Her voice broke on the last words and the tears ran down her face. She hardly realised what was happening as Lord Farquhar led her into the Salon and sat her down on the sofa.
Old bachelor though he was, he was experienced enough in the female sex to know exactly what to do when a lady wept.
He took off Fenella’s bonnet, untying the yellow ribbons skilfully, and produced a large soft linen handkerchief before putting his arm round her he let her cry on his shoulder.
“There, there,” he said soothingly, “tell me what has happened, it cannot be as bad as all that.”
“It is! It is worse! “ Fenella sobbed. “Periquine has lost all his money — every penny, and now he has — quarrelled with Sir Nicolas over — me and they are going to fight a — duel. I know there is — nothing I can do to — stop them, and I cannot bear Nicolas to — hurt Periquine or indeed for Periquine to hurt — Nicolas ! What is more I have not — paid for my own — gowns and Papa will be so — angry.”
Fenella’s voice became quite incoherent and Lord Farquhar wisely let her cry without questioning her further for the moment.
When at last she became a little more composed, even to the extent of blowing her nose fiercely on his handkerchief, he said,
“Now tell me everything from the very beginning.”
“If I do,” Fenella said weakly, “you will not be — angry with — Periquine?”
“Why should I be?” Lord Farquhar asked. “I promise you I find him a very engaging young man.”
“I felt you would — understand, Uncle Roderick,” Fenella said. “You were always so — kind to me when I was a little — girl, I used to love it when you came to stay.”
“And how can I help you now?” Lord Farquhar asked.
“You cannot — no-one can,” Fenella answered miserably. “Periquine and I are in a terrible tangle — and I cannot — see any way — out.”
“Suppose I try to find one,” Lord Farquhar suggested.
“I think it is — impossible,” Fenella murmured forlornly.
Nevertheless encouraged by such sympathy and with some skilful prompting she told her Uncle everything that had happened from the moment Periquine came home from the Army.
She did not speak of her love for him, but she had no idea how revealing her voice was when she spoke of his affection for Hetty, or how desperate she sounded when she recounted what had happened when Periquine had deliberately provoked Sir Nicolas to a duel.
“Can you not — stop them — Uncle Roderick?”
“No-one can stop a duel of honour, my dear,” he replied, “but I have a suspicion that by the time they have cooled down a little and discovered that five o’clock in the morning is a most insalubrious time for being emotional, the results will not be as bad as you anticipate.”
“You do not — think Nicolas will — hurt Periquine?”
“Not mortally at any rate,” Lord Farquhar said dryly. “Waringham has far too much a sense of consequence to wish to flee the country for several years and I doubt if Periquine has any real desire to murder anyone.”
“I hope — you are — right,” Fenella said in a small voice.
“And now what are we to do about you and your burden of debts?” Lord Farquhar enquired with a hint of laughter in his voice.
“Papa will be furious!” Fenella sighed. “He gave me five pounds, which you well know was not enough, but I did not like to plague him for more. You see, Uncle Roderick, I have only just realised that Papa is bitterly disappointed that I am not a boy! He wanted a son, and I suppose he will never forgive me for not being one.”
Lord Farquhar was silent for a moment and then he said,
“I see I have been rather amiss, Fenella, in not paying more attention to you this last year or so since you grew up. I think the time has come for me to act as an uncle should and take you under my wing. Perhaps I better constitute myself as your Guardian. After all there is some sense in that.”
“It would be wonderful!” Fenella cried. “But I am sure you do not wish to be troubled with me.”
“On the contrary,” Lord Farquhar replied, “you could so easily have been my daughter and every time I see you I wish you were.”
Fenella looked at him with bright eyes.
“You mean that you — wanted to marry — Mama.”
Lord Farquhar smiled.
“She preferred your father,” he said simply. “I can never understand why! “
Fenella gave a little laugh.
“If you cannot be my father, Uncle Roderick, I am so very glad you are my only and quite my most favourite Uncle.”
He bent to kiss her cheek.
“You and I will have to put our heads together and see what we can do about these young men of yours. You do not wish to marry Waringham?”
“No.”
“A pity - but I suppose you are in love with Periquine.” Fenella sighed.
“Is it so obvious? He must never know I love him! You see he does not care about me, he wants to marry Hetty Baldwyn.”
“Well, knowing Sir Virgil and his mercenary interests,” Lord Farquhar said, “I reckon there is at the moment about as much chance of that as of Periquine jumping over the moon.”
“I know,” Fenella answered, “and that is what makes him so unhappy! That is why he wanted £40,000! “
“He certainly went about getting his money in a somewhat reprehensible manner,” Lord Farquhar said, “At the same time it may have all been a good experience. I am only thankful I do not have to save you both from being transported.”
“Could you have done so?” Fenella asked.
“It might have been possible,” Lord Farquhar replied with a twinkle in his eye. “At the same time it is something I would rather not attempt.”
Fenella laughed.
“You are such a comfort, Uncle Roderick,” she said. “I am desperately worried about Periquine.”
“I am sure you are,” Lord Farquhar replied, “but nevertheless I hope it will not prevent you from looking your best at dinner tonight, for I have asked a number of very charming people to meet you.”
“I am sure that will be most enjoyable!” Fenella answered.
At the same time she knew miserably that however interesting the people might be, her thoughts would stray all the time to Periquine.
He would be in the depths of despair, and however much he might be seeking to drown his sorrows, he would, she knew, although he would never admit it, be apprehensive as to what would happen at dawn tomorrow.
Chapter Nine
It was cold and dank in the wood.
It had not been difficult for Fenella to find out where the duels, which apparently were quite prevalent at Ascot, took place.
She had merely had to ask the Gentleman who had sat next to her at dinner the previous night where such dramatic incidents were enacted, and he had told her that Shepherd’s Wood was the regular rendez-vous of those who had challenged each other.
“It is also notable for suicides,” he said cheerily, “but as Ascot has not such a long history as Newmarket or Epsom, we have not had so many of those.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Fenella said fervently.
“The duellists are a different kettle of fish,” he went on. “Owners are always falling out regarding the merits of their horses or accusing each other of shady practices, and such allegations invariably involve the use of pistols.”
“Has anyone recently been badly — injured?” Fenella asked nervously.
“Sir Charles Cholmley lost an arm last year,” her dinner partner said lightly, “but usually they inflict only superficial wounds. Or in some cases, if the antagonists have spent the night drinking, they miss each other altogether!”
He laughed heartily, but Fenella found it difficult to smile. She had said goodnight to her Uncle after the party had left, and as he kissed her, Lord Farquhar said,
“Do not worry unduly over that young scamp. I have known Periquine ever since he was born
and I have never found him not to come out of a scrap smiling happily and quite surprised anyone should have been perturbed about him.”
“I know,” Fenella murmured, “but this is — different — somehow.”
She told herself, when she got upstairs to her bed-room, it was different because she herself was involved.
She might have guessed, she thought, that sooner or later Sir Nicolas would seize an opportunity to fight Periquine.
She was well aware that not only was he jealous but he did in fact violently disapprove of Periquine’s easy and irresponsible way of facing his problems and not making any proper attempt to overcome them.
He had already spoken to Fenella about the risks they had taken both in robbery and smuggling.
“You must have realised what would happen to you if you were caught !” he said.
She knew from the note in his voice that he was deeply perturbed about her.
“I did think of that,” she answered, “but Periquine is always lucky.”
“And what about you?” he had asked. “Do you think I could bear it if you were involved in a scandal or, worse still, taken before the Courts?”
Fenella had not answered and he had put his hand on hers and said,
“Promise me, please promise me that you will not do anything so foolhardy again.”
“I will try not to.”
She knew even as she spoke that if Periquine really wanted her, she would follow him whatever the cost to herself.
“If there is anything which involves you in danger,” Sir Nicolas said, “I beg of you, Fenella, to tell me about it first. I swear to you I will not make trouble, but I will try to think of a solution without your being engaged in anything that might harm you.”
She, knew he was genuinely concerned on her behalf and somehow it was comforting to know how much she meant to him.
“I will tell you if it is — possible,” she promised, “but if it is Periquine’s secret, you know I must be — loyal to him.”
He kissed her hand but she had seen the pain in his eyes.
She knew that he resented Lord Corbury’s hold over her, while he was sensible enough to realise there was nothing he could do about it.
Now as she walked through the wood, Fenella wondered if anything could be worse than knowing the two men she cared for and who meant most in her life were about to try to injure each other, and that undoubtedly one of them would come off worse in the contest.
She found quite easily the clearing which her dinner partner had described to her.
It was about the size of a large ball room, encircled by trees and protected from prying eyes. With its flat surface of moss and sand it made a perfect arena for a duel.
At one side there was some thick rhododendron bushes, and Fenella realised that if she concealed herself in those she would be able to watch without being seen.
As she had left Lord Farquhar’s house soon after 4 o’clock she reckoned that she would have at least half an hour’s wait so having crawled into the bushes, she sat down in the centre of them and began to pray that neither Periquine nor Sir Nicolas would be hurt.
When she thought back about what had happened it all seemed so childish and absurd.
Yet she knew that fundamentally the roots of the quarrel lay in Sir Nicolas’s disapproval and anger at Periquine having taken her into danger, and in Periquine’s envy of his wealth and his dislike of any suitor for Hetty’s hand.
‘Perhaps,’ Fenella thought, ‘it would have been wise to tell Periquine that Sir Nicolas is no longer interested in Hetty.’
But she had felt shy of confessing that Sir Nicolas had asked her to marry him, and what was more important, she was not’ certain what Periquine’s reaction would be to such information.
She seemed to have sat in the rhododendron bush for a long time before there was the sound of voices.
She heard a wheeled vehicle drive into the wood followed by another, and then first Sir Nicolas appeared with his seconds and almost immediately behind him Lord Corbury with two of his friends.
Both men were elegantly and flamboyantly dressed, unlike most duellists who wore dark shirts and black cravats so that they would not be an obvious target for their opponents.
The four seconds conferred with each other, but Fenella noticed that Lord Corbury made no effort to speak to Sir Nicolas, and the latter stood stiffly aside with a disdainful and contemptuous look on his face.
The box of duelling pistols was carried to the clearing by two grooms who then withdrew. Now the seconds were inspecting the weapons and balancing them to see they were in order.
There was the sound of another horse approaching, and a middle-aged man rode through the trees, dismounted and came towards them.
“Good Morning, Sir,” Lord Corbury said to him, “it is very kind of you to get up so early in order to referee this Herculean contest.”
“I agree with you,” the newcomer said in a tired voice. “If there is one thing I dislike it is having to rise so early to see that two young fools at least keep to the rules of the game.”
“We shall do that,” Lord Corbury said sharply as if the newcomer had insulted him.
The Referee however ignored him and walking towards the seconds apparently had a great deal to say in a low voice which Fenella could not overhear.
At last Lord Corbury, as the one who had been challenged, chose his weapon and Sir Nicolas took the other pistol.
The seconds stood on each side of the clearing and the Referee took up his position.
“Now you both know the rules, Gentlemen,” he said. “You will stand back to back, walk ten paces away from each other as I count, turn on my word of command and fire. Is that clear?”
“Quite clear,” Sir Nicolas said in a quiet unemotional voice.
They took up their positions back to back and now Fenella clasping her hands together felt as if she could hardly breathe.
Periquine was so broad-shouldered, so large, she felt it was impossible for Sir Nicolas to miss him. Would he aim at his heart? Or would he be satisfied with just winging him in the arm?
Equally Nicolas himself with his starched white cravat and elegantly fitting grey coat would be an easy target for Periquine who was, she knew, an exceptional pistol shot.
“Please God do not let either of them be hurt!” she prayed. “Please God let them spare each other! “
Her fingers were so tightly clenched that her knuckles were white.
“Are you ready?” the Referee enquired.
She heard both contestants murmur in the affirmative.
“One,” the Referee called, “two . . .”
Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas started walking away from each other, but suddenly there was an interruption.
There was the sound of a carriage travelling at a great speed through the wood and a moment later a chaise drawn by two horses appeared through the trees. It was drawn sharply to a standstill and out of it jumped a radiant figure in a white evening dress.
It was only a short distance from the chaise to the centre of the duelling ground, and her white satin slippers sped over the moss so that in the space of a few seconds, even as the Referee intoned the fourth numeral Hetty reached the very place where Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas had been standing back to back.
“Stop!” she cried, “stop!”
Her voice rang out and both the duellists turned round in astonishment.
Hetty was looking exceedingly beautiful, her fair hair vivid against the darkness of the trees, the diamonds round her neck sparkling in the first morning light, and Fenella realised that she must have come straight from a Ball because she was still in full evening dress.
Her tulle gown, flounced, frilled and bedecked with tiny bunches of rose-buds, was elaborate enough to grace any Assembly however distinguished.
“Stop!” Hetty cried again. “I will not have this! I will not allow you to fight over me!”
She flung out her arms dramatically.
&n
bsp; “How can you be so selfish, so foolish,” she enquired, “as not to realise that such a scandalous episode will damage my reputation?”
Both Lord Corbury and Sir Nicolas, having turned round on their tracks, were staring at her in stupefaction as she continued,
“I cannot imagine how either of you can be so inconsiderate! I will not allow you to fight and you will both stop immediately! Do you understand?”
Lord Corbury found his voice first.
“As it happens, Hetty,” he said, “we are not fighting over you!”
For a moment it seemed as if Hetty did not understand him.
She was still standing with her arms out-stretched dramatically, but now her large blue eyes were on his face and she turned a little towards him.
“Not — fighting — over — me,” she repeated slowly as if the words could not penetrate her mind.
“No,” Lord Corbury replied, “it is in fact - someone else.”
“Another woman? I do not believe it!” Hetty ejaculated.
She turned towards Sir Nicolas.
“Is Periquine lying?” she asked him. “I cannot believe — I cannot credit for a moment — that either of — you would fight over — anyone else.”
Her surprise was almost comic.
“It is true,” Sir Nicolas said quietly. “You are not involved in any way in this disagreement between Corbury and myself.”
“You dare to tell me such a thing!” Hetty cried, and Fenella watching realised she had lost her temper.
She stamped her small foot on the mossy ground.
“You have the audacity to fight over someone else!” she exclaimed. “To make me a laughing-stock, when everyone knows that both of you have been dancing attendance on me for these past two months? I hate you, Periquine, do you hear, I hate you! And as for you, Sir Nicolas, I thought — I believed — you — cared for — me! “
She stamped her foot again, and then as if completely losing control she stood there twisting her fingers together, apparently finding it impossible to express the anger that surged within her.
Because Fenella was sorry for Hetty, she rose involuntarily and without thinking from her hiding place to push her way through the bushes.
06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) Page 16
