The Heart That Lies Read online

  “I’m the one called out.” Meldon did not bother to hide his frustration at this situation.

  “Yes. Finch said it was for cheating at cards.” The older held Meldon’s eyes as if daring him to look away.

  “Yes.”

  “Damn! You have faults enough, but cheating is not, as far as I know, one of them.”

  “Nothing has changed since the last time we met in that regard.”

  “Don’t make a joke of it, boy, this is serious.”

  Philpott had been a friend of Meldon’s father and had known Meldon all his life, so Meldon was not offended that he was being treated as a wilful child.

  “I know that well enough. There’s every chance that I shall be dead in ten minutes time, sir. Smith doesn’t fence.”

  Philpott shook his head sadly.

  “It’s not as if your father didn’t tell you often enough that you should improve your skill with a pistol.”

  “And he was correct.”

  “I’ve never understood how you manage to fence so well with that leg.”

  “Neither have I, sir, but I should be a lot more confident of surviving if we were fencing.”

  He would have been more confident of finding a way for them both to survive if they had been fencing. It was easier to hide a deliberate mistake with swords than with pistols. Fortunately Lord Philpott knew that Meldon could not shoot well, so would not be surprised when the shot went wide. Meldon’s only worry, apart from being killed by Smith’s shot, was that even shooting wide would be dangerous for the boy; he really had no idea how to make the shot go where he wanted it to go.

  “Let me introduce you to Smith.”

  “Why’s he talking to Finch?” asked Philpott as they approached the other two men.

  “Finch is his second.”

  “Not yours? Surely you two haven’t quarrelled, not after all this time.”

  “Smith knows no one in London, so I let him have Finch.”

  “Most irregular,” muttered Philpott.

  Meldon stopped walking and turned to the other man.

  “Do you wish to abandon the duel?”

  Philpott considered for a moment.

  “Would Smith consider that a suitable conclusion?”

  “No.”

  “Then I will accept Mr Finch as Mr Smith’s referee. It’s not that I doubt he will do his best for the man, just...”

  “That it’s so irregular. I’m sorry, this is not what I wanted.”

  The two men started walking again and came to Finch and Smith. Smith stopped talking and Finch turned round to meet them.

  “Mr Smith, please allow me to introduce Lord Philpott, our referee.”

  Smith turned away from Finch and bowed.

  “I’m honoured to meet you, Lord Philpott.”

  “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

  “And I.”

  “You understand the rules of engagement?”

  “Mr Finch has been very clear.”

  “Very well, your pistol, please.”

  Smith handed it over for Philpott’s inspection. When he was finished Philpott held out his hand for Meldon’s pistol. He was satisfied.

  “Are you ready to begin?” he asked.

  “I still have a few things to explain to Mr Smith,” said Finch.

  “Meldon, will you wait until Finch has finished?”

  “Of course,” replied Meldon, although he wanted to get it all over with.

  “Perkins is with you, then?” asked Philpott as they walked back to the carriages.

  “Yes. I thought it best not to involve a surgeon. Perkins is perfectly capable and discreet.”

  “Yes,” agreed Philpott. “Discretion is everything in these affairs.”

  They fell into an easy silence while Finch continued to talk to Smith a few yards away. For Smith’s benefit, Meldon tried to appear as relaxed and confident as possible. This was not his first duel, but he preferred swords, where it was more a matter of skill and experience. Duelling with pistols was all the rage now and he felt the disadvantage keenly. Increasingly fewer men had the patience to learn to fence, believing that pointing a pistol at a man and pulling the trigger was simplicity itself. Perhaps it was, but most underestimated the strain it put on a man to stand still and wait for their opponent’s shot. Some proved themselves not up to the task and were branded cowards as a result. Meldon knew he would not run, would not even shake, but he would still avoid this if he could.

  Meldon loaded his pistol, having checked, once again, that it was clean and that everything moved smoothly. He had no intention of using it unless he had to, for even a shot aimed to disable Smith could kill him. Only once Smith had fired would he fire and he would fire wide. Meldon was under no illusions about his ability as a marksman, nor about the reliability of his pistol. He was a terrible shot and very rarely hit his target.

  Since Smith had gone to such trouble to call him out, he had to assume that the boy was the better shot and would try to kill him and might even succeed. Still Meldon feared more for the boy than for himself. Meldon had killed men, not with a pistol, but with a sword or a knife and once with his bare hands. Soldiers were often called on to do such things and he did not regret what he had done, but he did know that it had diminished him somehow. He felt that a poet like Smith might be destroyed if he took someone’s life.

  Distractedly, he presented the pistol again to Philpott for inspection. Then he noticed that Finch was coming towards him.

  “Does he withdraw his challenge?” he asked, hopefully.

  “No and, Meldon...”

  “Yes?”

  “He seems to know what he’s doing with that pistol.”

  Meldon nodded. The boy’s actions in calling him out only made sense if he thought he had a better than average chance of killing his opponent. The chances were good that he had made a study of Meldon and knew that he could not shoot.

  “Very well. I am ready.” He took off his coat and laid it on a seat in the carriage.

  “Then we will begin.”

  “Finch?”

  “Yes?”

  “If it should end badly, look after the boy.” He paused to make sure that Finch was paying attention. “I don’t mean just today.”

  “I understand.”

  Meldon doubted it, but knew that Finch would make sure no harm came to the boy.

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure you stand well out of the way. Who knows where my shot will go if I have to fire.”

  Finch didn’t smile; he knew the danger to his own life. He would also have to ensure that Lord Philpott was not endangered. They shook hands, then Finch led him and Philpott to where Smith stood waiting. There was no need for them to say any more. Meldon looked to see if the boy’s hands were shaking, but they were perfectly still. Smith seemed completely calm. Meldon knew that his own hands did not betray the feelings that were raging within him. He was not a coward, but only a fool felt no fear at the prospect of his own death. He dared not look into Smith’s eyes, for he was sure he would see the boy’s own fear there.

  “Gentlemen,” Philpott began, “you will stand back to back and on my command walk ten paces. If one of you should turn before I count to ten I will shoot you.” He raised the pistol he held in his hand. Meldon wasn’t entirely sure that this was an empty threat. Philpott was a good enough shot to wound if it was his intention. “On ten you will turn and fire. Do you understand?”

  Meldon and Smith nodded, then bowed to one another.

  Then they turned back to back. Philpott took a step backwards, then started to count aloud.

  Even as he started to pace Meldon wondered why Philpott was counting so slowly; each step lasted a lifetime. By the time Philpott got to ten he would have forgotten which direction to turn and how to shoot and what he should be shooting at. He became aware of the unevenness of his gait. Although he was not leaning heavily on his stick, he felt the damp ground give benea
th it at each step. Briefly he wondered if the ground would swallow him up if he were shot and fell, then knew the thought for nonsense. A bird flew overhead and he tried to recognise it by its song. There was another noise in the trees and he turned his head towards it. The low sun was in his eyes and he blinked. It was going to be a beautiful day; the sun had just risen and a faint mist was rising from the narrow river that was just beyond the trees. Calm settled around him like a blanket and he tightened his grip on his pistol. As usual, it felt false, as if it had no business being in his hand.

  “Ten!” Philpott’s voice was like an explosion and Meldon remembered immediately why he was here and what he had to do.

  Meldon turned so that he presented the smallest possible target to Smith. The boy was slower at turning. He faced Meldon squarely, but seemed to be falling even as he raised his pistol. Meldon didn’t remember firing. How had he managed to hit the boy without firing? He started moving towards the boy and heard the small explosion as Smith fired, followed by the much louder one as his own finger jogged the trigger of his weapon. Then Smith was on the ground. Meldon ran across the short distance that separated them.

  Philpott caught him and stopped him.

  “Damn it, man, you shot him after you’d started towards him.”

  Confused, Meldon shook him off and continued towards Smith.

  “You’re hurt, my lord,” said Perkins, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

  “I’ll deal with his lordship,” said Finch, catching Meldon’s arm before he could get closer to the fallen boy. “You look to Mr Smith.”

  “Have I killed him?” asked Meldon as Finch pulled him round to look at his wound.

  “I can’t tell yet, my lord.”

  “Give the man a chance, Meldon, and keep still. Your face is bleeding and I don’t want it all over my coat.”

  “My lord!” Perkins’ voice was quiet, but insistent.

  Meldon quickly covered the short distance to where the boy lay on the ground. Perkins had undone his shirt and now Meldon could see the boy had some other injury, for his chest was tightly bound with blood-soaked bandages. Then Meldon realised what he was really seeing.

  “Damn! I’ve killed a woman,” he whispered.

  “She isn’t dead yet, my lord,” said Perkins, equally quietly.

  “Lord Philpott,” said Finch, leading Meldon away from the woman to where Philpott stood by angrily, “we’ll look after Smith. It might be better if you left now.”

  “Finch, you know that’s not how things are done. I have to stay here to make sure nothing untoward happens. Meldon shot him when he was closer to him than he should have been.”

  “You know he was on his way to help and he fired accidentally. He could just as easily have shot either of us. It was pure chance he hit Smith. I’ve never seen him hit anything he’s aimed at.” Finch took a breath. “Nothing’s going to happen. Meldon’s a man of honour. We’ll make sure that Smith is looked after and gets back to his lodgings.”

  Surely Finch knew that he couldn’t promise that; Smith no longer existed. He was about to object, but Finch kicked him, hard, and Meldon remembered some of Finch’s more particular skills. If he said that Smith was going back to his lodgings, then Smith was going back to his lodgings. As far as he knew, Philpott had no idea what they got up to for General Warren, so he would take Finch’s words at face value.

  “Mr Finch, I stay as much to protect Meldon’s reputation as to protect Smith. Personally, I believe that Meldon did not cheat, which means that Smith did. And I agree with you that he could just as easily have killed either of us with that shot. Were you always going to shoot wide, Meldon?”

  Meldon remained silent; shooting wide was almost as bad as cowardice.

  Finch sighed and continued to clean up Meldon’s wound. Meldon felt nothing. He’d killed a woman. He had never thought that he could do something like this. After today he would have to retire to his estate and waste away, or find some other way to kill himself.

  “My lord?” Perkins was insistent enough to break into his reverie.

  “Is she dead?” At least he still had the sense to talk quietly enough that Philpott could not hear him.

  “No, my lord, but we should take her somewhere where she can get into a bed and be kept warm. We should do it now.”

  “We’ll take her to Meldon House. Don’t look at me like that, Perkins. We can’t take her anywhere else.” He raised his voice, “Lord Philpott, Perkins says we must move he... him.”

  “Very well, Perkins, we’ll take him to my house.”

  “My lord, I’m sorry, but what I need is at Meldon House.”

  Philpott’s expression darkened. “Lord Meldon has just tried to kill him. In all conscience, I can’t allow him to go to Meldon House.”

  “My lord,” said Meldon, “I give you my word of honour that no harm will come to him.”

  “But, Meldon, if he dies...”

  “It will not be because we didn’t do everything we could to save him. I promise you that I will do whatever is necessary to keep him alive.”

  “Meldon, if it hadn’t been for that affair with Vincent...”

  “I know,” said Meldon, heavily. “Finch, tell Lord Philpott what Mr Smith said when you proposed that I apologise.”

  “He said that an apology would not be acceptable.”

  Wearily, Meldon looked into Philpott’s eyes, “My lord, he was determined to have his chance to kill me. I bear him no grudge, although I confess that I am bewildered as to his reasons for manufacturing this fight. Nonetheless the shots have been fired and the duel is over. I will not see him die for want of action on my part.”

  Philpott nodded. “I see there is more going on here than meets the eye, Meldon. It was for your protection, as well, that I wished to stay, for your father’s sake.”

  “I understand and appreciate that, my lord.”

  “And if he dies?”

  Meldon swallowed awkwardly. “If he dies, my own death will follow swiftly after.”

  “Meldon! No!” Finch’s hand was on his arm, as if to hold him back from folly.

  “Very well.” Philpott placed a friendly hand on Meldon’s shoulder. “George, your father would be proud of you.”

  Meldon bowed his head, knowing that his thoroughly honourable father would be as confused as he was by this turn of events.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Philpott walked back to his carriage and disappeared into it. Perkins stooped and lifted the woman, whilst Finch hovered uncertainly. Meldon took a step towards his carriage and almost fell as his leg gave way beneath him.

  “Finch, would you mind retrieving my cane. I seem to have mislaid it.”

  Chapter Four

  Anna opened her eyes and became aware of three things simultaneously: she had no idea where she was; Lord Meldon was sitting by the bed in which she lay; and there was a burning pain in her shoulder. The last two explained the first. She had been shot in the duel and must now be in Meldon’s house. It was clear that she was not dead, worse, neither was he. And, since he was sitting by the bed, she must not even have wounded him. There would not be another chance, of this she was certain. James’ death would not be avenged. As always where Meldon was concerned, however, her feelings were ambivalent. As well as despair that he still lived, she felt relief.

  Closing her eyes as tears threatened, she heard Meldon shift in his chair.

  “Perkins said you should drink this when you woke up.” She heard a clink as if someone was stirring something in a teacup. Then Meldon’s arm slipped beneath her shoulders.

  “What?”

  “You’ll drown in it unless you sit up a bit. Don’t struggle or it will hurt more.”

  Anna stopped moving and let him lift her. He was surprisingly gentle, stronger and more dextrous than she would have expected.

  The smell from the cup that he held to her mouth almost made her retch, but she managed to swallow it. When she had finished she could do no mor
e than let her head rest against his shoulder.

  Her whole body felt so heavy she wondered she didn’t fall through the bed. Just as she began to be scared by the thought, she slept.

  Meldon was still there when she woke again. He was back in his chair and she was resting again on the pillows. She watched him for a while before he became aware that she was awake. His dark hair was unkempt, as if his valet hadn’t been near it for some days. Although the heavy curtains were drawn, there was enough light from the single candle to see that he hadn’t shaved for some days either. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and then he saw that her eyes were open.

  “I trust you feel better, Miss... Mrs...?”

  “Smith.” Anna’s resolution to lie in silence vanished when she saw the expression on his face. He seemed genuinely relived that she was alive and awake. Given what she now knew of his character, she thought that this was only to be expected. He was not a man who enjoyed causing harm to others.

  “Is there anyone I should send to for you?”

  “No one.”

  He shook his head. “There must be someone.”

  “I’m an orphan, with no b...brothers or sisters.”

  “But someone helped you turn from a woman to a man.”

  “No.” Anna had altered James’ clothes to fit her, cut her own hair and visited a barber when she had arrived in London. There really had been no one else for her to turn to.

  Meldon looked troubled. “Then my sister will come and make arrangements for you. Perhaps a nurse...”

  “Just put me in a carriage to my lodgings.” The sooner she got away from here, the better.

  “And who would look after you there?”

  Anna eventually realised that it was not a rhetorical question and the earl was waiting for an answer.

  “No one.”

  Once again she was struck by her recent losses and she almost turned her head away from Meldon so that he would not see her cry. Then she resolved not to cry, no matter what it cost her.

  “No, I thought not.” His quiet voice was gentle and she thought he was grieved that she should have no one to help her. “I would not have shown the door to Mr. Smith in such circumstances, but Miss Smith must stay here until she is recovered. I don’t yet know what to do with you after that.”