Gamble With Hearts (9 page)

‘I am not prepared to await his lordship's convenience. Either he fights me this morning or I call all these gentlemen to witness that he backed out of a fair fight.’

‘Damn you, I don't draw back. Fitz, be quiet and get me some coffee, for the Lord's sake!’

‘At six then, Carlington?’

‘At six, Farnley. Believe me, I am looking forward to it.’ As Farnley departed with Major Dugdale, who was obviously enjoying himself prodigiously, another gentleman, who had entered the club while the altercation was in progress, now stepped forward.

‘Well, Charles, my boy, it seems that I have arrived in
London
at an inconvenient moment.’

‘Uncle Oliver! You here?'' exclaimed Carlington in some surprise.

‘As you see. I have tired of rural tranquillity for the time being. I foresee a more exciting time than I had anticipated!’

The speaker was a man of medium height and build, elegantly dressed in the first style of fashion. His countenance was pleasant without being handsome and he had an air of great affability. It was noticeable that his nephew did not respond to this; indeed, his hackles seemed to rise slightly as his uncle slapped him jovially on the shoulder.

‘It seems strange that you should leave the estate at this season,’ remarked the Viscount, rather coolly. ‘Are not the ploughing and spring sowing about to start?’

‘If they are, Carlington, I assure you that your clodhopping friends do not need me to tell them how to go about it.’

Carlington shrugged, and as Fitzroy appeared at that moment accompanied by a sleepy waiter bearing coffee, he made no comment.

There were three hours to pass before they were due at Islington and so all three young men departed to snatch a little sleep. They arranged to meet at the chosen ground at a quarter to the hour and even went so far as to compare their watches, which was just as well, as the Viscount's was several minutes slow. They parted in excellent spirits for they had no real misgivings about the outcome of the affair. The Viscount was a notable marksman.

He had, however no notion of making it a killing matter. Although he was as convinced as ever that Farnley had cheated and, according to the code of his class, doubtless deserved to die, the Viscount was in love and, try as he might, he could not recapture the burning sense of anger that had consumed him. As he lay down to rest just as the dawn was breaking over the roof-tops of
London
, he resolved to spare his adversary, perhaps winging him just to teach him a lesson.

Lord Fitzroy was already at the ground, stamping his feet and blowing upon his frozen hands, when Captain Osborne arrived. He hailed the new arrival with relief. ‘Thank G-God you g-got here, Ricky. D-Dashed if I wasn't b-beginning to think I'd d-dreamed the whole cursed b-business!’

‘Oh no, Fitz, it happened all right and tight. The worst thing about these affairs is getting up so devilish early! Did you think to bespeak breakfast, old fellow?’

Lord Fitzroy yawned. ‘Certainly I d-did, and I knocked up a surgeon, what's more. He should b-be here any minute. Here, wait a second!’ He fished in the pocket of his caped greatcoat and produced a small brown bottle which he handed to his friend. ‘Have some of this, it should k-keep the c-cold out!’

Gratefully, the Captain took a long pull at the bottle and then wiped his mouth and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Good stuff that, Fitz. I feel better now. What I want to know is what's happened to Charles. He should be here by this time. It's nearly six.’

The sound of horses' hooves became audible in the thin morning air, and within a few minutes they were joined by Farnley accompanied by the amiable Major. The two men seemed to be upon the best of terms, and Carlington's seconds were obliged to admit that Farnley was conducting himself very well. He was obviously quite unmoved by the prospect of engaging one of the finest shots in the country and spent the next few minutes exchanging rather tasteless humorous stories with his second. By this time it was gone six and Captain Osborne was beginning to wonder what had happened to Charles. Lax though he might be, it was inconceivable that he could have deliberately missed the appointment. His man had strict instructions to waken him, otherwise the obvious conclusion would have been that he had overslept. Minutes ticked by and Farnley became restless.

‘How long does the young fool think I am going to wait for him, I should like to know?’ he blustered. ‘I'm not hanging around here any longer. You may tell him from me that he is a damned coward, and I shall make sure that the whole of
London
knows it!’

He turned abruptly and, followed by a disappointed Major Dugdale, he strode off towards the tethered horses. Just as he reached them, a shot rang out. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, then crumpled where he stood, clutching for support at the bridle of his terrified mount. Then, muffled by the mist, they heard the sound of hooves galloping away into the distance.

Osborne reached him first. ‘Fitz, Fitz, I say! Where's that damned surgeon you engaged?’ he called over his shoulder. The Major appeared at his side, his pleasant face very grim. ‘There's no need for a sawbones now, Captain. This man is dead!’

‘My God!’ breathed the Captain. ‘Who could have—?’

‘Who? Good God, man, isn't it plain enough who did it!’ snarled the Major. ‘Who was to have met him here? Who hadn't the courage to face him like a man, and shot him down like a dog without any chance to fight? Can you not see? Well, you had better look to your friend because I'm off to
Bow Street
to tell them what has happened here, and if I have my way he shall hang for this murder, although I'd say hanging is too good for him!’

Captain Osborne took a hasty step forward, his mouth dangerously set. ‘You'll take back those words, sir!’ he rapped out, barely controlling his anger. ‘How dare you make such a preposterous accusation against Carlington, of all people? Why, the man doesn't live of whom he is afraid!’

‘C-Calm d-down, Ricky,’ cautioned Fitz, placing a restraining hand on his friend's arm. ‘We have no quarrel with D-Dugdale here. He d-doesn't know Charles as we d-do. It must look p-pretty b-bad to him.’

‘Bad! Bad, sir! It looks a lot worse than that!’ shouted Major Dugdale furiously. He was very much shaken by the events of the morning for, although he barely knew Farnley, he was not the man to see a fellow human being shot down before his eyes without being seriously affected.

Soberly, the three men hoisted the dead weight of Farnley's body onto his still trembling horse. Major Dugdale took the leading rein and prepared to move off. He was halted by Osborne, who suddenly held out his hand to the older man. ‘I beg your pardon, Major, for my hastiness, but believe me, it is quite impossible that Charles Carlington had anything to do with this. I will stake my life on it!’

Ungrudgingly, the Major took Osborne's outstretched hand. ‘I believe you, lad, but it's not me you have to convince. Unless your friend can give a very good account of this morning's work to Bow Street, I am very much afraid he will hang. And rightly so, rightly so.’

In depressed silence the little party moved off, the Major with his gruesome charge towards the City, while the young men of one accord directed their mounts to a low and rambling ale-house just visible through the morning haze. They rode in silence for a while and then, as though unable to contain himself any longer, Osborne broke out with, ‘Fitz, what the devil are we to do?’

Lord Fitzwilliam shook his head despondently. ‘I d-don't know, Ricky, but I will say this. Unless Charles has a d-damned good story t-to explain why he missed this meeting, it's g-going to look black, very black indeed!’

By
ten o'clock
that morning the freezing mists of the early morning had dispersed and the day was warm and sunny.
Charlotte
had risen betimes, too happy and excited to pursue her usual course of snuggling into the pillow and indulging in the luxury of breakfast in her room. She dressed herself carefully in her favourite morning gown of primrose muslin, the same that had been donned to impress the Marquis an age ago, and went downstairs with a light heart.

Anything of a clandestine nature was repugnant to Miss Wrexham and she had determinedly resisted Carlington's pleas for a secret meeting. However, it was no secret that she and Miss Milverly, duly escorted by their maids, often took a stroll in Kensington Gardens in the morning and Charlotte had every expectation of seeing Carlington there.

When she entered the morning room it was in the expectation of finding Miss Milverly awaiting her. But it was not the diminutive figure of Amelia that rose to greet her, but the more substantial form of the Marquis. Ruthin looked grave as he held out his hand, saying, ‘Sit down, Charlotte, my dear. There is something I must say to you. But first, tell me, is it true that there is an attachment between you and Charles Carlington?’

‘I would rather be told, sir, by what right you question me!’ returned Charlotte rather haughtily.

‘The right of a friend to you both, my dear. I see that it is true. I am sorry for it, although it is as I feared.
Charlotte
, I have bad news for you. I hope you will be very brave, for your own sake and for your dear mother's.’

Charlotte
turned pale. ‘What is it! Tell me, quickly!’

The Marquis pressed her cold hands between his own and began in a quiet voice to relate the events of
 
previous night. When he told her of Farnley's murder, she uttered a little cry, half stifled, and turned her face into his shoulder. The Marquis placed a fatherly arm around her, much as he would have embraced his daughter had she turned to him in distress. Into the curls that tickled his chin he murmured some worldly advice that Charlotte was far too upset and bewildered to take heed of. ‘Whatever happens,’ he was saying, ‘tell no one of your connection with Charles. It would ruin you as things are at the moment. Oh, I know you would like to stand up for him against the world and swear you know him to be innocent, but believe me, it would do him no good and would seriously harm your mother and yourself. Charles has friends enough who will not abandon him now. We will find him, never fear, and whoever did this foul thing will pay in full. Do you understand what I am saying, my dear? Under no circumstances must anyone guess that you care a snap of your fingers for Carlington.’

‘But I do!’ sobbed Miss Wrexham, and in the abandonment of grief she threw her arms around the Marquis's neck and cried as though her heart would break. Ruthin held her gently, and was just raising his hand to smooth her tangled curls when the door opened and Mrs Wrexham appeared in the doorway, closely followed by her sister and Mrs Carstairs. ‘Ruthin! Oh what does this mean?’ cried Mrs Wrexham in a shaken voice.

‘The meaning would seem tolerably clear, Fanny,’ interposed Lady Northwood, caustically. ‘I would have thought yon could have spoken to her mother first, Ruthin, but I suppose one must make allowances for a man in love. I wish you both very happy.’

The Marquis was, for once, totally at a loss. Impossible to explain the true state of affairs before a palpably interested Mrs Carstairs. This lady was offering
Charlotte
her felicitations, and although she thought it strange that Miss Wrexham should receive them with her face blotched with tears, she hid it admirably. There seemed nothing to be done but to accept the situation and defer explanations until later.

Helen Carstairs was a most superior woman, but even she could not be expected to refrain from passing on such a juicy titbit of news. Within a very few hours, most of London was eagerly discussing the engagement. It seemed to the Marquis that the number of fools eager to congratulate him was legion. He answered as well as he could, but with a heavy heart. His ears still rang with Fanny Wrexham's heartbroken cry, and to be unable to explain the truth was agony to him. He could only hope that Carlington would soon return from whatever misadventure delayed him and that once the real murderer had been found, explanations would be possible. In the meanwhile, he accepted his role with a good grace and hoped that
Charlotte
would do the same.

Miss Wrexham, however, was far too ill to be seen, and so was not called upon to accept the felicitations of the curious. She had scarcely understood the scene that Ruthin had played, and was only dimly aware that she was believed to be betrothed. The only thought in her head was for Carlington's safety. Had her own reputation been the only consideration, she would have proudly announced her love to the world, or at least, to her mother and aunt. But with wits sharpened by extremity she had realised that as long as the attachment between them remained unknown, she would be able to help him if he should turn to her, as she was certain he would. If she were known to be his betrothed, she would no doubt be watched, and so rendered impotent to help him. Thus, she made no attempt to deny that she was to marry Ruthin, merely saying in a cold little voice that she hoped her aunt was satisfied that she had done her duty. She then retired to her room, where she sat at the window until nightfall, anxiously scrutinising every passer-by and carriage that came into view.

Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Lady Northwood was eager to discuss the engagement.

‘Fanny, I vow you are the most provoking creature. Here is
Charlotte
making the match of the year, and all you can do is sit there like a booby. Why, isn't this what you came to
London
for? What more could you possibly want?’