Peregrine's Progress Part 92

And so at last, after an eternity as it seemed, the chaise slowed again and came to an abrupt standstill before a dimly-seen building and, peering out, I made out the sign:

THE ANCHOR INN.

Next moment I had sprung out into the road and, not waiting for Anthony, hastened into the place, opened a door at random, and found myself in a small room where smoked a miserable fire over which lounged two languid gentlemen well coated and m.u.f.fled against the chill of dawn.

"Sirs," said I, acknowledging their bows, "pray have you seen two hors.e.m.e.n pa.s.s lately?"

"Hors.e.m.e.n, sir?" repeated a dashing gentleman who seemed all whiskers, teeth and greatcoat. "'Pon my honour, no--stop a bit--yes, I did! They rode towards Maidstone, I fancy, sir."

"Did they stop to make any enquiries--either of them?"

"Stop, sir? No, sir--devil a bit!" answered the gentleman, flashing his teeth and shaking his whiskers to such a degree that I doubted him on the spot. At this moment Anthony appeared, whereupon ensued more polite bows and flourishes; and now the other gentleman addressed us, a plethoric, red-faced man in a furred, blue frock.

"Our friend Trenchard desired us to await you, gentlemen, to inform you that he has changed the ground. The--the--ah--affair will not take place behind the inn here as first intended, but in a place somewhat more secluded. If you will pray have the goodness to accompany us, we will--ah--show you the way."

So we set out accordingly, I, for one, little heeding or caring whither we went.

Now it chanced we came to a narrow way where but two might go abreast and I found myself walking beside the whiskered gentleman who prattled to me very pleasantly, I believe, though of what I cannot recall.

After a while the path brought us to a rough track hard beside a little wood and here stood a roomy travelling-chaise and beside this the man Trenchard or Devereux, talking and laughing with Captain Danby and another.

I remember returning their salutes with a perfunctory bow, but recollect little else, for now that my time was so near, a numbness seemed to cloud my brain and I could think only that this little copse, full of the grey mist of dawn, was perhaps the last object my eyes should ever see.

"I told one of 'em," said Anthony in my ear, "fellow in blue frock yonder, that you were the dooce an' all with a hair trigger--almost as dead a shot as your uncle Jervas or Gronow of the Guards, and begad, it's set 'em all by the ears, Perry, especially that scoundrel Danby."

At this I laughed, I think, wondering the while if Anthony would ever know how much I loved and admired him.

I remember a stretch of green turf screened by trees; a solemn pacing to and fro by various grave-faced persons; a careful measuring of distances and selection of ground.

I remember some objection that Anthony made as to the light, whereupon the solemn measuring and pacing was gravely done all over again. I also recall that Anthony, while discussing or overseeing these grave proceedings, would often lift his head and glance hastily round about with a swift, keen-eyed expectancy.

I remember the sun peeping forth at last to make the world glorious and warm the chill in my bones.

And then Anthony came towards me, carrying a pistol, and I noticed that his hand shook as he offered it to me.

"G.o.d love you, Perry," he said, a little huskily. "You look as unconcerned, as cool as--as a confounded cuc.u.mber! And now, Perry, remember to aim low, all pistols are apt to throw high--so, for heaven's sake aim low, old fellow."

"Do I stand here, Anthony?"

"Yes--d.a.m.ned fellow insists on twelve paces!" said he, his voice sounding hoa.r.s.er than ever, and I saw his glance wandering again, here and there, to and fro, in almost desperate fashion.

"Mr. Vere-Manville," called Devereux's second, "may I trouble you a moment, pray?"

Left alone, I stood watching the play of sunshine amid the leaves, when I was roused by a touch and found Captain Danby beside me.

"Your flint looks a trifle loose, sir," said he softly, "Suffer me!"

I relinquished the weapon with a murmur of thanks and stood again absorbed until I felt the pistol thrust into my grasp and heard a loud voice speaking.

"Pray attention, gentlemen! Take notice, the word will be 'one--two--'"

The loud voice faltered suddenly, was lost in the trampling of horse's hoofs and into the gra.s.sy level between Devereux and myself rode my uncle Jervas with my uncle George close behind.

My uncle Jervas reined in his horse and sat glancing serenely round about him, his lips curling in his bleak, sardonic smile, his prominent chin something more aggressive than usual.

"Ah, gentlemen," said he gently. "Your humble servant, I bid you good morning. Sir Geoffrey Devereux, we are very well met--at last. This is a pleasure I much desired when--we were younger, as you will doubtless remember, but I imagined, until very recently, that you were dead, sir, and d.a.m.ned, and necessarily out of my reach. You have hidden yourself surpa.s.singly well, sir."

Very deliberately my uncle Jervas dismounted and proceeded to tether his horse to an adjacent tree, while Devereux watched him, head bowed and black brows puckered slightly above his smouldering eyes, his snowy cravat stained with a small mark of blood from an ugly scratch beneath his chin and which, despite his icy a.s.surance seemed to worry him, for he dabbed at it now and then with his handkerchief. And now my uncle Jervas approached me, his hand outstretched imperiously, but when he spoke his voice was strangely gentle:

"Peregrine, dear boy, oblige me with that pistol."

"G.o.d bless you, Uncle Jervas!" said I fervently grasping that hand. "I thought I recognised you when your horse leapt that tollgate, but fate elected I should arrive here first, as I prayed."

"We were wilfully misdirected and went astray. And now, Peregrine, give me the pistol!"

"No, sir! Indeed you cannot, shall not take my place. This quarrel is wholly mine--a quarrel, sir, of two years' standing--"

"But mine, Peregrine, is of twenty-one years'."

"None the less, sir, you shall not shield me thus--none other shall take my place, I am here to meet that scoundrel yonder--"

"Ah, Peregrine," said my uncle, speaking very slowly and distinctly, "the scoundrel yonder, Sir Geoffrey Devereux, is the man who foully murdered your father and my brother! Give me the pistol, boy!"

As he spoke he grasped my wrist and had possessed himself of the weapon or ever I could prevent. Then he turned and faced Devereux, his eyes very keen and bright.

"George," said he in his quiet, authoritative voice, "pray give us the word."

My uncle George, still sitting his horse, lifted his right hand and I saw that he also held a pistol.

"Devereux," said he, his handsome face very fierce and grim, "if--this time--you fire before the word, even by one fraction of a second, I shoot you where you stand for the vile murderer you are--by G.o.d, I will! Now mark me! The word will be 'One--two--three--fire!' Is this understood?"

"Yes, George!" said my uncle; Devereux nodded.

"Ready!" said uncle George distinctly. "One--two--three--fire!"

A single sharp report and my uncle Jervas, lurching slightly, stared down at his weapon that had merely sparked and, letting it fall, staggered aside to a tree and leaned there.

In an instant uncle George was off his horse and together we ran to him.

"Aha, George--" he gasped in a horrible, wheezing voice, "it--it was unprimed--lend me--yours!"

"O G.o.d!" groaned my uncle George. "You're hit, Jervas--are you hurt?"

"A little, George--your pistol--quick!"

But even as he spoke and despite all his resolution and indomitable will, he seemed about to swoon; I saw his knees slowly bending under him, his stately head sank, and crying out in horror, I reached out to clasp him in my arms.

"No, no, Perry!" he gasped. "Don't touch me--yet--I have sufficient strength--dear boy." For a moment he closed his eyes and when next he spoke his voice was strangely loud and clear.