“I believe he is in love with her himself,” said Madame, “and wants to get rid of you. Disappoint him.”
“I will, if I can, depend upon it.”
“Have no consideration for him. He has sought this encounter; let him take the consequences. In my opinion, you grant him too much in giving him a chance of shooting you. But don’t let him carry out his design.”
“He shall not! He shall not!” cried Sir Thomas, springing to his feet with a changed expression of countenance. “You have roused me.”
“I am glad of it,” she rejoined. “Keep as you are now, and all will be well.”
“I must go and look at my pistols,” he said. “I have not seen them for a month. I fancied I should have no further use for them, but you see how one may be mistaken. The case is in my dressing-room. Come with me?”
“On no account,” she replied, with a shudder.
“They will prove my protection,” laughed Sir Thomas, as he quitted the room.
When he returned, in a few minutes, he found the Comte de Clairvaux with Madame.
“Well, I have been to the Hôtel Royal, and have arranged all with Colonel Ratcliffe,” he said; “according to French rules, you ought to have two témoins each; but in your case, one each may suffice. You are to meet at six to-morrow morning at a convenient spot about two miles from Dieppe on the road to the Chiteau d’Arques.”
Sir Thomas expressed his approval of the arrangement.
“To prevent any mistake,” pursued the Count, “the Colonel and myself have agreed that our respective carriages shall set out for the place of rendezvous at the same time. We are to go first, and if you see no objection can take the surgeon with us.”
“All right,” said Sir Thomas.
“We shall hope to be back again long before Madame comes down to breakfast,” said the Count.
“I trust to see you safe and sound,” she replied, looking very pale, but maintaining her composure.
“Since all is settled,” said Sir Thomas, “let us dismiss the matter altogether. What say you to a drive before dinner, Count? I am sure Madame will not object.”
“On the contrary, I very much approve,” she replied. “The evening is fine, so we can take a long drive, and dine late.”
The Count was charmed with the proposal, which just suited him. Accordingly, the caliche was ordered, and was very soon at the door. It was a very smart turnout, and would have done no discredit to Hyde Park.
They took the road to the Chateau d’Arques, and when about half-way there, the Count spoke to the coachman, and bade him mark the spot, as he would have to bring his master and himself there next morning at six o’clock.
Gregoire, the coachman, touched his hat, promising strict attention to the order.
No need to fix the spot on his memory, for he knew it well, and had often halted there to allow those whom he conducted to walk on the smooth, level turf.
Close to the road was an old oak of great size, and at the other side of the plain rose a mound, which visitors usually ascended.
As will be seen, it was a convenient place of rendez-vous for the meeting on the morrow.
“Can you guess why the gentlemen are coming out so early in the morning, Baptiste?” observed the coachman, in a low tone, to the groom. “If not, I’ll tell you. Our master, Sir Thomas, is about to fight a duel.”
“I shouldn’t wonder,” replied Baptiste.
“I’m certain of it,” said the other. “And the Comte de Clairvaux is to be his témoin.”
“Very likely you’re right, Grégoire. If such should be the case, I hope they’ll bring me with them. I should like, of all things, to witness a duel.”
“Provided no harm ensues,” observed the coachman.
“That’s understood,” rejoined the other.
After spending half an hour very agreeably at the Chateau d’Arques, where they found several English and American ladies and their attendants examining the picturesque ruins, and admiring the charming view of the Valley of the Bethune, they returned.
While passing the little plain, bordered by the old oak, and distinguished by the mound, Aline became very pale, and had great difficulty in repressing her emotion.
But by the time they reached the Villa Bellevue, she had regained her composure.
A capital dinner, that did great credit to the chef, awaited them. Sir Thomas seemed in unusually good spirits, but Aline thought his gaiety assumed.
The Comte de Clairvaux didn’t stay late, but had a few words in private with Sir Thomas before his departure.
“The carriage will come to the Hotel Royal for you soon after five in the morning,” said Sir Thomas, as he shook hands with him. “Au revoir!”
The Count returned for a moment to say good night to Madame.
“We shall meet at breakfast to-morrow morning,” he said, as he took leave of her.
Sir Thomas had previously given some directions respecting the surgeon to Louis, and the valet now informed him that his wishes would be attended to.
“Grégoire is without, Sir Thomas,” continued Louis, “and desires to know whether you have any further commands for him.”
“To prevent mistake, I will repeat my orders,” said Sir Thomas. “At five o’clock, he is to take the caliche to the Hotel Royal, and wait for the Comte de Clairvaux, with whom he will return here. By that time no doubt, the surgeon will have arrived, and I myself shall be ready to set out You will call me at five o’clock.”
One question more, which the valet ventured to put Was he to accompany his master?
“No; you will remain here to attend upon Madame, in case she should require your services,” replied Sir Thomas. “Baptiste will go with the coachman.”
Greatly disappointed, Louis withdrew.
Just then, Madame, who had left the salon for a short time, returned.
“Have you anything more to say to me, Sir Thomas?” she inquired.
“Yes; something rather important,” he replied; “and I must mention it now. Perhaps the subject may not be pleasant,” he added, taking her hand, and holding it in his own, as he went on: “But you must bear with me. You know that my nearest male relative is Stanley Brereton, my sister’s son.”
“I have never seen your nephew, Stanley Brereton, though I have much wished to meet him. But you have often told me he is very handsome, and a favourite of yours.”
“I used to see a great deal of him at one time; but of late — owing to circumstances — a coolness has taken place between myself and my sister, Mrs.
Brereton, and we have not met — not even corresponded.”
“I fear I am the cause of the estrangement.”
“Never mind. Mrs. Brereton, you are aware, is a widow. Her husband, who was a clergyman, and had a small living in Cheshire, died several years ago, and left her rather poorly off. I used to make her an allowance, but it has been discontinued of late.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” said Aline. “She will attribute the change to me.”
“Stanley, I am informed, resents my conduct to his mother, and says I have behaved very badly. If I have, I intend to make reparation. I have left five hundred a year to my sister, and the rest of my property to her son.”
“You have done quite right,” said Aline, approvingly.
“I have not mentioned you in my will, which has been made quite recently, but you will understand my motive,” continued Sir Thomas. “You have plenty of money.”
“Plenty!” she cried. “I don’t want more. Neither does your wife, for she has a good fortune of her own.” She must be content with the sum I have just given her,” said Sir Thomas. “She will get no more from me. This is what I wished to tell you, dearest Aline. In case of my death Stanley Brereton will be my heir, but he won’t succeed to the baronetcy, since he is not in the patent. I am glad you approve of what I have done, for I believe it is for the best.”
“I think so too,” she replied, regarding him earnestly. “But you seem to hav
e a strong presentiment of ill?”
“If I fall to-morrow, I shall not die unprepared,” he replied.
“Now listen to me” said Aline. “Should your fears be realised, I shall retire from the world, and pass the remainder of my days in a religious retreat.”
“You must not think of such a thing, dearest Aline. You are young, beautiful, rich. You will repent the step.”
“I will take it,” she cried, in a resolute tone. “Not all you can say will dissuade me. But I trust I may be spared the trial.”
“I did not think you loved me so much!” he said. “But you ought not to make such a sacrifice for me.”
“What should I have to live for, if you were gone?” she cried, flinging her arms round his neck.
Sir Thomas could make no reply, but strained her to his breast
CHAPTER VI.
THE DUEL.
NEXT morning, at five o’clock, Louis came to call his master.
But Sir Thomas had long been astir, and had nearly completed his toilette.
Moreover, he had written a couple of letters, respectively addressed to his sister, Mrs. Brereton, and his nephew, Stanley.
Both these letters were sealed with black wax, and laid on a small table.
Sir Thomas pointed them out to the valet, telling him they were not to be posted till his return.
Louis seemed to comprehend his master’s meaning, but he made no remark.
The letter written by Sir Thomas on the previous afternoon had been put by him in a drawer, but he now replaced it in his breast pocket After addressing a brief prayer to heaven he quitted the room, taking nothing with him, for he had already entrusted his fourreau des pistolets to Louis.
On stepping forth upon the landing he was quite surprised to find Aline waiting for him.
Wrapped in a peignoir, she looked as if she had not slept during the night “Why have you disturbed yourself?” he cried, embracing her.
“I wanted to see you before you set out on your terrible errand,” she rejoined, regarding him tenderly.
“Don’t call it a terrible errand!” he cried. “I shall come back quite safely. I have no misgivings whatever. But do not let us prolong the interview.”
And printing a kiss on her brow, he hastened down the staircase.
He was not aware that Georgette had been watching him from the partly opened door of her mistress’s room.
“Success attend him!” cried the femme de chambre, now coming forth. “I am delighted to have seen him. He looks very well.”
“You must now finish dressing me as quickly as you can, Georgette,” said her mistress, returning to her room.
“Then Madame keeps to her design, and means to be present at the meeting?” said the femme de chambre.
“I mean to witness it,” replied Aline. “You have told Louis to order another carriage?”
“I have given him, exact orders, Madame, and he is sure to attend to them. The second carriage will be here as soon as the first is gone. But what will Sir Thomas say to this step, Madame? Have you reflected?”
“I’m afraid he’ll be very angry. But I must go.”
The femme de chambre shrugged her shoulders, and feeling that remonstrance would be useless, she followed her mistress into the dressing-room, where she quickly completed her early toilette.
Just then, the sound of carriage wheels was heard, and looking from the window of the apartment, which commanded the drive to the villa, they beheld the calèche with the Comte de Clairvaux seated in it. He was presently joined by Sir Thomas and the surgeon, M. Martin.
The latter was an intelligent-looking young man, and had a case of instruments under his arm.
He got in first, and sat with his back to the horses.
Sir Thomas followed, bringing the pistol-case with him. He shook hands with the Count, who looked in very good spirits, and introduced the surgeon to him.
Having shut the carriage door, Baptiste sprang to the side of the coachman, who instantly drove off.
“Well, I have my wish,” observed the groom to his companion.
“True,” replied the other, “but I suspect Louis will be there as well.”
Baptiste wanted to know something more, but the coachman did not care to enlighten him.
As soon as the caliche had started, Aline descended to the saloon followed by Georgette.
They had not to wait long before Louis entered to say that the coupé had arrived. Madame quickly took her place in it, and was followed by Georgette.
Louis went with them, though he was afraid Sir Thomas would blame him, if he found out what had been done.
They had not gone far when they descried two carriages in advance, — the first evidently containing Sir Thomas and his friends, and the second — a landau — being occupied by Colonel Ratcliffe and Captain Darcy.
Louis took care to keep at a respectable distance from these vehicles.
The morning was exceedingly beautiful, and the, view of Dieppe with its old castle, as beheld from many points, with the sea spreading out before it, and glittering in the early sunbeams, formed a lovely prospect.
Aline was in no mood to enjoy the fair scene; but Georgette could not contain herself, and uttered frequent exclamations of delight. Even the screaming of the sea-gulls sounded like music in her ears.
Ere long the coupe stopped, and Louis presented himself at the window.
“My master’s carriage has arrived at the place of rendez-vous, Madame,” he said, “and has entered the ground. The landau is about to follow. What shall we do? The coachman thinks we had better stop at the old oak.”
“Bid him choose his own place,” replied Madame; “but he must be careful to keep out of sight.”
The coupé then went on with its deeply-excited occupants, and was soon behind the huge old tree, which partially sheltered it from view.
But this position did not suit Aline. She could not distinguish what was going on, for the occupants of the other carriages had alighted and were walking to the further side of the plain. Calling to Louis to open the door, she got out, and was followed by Georgette.
By this time the poor lady was scarcely under self-control, and paying no heed to anything said to her, she hurried off towards the intending combatants, and must infallibly have betrayed herself, if Georgette had not seized her arm, and restrained her.
“For heaven’s sake, stop, Madame!” cried the latter. “Sir Thomas will be distracted at the sight of you, and will never be able to take aim properly.”
Thus conjured, Aline obeyed.
Luckily, all concerned in the approaching conflict, were too much interested in it to notice her. Even their attendants had eyes for nothing else.
On alighting from his carriage, Sir Thomas, after a brief consultation with the Comte de Clairvaux, moved to the further side of the plain. They were accompanied by the surgeon, who walked a little behind them.
The Count had taken possession of the pistol-case, having been informed that the arms within it were ready for use. Nothing had to be done but take them out of the box.
Sir Thomas looked perfectly calm, and had conversed quite cheerfully during the drive to the ground.
“Have you any directions to give me, mon cher ami?” asked the Count as they stopped. “Any message to convey to Madame?”
“Yes, there is a letter here,” he replied, touching his breast, “which I wish to be delivered to her, in case I cannot take it back with me.”
“I will give it to her myself,” replied the Count. “That I promise you.”
By this time Captain Darcy and his friend had likewise alighted, and were making their way towards the spot.
A groom, who attended them, followed close behind with a case of pistols.
On approaching, Darcy, who looked very well, and totally free from uneasiness, courteously saluted his adversary, who bowed in return.
Salutations were likewise exchanged by the seconds, after which a momentary conference took place between
them.
“The quarrel cannot be arranged, I find, gentlemen,” said the Colonel. “The duel must go on.”
“Certainly. We have not come here merely for a drive,” replied Sir Thomas. “Let there be no needless delay,” he added to the Colonel.
“There shall be none,” replied the other. “We are as anxious to get the business settled as soon as you can be.”
In another minute the pistols were produced, and each man was furnished with a weapon that had previously been carefully examined.
The ground was next measured, and the parties placed at the proper distance.
While this was going on, the intending combatants watched each other narrowly, but neither could discern any traces of misgiving in his opponent.
It may be that Captain Darcy treated the affair more lightly than Sir Thomas. But the seconds did not think he had the best chance.
On the contrary, they deemed it highly probable that his stem looking antagonist would shoot him.
Next minute, the signal was given. Both parties fired simultaneously.
At first it was thought neither was hit. But after maintaining his erect position for a brief space, Sir Thomas fell backwards to the ground.
The Count and the surgeon were hastening to his assistance, when a loud shriek was heard, and a half-distracted lady rushed to the spot and flung herself down beside him.
“Sir Thomas! dearest Sir Thomas!” she cried, slightly raising his head. “Look at me! ’tis I!— ’tis Aline!”
At the sound of that voice the wounded man opened his eyes, and a scarcely-perceptible smile lighted up his deathly features, but he could not speak.
The surgeon now came up, and tore up his shirt, which was stained with blood that oozed from a wound in the left breast.
“Is the wound mortal?” cried Aline, looking on with terror.
“I hope not, Madame,” replied the surgeon, not daring to tell her the truth.
“Don’t attempt to deceive me!” she cried. “I know it is. Can you give him any restorative? He wishes to say something to me.”
“It would be useless to offer him a restorative, Madame,” replied the surgeon, “he could not swallow it.”
The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth Page 790
