Ralph Latimer, fourth Earl of Blackwater, returned to his carriage which he had left at an inn on the outskirts of town, climbed in and directed his coachman to take him home to Colston Hall. Home! How often, in the heat and red dust of India, had he dreamed of coming home to the cool green of England, of being restored to the bosom of his family and taking his place beside his father, learning to take over the running of the estate, the welfare of the villagers, of hunting and fishing and sailing as he had done as a boy.
Thinking of his boyish pursuits made him think of Freddie Fostyn. They had been almost inseparable, sharing their lessons in the schoolroom at the Hall, getting into mischief as boys always do, vying with each other on the sports field, riding and gambling and talking about women.
It was women that had been their undoing or, to be more precise, one young lady they had met on picnic on the banks of the Cam one day soon after Freddie had joined him at Cambridge. The picnic had been arranged by Mrs Henrietta Gordon, a plump matron who had what was laughingly called an Academy for Young Ladies, supposedly a school for the education of the daughters of the middling classes. Everyone except the most naïve, and that apparently included Freddie, knew the girls were no such thing and their mission in life was of an entirely different kind.
Ralph had found one of the girls very much to his liking and had enjoyed flirting with her, unaware that Freddie had fallen head over heels in love with her. It was only later, when they had returned home for the summer vacation that he had told his friend, laughing the while, that a certain young lady had been more than receptive to his advances and he had invited her to stay in rooms he had taken in a house in Malden, so that they might continue their dalliance during the vacation. In a year or two he would have to settle down, but until then he would allow himself to dip his toe in the waters of sexual experience just as every other young man of his acquaintance did. He had hoped Freddie would not mind forgoing their planned sailing trip around the coast to Worthing.
Freddie had appeared surprised and reminded him in tones that sounded just like his strait-laced mama that he was promised to the Duke of Colchester’s daughter, Juliette. ‘Not yet,’ he had said. ‘The parents are still haggling over the dowry and marriage contract, and while they do, I intend to have my fun.’
‘And who is this fille de joie and where did you meet her?’
Freddie was two years younger than Ralph and, a rung or two lower down the social scale; though that had never meant a thing as far as Ralph and their friendship was concerned, Freddie was decidedly touchy about it, especially when it came to women. Ralph had a way with them, a flattering manner and, besides that, he was wealthy enough to give them expensive trinkets.
‘At Mrs Gordon’s picnic. Her name is Fanny.’
‘Fanny?’ Freddie had repeated, giving every appearance of being shocked. ‘You are speaking of Miss Fanny Glissop?’
He should have been warned by the fierce look in his friend’s eye, the way his jaw began to work, the clenching of the fists, that all was not well. But he was busy casting a rod into the sluggish waters of the River Crouch, which bordered his father’s estate, and did not look at him. Instead he said, ‘If that’s her name, yes, I never enquired the rest of it.’
‘How could you insult her so?’
‘Insult her? I did not insult her, rather I flattered her, for I am very particular as to where I lay my head.’ He had laughed with the exuberance of youth. ‘And my body. And I shall enjoy an hour or two amusing myself discovering more of hers—’
Freddie’s blow was so unexpected and delivered with such force it toppled him into the river. He came up spluttering and began to clamber out, holding out his hand to be helped up the bank. Freddie ignored the hand and glared at him with pure venom in his eyes.
‘What’s the matter with you, man?’ Ralph had demanded. ‘Take my hand and help me out. You will have your little jest, but for the life of me I cannot think what brought it on.’
‘Can’t you? Can’t you? You insult a lady, a young and innocent lady, a pure flower who has known nothing but her parents’ love, and talk of defiling her!’ His voice reached a shriek of outrage. ‘You are an abomination…’
He had climbed out without help and stood facing his friend, dripping water from his fine kerseymere coat and buckskin breeches, ready to grasp him by the shoulders and smile away his fury. ‘Freddie, my old friend, you know she is nothing of the sort. Why, she would not be at Mrs Gordon’s establishment if that were so…’
Even then, Freddie did not understand and pushed him away. ‘You are a monster, a spoiler of women, a pervert,’ he yelled.
Instead of continuing to try to placate him, Ralph had lost his own temper and advanced on his friend with fists raised. ‘You will take that back, Freddie Fostyn, and apologise.’
‘I will not. Never.’
‘Then I will have to fight you and you know I can best you.’
‘Call me out, then.’
Such a thing had never crossed his mind. All he wanted was to teach Freddie a lesson, show him that he could not be insulted with impunity, and fisticuffs was what he had meant. ‘Don’t be a fool.’
It was almost the worst thing he could have said. It put Freddie in his place, poured scorn on him, laughed at him. And Freddie could not take it. With a roar of rage, he took a step towards Ralph and, for want of a glove, slapped his face, first with the palm and then the back of his hand. ‘My representatives with call upon you,’ he said and strode away.
Ralph had watched him go, rubbing his stinging cheek and laughing. He was still chuckling to himself when he picked up the rods and fishing tackle and went home. His laughter stopped abruptly when Robert Dent arrived that evening with another of their friends and told him Mr Frederick Fostyn demanded satisfaction.
He could not believe it and sent them back with a message that he hoped Freddie would think again before taking a step that was not only illegal but might end in the death of one or the other of them. For the sake of their friendship, he hoped Freddie would come to his senses. They returned half an hour later and told him that their principal had said if his lordship refused the challenge he would let it be known that he was a coward.
Ralph had had no choice. It was all Freddie’s fault, all of it. Robert had asked him for his choice of weapons and his confused mind had chosen pistols, though later he realised that if he had said rapiers, the subsequent tragedy could not have happened.
Pistols at dawn! How laughable and how tragic! Neither of them owned pistols and his father’s were locked up where he could not get at them. Knowing that the Reverend Fostyn had a matched pair bequeathed to him by his father, Ralph had suggested they use those. It might give Freddie a tiny advantage, though why he should consider his erstwhile friend and now sworn enemy, he did not know.
The mist had been so heavy that dreadful morning, they could hardly see more than a few yards and he had begun to hope they might both miss their target and that would be an end of the affair. It was like some macabre play as they paced out the ground in a clearing in a copse of trees on the edge of his father’s land. There were few stands of trees in the area and the little wood was the only one for miles, the land being on the edge of the marshes which led to the sea. It was a place that had been used before for such a purpose, far from any habitation, where a body could be heaved into the soggy bog and never be seen again. But whose body? Could he refuse to fire? Could he stand and take whatever was coming to
