Both the newcomers were stamping their feet on the ground and slapping their hands on their arms, but Captain Crake soon came across the field to where Mr. Fitzjohn awaited him, and after the briefest of greetings the pair set about the task of inspecting and loading the pistols. No second shot was to be allowed, so that only Mr. Fitzjohn’s pistols (a very fine pair of Manton’s, ten inches in length, in the barrels, and with steel sights) were loaded.
This done, Mr. Fitzjohn rejoined Peregrine, and said in a low voice: “Twelve paces. You can’t miss, Perry. Let him have it!”
“Yes, if I can I will,” answered Peregrine, beginning to unbutton his greatcoat. “Do you advise fighting in this coat or without it?”
“Without it,” said Mr. Fitzjohn, grimly surveying the very large mother-of-pearl buttons with which the coat was adorned. “I should have warned you to wear a black coat. Close it up to the throat, and remember not to stand square to the fellow, but give your side only, and keep your arm well in to it. And don’t lower it until Farnaby’s shot, Perry! Here comes the fellow now. You must salute him, of course, but I need not tell you that.” He waited until this formality had been gone through, and then said: “Listen to me, Perry! Make up your mind where you mean to hit him, and don’t trouble your head with wondering where he means to hit you! Take your aim when I say ‘All’s ready,’ keep your eye on the handkerchief, and when I let it drop, shoot! If you kill him I’ll get you away somehow.”
“It sounds mighty desperate,” said Peregrine, forcing his pale lips into a smile. “You’re a curst good friend, Fitz. Thank you, and—oh, well, just thank you!”
Mr. Fitzjohn gripped his shoulder. “Breakfast in my lodgings afterwards,” he said, and walked off to measure the paces with Captain Crake.
Peregrine buttoned up his coat to the throat, observing as he did so that Mr. Farnaby, who was wearing black, had done the same. Mr. Farnaby, after his salute, had not looked at him again. He seemed to be impatient, and kept calling to his second to make haste, and not keep them all standing in the cold. When called upon to leech he came at once to the spot, took the pistol Mr. Fitzjohn handed him at half-cock, and stood with the muzzle pointed to the ground.
Peregrine was given the second pistol, and realized that the palms of his hands were sweating slightly. He wiped them on his pantaloons, took the pistol carefully (for the slightest touch would make a duelling pistol go off when set at half-cock, as he very well knew), and put himself into position.
The doctor turned his back, and the seconds retreated to a distance of eight paces. Peregrine was conscious of a sharp wind, ruffling his yellow locks: he fixed his eyes on Farnaby, trying to decide on some object on his dress to choose as his mark.
Mr. Fitzjohn was holding up a handkerchief; it fluttered in the wind, a splash of white against a background of grey.
Then, before the word could be given, an interruption took place. A third coach, this time a heavy, lumbering affair, had driven up, and several men now jumped down from it, and came running towards the duellists, shouting: “In the name of the Law! Hold!”
Peregrine jerked his head round, heard a stifled oath from Farnaby, and the next minute was in the grip of a burly officer. “I arrest you in the name of the Law!” puffed this individual. “Attempt to break the peace! I shall have to take you before a magistrate.”
Mr. Fitzjohn, who admitted afterwards that he had never been so glad to see a constable before, heaved one long sigh of relief, and said: “Oh, very well! Nothing for it, Perry; you had better put your coat on again.”
Mr. Farnaby, in the grip of a second constable, showed a disposition to resist. “Who set you on?” he demanded.
“Acting on information received,” was the curt reply. “Now give me that pistol, sir! It ain’t no use resisting.”
An unwelcome suspicion crossed Peregrine’s mind. He said quickly: “Do you know who lodged the information?”
“No, nor it ain’t my business,” answered the constable. “You put on your coat, sir, and come with us.”
Mr. Fitzjohn went to lend Peregrine a hand. “Do you suspect someone?” he asked in an under-voice.
“By God I do, and I mean to know the truth!”
“Who knew of it?”
“My cousin,” said Peregrine. “But I did not tell him the place of rendezvous—of that I am perfectly certain! How he found that out, if it was he—”
“But, Perry, surely he wouldn’t inform the magistrates if you told him in confidence, which I suppose you must have?”
“I don’t know, but I shall find out!” said Peregrine, buttoning up his greatcoat.
Mr. Fitzjohn turned with sudden suspicion to the doctor, who was standing beside them. “I take it you know nothing of this, Lane?”
The doctor replied in a dry tone: “I did not lay information against your principal, sir, but I am forced to admit that it may be through me that this duel has been interrupted. If it was so I cannot regret it, though I certainly did not intend it.”
“What the devil do you mean?” said Mr. Fitzjohn.
The doctor tucked his case of instruments under his arm. “Yesterday, sir,” he said, “not long after you called on me, I received a visit from another gentleman requiring my services in an affair of honour to-day. I told him that it was quite out of my power, since I was already engaged. He gave me to understand that he was acting as second to your opponent—a fact I could readily believe, as it would be an odd, almost an unprecedented occurrence, for two duels to be fought in London upon the same day. I informed this gentleman that I could not disclose the name of my principal, though I should have no objection to attending his man as well if he should prove to be the unknown adversary. He realized the propriety of my scruples, and at once made it plain to me that he was conversant with your affair by giving me the names of yourself and Sir Peregrine Taverner. I said that I should be happy to do what I could for his principal, and, as I recollect, we fell into some slight conversation, during the course of which I might easily mention the place of rendezvous. When your opponent came on to the ground, sir, and I perceived his friend to be totally unlike my visitor, I own I felt surprise. But upon reflection I could not recollect that my visitor actually stated that he was acting as a second in the affair, and I concluded that I had misunderstood him, and that he had come to me in place of the second.”
“What was he like?” demanded Peregrine, who had listened to this speech with considerable impatience. “Was he tall, rather dark, and elegantly dressed?”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “Certainly he was tall. I should describe him as very dark. He was a gentleman-like man, quiet in his manner, and with a pronounced air of fashion.”
“I knew it!” said Peregrine. “My cousin to the life!”
At this point one of the constables came up to request their following him to the coach. They could only obey, and in a few minutes the whole party was being driven off to the nearest magistrate.
It was fully an hour later before the principals were at liberty to go their several ways. Both were bound over to keep the peace, a great many formalities were gone through, sureties were paid, the magistrate read them a lecture, and Mr. Fitzjohn longed for his breakfast. At last they were set free. Mr. Farnaby and his second, both wearing the blackest of scowls, drove away in their chaise, and Peregrine and Mr. Fitzjohn went off to Cork Street, the doctor having gone away in a hackney some time previously.
Chapter XI
The secret of the duel was soon out. Peregrine arrived in Brook Street shortly after eleven o’clock to find his valet, who had given him up for lost an hour before, standing over Miss Taverner while she read her brother’s farewell letter.
“O God!” burst from Miss Taverner’s lips just as Peregrine walked into the room. The sheets of the letter fluttered to the ground. Miss Taverner sprang up crying: “I must go at once! What have they done to him? Where is Fitzjohn?” Then she caught sight of Peregrine in the doorway, and the next instant was in his arm
s. “Perry! Oh, Perry, my darling, you are safe!”
“Yes, yes, of course I am safe,” said Peregrine, clumsily patting her shoulder. “What the devil do you mean by making all this stir, John? You fool, did I not charge you to wait until you heard from Mr. Fitzjohn?”
His sister grasped the lapels of his coat. “Tell me at once, Peregrine, what has happened?”
“Nothing has happened. I can tell you, I am in a pretty rage, Ju! A rare fool I am made to look! We were informed against, and I have a strong notion who laid the information!”
“Whoever he is he has earned my undying gratitude!” declared Judith, still shaken from the fright she had had. “How could you go out to fight without a word to me? Oh, how I hate the practice of duelling! How I despise all you men for thinking it a way to settle a quarrel!”
“Stuff!” said Peregrine, disengaging himself from her clasp. “As for you, John, be off to your work! You’ve meddled enough for one day! If I had dreamed the fellow was not to be trusted—but I might have known! I had no business to be taken in by him. My father warned us against him, and you may depend upon it the son is no better.”
“Do you speak of my cousin? Is it possible that it was he who saved you from this terrible affair?”
“Lord, Ju, don’t talk in that silly way! You don’t understand these things. Ay, it was our cousin; I am persuaded it was he. I am off to settle with him on the instant.”
She detained him. “You need not; I expect him here at any minute. He is to take Mrs. Scattergood and me to Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition. Indeed, I do not know what should be keeping him, for he said he would be here quite by eleven, and you see it is past eleven now.”
“That’s cool, upon my word!” exclaimed Peregrine. “He has the impudence to get me had up before a beak, and takes my sister out on the top of it! A very pretty fellow is this Bernard Taverner!”
“Do I hear my name?” The voice, a quiet one, came from the doorway behind Peregrine. “Ah, Peregrine! Thank God!”
Peregrine swung round to confront his cousin. “Ay, you are surprised to see me, are you not?”
“I am glad,” Mr. Taverner replied steadily. “You imposed silence upon me; it has been hard for me to stand by. But I guessed I must hear certain tidings of you by this time. You have taken no hurt?”
“Silence!” ejaculated Peregrine. “Will you tell me you have kept silence over this?”
His cousin looked at him intently, and from him to Judith. She had sunk down on the sofa, and could only smile at him rather tremulously. “Will you tell me what you mean me to understand by that?” he asked in an even tone.
“Who was the man who laid the information against us, and had us arrested on the ground?” Peregrine flung at him.
Mr. Taverner continued to look at him, his brows a little knit. Peregrine said angrily: “Who was the man who induced the surgeon to disclose the place of rendezvous? Who else knew of the meeting but you?”
“I cannot answer that question. Perry. I have no means of telling who else knew of it,” responded Mr. Taverner.
“Give me a plain yes or no!” snapped Peregrine. “Did you lay that information?”
Mr. Taverner said slowly: “I can understand and pardon your indignation, but consider a moment, if you please! You engaged my silence: do you accuse me of breaking faith with you?”
The niceties of the male code of honour being beyond Miss Taverner’s sympathy she cried impatiently: “What could that signify in face of such danger to Perry? What other course could be opened to any friend of his than at all costs to stop the meeting?”
Mr. Taverner smiled, but shook his head. Peregrine, a little confounded, stammered: “I don’t wish to be doing you an injustice, but you do not answer me! Only one other person knew of the meeting—my valet, and he does not fit the description Dr. Lane gave.”
“And what, may I ask, was that description?”
“It was of a tall, gentleman-like man, and with an air of fashion!”
Mr. Taverner looked rather amused. “My dear Perry, am I the only man in town answering to that description? Is that all that you base your suspicions on? Have you not considered that your opponent may very likely have spoken of the meeting as well as you?”
“Farnaby?” Peregrine was disconcerted. “No. it had not occurred—that is to say, I do not think it probable—”
“Why, what is this? Is it more probable, then, that I laid the information?”
“Of course if you assure me you did not I am bound to accept your word,” said Peregrine stiffly.
“I am glad of that,” said his cousin. “I will confess, at the risk of offending you afresh, that however little I may have had to do with it I am more than pleased to find that information was laid.”
“You are very good,” said Peregrine, eyeing him a trifle askance.
Mr. Taverner laughed. “Well, were you so anxious to be shot at? Come, you are not to be picking a quarrel with me, you know! Judith, do you go to the Exhibition? Is Mrs. Scattergood ready?”
Judith got up. “She went into the breakfast-parlour to write a note before you came. Shall we fetch her?”
“By all means. We are behind time, I believe. I was detained, and should beg pardon.” He nodded pleasantly to Peregrine and held open the door for Judith to pass out.
In the hall she waited for him to close the door, and then said in a low voice: “You did not deny it.”
He raised his brows, looking down at her quizzically. “Are you also to pick a quarrel with me, Judith?”
“No, indeed,” she said earnestly. “Perry is only a boy; he has these nonsensical notions. You are wiser. Oh, do not tell me! Indeed, you need not! You saved him, and I am—you do not know how grateful!”
He took her hand in both of his. “To earn your good opinion there is nothing I would not do!” he said.
Her eyes fell before the look in his. “You have earned it. From the bottom of my heart I thank you.”
“I want more than gratitude,” he said, holding her fast. “Tell me, may I hope? I dare not press you; you have seemed to show me that you do not wish me to speak, and yet I must! Only assure me that I may hope—I ask no more!”
She was most strangely moved, and knew not how to answer him. Her hand trembled; he bent and kissed it. She murmured: “I do not know. I—I have not thought of marriage. I wish you would not ask me yet. What can I answer?”
“At least tell me that there is no one else?”
“There is no one, cousin,” she said.
He continued to hold her hand a minute, and when she made a movement to disengage herself pressed it slightly, and released it. “I am content. We will go and look for Mrs. Scattergood.”
In another part of the town Mr. Farnaby was still talking the affair over with his second, who was by this time heartily sick of the subject. His principal seemed to him so much put out over it that he presently said: “What’s your game, Ned? There’s more to it than you’ve told me, eh? Who wants that young sprig put away? You’re being paid, and paid handsomely for the task, ain’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Farnaby. “Taverner hit me in the face.”
“I can see he did,” said his friend, interestedly surveying the contusion that marred Mr. Farnaby’s countenance.
Farnaby flushed. “You should know I am not the man to stomach an insult!” he declared.
“Not unless you were paid to,” agreed Captain Crake.
Mr. Farnaby said with dignity that the Captain forgot himself.
“I don’t forget myself, but it seems to me that you have,” said the Captain frankly. “If there was money in this, where was my share? Tell me that!”
“There is no money,” said Mr. Farnaby, and closed the interview.
He spent the rest of the day in a mood of bitter discontent, and betook himself in the evening to the King’s Arms, at the corner of Duke Street and King Street, to solace himself with gin and the company of such of his cr
onies as he might find there.
The King’s Arms was owned by Thomas Cribb, champion heavyweight of England. All sorts of conditions of men, from titled gentlemen to coal-heavers, frequented it, but it was not every visitor’s fortune to be admitted into the famous parlour. Mr. Farnaby for one did not rank amongst the privileged. Since gin and not boxing-talk was what he came for, this did not trouble him, and he was quite content to ensconce himself in a cosy corner of the tap-room and watch the prize-fighters and the Corinthians drift past him to the inner sanctum. The tavern was always crowded; every young buck came to it, every prize-fighter of note, and it was not unusual for some ambitious person to walk in and pick a quarrel with the genial host for the privilege of being able to boast afterwards that he had exchanged blows with the Champion. This practice had of late become less popular, as Cribb had formed a disappointing habit of hailing his would-be assailants straight before a magistrate, on the score that if he obliged every man who wanted to be knocked down by him he would have no peace at all.
Mr. Farnaby found a nook in the tap-room on this particular evening, and settled down to his glass of daffy, keeping a lookout for any acquaintance who might come in.
Plenty of people did come in, but although he might nod to some of them, or exchange a brief greeting, his particular friends were not amongst them. Tom Belcher, the great Jem’s brother, strolled in arm in arm with old Bill Gibbons; Warr stood chatting awhile with Cribb before he went through into the parlour; Gentleman Jackson arrived with a party of Corinthians whom he was amusing with one of his stories. Mr. Farnaby watched them all without envy, and called for another glass of daffy.
The tap-room was full almost to overflowing when the door was pushed open and the Earl of Worth walked in. He stood on the threshold for a moment, looking round through the smoke of a score of pipes, and Tom Cribb, who had just come out of the parlour, saw him, and crossed the room to his side. “Good evening, my lord,” he said. “Glad to see your lordship. You’ll find a snug little gathering in the parlour to-night. Lord Yarmouth’s there, Colonel Aston, Sir Henry Smyth, Mr. Jackson, and I don’t know who besides. Will you go through, my lord?”
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