The Original Miss Honeyford (6 page)

The duel was probably going to be held at that pasture at the Hermitage Farm which had become almost as famous a locality as Chalk Farm. Cursing Honey under his breath, he rushed down the steps and out of the inn door.

Meanwhile, Honey had reached the pasture, finding it by asking a countryman who was already out on the fields.

There was a thick windbreak of trees shielding the pasture from view. Honey climbed over the wall and made her way gingerly through the trees toward the sound of voices.

She came to a halt behind a large scrubby bush, and, crouching down, she looked around it. The antagonists had already chosen their weapons and the seconds were loading the guns—or, in the case of Giles’s seconds, pretending to load.

Honey looked wildly up to the heavens, praying for a miracle. She saw a thick oak tree stretching its branches above her with one branch sticking well out over the field.

She crept back quietly to the base of the tree, and, taking off her hampering cloak, she folded it and laid it on the ground. Then, taking a deep breath, she began to climb, glad that she had left off her new corset. Nimbly she scaled the branches until she was stretched out on the branch over the field, hidden by the shifting and moving spring leaves.

Giles and Jerry now stood back to back. The handkerchief fluttered to the ground and they began to pace in opposite directions.

Honey remembered the games of “haunting” she had played with the children of the town on All Hallow’s Eve when she was little. “Giles!” she called in a high, eerie voice. “Thou hast false friends. There is no ball in thy pistol.”

Jerry’s head snapped around. Giles stopped, his mouth open.

“I say,” said Giles. “Did you hear that?”

“’Twas nothing,” said Jerry, but he had turned a muddy color with fright.

“It was the wind,” said Tom.

“No harm in seeing,” said Giles, looking about him strangely. He hefted the dueling pistol in his hand and then brought it down to the point. He frowned. “Doesn’t feel as if there’s a ball in it,” he murmured. “Balance is wrong.” He took off his hat and put it on the ground and fired the pistol into it. There was a flash, but when Giles picked up his hat and examined it, there was nothing to be seen but powder burns.

Very white in the face, Giles turned to face the others. “You murderers,” he said coldly. Jerry raised his pistol and pointed it straight at Giles. Honey stuffed her knuckles in her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Giles whipped a steel Scottish pistol with a rams-horn butt out of his pocket.
“This
is primed. You fool, Jerry. Did you think I meant to kill you? Was that why you all cheated? But I will
now
, if you make a move.”

“It was a mistake, Giles,” gabbled Tom. “All a mistake, I swear. I was sure I loaded it. Let’s forget about the whole thing and go back and talk it over at breakfast.”

“You stay here and let me go my way on my own,” said Giles bitterly. “I hope I never see any of you again.”

Honey sighed with relief as Giles stalked off. The others waited uneasily and then burst out into recriminations and counterrecriminations, Jerry saying that he, Jerry, could not hit a barn door and that he had only intended to take Giles down a peg, each one trying to lie his way out of a plot that had gone wrong.

“But wasn’t that voice from Heaven deuced odd?” he then said, narrowing his eyes—which made him look even more horrible, thought Honey, watching from her perch, for he had very mean-looking eyes already.

“I don’t believe in strange voices,” said Tom, all bluster and strut now that the danger was over. “It came from over there, I think.”

And to Honey’s dismay, he pointed straight at the tree in which she was hiding. All five men began to walk toward the tree. Honey shook with fear. They would find her cloak at the bottom of the tree and would soon begin to climb up after her.

But they had only gone a few yards when the field was suddenly filled with sheep. They seemed to appear out of the blue. They swept across the field in a great woolly mass, surrounding the men. Behind them came the shepherd.

The shepherd stopped and surveyed the men. Jerry quickly turned down the lapels of his coat, which had been turned up so that his white cravat would not afford an easy target.

“Been out for a walk,” said Frank. “Let’s go.”

“I’ve a good mind to tell magistrate of what I seed,” said the shepherd, his large eyes fixed on the long dueling pistol which Jerry still held in his hand.

“Now, now,” said Frank heartily. “No need to bother the magistrate about a little bird-shooting, heh?” He pressed a sovereign into the shepherd’s hand. The shepherd bit it, and then stowed it away in a pocket in his smock. He fixed them all with a bucolic stare. “Yes, as my friend was saying,” said Tom, “no need to make a fuss. Here, my good man.” Another sovereign found its way into the shepherd’s hand.

The five shuffled out of the field, making their way carefully between the sheep.

Honey waited for a full ten minutes and then gingerly climbed down the tree, going very slowly because her legs were shaking.

She picked up her cloak and swung it about her shoulders.

“Thou hast surely sinned, Miss Honeyford,” came a ghostly voice. “Interfere not in the sports of men.”

Honey gave a gasp and the color drained from her face with fright. The voice had come from the other side of the tree. Honey was a firm believer in ghosts, but something forced her footsteps around the broad bole of the tree to see what demon was on the other side.

Lord Alistair was leaning negligently against the trunk.

“You!” said Honey in accents of loathing. “How dare you frighten me so! And how dare you stand there like a… a…
nothing
. You are a
man
. You should have done something.”

“Ah, so there
is
something women cannot do. I must say, however, you coped admirably. I had quite a
frisson
when I heard that voice from the sky. How did you know that Giles’s pistol was unloaded?”

“I overheard Jerry’s seconds talking when I was getting my cloak out of the dressing room. They were in the next chamber. They said Tom was in on the plot. And it seemed as if Billy was faithless as well. Oh, all these Christian names! They seem so… so
familiar.”

“I doubt if you would want to know them any better,” said Lord Alistair dryly. “May I escort you back to the inn?”

“Very well, since I am going there. It is all you are good for, Lord Alistair—escorting the ladies. That such a grown man should stand by and let a mere girl stop a duel is beyond my comprehension.”

And still scolding, she let Lord Alistair lead her back out of the pasture and onto the road.

The shepherd grinned as he watched them go. It had been a rare morning’s work and the funniest thing he had seen in years. My lord had kept him outside the gate with the sheep until things looked dangerous for that little minx what was up the tree. Gave him five shillings for his trouble, did my lord. A whole crown piece. And to get two golden boys from them weaklings, that was precious. Still laughing, he turned his sheep back into the road again to drive them on to their proper pasture.

“I have no stomach for breakfast, my lord,” said Honey primly when they had reached the inn.

“I was not thinking of asking you to share it with me,” said Lord Alistair plaintively. “I do like a quiet breakfast.”

“Then have it,” said Honey rudely. “Good-bye, my lord. We shall not meet again, I trust.”

“I sincerely hope not,” said Lord Alistair. “You are the most fatiguing female I have met this age.”

She turned a hurt face up to his and he caught his breath. The green of her cloak brought out little emerald-green lights in her hazel eyes, and her hair burned like old gold in the morning sun.

“Good-bye,” he said harshly, and turned and strode off into the inn.

Honey’s carriage started the long descent into London. Fields and woods gave way to boxlike summer houses, standing behind their railed-off gardens, and miniature castles of villas. At last the villas and summer houses disappeared to be replaced by one continuous shop-dotted street. Large white signs urging travelers to try “Warren’s” or “Day and Martin’s Blacking” glared beside the road. The shops became better and more frequent, more ribbons and flowers and fewer periwinkle stalls. Now they rumbled onto the cobbles. Their destination was very near. Honey picked up the memory of Lord Alistair and tucked it away in the farthest corner of her mind, and began to wonder nervously what her aunt would think of her.

As they approached the West End, Jem stopped the coach from time to time to ask directions to Charles Street, which was where Lady Canon lived.

They bowled along Piccadilly with the Green Park on one side and splendid mansions on the other. The coach turned off Piccadilly, down Half Moon Street, along Queen Street, and around into Charles Street—and suddenly there they were with Abraham jumping down to run and knock on the door.

The door swung open and an enormous footman stood on the step. He was wearing a beetroot-colored coat with a cherry-colored waistcoat and breeches, the whole elaborately bedizened with gold lace.

Abraham gulped and pulled nervously at the lapels of his new striped waistcoat to give him courage.

“Miss Honeyford is arrived,” he said.

The footman nodded and stepped aside to be replaced by a very grand butler. Abraham and Peter rushed to carry Honey’s meager luggage into the hall.

“This way, Miss Honeyford,” said the butler. “I trust you have had a pleasant journey. My name is Beecham. I will apprise my lady of your coming.”

He led the way up a flight of stairs to a saloon on the first floor, ushered Honey inside, and then retired, leaving her alone in the room.

Honey felt very nervous. On her arrival, she had only taken in a brief impression of a double-fronted town house with shallow marble steps leading up to a shiny black door with a fanlight.

The richness of her present surroundings intimidated her. A fire crackled under the marble mantel. Tall windows draped in long, thick, velvet curtains looked out to the buildings at the back of the house. Clocks ticked busily away. Backless sofas and elegant chairs which looked as if they were never meant to be sat on stood on their ornate legs on a pale-blue Chinese carpet.

There was a portrait of a lady with chestnut hair and hazel eyes over the fireplace. She was wearing a white dress with a blue sash and she was sitting at a davenport, writing a letter, while a French greyhound crouched at her feet. A lump rose to Honey’s throat as she realized she was looking at a portrait of her mother.

She had known her aunt was a widow, but she had never guessed that she would turn out to live in such magnificent surroundings.

The door opened and Lady Canon came in.

She was a small, neat lady with snow-white hair under a frivolous cap. Her eyes were large and sparkling and very black. She wore a dove-colored velvet gown embroidered down the front with silk of the same color in a running foliage pattern of vine and olive leaves.

Her skin was good, and only faintly wrinkled under its coating of pearl powder, although she must have been in her late fifties.

She looked at Honey and then held out both her hands. “You are like Sophy,” she said. “I feel as if I have my little sister back with me again.”

Honey took Lady Canon’s hands and bobbed an awkward curtsy.

“You must be exhausted,” went on Lady Canon. “The reason you have not seen me for such a long time is because you live so very far away, and then I never leave Town if I can help it. We will have tea and you must tell me how Sir Edmund is and how you fared on your journey.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“No, no, you must call me Aunt Elizabeth. Now sit by me in front of the fire.”

When tea was served, which Lady Canon insisted on making herself, she turned to Honey and said, “We are going to have an exhausting time with milliners and dressmakers and the like. It will be fun to see you
en grande tenue
. Is your back hurting you, my dear? You sit rather rigidly.”

“It is my corset,” said Honey. “I am afraid I am not used to such fashionable items, Aunt Elizabeth. It hampers my movements quite dreadfully. When I was climbing that tree, I thought…” Honey broke off in confusion.

“Climbing a
tree!
I must hear about
that
. No fashionable lady of your years wears a corset, Honoria. Very bad for the circulation of the blood. Tell me about the tree.”

So Honey told about the duel, and about Lord Alistair, while Lady Canon listened intently, her black eyes sparkling. Without knowing quite how Lady Canon managed to draw it out of her, Honey found herself relating all her adventures on the road.

“I know Lord Alistair Stewart very well,” said Lady Canon. “I cannot believe he behaved so badly.”

“I am glad to hear you say so,” said Honey wryly. “I was under the impression that
mine
was the disgraceful behavior, not his.”

“You have your youth and lack of sophistication as an excuse,” said Lady Canon. “There are many hoydens such as yourself in society. Careless upbringing, my dear!” Honey gave a little gasp. She was secretly proud of her behavior and thought it showed independence of spirit, and yet here was Lady Canon dismissing it out of hand as typical conduct of any badly brought up girl! “But,” went on Lady Canon, “for Lord Alistair to boast that he was rich, to abuse your clothes, to quiz you on marriage is past believing.”

“In all fairness,” said Honey, “he did try to be helpful.”

“But so overbearing! Not at all his style. And to recommend that you frequent the Blue Stockings. That will never do.”

“I think that was the only sensible thing he said,” pointed out Honey.

“No, no,
no
. A young girl of radical mind is a dangerous commodity. You are to be a fine beauty and you will be married as soon as possible. Poor Sir Edmund is relying on you.”

“I had hoped he would not mind were I to return unwed,” said Honey in a small voice.

“No, of course he would not, for he loves you dearly. But he does need a man to help him manage the land, and it must have cost him more money that he can afford to send you to London. I tried to point out in my letter that I would gladly pay for all your clothes and amusements, but I know he will not hear of it. I sent him money before, you know, but he returned it with a most expensive gift. Every decently brought up young girl owes it to her parents to make as good a match as possible, and though Sir Edmund confessed to me that your upbringing had been very strange, there is a great deal of love and concern which must be repaid.”