Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (41 page)

Devenish snorted. "Oh, no! Only that two of my good friends
are
about to slaughter one another!" He then offered an apologetic, "Sorry,
Marcus. Nerves a bit tight. I'd have sworn we were followed here. You
didn't see a black brougham lurking about, by any chance?"

Before Clay could respond, Strand marched up to ask with some
ire
what was causing the delays. "I've an—an appointment," he said curtly.

"If you Will move out of the way, we'll finish here," Clay
answered.

Strand stamped off. Devenish and Clay marked the distance,
then went
to inspect the pistols. There was some further delay when Devenish
affected to mislike the balance of his principal's weapon, but Strand,
managing somehow to avoid looking at Bolster's calm but cruelly bruised
countenance, snarled that he would take the offending pistol, and
moments later the protagonists faced one another across twenty yards of
mist-wreathed turf.

Strand stood very straight, the gleaming pistol held at his
side. It
all seemed quite unreal, but that, he knew, was because the chill he
had taken on the boat was tightening its hold on him. His head felt
wooden and stupid, he knew he was feverish, and his hand was none too
steady. Still, it was done. The seconds had conferred and argued and
procrastinated for as long as they possibly could. The final
instructions had been given by Clay, his pleasant features very grave.
The only thing remaining now •

was the count—and these last moments of grief and farewell. He
recalled Lisette's face as he first had seen it, angelically lovely,
framed by the dark window of her coach. How little he had dreamed then
that his foolish heart, so instantly and irrevocably given, would lead
him to this bitter moment. She'd never cared, of course. He was no Don
Juan, not like that blasted Leith! Yet what a blessing he did not face
Leith today. Poor Rachel would have been—

"One…" Devenish's voice echoed across the quiet meadow.

Scarcely hearing, Strand frowned. Why was he thinking of
Leith? He
did not face that tall, dark Adonis. The yellow hair that gleamed in
the diffused light of this mist-shrouded afternoon belong to Jeremy
Bolster… It was Bolster who had betrayed him, who evidently, having
lost his own love, had decided to trifle with another lady. The wife of
his good friend! Bolster! Had it been Garvey, now, that would have been
logical enough. It would have fit. He'd thought it
would
be Garvey, and never dreamed—

"Two… !"

That ominous call came slightly muted through the trees, and
the man
who moved so stealthily forward stopped, then sighted carefully along
the barrel on his fine Manton. To anyone observing the actions of Mr.
James Garvey, it must have seemed that he directed the pistol at Lord
Bolster's broad back, but actually, he aimed past Bolster, his target
the heart of Justin Strand. Even with his hated rival at last in his
sights, however, Mr. Garvey, that pink of the
ton,
was not a
happy man. He had fashioned a very neat little scheme whereby Strand,
having read the letter cunningly misdelivered to him, would be maddened
with jealousy. By rights, he should have returned home to find Lisette
gone, pursued her to Cloudhills and discovered her with Leith, who had
also been deftly tricked into returning to his estate. Very neat,
Garvey had thought, and the inevitable duel would have resulted in both
men (one way or another) being killed. So tidy and convenient. Leith's
death would have pleased the Frenchman; Strand's death would have wiped
out the insult against himself and paved the way for his courtship of,
and eventual marriage to, the beautiful and by that time extremely
wealthy widow. A delicious touch would be that there was nothing to
link him with the matter. He could scarcely be held responsible for the
deaths of two men who faced one another in an affair of honour. It was
most regrettable that things had not progressed according to plan.
Bolster's curst intervention had been as disastrous as it was quixotic.
Firstly, it had removed Leith, and thus one could not count on the
reaction of the Frenchman. Secondly, Bolster was not nearly so reliable
a shot as the intrepid Colonel, and anyone willing to incur the wrath
of a jealous and justifiably incensed husband might also be so
addlebrained as to delope—especially a marplot who had cried friends
with Strand since childhood!

Nourishing feelings of betrayal, Garvey had embarked on his
present
course with considerable reluctance. It was risky. He had at first
intended to follow Claude Sanquinet's advice and hire a professional
assassin to ensure Strand's demise, but the threat of blackmail at some
later date had deterred him. Besides, his own marksmanship was second
to none, and this shot must not be missed. He was quite sure that even
if Bolster did fire, it would be with the intent to inflict some
superficial wound. There was the possibility that his lordship would
aim wide, which would be obliging. One could not take chances, however.
Two wounds on Strand's lifeless body could prove embarrassing, and to
ensure his swift departure from the scene, Mr. Garvey had brought his
hired brougham up as close as he dared. His tiger was holding the
nostrils of the horses at this very moment, to ensure they did not
whinny and betray his presence. There was, at least, no cause to doubt
the discretion of his tiger. That young villain had committed many
indiscretions, any one of which would be sufficient to ensure his
transportation, to say the least!

"
Three
… !"

The fatal word resounded through the stillness. Two hands
gripping
the deadly, long-barreled pistols were flung up simultaneously. Garvey,
his pistol already in position, timed his shot exactly. But again, the
unexpected occurred. Having succeeded in coercing a groom to open the
carriage door so as to quiet him, Brutus leapt forth with the full
power of his muscular body, toppled the groom, and raced off in search
of his master. His path was chosen for directness rather than good
manners, and took him straight between Garvey's team, who at once
reared, screaming their terror. Jolted by the sudden outburst at that
crucial instant, Garvey's hand jerked.

Three shots rang out, the third sounding merely an echo of the
first two.

Bolster fired into the air. He heard a scream from somewhere
close
by. In the same instant, he was dealt a sledgehammer blow which sent
him sprawling.

Strand, the smoking pistol falling from his hand, stared
numbly at
Bolster's motionless form. He had aimed for the arm, but must have
erred. What a ghastly error! But God knows he'd not meant to kill
Bolster! He'd
not!
Shattered, he stumbled away;
Brutus, who had been petrified by the shots, creeping out from beneath
a bush to slink after him.

Clay, Devenish, and the surgeon were running to the downed
man.
Tristram Leith suddenly burst through the trees, flashed a grim glance
at Strand, then raced to Bolster. Lisette and Amanda followed, and
Strand checked and stood rigidly as they halted before him. Amanda's
horrified gaze darted to the quiet little group hovering above someone
who lay very still on the ground. With a strangled moan, she crumpled
in a faint. At once dropping to her knees, Lisette took up one of
Amanda's limp hands and began to chafe it. Looking up at her husband,
she demanded, "What in heaven's name were you thinking of? Must you al—"

Strand stepped back, an expression of such agony on his pale
face that she was struck to silence. "Do you not
know
what has brought me to this pass?" he cried in distraught fashion. "My
closest friend lies there—dead belike! And by
my
hand! Go, wanton! Go and look upon your handiwork!" And with a wild,
despairing gesture, he turned and strode rapidly away.

Bolster, however, was very soon struggling to sit up. "Where's
S-Strand?" he muttered, but encountering the firm hands of the surgeon,
he winced and sank back again.

Alain Devenish straightened, drew a deep breath of relief and,
meeting Clay's equally relieved gaze, said a thankful, "Jove! I thought
for a minute…!"

"So did I," Clay nodded. "And I perfectly loathe funerals!"

"W-well, you may have to go to one, at all events," asserted
his
lordship, faint but persisting. "Of all the filthy tricks! I am so
n-noble as to delope, and Strand d-damned well shoots me in the back!"

Bending over him again, Devenish smiled. "A neat trick, I
grant you,
Jerry, old fellow. But hardly possible, you know. It may have seemed
that way, but—"

"D-devil take you, Alain! You ain't the one lying here! I tell
you, I was hit from behind! Ask the sawbones."

Clay glanced enquiringly at the doctor, who condescended to
remark
that he preferred to be addressed as Dr. Cholomondeley, and that the
ball had scored Bolster's side and may have broken a rib, but did not
appear to have penetrated the lung.

"Could
the shot have come from behind
him?" asked Clay,
humouring his incensed friend. "I heard Strand's horses going wild
about something or other."

"Brutus," said Devenish succinctly. "He all but turned inside
out when he heard the shots."

"His lordship did appear to fall forward," vouchsafed
Cholmondeley,
working deftly. "Shock, however, effects odd reactions at times, and I
scarcely think that—" He glanced up. "Hello, Colonel. Are you a party
to this?"

Devenish started and turning, said, "Jove, Tris! I wish you'd
come a
sight earlier!" His gaze shifting, he added a shocked, "Gad! Is that
Miss Hersh? Poor girl. Looks like you've another patient, Cholmondeley."

"
What
?" Bolster hove himself upwards.

"Lie back, you idiot!" said Leith. "No, Cholmondeley, I am
not
a party to this insanity! Mandy is better now, Jerry. There, she's
already starting to get up. Play your cards properly and we may yet
turn this tragedy to good account."

Struggling, Bolster gasped out, "D-d da-da- now
blast
you, Tris! Mandy swooned! Let m-me—"

Noting Amanda's wavering approach from the corner of his eye,
Leith swore under his breath. "
Will
you lie still?"

Bolster, however, had one thought in mind, and that to catch a
glimpse of his beloved. He glimpsed instead a flying fist which,
connecting with his jaw, obliterated all thought for a time.

"The devil, sir!" exploded the physician, outraged.

"By God, Leith!" Clay protested.

"Quiet!" hissed Devenish, as Amanda tottered to them, Lisette
standing back so as to be out of the way.

The Colonel said gravely, "Do not lose hope, Mandy. Poor old
Jeremy just
might
pull through."

Amanda viewed the limp and bloody form of her love and,
dropping to
her knees beside him, wept, "Oh, Jeremy… my dearest one do not die I
implore you else I must die too."

Opening dazed eyes, Bolster saw the adored face above him.
"Mandy…"
he uttered faintly. "You c-came! D-don't leave me—please, Mandy."

"Oh, I won't. I won't!"

With this, he was happily content until a hard and most unkind
pinch
in his left arm drew a yelp of shock and pain. Looking up, he met
Leith's eyes and an imperative grimace. For a moment baffled, he
suddenly comprehended. He sighed gustily and closed his eyes.

Amanda clutched at one unresponsive hand and gasped, "Doctor!
Is he—"

Dr. Cholmondeley had been securing the temporary dressing
about
Bolster's hurt, while benefitting from a tersely whispered explanation
from Devenish, and save for a grim shake of the head, made no response.

Bolster was in not a little pain, but he was so overjoyed by
the
close proximity of his love, that he performed quite creditably, saying
as one at the gates of death that he could have gone with less regret
had he only known his Amanda might have borne his name. And callously
disposing of the several relatives who would most willingly move closer
to the title in that unhappy event, added, "It d-dies with me… you
know…"

Amanda gave a stifled wail, and Leith bent to her and
whispered,
"Offer him some encouragement if you can, Mandy. Old Jerry's too good
of a fellow to go without hope."

"Oh!" sobbed Amanda, nursing Bolster's hand to her cheek. "I
love
you, my dearest one. Only get better and I will prove how much!"

Bolster was so encouraged that he gave every indication of
being
about to spring up and smother her with kisses, wherefore it was
necessary for Devenish to pinch him again, which he did so heartily
that Bolster was hard put to it to refrain from cursing him.
Fortunately, he bit back that impromptu utterance. Misinterpreting the
set of his jaw, Amanda supposed him to be restraining his groans', and
deposited several damp and sympathetic kisses in his palm. "As soon,"
she gulped, "as you are better I will marry you and—"

"You
will
?" beamed the ecstatic Bolster.
"Did you hear that, you fellows? I am
betrothed
!
If th-that don't beat the—"

With rare tact, Dr. Cholmondeley chose that instant to tighten
his
bandage, otherwise his lordship might have ruined the entire thing.

"Thank
heaven you are come home!"
Hurrying into the
entrance hall, only slightly leaning upon her cane, Lady Bayes-Copeland
stretched her thin hand to her granddaughter, and demanded, "Tell me
quickly. Is someone killed?"

"No, ma'am." Lisette was cold and felt drained and bereft of
all
hope. "Lord Bolster was shot, but he is alive. Amanda is with him now,
and—"

"And where is my grandson?"

"Why, I suppose Norman is—"

"Is here!" Shaking her cane impatiently, and hindering Powers
by
assisting in the removal of Lisette's cloak, her ladyship barked. "You
know very well to whom I refer. Don't be missish! Ain't the time!"