All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) (3 page)

‘A matter of honour,’ he said softly, and permitted himself a wry smile.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Hanley, who had brought the pistols.

‘Nothing of importance,’ said Pringle.

‘I believe you will need these.’ Hanley spoke almost casually, and Billy wondered whether he too was becoming tense. He took the first of the pistols in his left hand, holding it by the middle of the barrel with the muzzle pointing behind him and away from Garland. He glanced down to see that it was already drawn back to full cock, shifted his grip to grasp it properly and then held it down against his leg.

‘Stop!’ A feminine voice broke the tense silence. Pringle turned to see a dishevelled and pale-faced Miss Williams emerge from the grove of trees behind them. There was mud spattered liberally on her dress and several tears in its hem, while her bonnet was so wet that it had partly collapsed on one side. The promise that Kitty would stay in her room at the Cock Horse had evidently lasted less than a hour, and she must have lost her way, for the path to this quiet spot was hard to follow.

‘Madam, you have no place here!’ The only time Billy had ever heard Truscott shout so loud was when he had ordered the battalion forward at Talavera – a captain in command because all the senior officers had fallen. ‘Hanley, see to the lady and keep her out of the way.’

Major Tilney looked angry. Pringle thought that Garland was confused, and the boy’s cheeks flushed in spite of the cold. Hanley gave him the other pistol with even less ceremony and lurched off towards the girl. After more than a year in the army he still seemed incapable of standing straight.

‘Come, sir, we must proceed,’ ordered Tilney.

‘In a moment, sir; I shall not be rushed,’ Truscott replied, smarting at his tone. ‘Mr Hanley, kindly keep Miss Williams back.’

The girl was breathless, unable to do more than stammer incoherently. Hanley took her gently by the shoulders and urged her back to the top of a grassy bank.

‘It is too late to change anything,’ he said firmly, and the sadness in his voice moved her more than its force.

‘But he might die,’ the girl said feebly. It was unclear who ‘he’ was.

‘Gentlemen, make ready,’ called Truscott. Pringle turned so that his right shoulder pointed towards Garland, who matched the movement. It offered the smallest target to an adversary, although Billy Pringle could not help thinking that his greater height and broad stomach made him a far better mark than the slim light dragoon.

‘Now that you are ready, Major Tilney will give the orders to fire,’ said Truscott.

Miss Williams stood close beside Hanley, his arm round her shoulder. She was breathing heavily and he knew that this was no longer mere fatigue.

‘I cannot watch,’ she gasped, but when he glanced down her eyes were open and as excited as they were fearful.

‘Gentlemen.’ Hanley would not have thought that someone could shout and drawl at the same time, and yet somehow Tilney managed it. ‘I shall call your name in turn, and give you leave to fire. You will then present and as promptly fire. Do you understand?’

Pringle nodded. Garland said nothing and made no gesture.

‘Do you understand, Mr Garland?’ asked Tilney.

‘I understand,’ said the lieutenant, his voice higher than normal.

‘Good, then we shall begin.’ He paused, standing at attention and in silence. Miss Williams reached up with both hands and pressed Hanley’s fingers tightly as they rested on her shoulder.

‘Mr Pringle,’ Tilney ordered, ‘you may give fire.’

Billy raised his arm, the pistol feeling suddenly heavy, and levelled it at Garland, whose eyes were closed. A gentleman did not pause to aim and so without hesitation Pringle squeezed the trigger so that the hammer slammed down and the flint sparked.

Nothing happened. Either the powder had shaken out or the earlier drizzle had left it too damp to flare.

‘Bugger,’ hissed Billy Pringle to himself, and he could not help wishing that the meticulous Truscott had been capable of loading instead of the well-meaning but militarily casual Hanley. Still, the cause did not truly matter any more, as a misfire counted as a shot.

‘Dear Lord, he is safe,’ whispered Miss Williams, making her sympathies clear. Hanley wondered whether the girl realised that duelling was illegal, and that if either man died all present could be charged with murder. Yet his friends, who in other circumstances he held to be prudent and sensible, most certainly knew this and were still doing this damned silly thing – as was he, although at least he did not have to be happy about it.

‘Mr Garland,’ called Tilney without hesitation, ‘you may give fire.’

The light dragoon seemed surprised to have survived the shot and perhaps did not fully understand what had happened. It was known for men to forgo a shot when their opponent misfired, but there was no sign that the thought had entered Garland’s head. He raised his pistol and fired. The report was muffled by the wind, which instantly whipped away the dirty smoke.

Billy Pringle felt something flick through his thick brown hair. He dropped his discharged pistol on to the grass and reached up with his hand. His hair was damp, but only from the rain.

‘Is there blood, sir?’ demanded the major. The surgeon seemed finally to wake up, his creased red face alert as he went forward, his legs swishing through the long grass.

Pringle held up his hand, fingers stretched wide. ‘No blood,’ he said.

‘There is no wound,’ said the doctor after a close inspection. Pringle could smell the gin on the man’s breath and wished that he had some. It seemed unfair that the offence could be given after a good few drinks, while the encounter must be fought by the sober.

‘Mr Pringle, prepare yourself,’ called Tilney as the surgeon retreated. Pringle switched the loaded pistol to his right hand and again held it down against his leg.

He noticed that the watching dragoon subalterns had turned to look behind them. A tall horseman was riding hard through the meadow beside the stream. The wind had dropped, and Pringle caught the dull pounding of heavy hoofbeats. It was a big piebald horse with heavy features and thick legs, and its rider was an officer, his cocked hat covered in oilskin and his cloak blowing behind him to reveal a scarlet jacket.

‘It’s Ham,’ said Miss Williams in a loud tone of genuine surprise. Pringle had not become used to the nickname the sisters used for their brother, but had already recognised that it was Lieutenant Williams in the flesh.

‘Damn it, sir, I will brook no more impediments or interruptions.’ Tilney sounded outraged. ‘Go about your business, sir, and leave us in peace.’

‘Forgive the intrusion,’ said Williams. ‘I am here merely as a friend, and as a witness.’

‘Well, sir, be damned to you if that proves your funeral as well as ours,’ snapped Tilney. ‘Now dismount and call no more attention to yourself. You must not distract the principals. I do not know how the infantry conduct affairs of honour, but in the cavalry we insist on proper decorum.’ Pringle saw Williams bridle, and Truscott also stiffened noticeably, but both men evidently decided that one duel was enough for the day and made no issue of the remark.

The elegant light dragoon major waited impatiently as Williams dismounted, hitched his reins around a fence and then walked over to join his sister and Hanley.

‘Mr Pringle, I say again, prepare yourself.’ Tilney waited, fingers drumming impatiently against the tail of his coat.

‘Mr Pringle, you may fire.’

Pringle levelled his piece and again pulled the trigger. Again the flint sparked, but the main charge failed to ignite. His muttered oath was longer this time, and he turned to glare at Hanley.

‘Mr Garland, you may fire.’

The discharge seemed louder this time, carried to them by a sudden hard gust of wind, and Hanley felt the girl flinch at the noise and flame. The ball went nowhere near Pringle, although whether this was intention, the wind or mere poor aim it was impossible to say.

‘Gentlemen, you have withstood two fires,’ called Truscott. ‘It would be fitting to end this affair with apologies.’ He looked at Garland, who had given first offence and so must be first to relent.

‘No apology.’

Pringle was surprised, although after two misfires it would be reasonable enough for the man to see himself as safe. For his part, he was ready to make public apology for the blow, but it seemed that he would not have the opportunity.

Williams, his sister and Hanley watched Truscott and Tilney consult each other.

‘How did you get here?’ asked Hanley quietly.

‘Long story,’ Williams said, and then Truscott called Hanley to join him. The principals were to exchange one more shot, and so he was required to load. Pringle would have preferred the more capable and martial Williams to do the job, but it was a concession for Hanley to be involved and Major Tilney was by now in no mood to extend a further courtesy.

‘Take care to load this well,’ was as close as Truscott came to direct criticism, but Billy Pringle raised one eyebrow quizzically when Hanley passed him the pistol.

‘Gentlemen, prepare yourselves.’ The two men were already in place and in the proper stance, and so Tilney paused only briefly before he continued.

‘Mr Pringle, you may fire.’

Billy Pringle raised his arm until it was straight and pulled the trigger. There was the familiar snap and spark, and then he almost jumped when the main charge went off and the pistol jerked back with the discharge.

Lieutenant Garland dropped like a shot rabbit.

Kitty cried out and buried her head against her brother’s chest.

‘Well, I’m damned,’ said Billy Pringle.

I
t was not a bad wound. The surgeon quickly proclaimed as much and, although Pringle had grave doubts about the man’s skill, in this case he was obviously right. The ball had nicked Garland’s right arm just above the elbow, and then cut a furrow across his body. A rib was probably broken, but the bullet had not gone in and if bound up and kept clean the injury would heal quickly.

There was a lot of blood, very bright against the whiteness of his shirt, and this looked worse than it was. Pringle could hear Miss Williams sobbing and the scarcely sympathetic noises her brother made to calm the girl.

It was not usual for the defeated party to summon his opponent, but after a few minutes Major Tilney had beckoned to him. Garland sat up, supported by the two dragoon subalterns, and hissed in pain as the surgeon pulled the bandage tightly around him. Relief was flooding over Pringle, for whatever the consequences of this day at least there was now no chance of facing the gallows. In truth most juries were reluctant to convict, and witnesses – especially military witnesses – managed to forget all that they had seen if the affair was a properly conducted matter of honour, so that it was rare for anyone to be punished. Yet it did happen, and the Army Act expressly forbade duelling. It was hard to know how much sympathy they would receive from the new colonel of the 106th.

Then Pringle forgot these thoughts of the future – a future he now confidently possessed – and suddenly wondered whether his adversary felt well and bitter enough to insist on taking his third shot. Billy stopped in mid-stride, the thought chilling, for he was suddenly certain that this time he would die. The Talavera wound began to itch, and it started to rain again, steadily this time, drops spattering loudly on his already soaked shirt and misting his lenses.

Pringle took a deep breath and with a great effort walked the last few yards.

‘I trust you are not badly injured?’ he asked, for courtesies, however absurd, were important. Apart from that, he could think of nothing else to say.

‘A trifling wound,’ said Garland, doing his best to appear brave, and Pringle respected him for the effort, and then the man grinned, and Billy began to warm to the lad. ‘I hope you will not take that as an insult to your skill with a pistol.’

‘I believe we have had sufficient insults,’ said Pringle, smiling in turn.

‘I could not apologise,’ continued Garland, and then paused because the surgeon was tying off the bandage, and so stood between the seated man and Pringle.

The doctor finished and stood up. ‘We must get you properly cleaned up and then to bed,’ he said.

‘In a moment, my dear Dr Stubbs, in a moment. Would you leave us please? You too,’ he said, turning his head to the two subalterns. ‘I believe that I can stand.’ Garland winced a little as they helped him up, and then clearly felt embarrassed by this show of discomfort and stood up straight, his face impassive. ‘Perhaps your second should be present?’ he suggested to Pringle.

Truscott was summoned, and only then did the wounded lieutenant continue.

‘As I said, I could not apologise, for I believed what I said, and as I understand it, an explanation rather than an apology may only be offered after three shots. Is that not correct, Frederick?’

Major Tilney nodded. ‘Quite correct, Robert.’

Pringle knew that it was common practice in some cavalry regiments for officers to use each other’s Christian names except when on duty.

‘An arrangement might have been made if the circumstances were known,’ said Truscott.

‘Thank you, Frederick, I was confident that I was right.’ Garland ignored Truscott as he looked at his superior officer with something akin to worship. Tilney was of no more than average height and had a round face with somewhat heavy features, but in every other respect he was the epitome of the elegant and dashing light cavalryman. It was obvious that the major was fully aware of his poise, for his manner exuded an immense sense of his own superiority.

‘I was no doubt mistaken to accuse you of lying, Captain Pringle.’

Pringle bowed.

‘But I feel you were mistaken,’ Garland continued. There was the hint of an accent in his speech, although Billy could not quite place it. Somewhere from the north-east – perhaps Durham or Newcastle? Father in trade, probably, and no doubt highly successfully, so that he was able to send his son away to school and then buy him a commission in a fashionable and expensive regiment. That would explain the longing for the major’s approval. Tilney was the son and heir of a general, albeit one who had bought his promotions to colonel and then become a general through living long enough for his turn to come. As far as Pringle knew, old General Tilney had never once seen action – not that that mattered for a man’s place in society.