawl.

  Sarah glanced down. There were two bloodstains on the bosom of her spencer, together with a smear of mud. ‘It is not mine. I have been helping at the scene of an accident.’

  He swung round, his beaky nose quivering as he surveyed the pavement. ‘And where is the victim?’

  ‘He has been conveyed home.’

  ‘Was he … ah … very badly hurt?’

  Sarah nodded. ‘Quite badly shaken and bruised. And bleeding.’

  He raised his brows. ‘Bleeding, eh?’ He nodded slowly. Then he returned his attention to her. ‘How is it that he has gone home and left you here to fend for yourself?’

  She gave a short laugh. ‘I could not help him any further. There is nothing amiss with me beyond the stain on my wrap. Excuse me, sir, I mus
t return home and change.’ She saw a gap in the traffic and set off quickly across the street. ‘Good day to you,’ she called over her shoulder. To her relief he did not follow her. She was able to slip inside and up to her room before anybody saw her. She decided not to mention the ‘accident’ until Greg himself spoke of it.

  Later that afternoon, when the two girls were sitting sewing and talking by the window in the sitting-room, they heard someone knock on the front door. Then a maid came in with a small packet.

  ‘For you, miss,’ She handed the package to Sarah, who took it, mystified.

  Inside she found six exquisite lawn handkerchiefs. A card fell out. She picked it up and saw Greg’s name. On the back he had scrawled, ‘With my thanks for your help’.

  ‘Handkerchiefs? From Greg?’ Lizzie stared at Sarah’s reddening cheeks. ‘Whatever is going on?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ‘Ah, Miss Davenport. How delightful to find you – and not engaged to dance at present. What a crowd there is tonight. May I join you?’ The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Lord Percival sat down beside her. He surveyed her with a look of approval, his eyes going from the top of her head, dwelling a moment on her face, her mouth and the curve of her neck, before dropping to linger on her white bosom. Sarah’s flesh was tingling with dislike at this inspection. His gaze took in her pink muslin gown, travelled down to her feet, then back to her face.

  She forced herself to meet his eyes, her own sparkling with anger. He was looking at her hungrily. ‘Once again you are undoubtedly the loveliest lady here tonight.’

  Sarah forced a little laugh. ‘I fear you cannot have looked very far, sir.’

  ‘Oh, no, you mistake.’ He gave a bray of laughter. ‘Believe me, ma’am, I am a connoisseur.’ He raised his quizzing glass and inspected the couples on the floor. He turned back to her with a satisfied smirk. ‘Indeed, you outshine them all.’

  Sarah hated exaggerated compliments, but she decided to say nothing. It seemed he wanted always to be right, so he would continue to argue. She looked up and saw James, watching her from the other side of the ballroom. He gave her a tiny nod. Mrs Keating was close by but she was busy discussing something in an undertone with another chaperon.