The Angry Tide (39 page)

They stayed late drinking and laughing and talking. It had been a long day in
the
open air and
Demelza
's eyes were pricking with sleep long before they finally said good night and took two hackney chairs home. Ross had been slow to leave, and she could not know that it was a part of his design that she should be tired and sleep late in the morning.

When she lay in bed
at
last she talked for a moment or two about the Strawberry Hill garden and all the fascinating things there were in it. No one in Cornwall, it seemed to her, had begun to lay out a garden like this. There
was a small formal garden at Tre
gothnan, and splendid landscaping had been done at places like Tchidy and Trclissick. But this was
small
landscaping, within the compass of a few acres; superbly arranged trees of all shapes, sizes and colours; golden bushes, blue pyramids, grey towering sentinels, with all the profusion of flowering plants set between and showing them off. Where did
you get
such trees and shrubs: where did you
buy
them; did you have to order them from the Indies and Australia and America? Ross answered, yes, and, no, and, I have little idea, and, perhaps we can inquire. He should, he knew, have warned her again that not a quarter of the plants she coveted would stand the sandy soil and salt-laden winds of the north Cornish coast; but for the moment he had not the heart. He waited until she had fallen asleep, and then he quietly undressed and slid into bed beside her and lay for a long time, hands behind head, staring up at the ceiling.

He had arranged to be wakened at five; and he rose and by the light of a shaded candle washed and shaved and brushed and combed his hair. It was still pitch dark outside, and was likely still to be so at six. He supposed that by the time the preliminaries had been gone through dawn would be breaking. One presumably had to be able to
see
one's opponent.

He had never himself fought a duel before, but he had been second to a brother officer in New York when he had quarrelled with a lieutenant in another regiment, and they had fought it out in the fields behind the encampment. Both had been severely wounded. Even then, when he was himself only twenty-two and more romantically inclined, he had thought the whole procedure an exaggerated and out-dated way of settling differences. In the camp at that time there was an average of one duel every week, and frequently good men killed; and he knew that although decrees had been issued both by the civilian and the military authorities, the frequency of such affrays had scarcely dropped since then.

Often the dispute was of the lightest, some joke misinterpreted. Dwight was wrong in supposing his disagreement with Adderley too trivial for such a resolution. Only last March when he was in London there had been a quarrel in Stephenson's Hotel in Bond Street. Viscount Falkland had been drinking there with some friends, among them a Mr Powell, and Falkland had merely said: 'What, drunk again, Pogey?', whereupon Powell had made a sharp reply and Falkland had hit him with a cane. In the resultant duel Falkland, a man of forty-one, had been shot dead. So it went on, and so it would go on. But he had not supposed that he himself would ever be involved in such an affray.

Long years ago he had made a will, and it was deposited with Mr
Pearce
- and would now presumably have been passed on among all the other boxes of legal documents to whoever was taking over the remnants of Mr Pearce's devastated practice - but that had been done before the children were born, when he had been about to be tried for his life in Bodmin. He supposed he should have made some later attempt to set his affairs in or
der. He knew one or two Cornish
men who made a fresh will whenever they set out for London.

Well, it was too late now. In less than an hour the matter would be decided. At five forty-five he heard
the
clop of hooves. Most of the lamps in the narrow sloping street had gone out for lack of fish oil, but the few left showed that Dwight, for all his angry protests, was not late for his appointment.

Ross glanced at the sleeping figure of his wife. Her face was half hidden and he decided not to make any attempt to touch her, for she was quick to wake. He put on his cloak and hat, tiptoed to the door, which creaked maddeningly, and then, guttering candle in hand, went down the stairs. At the outer door he blew out the candle, put it on a ledge and stepped into the street.

The air was cold, and a light drizzle was falling. Ross mounted the other horse that Dwight had brought, and stared at his friend.

'Did you have any difficulty?'

Dwight said: 'Only the difficulty of believing that so rational a man as yourself, and my best and oldest friend, should indulge in such madness and pursue it to the bitter end.'

Ross said: 'Unless the sky lightens soon there will be more danger to the birds in the trees. Or do we hold a torch in our other hand?'

Dwight said: 'Even by the absurd standards of today, this meeting is ridiculously i
rregular. As challenger Adde
rley must give you choice of weapons. Yet before you even consult mc you accept all his terms.'

'Because they suit me. I have never used a sword except in practice with the regiment seventeen years ago. At least with a pistol I have a very good idea what happens when the trigger is pulled.'

'Did
you take some practice yesterday morning?'

'Yes, with a sergeant at the Savoy. His chief advice, however, seemed to be, "Watch how you load the pistol, sir: too much gunpowder destroys the equilibrium, too much velocity affects the precision of the ball. If anything, sir, it is better to undercharge." Since you will be in command of the pistols and not I, I can only pass on this gem of wisdom for your attention.'

They turned and began to move up the hill. They rode along the Strand and up Cockspur Street and the Hay Market to Piccadilly, thence to Hyde Park Corner. There were a few shadowy figures still skulking about, seeking whom or what they might pick up or rob. As their horses turned up Tyburn Lane the watch was ringing his bell and calling: 'Past six o'clock and all's well.' It was his last call before he went home. In the Park although there was no wind the leaves were falling regularly like some too-conventional stage set. The rain had just stopped. In the dim light there seemed no one about when they reached the ring, and, for the five minutes they sat there while their horses' nostrils steamed in the still morning, Dwight had time to hope that Adderley had thought better of his challenge. But presently there was the clop of a hoof and the snort of a restive horse, and two figures loomed up in the semi-dark.

'As God is my judge,' said Monk, erect as a lancer. 'I thought you'd run home to Cornwall.'

'As God is my judge,' said Ross, T thought you were about to plead benefit of clergy.'

It was not a good beginning on which to base a move of reconciliation, but as they rode further into the trees Dwight drew Craven aside, and after they had dismounted there was a further conference. In the meantime Ross paced slowly across the clearing they had chosen, hands behind back, taking deep breaths of the fresh morning, listening to the occasional sleep
y chirrup of a waking bird. Adderle
y stood quite still, like one of those thin pencil trees Demelza had so admired yesterday.

There was not a faint glimmer of light showing from over in
the
direction of the city. The air was fresh here, with none of the town's smells to pollute it. The leaves squelched under Ross's feet. Dwight came across. His face looked thin.

'I've agreed with Craven that the light will be good enough in twenty minutes. We have that time still to come to some accommodation.'

'I want no accommodation,' said Ross.

'God curse it!' Dwight said, and it was rare for him to swear; 'have
neither
of you any sense? The blood-letting will solve nothing!'

'Let us walk,' Ross said. 'The morning air is chill, and warm blood makes for a steady hand.'

They began to walk through the trees, a hundred yards this way, a hundred back again.

Ross said: 'Let us not dramatize the situation, Dwight; but if by chance his aim is better than mine, you and Caroline, as our close friends, will bear a responsibility for the future of those in Nampara.'

'Of course.'

'There is nothing writ. It will all have to be understood.' 'It is understood.'

Time passed slowly. Ross remembered a story he had heard somewhere of two men who had challenged each other to a duel, and they happened to be dining together at one of their houses in a great company of society. Having dined and spent the evening and supped, they left at one, and each rode to the rendezvous in his own coach and sat there in the dark till six, when they got out and shot each other to death.

Trees at last were assuming definition; and in the distance
the
shape of buildings could be seen. Fortunately with the end of the rain had come a break in the clouds, so that as sunrise ncared the day broke suddenly.

Dwight said: 'Come, it is time'

^Chapter
Six

They came together and while the pistols were examined and loaded Dwight made one more effort.

'Captain Addcrley, I think it is acknowledged even by you that at the time of this disagreement in the House Captain Poldark apologized for his brief loss of temper. That is the act of a gentleman, and it would equally be the act of a gendeman if you were now to accept it. Why do you not both shake hands and go home to a hearty breakfast? No one knows of this encounter except yourselves. At your request it has been kept secret. Therefore there is no honour to be maintained in the face of other people. There is nothing to lose and everything to gain by looking on this as a superficial quarrel not worthy of bloodshed.'

Adde
rley's macabre face looked as if it had spent all its time in the dark. 'If
Captain
Poldark will apologize again now, and undertake to send me a written apology couched in suitable terms, I might consider it. Though I should think ill of him if I did so.'

Dwight looked at Ross.

Ross said: 'My only regret is that I apologized in the first place.'

Dwight made a gesture of despair, and Craven said: 'Come, gentlemen, wc
are
wasting time. It should all be over before sun-up.'

'One thing,' Adderlcy said. ‘I
take it that your second has given to mine the letter of challenge that I wrote you.'

'Yes. You asked for it.'

'And mine has given to yours your reply. So there is no evidence as to the occurrence of this duel, except for the presence of these two men, who
are
sworn to secrecy. The noise of the pistols may attract attention even at this early hour, so if I should kill you or wound you I shall waste no time in inquiring into your injuries but shall mount and ride away as quick as I can. If my mischance you should injure me instead you have my full permission to do the same. And the injured party has been set upon by a highwayman.'

'Agreed,' Ross said.

'I would hate,' Adderley
said,
'to languish
in
gaol for shedding
your
blood, my dear.'

So they stood back to back. They were both tall men, and much of a height, but Ross the bigger boned. Pistols
in
hand; one
in
each hand, loaded and primed. Too much gunpowder destroys the equilibrium, sir. If anything, sir, it is better to undercharge. Too much velocity affects the precision of the shell. Was this fear one felt? Not quite. A keyed-up will for violence, to destroy something that was half in the other man, half in oneself. To fire. To fire. Imagination stopped. So did apprehension. Flesh and its frailty was not as important as will and its integrity. One put all one's future on the table for the throw of a dice. Heart pounding but hands calm, eyes clear, senses over-acute, smell of wood smoke, sound of a distant bell.

'Fourteen paces,' said Craven. 'I will count.
Now.
One, two, three.'

The paces were slow as his count was slow.
..
Thirteen, fourteen. Attend. Present. Fire!'

They both fired simultaneously and
it
seemed both missed. The light was still not too good. Ross had heard the ball go past.

'That will do!' Dwight said, moving forward.

Adderley dropped the empty pistol and changed hands, raised the other. As he saw this Ross did the same. Just as he fired the pistol was knocked out of his hand and he felt a scaring pain
in
his forearm. To his surprise the force of the ball had swung him round. He half doubled, clutching his arm, and
then through the smoke saw Adde
rley on the ground.

Blood was oozing through
his
fingers
in
great thick gushes. Dwight was beside
him,
was trying to tear the rest of the torn sleeve away.

'Adderley,'
Ross said. 'You'd best go and see -' 'In a moment. You must get that -'

'Dr Enys
!
' Craven was plu
cking at his coat. 'Captain Adde
rley is serious wounded.' 'Go on,' said Ross, as Dwight hesitated.

Dwight said: 'Get something round your upper arm quick as you can - else you'll bleed to death.'

Ross sat down on a stone and tried to tear a piece of his shirt; it wouldn't give; eventually a piece of lace came away, and though it was thin it was strong. He wound this below his biccp with his left hand and then, unable to tic it, just twisted and twisted
till it
grew very tight. Then he could only hold it there. His forearm was a mess. Could not
see
if
the ball had smashed the bone, but he had lost the use of his fingers. The trees were moving in an odd way, and it was all he could do not to keel over on to the damp, sere leaves.

The three men were over there in a group - could not be more than thirty paces away - clearly. Had he hit with his first or his second shot? And if so, how good (or bad) had been his aim? He gritt
ed his teeth, got up. Arm was sti
ll bleeding but it was not
gushing
out. More blood than he'd ever lost from his two wounds in America. He began to walk.

Just like pacing out for the duel, only twice as far. Long
way. Twenty-eight paces. Adderle
y was stirring. That was good thing. Not dead. Not dead. As he came up John Craven suddenly left the group, went running off through the trees towards the gate of the Park.

Dwight had his bag and had cut away Adderley's coat and shirt and waistcoat, was holding a pad of gauze. It seemed to be at the base of the stomach, or the top of the right leg. Ross swayed up to them.

Adderley's eyes fluttered. 'Damned pistols,' he muttered. 'Not
...
accurate. Damn near missed you altogether
...
my dear.'

Ross said: 'Where's Craven gone?'

'To get a chair,' Dwight said.

'Didn't
...
ride
...'

'He thought it quicker. There's usually chairs by the tollgatc. Look, sit down here. Then if you can hold t
his pad on Addcrlcy's thigh with
your left hand I can tic your arm.'

'Hold the pad myself,' Addcrley said. 'You get off, Poldark. While the going's good. That's - what we agreed.'

'I'll stay till the chair comes,' Ross said.

'Damn fool,' said Adderley. 'I knew it. Wish I'd
killed
you. No room for damned fools.'

Ross squatted on the grass and held the pad over Monk's stomach, while Dwight tied up his arm. It was done with much speed and efficiency, and after a few minutes Dwight was able to slacken the tourniquet he had first put on.

'Can you ride home?' he asked.

'I - suspect so.'

'Then go. Adderlcy's right. Craven might come back with a couple of the Watch.' 'Shoot him if he d
oe
s,' said Addcrlcy. 'He might have no choice.'

'I'll stay till the chair comes,' Ross said obstinately.

Shafts of early sunlight were touching the tops of the trees. The faded leaves, still damp, were lit up with brass spears. Monk was only half conscious now. Ross looked at Dwight inquiringly. Dwight made a non-committal gesture. They waited.

Leaves continued to fall, making eccentric landings on the trio of silent men. Running feet, and Craven came into view followed by a hackney chair. Panting, the chairmen set the chair down, and
with great difficulty Monk Adde
rley was lifted into it. He seemed
at
this stage to have fainted altogether.

Dwight said: 'Mr Craven, I'll go with this chair. Do you help Captain Poldark to mount and then bring the other horses.'

Ross said: ‘I
think I'll come with you.'

'No,' said Craven. 'Fair's fair, and the conditions have been properly observed. So observe the rest. I advise you to go home and send for another physician.'

While the chair moved off, Craven somehow pushed Ross up on to his horse, and with his bad arm held in a temporary sling, Ross gathered the reins and turned his horse quietly round to begin what was going to be an interminable journey to George Street.