HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (65 page)

Kit stared at the door. The was no illness here. Although
...
there was a quality of sadness, perhaps even of despair, that he had not previously heard. 'Why do you keep the door locked?'

'And should I not?' she asked. 'Especially with you in the house, sweetheart? The last time you were here you all but broke my arm.'

'And you would not say I had cause?'

'I would only point out that
it
is unpleasant to be manhandled. Nor can I believe you would intend less, on this occasion.'

Kit
hesitated, glancing at Miss Johnson. 'Leave us alone, if you will.' He turned back to the door. 'I'll give you my word, Meg. I only wish to speak with you.'

'In that case,' she said. 'A closed door between us is of no importance whatsoever.'

'Meg
...'

'I was about to go to sleep,
Kit,'
she said. 'I would be obliged
if
you would say what
it
is you wish.'

'To sleep?' he demanded. 'With that racket downstairs?' Although the noise had largely stopped; no doubt they were listening. 'And your slaves under no discipline?'

'They are happy enough, and docile enough,' she said. 'Do you object
to people being happy, Kit?'

His big hands curled into fists. He felt as if he were caught in a bog, or
in
the forest before Panama, assailed by endless annoyances and uncertainties, dominated by the biggest uncertainty of all, any knowledge of where he was and where he was going and how he was going to get there.

He sighed. 'Very well,' he said. 'There are such rumours about you, perhaps I am reading more into what I see than is really there.'

'Have I not always attracted rumour?' she asked. 'There was a time you were proud of that.'

'There was a time I was proud of a great number of things. But I have a purpose in coming to see you, Marguerite. I would beg a favour of you.'

'Your Danish whore challenged me, Kit,' she said. 'Not I her.'

'Yet surely
it
can do you no injury to withdraw,' Kit urged. 'No one can doubt the outcome of such an unequal contest.' He knew better than to appeal to
her
sense of propriety.

'Well, then, she is singularly rash," Marguerite said.

'It would be murder.'

'Perhaps not. Perhaps I shall not kill her, Kit. Perhaps I shall just put a bullet through her body, and leave her scarred.'

Still he stared at the closed door. 'But you mean to do that.'

'Oh, indeed. If she wishes blood, she shall have it.'

Kit
kept his anger under control with difficulty. 'And suppose things should not go as you intend? What of your eyes?'

'What of my eyes, pray, Kit?'

'Is
it
not true that the reason you go veiled is because of some affliction which affects your sight? What if you find
it
difficult, or perhaps impossible, to sight your weapon?'

'Rumours,' she snapped, for the first time sounding angry. 'I care naught for rumours. There is nothing the matter with my eyesight, Kit. I promise you that. There is nothing the matter with me at all. Nothing, do you hear? Nothing. If it is accommodation you wish, let your woman stay away tomorrow. Surely she is sunk so low she can fall no further, in her own esteem or in that of the world. Now begone. Get from
my
house. You left here of your own accord. Do not seek to come back.'

He hesitated, his shoulders hunched.

And once again, she seemed able to read his mind. 'And should you launch an assault upon my door, be sure I will have
my
overseers at your throat.'

As if he cared for her overseers. But to start a riot, now, when Daniel was already antagonizing all and sundry
...
would that assist Lilian?

He turned, his hands hanging uselessly at his side, gazed at Miss Johnson.

'Elizabeth.' The word cut across the night. 'You'll speak with him no more, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth Johnson gazed at Kit for a second, but as he moved towards her, she shut and locked the bedroom door.

'She is a remarkable woman,' Daniel Parke remarked. 'But then, so is Lilian. It seems to be your fortune, Kit, to attract females of character. Me, I prefer my bedwarmers to have no character at all, to have no greater ambitions in life than to feel
my
hand between their legs.'

Like Mary Chester,
Kit
thought. But he refrained from saying it. Nothing he could do or say, apparently, would dissuade Daniel from this unseemly path on which he was set, although he of all people must be aware that it was common gossip in St John's, so much so that Edward Chester never even attended the Ice House any more, for shame. What went on in private between the Chesters did not bear consideration.

'You are not attending the duel?' he asked.

Parke drew his brocaded undressing-robe tighter around his shoulders, and sipped coffee. 'It would not be right, I fancy, for the Governor to attend an event of this nature. Besides, I will hear of its outcome soon enough.' He stood up. 'Lilian.'

Despite her request to Kit, she had spent the night at the Government House; the news of the accepted challenge had been too much for her father. But she had slept alone, and now she entered the room as quietly and gracefully as ever. And despite Kit's suggestion that she wear black, she had elected to put on a grey gown and her wide hat. Her face was paler than usual, but as composed as ever. 'Good morning, Your Excellency.'

'You'll take a cup
of
coffee?'

She shook her head. 'I doubt
my
stomach could retain it. I would like to leave now, Kit.'

Hastily he finished his own coffee, and got up.

'I'll wish you all the fortune in the world, Lilian.' Parke kissed her hands. 'You'll be back within the hour.'

'Of course I shall.' She waited for
Kit
to arrange her cloak around her shoulders, went to the stairs. Jonathan was below with the trap.

'You keep safe, Miss Lilian,' he said. 'But man, they got people down by the beach.' 'Already?'
Kit
enquired.

'People? Oh
...'
Lilian squared her shoulders. 'But I expected that.'

She sat beside him and the trap rolled out of the archway and on to the street. It was just dawn, and the first tiny fingers
o
f
daylight were starting to throw shadows from the houses. It occurred to
Kit
that the town must have looked just like this □n that terrible morning Lilian had lain on this very street, and waited to be discovered, for the humiliation to begin. Not for the first time he had to wonder if this was a way of committing suicide, if she actually hoped for death, knowing that she could never live down the shame.

And yet, she had already lived down the shame. For as Jonathan had said, there were already people about, moving towards the beach, men and women, and children, hoping for a spectacle none of them had suspected possible. And most of these shouted encouragement at the trap.

'You'll give her best, Miss Lilian.'

'Be sure you aim true, girl.'

'She deserves a bullet through the head, Miss Lilian.' 'You'll puncture her pride, girl.'

Lilian almost smiled. 'What a bloodthirsty lot they are, to be sure.' She glanced to her rig
ht as they passed the Christian
ssen's house. Abigail stood on die doorstep, with little Agrippa in her arms.

'Godspeed, Miss Lilian,' she shouted.

Had she hoped to see her parents there as well,
Kit
wondered? Or did she know that by adding this deed of blood to the other deed of shame she had finally ended all hope of a
reconciliation between herself and her father? And yet, there was a movement at the curtains shrouding the upper window, and there was no breeze.

'Their thoughts go with you, have no doubt of that,' he said.

'I'm sure they do.' She would not meet his eyes. Because he was the only possible weakening of her resolution. She rode like a woman going to her execution. Well, was she not? And why did he not assert himself, whip the trap into a gallop, forbid this hideous masquerade? Because to do that would be to lose her just as much as if she was killed? He kept coming back to that inescapable fact.

Well, then, why had he not broken down Marguerite's door and fought his way through her overseers, if necessary, to force her to withdraw? Because that would not alter the situation cither? Because this was something, not beyond his understanding—he understood their rival feelings only too well— but beyond his power to control.

But then, had he not too often found all life beyond his control? As if any man, or any woman, for that matter, could control life. Life was a sea, often turbulent, whipped by winds of tremendous force and capricious direction, and one kept afloat as best one could, or one sank without trace.

He wondered
if
Marguerite would subscribe to that point of view. She at the least had never had any doubt about her ability to control such aspects of life as surrounded her. So no doubt she would control this morning's event as well.

And Lilian was hoping for mercy.

The beach was crowded, the people massed against the sea-grape bushes which lined the sand. And here waited Dr Haines and several other gentlemen, amongst them John Harding.

He nodded stiffly to
Kit
as he helped Lilian down. 'I am to marshal this event Captain Hilton,' he said. 'At the request of the challenged party.'

'Who I observe is not present,'
Kit
said, his heart commencing to pound with hope.

'It is not yet time,' Harding pointed out. 'I assume you are acting for Miss Christianssen?'

'I am.'

'And is your client content with the arrangements?'

Kit shrugged. What was there to criticize? The beach sloped gently down to the even more gentle sea. The sand was even, and the backgrounds at either end were trees. And Harding he knew for an honest man, even if often enough a misguided one. 'She is content.'

'Then here are the weapons.' He opened the case. The four pistols lay on the velvet. 'They are loaded and primed. I did so myself.'

Kit
frowned. 'Four?'

'Your client used the words a "final settlement between us" in her challenge, Captain Hilton. By the code I understand, this means the exchange continues until one party cries, "Enough."'

'By God,' Kit said. 'You will have blood, then.'

'It would seem to be what the ladies wish, Captain.'

Kit
walked across the sand to where Lilian waited. 'Did you know that Marguerite wishes to exchange shots until one party is hit or withdraws?'

'It is her prerogative.'

'Oh, indeed. But it is madness. Lilian
...'

'Please, Kit. I will have no more of it. Besides, it is too late.' She pointed, at the carriage which came rumbling up the road, displacing a cloud of dust.

It halted on the edge of the sand, and the Negro driver jumped down to open the door. A man got out first, and waited to assist Marguerite down, but she waved him away. She had indeed prepared herself well, and was all in black, black gown beneath black cloak, black boots, black kid gloves, wide-brimmed black hat, and a black veil over her face, so that she was, in fact, totally invisible. At the sight of her the crowd started to boo, and her head half turned in that unforgettable gesture, before she came down the sand.

'Show your face,' they yelled. 'Show your face.'

' 'Tis a substitution,' they bawled. 'Have her unveil.'

Marguerite came up to Kit and Lilian. 'Good morning to you,' she said.

'It is customary to show your face, Mrs Hilton,' Dr Haines suggested with some caution. 'Do you doubt it is I, Kit?' 'No,' he said. 'No, I do not doubt that, Meg.'

"Well, then. Good morning to you, Mr Harding. Hodge here will act as my second.'