Free A Matter of Duty by Sandra Heath Page B

then. ‘Thank you, Kit. I know I’m not being fair, but it’s too important.’
    ‘No, you damned well aren’t being fair, but you’ve got what you wanted, I’ve given my word and I’ll stand by it.’
    ‘I know you will.’
    Rowe was taking up his position in the center of the meadow, and Tom went to join him, followed by Dudley with the open case of pistols. The morning light was pale and translucent, shimmering in the middle distance as dawn began to break fully. The two duelists selected their weapons, and Dillington and Kit tossed a coin to see who would call the commands. Kit won, and the fop retreated to join the surgeon, who was glancing nervously around, half-expecting to see the Bow Street Runners appear through the gap in the hedge. Duels were risky for everyone these days, not just the two principals.
    Rowe and Tom stood with their backs to each other. The meadow was very quiet, except for the first blackbird singing in a tree nearby. In the distance a dog began to bark, the sound seeming to carry too clearly. Tom’s face was pale and strained, but Rowe’s already bore an expression of anticipatory confidence.
    Kit breathed in heavily, reluctant to issue the first command, but he knew he had to. ‘Twelve paces, if you please, gentlemen.’
    They obeyed.
    ‘Turn and cock your pistols.’
    The sounds clicked horridly over the meadow.
    ‘Take your aim.’
    Slowly the barrels were raised; Rowe’s was steady and remorseless, but Tom’s was trembling and uncertain.
    With a supreme effort Kit brought himself to utter the final command. ‘Fire!’
    Two reports split the silence, reverberating through the trees toward Holland House. A cloud of rooks rose screaming into the sky, and every dog within a mile seemed to set up an immediate clamor. The noise was deafening.
    Rowe gave a sharp cry, whipping around and dropping his pistol to clutch his left arm, where a stain of crimson blood was suddenly visible on the costly black cloth.
    Kit and Dudley stared at him in astonishment, as did Dillington and the surgeon. Against all the odds, it seemed that Tom had emerged the victor. But then the little valet gave a dismayed cry, tugging Kit’s arm and pointing toward Tom, who was slowly sinking to the ground.
    As Dillington ran to Rowe, who was still standing, the others hurried to Tom, who lay motionless on the grass. A bloody wound on his chest marked the place where Rowe’s ball had found its deadly target.
    The surgeon knelt to examine him. Tom’s face was ashen, and he made no sound or movement. ‘He’s still alive,’ said the surgeon, ‘but only just! We’ll have to get him away from here, the law will be upon us within minutes!’
    Rowe and Dillington were already making good their escape, and Kit looked anxiously at the surgeon. ‘But should we move him?’
    ‘Would you have him arrested and flung into jail? Listen, the whole neighborhood’s been aroused. The alarm’s already been given, you may count upon it! If we can get him to my house, we’ll avoid detection, and I can tend him as best I can.’
    ‘Will he come through it?’
    The surgeon shook his head. ‘He won’t see another dawn.’
    There were shouts coming from the village now. The surgeon was anxious. ‘Please, sir! We must get away from here!’
    Kit nodded then and helped the man to lift Tom’s unconscious body. Followed by Dudley, who’d rescued the pistols, they moved as swiftly as they could back out into the lane and toward the village, where there were lights in many windows now. They reached the sanctuary of the surgeon’s house without anyone seeing them and were safely inside as the first Bow Street Runners ran past.

9
     
     
    A s the morning progressed, the early sunshine was replaced by rainclouds, and before noon it began to rain heavily, with now and then the familiar roll of distant thunder.
    It was quiet in the bedroom at the surgeon’s house as Kit stood looking out of the rain-soaked window at the