The Hourglass (28 page)

For now, pleasure was a distant memory. He wanted Willeford with a fury he had not known since his berserker days. The man was threatening to ruin all Ardeth had worked for, to destroy his chances of staying past his allotted months. Besides, Willeford had cost him a night in Genie’s arms.

Ardeth had known he would have to deal with Willeford before leaving London, so he was prepared. Maggots like the major thrived on rotten filth, envy and hate and fear of exposure. They had to be swept away or squashed, not merely ignored. Ardeth could guess the man’s eventual destination, but he would not hasten the journey.

According to Ardeth’s informants, tonight Willeford was at one of the less fashionable clubs that catered more to military gentlemen than the wealthier aristocracy, instead of at some
ton
ish ball, dancing attendance on his shrewish wife. He had been at the place for hours, since accepting Lord Cormack’s challenge. Ardeth took a seat, uninvited, at the card table where Willeford gamed with two other officers. The others left, by silent consent, leaving their coins and cards behind. Ardeth signaled a waiter for a glass of wine, then asked, “You do not think the spirits will affect your aim?”

“My aim will be good enough for Cormack.”

Ardeth raised an eyebrow at the man’s conceit. “He could get lucky.”

“Yes, I might hit just his shoulder instead of his heart.”

The muckworm’s aim must be good, Ardeth thought. Otherwise someone would surely have exterminated him by now. He sipped his wine and said, “This is not about Cormack, and we both know it.”

“Oh, are you volunteering to take his place? I will have my seconds talk to his about the substitution.” He gestured to the two men who had moved to a nearby table. “If Cormack is willing, so am I.”

Ar did not reply to that dare. “I thought we had agreed that you would not speak of me or my family.”

Willeford sneered. “You agreed not to talk of me, then reneged. You must have said something, because there were hints at the War Office. They are not giving me the preferment that I sought.”

Ardeth put his glass down, still full. “The rumors did not come from me, but from your men, the same source of my knowledge of events.”

“The stories are untrue, all of ’em.”

“So we are both victims of unfounded gossip?”

Willeford would not meet his eyes. He shuffled the cards for something to do.

“Ah, I wonder at your silence. Either you are guilty of
what they say, or you truly think I am evil incarnate. Well, let me ask you this: Do you believe in sorcery?”

The cards spilled out of Willeford’s hands across the table. “Of course not. That kind of rot went away with the Dark Ages.”

“What of curses, then? Do you think a man can place a spell on another man, you know, turn him into a toad, or shrivel his manhood?”

Willeford said no, but without his former assurance.

“Yet you claimed that I practiced black magic. My brother-in-law took objection. Family is like that, I am discovering. They watch out for each other.”

“No one else believed I meant it for a minute. We were all in our cups, was all.”

Ardeth took out Satan’s lucky piece and placed it on the table. Willeford leaned back in his chair, farther away from the small bonelike thing.

“Maybe curses are real,” Ardeth said, pondering the Devil’s charm. “They say this was from a relic from a saint, or bewitched by a fallen angel. No one knows, but it is valued highly by those who do believe in the Master of Evil.”

Now Willeford sat up straighter. “So you admit to having knowledge of pagan ways.”

“I have knowledge of many things. I did not know that learning was a sin. Either way, I do not know what this is, manufactured or manroot, or how it works. Who knows? No matter. Are you willing to bet your life against its power?”

Willeford eyed the inch-long desiccated bit. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you take the field tomorrow morning, I will use this amulet to lay a curse on you. You will suffer a long, painful life—death would be too merciful, I think.” He picked up the relic again. “Yes, small pieces of your person will fall off. An ear, a nose, your toes, your prick. One at a time.”

“You cannot do that!”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Willeford jumped to his feet, ready to dash out of the room. Ardeth laid a hand on his sleeve, just lightly, but Willeford sank back in his chair.

“I do not believe you,” he said, his tone not quite as confident as his words. “It is all claptrap.”

“What do you call these, then?”

From another pocket Ardeth took out a stack of gambling chits, all with Willeford’s initials on them.

Where Willeford was red-faced before, now he went deathly pale. “Where did you get those?”

“From your creditors, of course. I do not gamble myself, you know. I might bargain, but I seldom wager. Most of those you owe were happy to accept my terms of payment. It seems they feared they would never see any of their money otherwise. You’ve been below hatches for years.” He fanned the vouchers out, like playing cards. “Hmm, it appears that you are as poor a gambler as you are an officer.”

The sum was considerable, far more than Willeford could pay, and they both knew that. Willeford hoped Ardeth did not know of the other debts, to the cents-per-centers and his wife’s family. “I can get the blunt from my relations. You said yourself, kin look out for one another.”

“Your family is tired of paying your way. Your wife’s family have closed their purses to you. In fact, I believe one of these vowels is from your brother-in-law himself. He had no compunctions about selling them to me, or the devil. No, you have no resources, and I am calling in the chits. Now.”

“But a month is the usual time between gentle—” He paused.

Ardeth nodded. “That is right. I am not a gentleman. Neither are you, it seems, for most of these are far older than a month.”

Willeford licked his dry lips. His eyes shifted to the door, to his friends, to the IOUs on the table next to that menacing white piece of the-devil-knew-what. A fox with its foot in a trap could not feel more desperate. “What do you want?”

“That is easy. I want you to call off the duel.”

“But then people will think I am a coward.”

“You are a coward.”

Those words stirred the dregs of Willeford’s pride, once he was sure the others had not heard. “Here, now, you cannot—”

“You sent your men to face the cannons alone.”

“An officer needs to stay behind the lines to direct the fighting, to issue orders, to sound retreat or advance.”

“I believe the word you used was ‘claptrap.’ And then there is the way you spoke about me behind my back. What is that if not cowardice?”

“Everyone knows you do not fight.”

“So you picked on Cormack, a peace-loving civilian with a young family. One you are so confident you can defeat that you do not bother resting or keeping a clear head. I call that cowardice, too.”

“It was not like that. I had too much to drink, I told you.” His voice took on a whine when he added, “You know how that can be.”

“No, I do not know how a man who calls himself an officer and a gentleman can stoop so low.”

“Well, I ain’t a saint like you. I can’t cure sickness and I don’t consort with the lower classes.” He looked at the gaming chits. “And I don’t have the brass to give to charity, even if I wanted, which I don’t. Let the poor blighters find work like the rest of us. They could join the army instead of begging in the streets.”

Ardeth did not bother mentioning that Willeford’s commission was purchased, not earned. “Perhaps I was wrong and you are a brave man. You seem to have no fears about dying.”

“Of course I am afraid of sticking my spoon in the wall. What man ain’t? I don’t want to get sliced apart in battle.” He eyed the Devil’s charm. “Or die by inches.”

“Then leave.”

Willeford started to get up.

“No, leave London.”

“Right, I can go on a repairing lease. Haven’t visited my sister in Cornwall in ages.”

“No, again. I mean leave England altogether. I know of a ship weighing anchor for Jamaica with the morning tide. Be on it and you can have these back.” He neatened the pile of gambling chits.

Willeford laughed. “Jamaica? Why would I want to go somewhere hot and sticky?”

If he thought Jamaica was hot, Ardeth thought, wait until the dastard got to Hell. Aloud he said, “You want to go to Jamaica because the army has an outpost there, and I own a sugar plantation nearby.” He owned property on every continent, just in case. “I will trade the Jamaican estate for your London town house. The property turns a tidy annual profit. The local British society, I understand,
is as stuffy as London’s, and you can lord it over them all, if I put in a word with the commandant there.”

Willeford considered the offer, then shook his head. “My wife would never leave town. She loves being in the thick of the
ton
,
shopping all day, gossiping all night.”

“I doubt she will enjoy debtors’ prison. Do not for an instant think that I am merely threatening you. I can have the bailiffs at your door in an hour.” He laid a writ of seizure on top of the gambling debts.

“Oh, God.”

“I doubt Himself can be bothered with a sinner like you, but pray if you think it might help. I will not change my mind.”

“If I go, then the curse won’t work, right?”

Ardeth smiled and tossed the Devil’s charm in the air before putting it back in his pocket. “Who knows?” He placed an arm over Willeford’s shoulder to lead him from the club, for all the world like convivial acquaintances, not a huntsman and his cornered prey. “Oh, did I forget to mention that the plantation employs freemen only, so you will be denied the dubious honor of becoming a slaveholder? There are lovely flowers, however.”

*

Ardeth could not go home until all the arrangements had been made. He had to roust up the bank owner—it had been an expensive day—to give Willeford and his wife traveling funds. He dragged his solicitor from bed to notarize an exchange of deeds. So what if the man thought Ardeth was both arrogant and attics-to-let, trading a profitable plantation for a small town house in London? Ardeth thought James Vinross and Miss Hadley might take up housekeeping there shortly, or he could transform it into a home for unwed mothers.

He hired carts and porters to pack and move the Willefords’ belongings, and another pair of guards to make certain they were ready, between the shrieks and slaps. Then Ardeth went to the docks to give more money to the captain of the ship, and further instructions to Vinross about these new travelers.

Later still he called on Roger Macklin, Lord Cormack, and struck enough fear in that man’s heart that Roger would never make the mistake of fighting another man’s battles, especially not this man’s. He dragged Roger to various clubs to put out the word that Willeford had recanted, quit gambling, and rejoined the army abroad.

Then he went home to Genie.

“What do you mean, she has gone to the dueling grounds?” he asked the butler. “How could you have let her go?”

“How could I have stopped her?” Randolph asked back.

Ardeth rode for Hampstead Heath as if the Hounds of Hell were barking at his heels. Olive flew overhead. At least the woman had the coach and Campbell. He could not imagine what force she’d brought to his driver to get the former sergeant to take a woman to a duel, but Campbell would look after her.

Except…wasn’t that his own carriage tilted into the ditch at the side of the road, the wheel shattered, the horses missing?

Olive learned new curses, not that the gremlin needed any.

Ardeth found Campbell and the horses at the nearest inn, but not his wife.

“Demme if she wouldn’t hire the innkeeper’s son to take her the rest of the way,” the soldier reported. “And
demme if she didn’t nearly shoot my head off for arguing. Her ladyship seemed to know which end of the pistol was which, too.”

The sun was barely rubbing its eyes when Ardeth found the lightning-singed tree, with a cart parked beside it. A boy was fast asleep in the back, the horse grazing. He tied Black Butch to the rear of the cart and walked along a well-defined path between the trees.

Genie was wondering if she had come to the wrong place. That would be just like Lorraine to get the important details wrong. This clearing looked right for a duel, hidden from inquisitive eyes by a stand of trees, yet level and open where it mattered. But no one was coming, and here it was, almost dawn.

Surely the seconds or the surgeon would have arrived by now, she decided, so Ardeth must have found a way to stop the duel. He’d found an honorable way, she hoped, for all of them. Otherwise Willeford would not concede, only postponing the inevitable. She prayed Ardeth’s solution was an honest one, without tricks, lest the rumors of his peculiar skills spread in a wider circle. Lud, what if he’d encountered Willeford in public and made him quack like a duck?

She decided she would leave in ten minutes or so, but then she thought she heard footfalls. She did not want to reveal her presence yet, in case the duelists were arriving. On the other hand, she did not wish to be surprised by someone else, someone not connected to the argument, who was traveling through the woods for his own nefarious purposes. She leveled her weapon in the direction of the sound. “Who goes there?”