CHAPTER XXI
THE DUEL
The trees of the orchard stood out black against a crimson sky. "Faith!it is a color we shall see more of presently," said Laramore, divestinghimself of his doublet.
His antagonist, passing a laced handkerchief along a gleaming blade,smiled politely. "A pretty tint. Wine, the lips of women, CaptainLaramore's blood--Lard! 'tis a color I adore!"
"Gentlemen!" cried Colonel Verney. "Once more I beg of you to foregothis foolish quarrel. William Berkeley, for the first time in your life,be reasonable!"
The Governor turned sharply, his chest, beneath his shirt of finestholland, swelling, each closely cropped hair upon his head, bared foraction, stiff with injured dignity.
"Colonel Richard Verney forgets himself," he began angrily; then,"Confound you, Dick! keep your hands out of this. I don't want to fightyou too! I say not that this gentleman is disloyal, but I do say, and Iwill maintain it with the last drop of my blood, that he strives to drawto himself a party in the State, with what intent he best knows. If hechoose to pocket that assertion and withdraw, I am content."
"On guard, sir," said Carrington, raising his sword.
The Colonel shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his post beside Mr.Peyton.
"Very well, gentlemen, since you will not be ruled. Are you ready?"
The rapiers clashed together, and the game began.
The Governor fenced brilliantly, if a trifle wildly; his antagonist witha cool steadiness of manner and an iron wrist. Laramore fought withbull-like ferocity, striving to beat down his opponent's guard, makingmad lunges, stamping, and keeping up a continuous rumble of oaths. SirCharles, always smiling, and with an air as if his thoughts wereanywhere but at that particular spot, put aside his thrusts with theease with which the toreador avoids the bull.
Mr. Peyton was moved to reluctant admiration. "When I was in London,sir," he said in an excited whisper to the Colonel, "I did see Mathewsfight with Westwicke, and thought I had seen fencing indeed, but yourcousin--ah!"
Laramore's sword described a curve in the air, and lodged in the boughsof an apple-tree, while its owner staggered forward and fell heavily tothe ground. At the same instant Carrington wounded the Governor in thewrist. Colonel Verney struck up the weapons. "By the Lord, gentlemen!you shall go no further! Jack Laramore's down, run through the shoulder!Major Carrington, you have drawn blood--it is enough."
"If Sir William Berkeley is content," began Carrington, bowing to hisantagonist.
"Rat me! I've no choice," said the Governor ruefully. "You've disabledmy sword arm, and the gout has the other."
"I shall be happy to wait until the wound shall have healed," said theSurveyor-General, with another bow.
"No, no," said his Excellency, with a laugh. "We'll cry quits. And ratme! if now that we have had it out, I do not love thee better, MilesCarrington, than ever I did before. In the morning when thou goest home,burn thy library, burn Milton and Bastwick, and Withers, and the rest ofthe rogues, forswear such rascally company forever, and rat me! if Iwill not maintain that thou art the honestest, as well as thelongest-headed, man in the colony. There's my hand on it, and to-nightwe'll have a rouse such as would make old Noll turn in his grave if hehad one."
Carrington took the proffered hand courteously, if coldly. "I thank yourExcellency for your advice. Your Excellency should have your woundattended to at once. You are losing a deal of blood."
"Tut, a trifle!" said the Governor, airily, winding a handkerchief aboutthe bleeding member.
"Is there ever a chirurgeon upon the place?" asked Sir Charles in hismost dulcet tones. "If not, I fear that Captain Laramore will veryshortly make his last voyage."
"Egad! that will never do!" cried the Colonel, dropping upon his kneesbeside the wounded man. "A bad thrust! Charles, thou art the verydevil!"
"Shall I ride for the doctor?" cried Mr. Peyton.
"No. Anthony Nash is at the house. Run, lad, and fetch him. He issurgeon as well as divine."
Mr. Peyton disappeared; and presently there stood in the midst of thegroup gathered about the unconscious captain, a man clad in a clericaldress and of a very dignified and scholarly demeanor.
"Ha, gentlemen!" he said gravely, looking with bright, dark eyes fromone to the other. "This is a sorry business. Shirts, drawn rapiers,trampled turf, Sir William bleeding, Captain Laramore senseless upon theground! His Excellency the Governor; Major Carrington, theSurveyor-General; Colonel Verney, the lieutenant of theshire;--scandalous, gentlemen!"
"And Anthony Nash who would give his chance of a mitre to have been oneof us," cried the Governor. "Ha! Anthony! dost remember the fight behindPaul's, three to one,--and the baggage that brought it about?"
The divine, on his knees beside Laramore, looked up with a twinkle inhis eye from his work of tying laced handkerchiefs into bandages. "Thatwas in the dark ages, your Excellency. My memory goeth not back so far.Ha! that is better! He is coming to himself. It is not so bad afterall."
Laramore groaned, opened his eyes, and struggled into a sitting posture.
"Blast me! but I am properly spitted. Sir Charles Carew, my complimentsto you. You are a man after my own heart. Ha, your Excellency! I findmyself in good company. Dr. Anthony Nash, I shall have you out! You havetorn the handkerchief Mistress Lettice Verney gave me."
The Doctor laughed. "You must be got to the house at once, and to bed,where Mistress Lettice, who is as skillful in healing as in makingwounds, shall help me to properly dress this one."
Laramore staggered to his feet. "Give me an arm, Doctor; and Peyton,clap my periwig upon my head, will you? and fetch me my sword from whereI see it, adorning yonder bough. Sir Charles Carew, I am your humbleservant. Damme! it's no disgrace to be worsted by the best sword atWhitehall." And the gallant captain, supported by the clergyman and Mr.Peyton, reeled off the ground; the remainder of the party waiting onlyto assume doublets and wigs before following him to the house.
Two hours later Sir Charles Carew rose from the supper-table, andleaving the gentlemen at wine, passed into the great room, and camesoftly up to Patricia, sitting at the spinet.
"My heart was not there," he said, answering her smile and lifted brows."I am come in search of it."
She laughed, fingering the keys. "Did you leave it on the field ofhonor? Fie, sir, for shame! Doctor Nash says that Captain Laramore willnot use his arm for a fortnight."
"What--" said Sir Charles, dropping his voice and leaning overher--"what if I had been the wounded one?"
"I would have made your gruel with great pleasure, cousin."
She laughed again, and looked at him half tenderly, half mockingly.There were silver candlesticks upon the spinet and the light from thetall wax tapers fell with a white radiance over the slender figure inbrocade and lace, the gleaming shoulders, the beautiful face, and theshining hair. Her eyes were brilliant, her mouth all elusive, mocking,exquisite curves.
He raised a wandering lock of gold to his lips. "The King hath written,commanding me home to England," he said abruptly.
"Yes, my father told me. He says the King loves you much."
Sir Charles left her side, twice walked the length of the room, andcame back to her. "Am I to go as I came--alone?" he asked, standingbefore her with folded arms.
"If you so desire, sir?"
"Will you go with me?"
"Yes."
He caught her in his arms; but she cried out and freed herself.
"No, no, not yet!" she said breathlessly. "Listen to me."
She moved backwards a step or two, and stood facing him, her hand at herbosom, a color in her cheek, her eyes like stars. "I do not know that Ilove you, Sir Charles Carew. At times I have thought that I did; attimes, not. There is an unrest here," touching her heart, "which hascome to me lately. I do not know--it may be the beginning of love. Lastnight my father had much talk with me. It is his dearest wish that youand I should wed. He has been my very good father always. If you willtake me as I am, not loving you yet, but
with a heart free to learn,why--" Her voice broke.
Sir Charles flung himself at her feet, and, taking possession of herhands, covered them with kisses. A voice passed the window, singingthrough the night:--
"Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow, And shake the green leaves from the tree; O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am weary."
"Margery again?" said Sir Charles, rising.
"Yes," said Patricia, with a troubled voice.
The voice began the stanza again:--
"Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow, And shake the green leaves from the tree?"
"What is the matter?" cried Sir Charles in alarm.
Patricia stared at him with wide, unseeing eyes. "Martinmas wind," shesaid in a low, clear, even voice. "Martinmas wind! The leaves drift inclouds, yellow and red, red like blood. Look at the river flowing in thesunshine! And the tall gray crags! Ah!" and she put her hands before herface.
"What is it?" cried her suitor. "What is the matter? You are ill!"
She dropped her hands. "I am well now," she said tremulously. "I do notknow what it was. I had a vision--" she broke into wild laughter.
"I am fey, I think," she cried. "Let me go to my room; I am betterthere."
He held the door open, and she passed him quickly with lowered eyes. Hewatched her run up the stairs, and then threw himself into a chair andstared thoughtfully at the floor.
Prisoners of Hope: A Tale of Colonial Virginia Page 21
