Ernest groped his way back through the fog, trying to work
out what had happened to him that evening. He had travelled through his
childhood and the darkest side of his personality in one night. And he had met,
somehow, his Father. Of that he was sure. True, this man was gently spoken, and
certainly did not resemble the evil eyed killer of his Mother’s imagination.
And yet he had called Ernest ‘son’. That one gesture redeemed the entire
encounter. Ernest did not understand what this man had meant, when he said that
he and Ernest would never meet. He walked another couple of miles, slowly,
feeling his way through his material surroundings and through every sentence of
their conversation, and recalling every detail. Only after this intense focus
did Ernest remember that, when the man had left, his glass had been as full as
it had been when Ernest first noticed him. Had Ernest dreamed him, as he had
when under the influence of that fearful drug, the laudanum? Ernest could not come to any conclusion, and
having to doubt the evidence of his own eyes disturbed him. He had always
been in the habit of watching his
behaviour for any signs of the hysterical, unbalanced thinking that afflicted
his mother, and now it had come upon him without him being able to raise any
mental defences. Still more unsettling, even as the fog lifted, was the sense
like a physical pain between his shoulder blades – the sense that he was being
watched, tracked and followed.
Over the next six months, Ernest was forced to acknowledge
to himself that Effie was avoiding him. She declined invitations to meet him,
and paid only passing attention to him when they were in a social group. She
was attentive to Gabriel, but then again all women were the same around him,
and Ernest could not find any malice or intent in Gabriel’s actions. About
Effie’s intentions, however, he was not so sure. She was certainly cooler. He
heard rumours that her Mama had decided that Effie was, after all, too young to
get married. Or at least too young to settle with Ernest, when there were other
young men much higher in status still buzzing around her. A better return for
all that investment in Effie’s poise and accomplishments, thought Ernest
gloomily, than an apprentice book seller with no parentage.
Ernest was up a ladder, dusting the tops of the most neglected shelves in the bookshop, when Gabriel sauntered in. He was all wit and nonchalance, but Ernest could tell that there was something going on underneath the surface charm. He made some tea in the back room, and Gabriel sat down at the scrubbed table, curling his fingers round the cup as he had done when they were both small boys, lonely and lost together.
‘Look here, Ernest; I’ve an enormous favour to beg of you.’
‘I was wondering when you’d get around to telling me. Go on.’
‘You may remember a young woman called Honoria? Part of my set for some time now?’
‘I can’t say that I do. I’ve been staying out of the way. Because of Effie.’
‘What about Effie? No – never mind. Tell me later. I have to tell you about Honoria.’ Gabriel shifted in his seat. ‘Let us just say that she did not exactly live up to her name. Quite a fast piece. Quite keen to tag along with the naughty boys.’
‘I see.’
‘Honoria’s parents are dead. They were missionaries in the Congo, I think they were eaten or some such dreadful fate. Anyway, she’s looked after by her brother. He’s about ten years older than she, but he acts the middle aged patrician around her. Now, two nights ago this same pill of an interfering older brother found Honoria and I – together.
‘Ah.’
‘We were sharing an opium pipe.’
‘Oh.’
‘In a not entirely reputable salon, with a somewhat mixed crowd of, well…unconventional people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ernest you’re not helping very much.’
‘I’m not sure what I can say that would possibly help. So, are you marrying this girl?’
‘Good God no. I mean, she’s nice enough, but that was never on the cards.’
‘Gabriel you have destroyed this girl’s reputation, even if you have not actually seduced her. And probably you have dented her brother’s career prospects, as well. No one else will marry her now. You have to do your duty.’
Gabriel wagged his head from side to side. ‘Honoria’s brother sees it differently. He thinks that his sister would ruin her life utterly, being shackled to a rake such as me. His words. He’s challenged me to a duel, would you believe? A duel. I thought we were living in the twentieth century, not the eighteenth.’
‘Pistols at dawn on Hampstead Heath.’
‘Well, Kew Gardens, but apart from that, yes.’
‘Bloody hell, Gabriel. I was joking.’
Ernest had never used bad language in front of Gabriel before, and his friend looked shocked. ‘I know. It is serious. But damn it all, I am not going to take a bullet for some silly girl. So what are we to do?’
‘We?’
‘You’ll be my second, at least?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Come on Ernest, don’t let me die alone. If I don’t die from his bullet I’ll be hanged for murder. Either way it’s going to put a damper on my day.’
‘How good a shot are you?’
‘Not bad. Not a crackshot by any means. I don’t suppose you’ve even held a gun before?’
Ernest thought about how to answer this. In fact, while he was working in the market, Mr Triskit had taught him how to fire a pistol, officially in case he was ever required to defend the market against armed rogues, but really because Mr Triskit had a collection of firearms and enjoyed honing his skills. Ernest, so Mr Triskit had told him, was an excellent shot, very quick on the draw. ‘Quakers never handle firearms or take them up against another.’ Said Ernest.
Gabriel slumped, resting his head on the table. ‘I thought you might say that.’
Ernest got up and walked around the room for some minutes. A plan had come into his head, but it was so audacious that he could only believe someone else had whispered it to him. Gabriel looked out of the small window above the sink. ‘Who’s that out there?’ he hissed to Ernest.
Ernest looked out, and caught a glimpse of a tall man in a long shiny coat, doffing his top hat to them, before he was swallowed up by the shadows. Now he knew who to thank for his plan, and he knew that it would work.
Ernest was up a ladder, dusting the tops of the most neglected shelves in the bookshop, when Gabriel sauntered in. He was all wit and nonchalance, but Ernest could tell that there was something going on underneath the surface charm. He made some tea in the back room, and Gabriel sat down at the scrubbed table, curling his fingers round the cup as he had done when they were both small boys, lonely and lost together.
‘Look here, Ernest; I’ve an enormous favour to beg of you.’
‘I was wondering when you’d get around to telling me. Go on.’
‘You may remember a young woman called Honoria? Part of my set for some time now?’
‘I can’t say that I do. I’ve been staying out of the way. Because of Effie.’
‘What about Effie? No – never mind. Tell me later. I have to tell you about Honoria.’ Gabriel shifted in his seat. ‘Let us just say that she did not exactly live up to her name. Quite a fast piece. Quite keen to tag along with the naughty boys.’
‘I see.’
‘Honoria’s parents are dead. They were missionaries in the Congo, I think they were eaten or some such dreadful fate. Anyway, she’s looked after by her brother. He’s about ten years older than she, but he acts the middle aged patrician around her. Now, two nights ago this same pill of an interfering older brother found Honoria and I – together.
‘Ah.’
‘We were sharing an opium pipe.’
‘Oh.’
‘In a not entirely reputable salon, with a somewhat mixed crowd of, well…unconventional people.’
‘Yes.’
‘Ernest you’re not helping very much.’
‘I’m not sure what I can say that would possibly help. So, are you marrying this girl?’
‘Good God no. I mean, she’s nice enough, but that was never on the cards.’
‘Gabriel you have destroyed this girl’s reputation, even if you have not actually seduced her. And probably you have dented her brother’s career prospects, as well. No one else will marry her now. You have to do your duty.’
Gabriel wagged his head from side to side. ‘Honoria’s brother sees it differently. He thinks that his sister would ruin her life utterly, being shackled to a rake such as me. His words. He’s challenged me to a duel, would you believe? A duel. I thought we were living in the twentieth century, not the eighteenth.’
‘Pistols at dawn on Hampstead Heath.’
‘Well, Kew Gardens, but apart from that, yes.’
‘Bloody hell, Gabriel. I was joking.’
Ernest had never used bad language in front of Gabriel before, and his friend looked shocked. ‘I know. It is serious. But damn it all, I am not going to take a bullet for some silly girl. So what are we to do?’
‘We?’
‘You’ll be my second, at least?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Come on Ernest, don’t let me die alone. If I don’t die from his bullet I’ll be hanged for murder. Either way it’s going to put a damper on my day.’
‘How good a shot are you?’
‘Not bad. Not a crackshot by any means. I don’t suppose you’ve even held a gun before?’
Ernest thought about how to answer this. In fact, while he was working in the market, Mr Triskit had taught him how to fire a pistol, officially in case he was ever required to defend the market against armed rogues, but really because Mr Triskit had a collection of firearms and enjoyed honing his skills. Ernest, so Mr Triskit had told him, was an excellent shot, very quick on the draw. ‘Quakers never handle firearms or take them up against another.’ Said Ernest.
Gabriel slumped, resting his head on the table. ‘I thought you might say that.’
Ernest got up and walked around the room for some minutes. A plan had come into his head, but it was so audacious that he could only believe someone else had whispered it to him. Gabriel looked out of the small window above the sink. ‘Who’s that out there?’ he hissed to Ernest.
Ernest looked out, and caught a glimpse of a tall man in a long shiny coat, doffing his top hat to them, before he was swallowed up by the shadows. Now he knew who to thank for his plan, and he knew that it would work.
Ernest, my boy, my
fine young man. You do me too much credit. This scheme is yours, entirely. Now
that you and I have grown so close, we have the same thoughts. We can leap and
dance where others can only plod and worry. Yes, your little scheme will work. Gabriel
will be forever in your debt. Which is only right and just, considering how he
has profited the whole of his life from your poverty. How proud your parents
are of you, my dear Ernest. I can almost reach out to your Mother , the little
flower of my life. I can guess what she would be thinking. I always knew what
she was thinking. That’s how I was able to follow her for so long, watching her
for so many months.
Two days later, and Ernest was keeping careful watch on Gabriel,
who was leaning with an attempt at his usual calm in the appointed place for
the duel, a secluded avenue of pleached limes at the back of Kew Gardens. Ernest
was out of sight, pistol primed, waiting for his moment. The dawn was starting
to lighten the sky, which was clear and bright already. The air was cold, and
Ernest struggled to conceal his clouds of breath.
When Gabriel’s opponent arrived with his friend, acting as his second, Ernest was alarmed to see how calm and professional they both were. It was only as Ernest was getting into place that Gabriel thought to tell him that Honoria’s brother was a Captain in the Rifles. There was no mistaking the actions of a trained man. Ernest’s plan, outlined to Gabriel, was that Gabriel would prepare to fire, but, a crucial second before that, Ernest would wound the Captain, thus satisfying honour all round.
However, Ernest had calculated another, surer plan of action, which he had not shared with Gabriel, fearing that his friend’s gentlemanly inculcation in fair play would not let him sanction it.
At the appointed moment, Gabriel began to raise his pistol, while Ernest’s bullet was already making a red flower in the Captain’s heart. As his second ran foreward with a cry for help, Ernest’s second shot caught him in the forehead, and he dropped beside the dead soldier. Gabriel stood in the centre of the lime avenue, the smoking weapon still in his hand. Ernest shook him back to reality. ‘Help me move this man!’ he yelled, picking up the second by the legs. ‘We need him to be where you were – on your mark.’
Gabriel asked no questions, but dragged the man and then dropped him on his face into the fine gravel of the path.
Ernest meanwhile found the second’s pistol, fired it into the trees and then pressed it into the hand of the corpse. He picked up all the scattered possessions and then showed Gabriel how to retreat, brushing away their tracks in the dew with a broken branch. Once they were well away from the Gardens, Ernest spoke to Gabriel, who was still shivering, although the morning sun was now warm.
‘You understand what we’ve done? It will seem that the two men were duelling each other. All you have to do now is ensure that Honoria does not speak out against you.’
‘What? I can’t…’ Gabriel looked shocked.
‘No no no. You have to remind her that, if she does not want to be married to you, she needs to remain silent. Because if she attempts to speak out, you will marry her.’
‘But…’
Ernest sighed. ‘Did your expensive education teach you nothing of use, Gabriel? A wife cannot testify against her husband, even about something that happened before the marriage.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course.’
‘So will you break the sad news of her brother’s demise to the young lady, or shall I?’
Gabriel looked at Ernest as if he was seeing someone he did not know at all, and did not care to get to know any better.
‘No, thank you. I will talk to her.’ Gabriel got up and began to move away. Then he turned back. ‘Ernest - perhaps it would be prudent if we were not seen together. Just for a while. For quite some time, I mean. Just until everything is back to normal.’
Ernest nodded, and the two men turned their backs and walked away from each other.
Ernest disposed of Gabriel’s pistols in a pawn shop on the Mile End Road, and pocketed the money he gained for them, in case it should come in useful. He felt that he was standing beside himself, watching this calm young man wipe away the trail between himself and the murder of two men. He wondered when his emotions would catch up with him. He was alarmed at his total lack of feelings of guilt. There had been a problem, and he had solved it. He had been in complete control, throughout. As Ernest prepared for bed that night, he thought of Effie. He wondered if he wanted to see her again. He could not imagine being married to any other woman, but he also wondered if he would really be prepared to take a bullet for her, to defend her honour. His last thought before falling asleep was to realise that he had not said his prayers.
When Gabriel’s opponent arrived with his friend, acting as his second, Ernest was alarmed to see how calm and professional they both were. It was only as Ernest was getting into place that Gabriel thought to tell him that Honoria’s brother was a Captain in the Rifles. There was no mistaking the actions of a trained man. Ernest’s plan, outlined to Gabriel, was that Gabriel would prepare to fire, but, a crucial second before that, Ernest would wound the Captain, thus satisfying honour all round.
However, Ernest had calculated another, surer plan of action, which he had not shared with Gabriel, fearing that his friend’s gentlemanly inculcation in fair play would not let him sanction it.
At the appointed moment, Gabriel began to raise his pistol, while Ernest’s bullet was already making a red flower in the Captain’s heart. As his second ran foreward with a cry for help, Ernest’s second shot caught him in the forehead, and he dropped beside the dead soldier. Gabriel stood in the centre of the lime avenue, the smoking weapon still in his hand. Ernest shook him back to reality. ‘Help me move this man!’ he yelled, picking up the second by the legs. ‘We need him to be where you were – on your mark.’
Gabriel asked no questions, but dragged the man and then dropped him on his face into the fine gravel of the path.
Ernest meanwhile found the second’s pistol, fired it into the trees and then pressed it into the hand of the corpse. He picked up all the scattered possessions and then showed Gabriel how to retreat, brushing away their tracks in the dew with a broken branch. Once they were well away from the Gardens, Ernest spoke to Gabriel, who was still shivering, although the morning sun was now warm.
‘You understand what we’ve done? It will seem that the two men were duelling each other. All you have to do now is ensure that Honoria does not speak out against you.’
‘What? I can’t…’ Gabriel looked shocked.
‘No no no. You have to remind her that, if she does not want to be married to you, she needs to remain silent. Because if she attempts to speak out, you will marry her.’
‘But…’
Ernest sighed. ‘Did your expensive education teach you nothing of use, Gabriel? A wife cannot testify against her husband, even about something that happened before the marriage.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course.’
‘So will you break the sad news of her brother’s demise to the young lady, or shall I?’
Gabriel looked at Ernest as if he was seeing someone he did not know at all, and did not care to get to know any better.
‘No, thank you. I will talk to her.’ Gabriel got up and began to move away. Then he turned back. ‘Ernest - perhaps it would be prudent if we were not seen together. Just for a while. For quite some time, I mean. Just until everything is back to normal.’
Ernest nodded, and the two men turned their backs and walked away from each other.
Ernest disposed of Gabriel’s pistols in a pawn shop on the Mile End Road, and pocketed the money he gained for them, in case it should come in useful. He felt that he was standing beside himself, watching this calm young man wipe away the trail between himself and the murder of two men. He wondered when his emotions would catch up with him. He was alarmed at his total lack of feelings of guilt. There had been a problem, and he had solved it. He had been in complete control, throughout. As Ernest prepared for bed that night, he thought of Effie. He wondered if he wanted to see her again. He could not imagine being married to any other woman, but he also wondered if he would really be prepared to take a bullet for her, to defend her honour. His last thought before falling asleep was to realise that he had not said his prayers.
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