Mr Wilder did not lie awake all night wondering, like many others at Box Hill, but slept the deep, untroubled sleep of a young man, blissfully unaware that sleep would never come so easily in future years. His awakening, however, was not so untroubled – a loud pounding upon the door of his chamber and a muffled female voice beyond expressing a state of heightened agitation dragged him into the conscious world.
He rolled heavily out of bed, staggered to the door and opened it a crack. There, red-faced and out of breath, stood Penelope in the greatest possible distress.
‘He has taken them!’ she cried. ‘Taken them and gone off on horseback.’
‘Who has taken whom?’ Wilder mumbled.
‘Frank! He has taken father’s pistols and ridden off towards the village!’
Without a word Wilder slammed his door shut, and in all haste pulled on the first clothing that came to hand. Penelope continued to hammer upon his door all the while until a moment later he hopped out on one foot pulling on his hose.
‘You are certain, Miss Penelope? He has pistols?’
‘And shot and powder too. The case is empty in Papa’s work room.’ She pointed towards a window. ‘I saw him set off down the lane towards the abbey ruins. And you know that leads into the village as well.’
‘Bloody fool!’ he cursed under his breath. Then to Penelope. ‘I will saddle a horse and take the road to the village; that will be quicker. Is Captain Hertle awake?’
‘I do not believe so.’
‘Wake him, please. I shall go straight to the inn and stop Beacher from entering, if Captain Hertle would be so kind as to follow Beacher down the lane …’
‘I will tell him …’ and she ran off.
Wilder dashed to the stables, saddled a horse himself, and was just leading his mount out into daylight when Captain Hertle arrived pulling on a coat. ‘You are going to the inn, Mr Wilder?’
‘I am. By the main road. Will you go after Beacher? Penelope saw him go off down the lane towards the ruin.’
‘I will. Do not spare your horse, Mr Wilder. Even in his reduced state, Charles is fully capable of shooting Beacher stone dead. Fear will not deter him.’
Wilder was on his horse and off at a gallop, the whole way hoping to see Beacher before him so that he might apprehend his friend and put an end to this foolishness. The road, however, was empty but for farm workers going out into the fields, and a few carts carrying wood and wool.
The stillness and beauty of the morning was lost upon Wilder, who pressed his poor mount forward, galloping the three miles and arriving with his horse in a sweat and foaming at the mouth. He passed the reins to an elderly hostler at the inn who did not hide his disapproval at a horse being treated so.
Dashing inside he found a naval officer seated at a table about to break his fast. He went to him immediately.
‘Captain Hayden?’
The man looked up.
‘I am Henry Wilder, Mr Frank Beacher’s friend.’
‘Ah,’ the Navy man said, rising to his feet. ‘I wondered if Mr Beacher might send a friend to see me –’
‘No, sir. That is not my intention at all. You see, I am afraid that my friend Beacher might be on his way here and it is my purpose to apprehend him before he can do anything rash.’
‘Most commendable. Would you care to join me, Mr Wilder?’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Wilder dropped into the chair opposite.
‘Have you had a breakfast?’ the Navy man asked calmly.
‘I have barely had time to dress.’
‘Then let us call for some more food. Now, why do you think Mr Beacher might be coming here to see me?’
‘He left Box Hill this morning with a brace of pistols belonging to Mr Carthew.’
‘Then apprehending him would be the best possible course of action. Were Mr Beacher to ask me to walk out with him I should not wish to do it; shooting a friend of the Carthew family, despite the wrong he has done me, would not be to my liking. But I am a sea officer and I am all but obliged to accept a challenge. The service expects it. I should very much prefer not to be put in such a position for though I might wish to decline it is very difficult for me to do so. Do you understand?’
‘Completely. That is why I have all but broken my horse racing here.’
‘Let us watch out of the window while we dine. If we do see your friend then I suggest you go out and use all of your powers to dissuade him, if at all possible.’
‘He should have to shoot me to gain entrance to this inn, Captain Hayden.’
‘I dare say, Mr Wilder,’ Hayden said, hiding a hint of a smile, ‘that is carrying friendship too far by half.’
Robert Hertle bent over the neck of his mount, racing down the narrow lane all the while thinking that he had been a more accomplished horseman when younger. Years aboard a ship had eroded that skill, little by little, until he could hardly call himself a horseman at all.
Dew glittered upon the grass and the spiders’ webs suspended between the tallest stalks. Birds flitted from bush to secret bush, filling the air with their songs of love. As Hertle approached the little glen that held the abbey ruin he heard the sharp crack of a pistol, and feared he was too late.
Fully expecting to see Frank Beacher stretched out upon the ground, bleeding away his young life, he broke out of the trees into the grassy meadow. And there stood Beacher, pistol raised. Smoke erupted from the barrel of his firearm, the report an assault upon the stillness of the morning, but his target was not Charles Saunders Hayden. It appeared he had fatally wounded an old hornbeam not ten paces distant.
‘Mr Beacher!’ Robert called.
Beacher turned towards him, aiming his pistol stiffly down towards the ground.
‘Captain Hertle – is it not early to be abroad?’
Hertle dismounted, taking hold of his horse’s bridle. ‘Indeed it is and early for the slaying of trees as well. May I ask what you are about?’
Beacher looked suddenly embarrassed. ‘As I thought it possible I might be asked to walk out with a certain gentleman it seemed most prudent to reacquaint myself with the duelling pistol as I had not fired one for many years.’ He glanced up at Robert. ‘But then perhaps you have come looking for me in the capacity of Captain Hayden’s friend … ?’
‘Indeed, no. I have come in the capacity of your friend. Mr Wilder feared you had taken Mr Carthew’s pistols and gone off to the inn to challenge Charles.’
‘No, only thoughts of preserving my life brought me here.’
‘Then I should say you have no need of this exercise. I have known Charles Hayden all my life and I can say with certainty that he will not seek satisfaction in this case. He understands, despite appearances, that you acted only after everyone, including Miss Henrietta, believed he had married another.’
‘Then he feels no animosity towards me?’
‘I think he does feel a certain resentment but he is above all things a reasonable man. And reason dictates that he await the outcome with as much equanimity and grace as he might muster. I wonder where Mr Carthew obtained such a brace? I have hardly seen a handsomer pair of Queen Annes. May I?’
Beacher passed him the gun and Robert turned it over in his hands. ‘Perfectly acceptable for duels,’ he pronounced, ‘but of no use in a fight. Turning off the barrels to load them takes half a day. Accurate though. I have often coveted a pair myself.’ Checking to be certain the barrel was not too hot, he tucked the pistol into his belt, and then stooped to retrieve the other, which Beacher had laid upon the ground after firing it.
‘Let us ride back to Box Hill. It is a fine morning and I grow hungry. It is my experience that no matter what troubles weigh upon me, a meal will always lift my spirits. Do you not agree, Mr Beacher?’
‘I have not always found it so, Captain, but certainly the body requires sustenance even if the soul does not.’
‘But the soul also needs sustenance … of a different sort, certainly …’
And so Robert accompanied Beacher back to the home of the Carthew family and avowed that he would not let the other out of his sight the remainder of the day. He would hide the duelling pistols away, as well – almost certainly an unnecessary precaution but he did not wish to leave that particular matter to chance.
A servant was sent to recall Wilder from the inn and the slumber of the Carthew home raised like a blind.
Elizabeth could not return to sleep after her husband was wakened, and so she rose and paced until she sighted Captain Hertle returning with Frank Beacher, clearly unharmed, and just as clearly a brace of pistols tucked into her husband’s belt.
Only then did she go in search of Henrietta, whom she found in the library pulling on a light pelisse in preparation for an outing. She appeared to have spent the night in the library without any rest at all, for her beautiful eyes were set deep into blue-grey shadows, and her skin appeared pale and mottled.
‘You have not had a moment of sleep, have you?’ Elizabeth said upon seeing her cousin.
‘Sleep? Who could sleep faced with such a decision?’
‘And where is it you go, my dear?’
Henrietta finished pulling on her pelisse and stared at Elizabeth Hertle.
‘To speak with Charles,’ she replied softly.
‘And what will you tell him, if I might be permitted to ask such a question?’
Letting out a long breath, Henrietta pushed her lips together in the most dejected manner. ‘I really do not know. I only know that I must see him and hear his voice before I can decide.’
‘Then you have not come down on one side or the other? Neither Frank Beacher nor Charles Hayden?’
‘I have chosen one then the other then the other then yet again the other all this night. I have hardly known such a misery of indecision. So now I go to have a tête-à-tête with Charles and then, if I remain undecided, with Mr Beacher.’ She closed her eyes a second and put fingers to her temple. ‘Lizzie? Will you accompany me? It would be unseemly for me to visit Captain Hayden alone.’
‘Give me but a moment and I shall be at your disposal.’
The minute hand upon the mantle clock had progressed hardly at all when Elizabeth Hertle hastened back into the library and the two cousins set out for the main door. The family carriage was waiting and they were quickly handed aboard and the wheels rolled off across the gravel towards the lane and the road to town. They had hardly gone a hundred yards when Lizzie noticed her husband and Frank Beacher emerge from the stables; both stopped and watched the carriage until it was out of sight.
It took but half an hour to drive into the village, the morning as clear and still as a day of worship. A mourning dove lamented deep within the wood, and a cockerel offered up a heartfelt reply. Henrietta kneaded the hem of her shawl, her fingers unable to remain still.
Elizabeth felt her heart go out to her cousin, who had been through all of the most intense experiences a woman might imagine short of childbirth. Betrayal, death of her intended, a proposal of marriage, and then, miraculously, the return of the man she had hoped to marry – returned and redeemed, as his betrayal had been proved false. And now she must make a choice between two men – two different futures.
‘Lizzie … ?’ Henrietta asked softly. ‘Is it worth it? All of the time apart? All of the worry – I know there is a great deal of anxiety on your part.’
‘I could never have married anyone but Robert Hertle. When one has no choice, one accepts the heartache. It is that simple.’ She gazed at her poor cousin, who appeared ill with indecision. ‘And what is it you intend to say to Charles Hayden, pray?’
For a moment Henrietta focused her gaze out of the window, and then, without looking at her cousin, said, ‘I will attempt to tell him that I have chosen another. And if I can form those words, if I can say them aloud, then I will know. If I cannot, then I shall become Mrs Charles Hayden … assuming Charles will have me. He must hate me for having so little faith in him.’
‘He does not hate you, my dear. On the contrary, I believe he is as attached to you as ever. Do not spend the smallest amount of your energies on that matter.’
The carriage drew up before the inn and Henrietta appeared so miserable and weakened by lack of rest that her cousin thought her nerve might fail and she might order the driver on, but instead she gave Elizabeth’s hand a squeeze, and with only the slightest hesitation allowed herself to be handed down from the carriage, Elizabeth right behind.
Immediately, upon their enquiry, they learned that Captain Hayden had walked out not ten minutes before and was seen proceeding along the north road. Thinking they would catch him up, the two women hurried off, arm in arm.
The north road followed along the edge of a brook, winding under very ancient trees, the leaves of which parsed the sunlight into a jumble of flickering shards. They had no time to stop and marvel at the scene and only rushed along. Twenty minutes on they were chastising themselves for not employing the carriage, for it seemed that Charles Hayden had outpaced them when Elizabeth caught sight of white breeches climbing up a switchback path and then bits of a blue coat like a jay flitting from tree to tree, its wing patch catching the sun.
They found the entrance to the path but a few paces distant and set off after Charles, neither calling out for some reason they could not explain. The way was not too steep and in a quarter of an hour they emerged from the trees onto a grassy hilltop, where Charles Hayden stood, hands behind his back, gazing at the scene spread out below.
‘Captain Hayden … ?’ Henrietta attempted to call but barely a whisper emerged. Her cousin was forced to come to her aid.
‘Charles … ?’ she called, and Hayden turned, clearly surprised to see them.
Lizzie gave her cousin’s hand one last squeeze and let her proceed, retreating a few paces herself.
Hayden could not have been more surprised if he had found a pair of wood nymphs calling his name. But there were Mrs Hertle and Miss Henrietta, utterly unlooked for. Mrs Hertle squeezed her cousin’s hand then pressed her gently forward, retreating two dozen steps as soon as she had done so.
Henrietta walked, rather lifelessly, to him, and stopped two paces off, gazing at him with eyes so darkly surrounded that she appeared fevered and ill.
‘Henrietta, you do not look well.’
‘I am not well but neither am I ill. Sick at heart … that is what I am. And you, Charles. What has been done to you?’
‘A shipwreck. I shall be myself in a fortnight. No need for concern.’
‘How many hundreds of men were lost? I thank God you were not among them.’
‘I had much to return to … or so I believed. It was my intention to ask for your hand upon landing in England and I thought I had reason to believe you might favour me with your consent. Instead I find you are engaged to another … Is my presence here no longer wanted?’ Hayden had not meant his words to sound so formal, but given the number of times he had stood before another and not heard the words he hoped for, he found now that he made an effort to escape with at least his dignity intact.
Henrietta looked down, her eyes closing, hiding away that little window into her heart. ‘It is not that. I have wronged you, I know. I should never have doubted you or believed the stories of these Frenchwomen—’
‘I am not a monument to virtue,’ Hayden interrupted. ‘You cannot be blamed … given the circumstances.’
‘You are being very kind …’ she raised her head and met Hayden’s gaze, her lip trembling just perceptibly. ‘I have learned something of myself by the news of your death – something I have only just realized. I could not bear to hear it twice. I am not made of such stern stuff that I can live my life in constant fear of you dying or being maimed or injured in some unspeakable manner. Lizzie told me that every time Robert goes to sea she sends her heart to war. My heart is not so made. I am not courageous … I have come to realize. I lost you once, Charles, and it was more than I could bear. I cannot suffer it again. I am so sorry.’
And with that she turned quickly and hurried back the way she had come. Elizabeth came forward a few paces to meet her and then took her off down the path into the trees, looking back only once, her face filled with distress.
Hayden watched her silent retreat knowing that there was no reasoning with another’s heart. There was no argument to be made, no case to be presented that could make a person feel things they did not feel. Either she loved him enough to marry him or she did not – he could not change that with a fine speech. Feeling suddenly unsteady, Hayden sat down upon the grass his gaze fixed on the path where the two women had gone.
‘Come back,’ he whispered. ‘Come back.’
And so he waited a protracted hour and when no one returned he rose and walked slowly to his inn, feeling all the while that his feet did not quite weigh properly upon the ground, as though gravity had all but set him free and he might float off into the sky to be carried by the winds, here and there, through the archipelago of endlessly drifting clouds.