“By Heaven, there's villainy here!” cried my poor friend, rushing about
like a madman. “The bailiff has been up to say that a chaise and pair
were seen driving full split down the Tavistock Road. The blacksmith
heard a woman scream as it passed his forge. Jane has disappeared. By
the Lord, I believe that she has been kidnapped by this villain Dacre.”
He rang the bell furiously. “Two horses, this instant!” he cried.
“Colonel Gerard, your pistols! Jane comes back with me this night from
Gravel Hanger or there will be a new master in High Combe Hall.”
Behold us then within half an hour, like two knight-errants of old,
riding forth to the rescue of this lady in distress. It was near
Tavistock that Lord Dacre lived, and at every house and toll-gate along
the road we heard the news of the flying post-chaise in front of us, so
there could be no doubt whither they were bound. As we rode Lord Rufton
told me of the man whom we were pursuing.
His name, it seems, was a household word throughout all England for
every sort of mischief. Wine, women, dice, cards, racing--in all forms
of debauchery he had earned for himself a terrible name. He was of an
old and noble family, and it had been hoped that he had sowed his wild
oats when he married the beautiful Lady Jane Rufton.
For some months he had indeed behaved well, and then he had wounded her
feelings in their most tender part by some unworthy liaison. She had
fled from his house and taken refuge with her brother, from whose care
she had now been dragged once more, against her will. I ask you if two
men could have had a fairer errand than that upon which Lord Rufton and
myself were riding.
“That's Gravel Hanger,” he cried at last, pointing with his crop, and
there on the green side of a hill was an old brick and timber building
as beautiful as only an English country-house can be. “There's an inn by
the park-gate, and there we shall leave our horses,” he added.
For my own part it seemed to me that with so just a cause we should have
done best to ride boldly up to his door and summon him to surrender the
lady. But there I was wrong. For the one thing which every Englishman
fears is the law. He makes it himself, and when he has once made it it
becomes a terrible tyrant before whom the bravest quails. He will smile
at breaking his neck, but he will turn pale at breaking the law. It
seems, then, from what Lord Rufton told me as we walked through the
park, that we were on the wrong side of the law in this matter. Lord
Dacre was in the right in carrying off his wife, since she did indeed
belong to him, and our own position now was nothing better than that of
burglars and trespassers. It was not for burglars to openly approach the
front door. We could take the lady by force or by craft, but we could
not take her by right, for the law was against us. This was what my
friend explained to me as we crept up toward the shelter of a shrubbery
which was close to the windows of the house. Thence we could examine
this fortress, see whether we could effect a lodgment in it, and, above
all, try to establish some communication with the beautiful prisoner
inside.
There we were, then, in the shrubbery, Lord Rufton and I, each with a
pistol in the pockets of our riding coats, and with the most resolute
determination in our hearts that we should not return without the lady.
Eagerly we scanned every window of the wide-spread house.
Not a sign could we see of the prisoner or of anyone else; but on the
gravel drive outside the door were the deep-sunk marks of the wheels of
the chaise. There was no doubt that they had arrived. Crouching among
the laurel bushes we held a whispered council of wary but a singular
interruption brought it to an end.
Out of the door of the house there stepped a tall, flaxen-haired man,
such a figure as one would choose for the flank of a Grenadier company.
As he turned his brown face and his blue eyes toward us I recognised
Lord Dacre.
With long strides he came down the gravel path straight for the spot
where we lay.
“Come out, Ned!” he shouted; “you'll have the game-keeper putting a
charge of shot into you. Come out, man, and don't skulk behind the
bushes.”
It was not a very heroic situation for us. My poor friend rose with a
crimson face. I sprang to my feet also and bowed with such dignity as I
could muster.
“Halloa! it's the Frenchman, is it?” said he, without returning my bow.
“I've got a crow to pluck with him already. As to you, Ned, I knew you
would be hot on our scent, and so I was looking out for you. I saw you
cross the park and go to ground in the shrubbery. Come in, man, and let
us have all the cards on the table.”
He seemed master of the situation, this handsome giant of a man,
standing at his ease on his own ground while we slunk out of our
hiding-place. Lord Rufton had said not a word, but I saw by his darkened
brow and his sombre eyes that the storm was gathering. Lord Dacre led
the way into the house, and we followed close at his heels.
He ushered us himself into an oak-panelled sitting-room, closing the
door behind us. Then he looked me up and down with insolent eyes.
“Look here, Ned,” said he, “time was when an English family could settle
their own affairs in their own way. What has this foreign fellow got to
do with your sister and my wife?”
“Sir,” said I, “permit me to point out to you that this is not a case
merely of a sister or a wife, but that I am the friend of the lady in
question, and that I have the privilege which every gentleman possesses
of protecting a woman against brutality. It is only by a gesture that I
can show you what I think of you.” I had my riding glove in my hand, and
I flicked him across the face with it. He drew back with a bitter smile
and his eyes were as hard as flint.
“So you've brought your bully with you, Ned?” said he. “You might at
least have done your fighting yourself, if it must come to a fight.”
“So I will,” cried Lord Rufton. “Here and now.”
“When I've killed this swaggering Frenchman,” said Lord Dacre. He
stepped to a side table and opened a brass-bound case. “By Gad,” said
he, “either that man or I go out of this room feet foremost. I meant
well by you, Ned; I did, by George, but I'll shoot this led-captain of
yours as sure as my name's George Dacre. Take your choice of pistols,
sir, and shoot across this table. The barkers are loaded. Aim straight
and kill me if you can, for by the Lord if you don't, you're done.”
In vain Lord Rufton tried to take the quarrel upon himself. Two things
were clear in my mind--one that the Lady Jane had feared above all
things that her husband and brother should fight, the other that if I
could but kill this big milord, then the whole question would be settled
forever in the best way. Lord Rufton did not want him. Lady Jane did not
want him. Therefore, I, Etienne Gerard, their friend, would pay the debt
of gratitude which I owed them by freeing them of this encumbrance. But,
indeed, there was no choice in the matter, for Lord Dacre was as eager
to put a bullet into me as I could be to do the same service to him. In
vain Lord Rufton argued and scolded. The affair must continue.
“Well, if you must fight my guest instead of myself, let it be to-morrow
morning with two witnesses,” he cried, at last; “this is sheer murder
across the table.”
“But it suits my humour, Ned,” said Lord Dacre.
“And mine, sir,” said I.
“Then I'll have nothing to do with it,” cried Lord Rufton. “I tell you,
George, if you shoot Colonel Gerard under these circumstances you'll
find yourself in the dock instead of on the bench. I won't act as
second, and that's flat.”
“Sir,” said I, “I am perfectly prepared to proceed without a second.”
“That won't do. It's against the law,” cried Lord Dacre. “Come, Ned,
don't be a fool. You see we mean to fight. Hang it, man, all I want you
to do is to drop a handkerchief.”
“I'll take no part in it.”
“Then I must find someone who will,” said Lord Dacre.
He threw a cloth over the pistols which lay upon the table, and he rang
the bell. A footman entered. “Ask Colonel Berkeley if he will step this
way. You will find him in the billiard-room.”
A moment later there entered a tall thin Englishman with a great
moustache, which was a rare thing amid that clean-shaven race. I have
heard since that they were worn only by the Guards and the Hussars. This
Colonel Berkeley was a guardsman. He seemed a strange, tired, languid,
drawling creature with a long black cigar thrusting out, like a pole
from a bush, amidst that immense moustache. He looked from one to the
other of us with true English phlegm, and he betrayed not the slightest
surprise when he was told our intention.
“Quite so,” said he; “quite so.”
“I refuse to act, Colonel Berkeley,” cried Lord Rufton.
“Remember, this duel cannot proceed without you, and I hold you
personally responsible for anything that happens.”
This Colonel Berkeley appeared to be an authority upon the question,
for he removed the cigar from his mouth and he laid down the law in his
strange, drawling voice.
“The circumstances are unusual but not irregular, Lord Rufton,” said he.
“This gentleman has given a blow and this other gentleman has received
it. That is a clear issue. Time and conditions depend upon the person
who demands satisfaction. Very good. He claims it here and now, across
the table. He is acting within his rights. I am prepared to accept the
responsibility.”
There was nothing more to be said. Lord Rufton sat moodily in the corner
with his brows drawn down and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of
his riding-breeches.
Colonel Berkeley examined the two pistols and laid them both in the
centre of the table. Lord Dacre was at one end and I at the other, with
eight feet of shining mahogany between us. On the hearth-rug with his
back to the fire, stood the tall colonel, his handkerchief in his left
hand, his cigar between two fingers of his right.
“When I drop the handkerchief,” said he, “you will pick up your pistols
and you will fire at your own convenience. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” we cried.
His hand opened and the handkerchief fell. I bent swiftly forward and
seized a pistol, but the table, as I have said, was eight feet across,
and it was easier for this long-armed milord to reach the pistols than
it was for me.
I had not yet drawn myself straight before he fired, and to this it was
that I owe my life. His bullet would have blown out my brains had I been
erect. As it was it whistled through my curls. At the same instant, just
as I threw up my own pistol to fire, the door flew open and a pair of
arms were thrown round me. It was the beautiful, flushed, frantic face
of Lady Jane which looked up into mine.
“You sha'n't fire! Colonel Gerard, for my sake don't fire,” she cried.
“It is a mistake, I tell you, a mistake, a mistake! He is the best and
dearest of husbands. Never again shall I leave his side.” Her hands slid
down my arm and closed upon my pistol.
“Jane, Jane,” cried Lord Rufton; “come with me. You should not be here.
Come away.”
“It is all confoundedly irregular,” said Colonel Berkeley.
“Colonel Gerard, you won't fire, will you? My heart would break if he
were hurt.”
“Hang it all, Jinny, give the fellow fair play,” cried Lord Dacre. “He
stood my fire like a man, and I won't see him interfered with. Whatever
happens I can't get worse than I deserve.”
But already there had passed between me and the lady a quick glance of
the eyes which told her everything.
Her hands slipped from my arm. “I leave my husband's life and my own
happiness to Colonel Gerard,” said she.
How well she knew me, this admirable woman! I stood for an instant
irresolute, with the pistol cocked in my hand. My antagonist faced me
bravely, with no blenching of his sunburnt face and no flinching of his
bold, blue eyes.
“Come, come, sir, take your shot!” cried the colonel from the mat.
“Let us have it, then,” said Lord Dacre.
I would, at least, show them how completely his life was at the mercy of
my skill. So much I owed to my own self-respect. I glanced round for a
mark. The colonel was looking toward my antagonist, expecting to see him
drop. His face was sideways to me, his long cigar projecting from his
lips with an inch of ash at the end of it.
Quick as a flash I raised my pistol and fired.
“Permit me to trim your ash, sir,” said I, and I bowed with a grace
which is unknown among these islanders.
I am convinced that the fault lay with the pistol and not with my aim.
I could hardly believe my own eyes when I saw that I had snapped off the
cigar within half an inch of his lips. He stood staring at me with the
ragged stub of the cigar-end sticking out from his singed mustache. I
can see him now with his foolish, angry eyes and his long, thin, puzzled
face. Then he began to talk. I have always said that the English are not
really a phlegmatic or a taciturn nation if you stir them out of their
groove. No one could have talked in a more animated way than this
colonel. Lady Jane put her hands over her ears.
“Come, come, Colonel Berkeley,” said Lord Dacre, sternly, “you forget
yourself. There is a lady in the room.”
The colonel gave a stiff bow.
“If Lady Dacre will kindly leave the room,” said he,
“I will be able to tell this infernal little Frenchman what I think of
him and his monkey tricks.”
I was splendid at that moment, for I ignored the words that he had said
and remembered only the extreme provocation.
“Sir,” said I, “I freely offer you my apologies for this unhappy
incident. I felt that if I did not discharge my pistol Lord Dacre's
honour might feel hurt, and yet it was quite impossible for me, after
hearing what this lady has said, to aim it at her husband. I looked
round for a mark, therefore, and I had the extreme misfortune to blow
your cigar out of your mouth when my intention had merely been to snuff
the ash. I was betrayed by my pistol. This is my explanation, sir,
and if after listening to my apologies you still feel that I owe you
satisfaction, I need not say that it is a request which I am unable to
refuse.”
It was certainly a charming attitude which I had assumed, and it won the
hearts of all of them. Lord Dacre stepped forward and wrung me by the
hand. “By George, sir,” said he, “I never thought to feel toward a
Frenchman as I do to you. You're a man and a gentleman, and I can't say
more.” Lord Rufton said nothing, but his hand-grip told me all that he
thought. Even Colonel Berkeley paid me a compliment, and declared that
he would think no more about the unfortunate cigar.
And she--ah, if you could have seen the look she gave me, the flushed
cheek, the moist eye, the tremulous lip!
When I think of my beautiful Lady Jane it is at that moment that
I recall her. They would have had me stay to dinner, but you will
understand, my friends, that this was no time for either Lord Rufton or
myself to remain at Gravel Hanger. This reconciled couple desired
only to be alone. In the chaise he had persuaded her of his sincere
repentance, and once again they were a loving husband and wife. If they
were to remain so it was best perhaps that I should go. Why should I
unsettle this domestic peace? Even against my own will my mere presence
and appearance might have their effect upon the lady. No, no, I must
tear myself away--even her persuasions were unable to make me stop.
Years afterward I heard that the household of the Dacres was among the
happiest in the whole country, and that no cloud had ever come again to
darken their lives. Yet I dare say if he could have seen into his wife's
mind--but there, I say no more! A lady's secret is her own, and I fear
that she and it are buried long years ago in some Devonshire churchyard.
Perhaps all that gay circle are gone and the Lady Jane only lives now
in the memory of an old half-pay French brigadier. He at least can never
forget.