Fair Fight (11 page)

‘Does it, indeed? It may explain its meaning, but not its image. Pray, how will you depict courtship, Miss Charlotte Sinclair?’

Miss Sinclair seemed unsure of the manner of my teasing. She bit at her lip before she replied, ‘I think to show the gentleman sitting close to the maid and offering her a flower.’

‘A very fair picture,’ I said, and I stood and walked – a little unsteadily, I own – to the vase upon the table, from which I fetched a bloom. I went to her and stood, twirling its stem in my hand.

‘Shall I sit close to you, to offer it?’ I said.

Miss Sinclair did not speak, though her eyes met mine before she bowed her head. She seemed distressed, though she had no grounds for it.

I was a little annoyed, if the truth be told. Here was a very good piece of flirtation, but the young lady was too unworldly to understand how to respond. I left her side so that I should not disturb her further, and resumed my earlier seat, opposite Perry’s slumbering form.

At length I considered that it was her very innocence that I found most appealing, and my heart softened. I should not wish her adept at flirtation; if any man were to instruct her in the art, I should be that man.

I called across softly, ‘The third and fourth cushions in this series – pray, tell me their names.’

Still she did not look up, though her posture seemed to stiffen. At last, when I thought she had determined not to speak, she said,

‘Can you not guess them?’

‘I can,’ I said, ‘but I should like to hear their names from your own lips. I greatly dislike being mistaken.’

She looked at me at last, a little defiantly.

‘Well then,’ she said, ‘they are to be called “the engagement” and “the wedding”.’

‘I look forward to seeing them,’ I said. ‘I should take great pleasure in having you show me courtship, engagement and marriage.’

I let my face grow tender, and though she turned her eyes back to her work, I thought her confusion a more pleasant one.

The weeks passed. I could not think how to manage it, but neither could I let the notion go. The more I longed to achieve it, the more I seemed to long for Miss Sinclair herself. Even her skin I had begun to think delightful; she wore that veil of scars as gracefully as any lady might hope to do. I fancied I could see her own, unsullied face floating beneath. I found myself both more eager, and more reluctant, to visit Perry’s room at night. Perry spent much of his time in the company of his horses. He would go out to the stables and talk to them as he had used to talk to me. He never said a word about my hours spent with his sister; he was sodden drunk so much of the day I could not be sure how much he saw. Even so, his face acquired a morose expression that put me in mind of Balloo, the bloodhound I had loved as a boy. It pained me to see it, of course, but not enough that I would fold my hand while the game progressed. Though it shames me to admit it, if Perry did not call for brandy, much of the time I did it for him.

‘You must not deny yourself what little pleasure there is in life,’ I said.

One day, as Perry lay on his back upon the drawing room sofa, Miss Sinclair and I walked under the trees beside the stream. There, shielded from view of the house, though not the view of her maid, I at last stole victory in the form of a kiss. She was everything I had hoped, hesitant and soft. It was a herculean effort to release her and walk back across the damp lawns. I had no choice in the matter, her dumpy little maid waiting behind us as she was. I wondered briefly what she would do, if I pulled her mistress down upon the leaves; but not in any great seriousness.

The frustration was unbearable; why should I not marry Miss Sinclair? I wanted to wail like a child. Perry’s own possessive nature drove me to duplicity. I only wished to remain by his side for ever and know myself secure, with the love of a good wife, as any decent gentleman should. I knew that Perry found his sister a burden. What gentleman, lord of his own estate, wishes a spinster sister thrust upon him? Surely, somehow, I could bring him to see the advantages in the scheme.

Miss Sinclair told me that she was afraid of horses.

‘This we must change,’ I said, ‘for you have never in your life felt so free as you will upon horseback.’

I bought her a steady chestnut mare. I had never done such a thing for anyone. I could have taken that money to the gaming houses, but instead I handed it to a horse-dealer and did not even try to double it upon the tables beforehand.

We did not have a chance to ride.

It was late. Perry went out to visit his most beloved mare, Fleet, and discovered that the poor beast I had so recently purchased was in agony with a colic. He sent the stable boy on the run to fetch me, and when I reached the stable I found a sorry scene indeed.

The horse was standing, but she clearly wished to roll. Only Perry and the groom, one at either side of her head, prevented her from doing so. In the lantern light I could see her eyes showing the white. I pressed my ear against her side, though her coat was filthy – she must have rolled before Perry came upon her. My ear was met with silence, where there should have been a symphony.

‘Colic,’ I said.

‘Of course it is colic,’ Perry said. ‘Now will you help us? We must get her into the yard and walk her.’

We could have left it to the menservants, but Perry was tender-hearted over horses and would not like to leave her. I agreed to do my part.

She was a devil to get moving. Her legs seemed to buckle at every step and she threw her head about, once knocking the groom a blow in the nose that had the cove swearing.

Once she felt the night air upon her she moved a little easier, though she still tried to lie down every moment.

All that night we walked about the yard, while the poor thing stumbled between us, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling pitifully. We kept cheerful but I could not help thinking what none of us would admit; we could not help her. It was likely that she had twisted her guts when she rolled, and all we were doing was forcing the poor creature to go on until she dropped from pain and exhaustion.

By the small hours it was plain to see that she was lost and I gave her up and went to my bed, though Perry refused to go to his. It was dawn when he dragged in. He came into my bed, taking up my arm and pulling it over him.

‘She had to be shot,’ was all that he said.

We all slept late and rose in time for dinner. Miss Sinclair was too distraught to appear.

‘You should not have bought her the creature, George,’ Perry said. He was more exhausted than I was used to seeing him; even Perry could not shake off the effects of such a night. ‘Although lately I am wary of your judgement as to what one should, or should not, do.’

‘I have not the strength for one of your fits this morning, old friend. Please, let us be peaceful,’ I said. I waved away the proffered wine and bid Fisher fetch me coffee. My head ached abominably.

‘My sister is in fits, not I. She need not make such a display of grief; she did not have the creature long enough even to ride her.’

‘Sometimes it is those we never ride we feel most for,’ I said, driven to it.

‘One never can be sure when we might find ourselves suffering, old fellow,’ Perry said. He put his chin on one hand as though he were too tired even to hold up his head. ‘In such a case we can only hope someone will be merciful enough to shoot us.’

I would not rise, nor stop eating.

‘I would do the same for you, George. I hope you would do the same for me.’

‘You hope I would shoot you, Perry?’

‘I hope you would bring a quick end to that which caused me pain.’

We were all three of us stretched thin as catgut and one of us was bound to break. As any good player will, I withdrew from the game to plan my next move. I began to avoid Miss Sinclair’s company and pay attention to Perry’s pleasure, though it scarcely made him less ill-tempered. He often shook my hand from his shoulder or turned from me at night.

I had expected that the day would dawn when Perry’s jealousy came forward in earnest. What I had not expected was that Miss Sinclair would be the first to show her hand.

Some nights later, Perry and I came home from a brief but satisfactory visit to a local tavern specialising in cock-fights. We were in high humour – there had been much of our old intimacy, smiles and glances exchanged in which, without a word, we understood each other’s meaning. Perry had consented to accompany me homeward early enough that we both remained coherent and merry. If we were to grow dishevelled and slurring, that night we would do it beside the library fire.

It was the most natural thing in the world that I should suggest fetching our little book of wagers, that we might make commonplace events into a game alongside the brandy and pipes.

The book itself was beside Perry’s bed, where we had lately been reading it out loud to each other as a means of recalling our long history. It had been my idea, as an instrument to draw us closer together and repair the rift that had come between us, and it had been uncommonly successful. Several times we had been brought to helpless laughter as we recalled our old and foolish bets.

Now, as I toddled off to find the thing, Perry took my hand and squeezed it; the most intimate gesture we allowed ourselves before the servants. Of course servants know everything that happens in a big house, but decorum still dictates.

‘Off you go, dear fellow,’ he shouted, no doubt doing my ear, which was not at all far from his lips, some little injury. Perry never could modulate his tone.

I had just come out of Perry’s room, having retrieved the battered old volume, when Miss Sinclair appeared before me so unexpectedly that I felt my heart turn over in my breast. She was standing at the top of the stairs that led down to the half-landing, perfectly lit by the candle in her hand, as though she held it solely so that it might gleam golden in her hair. I had never before seen her with her hair down about her shoulders and I could not help but imagine how she might look, if everything else she applied for decency’s sake were stripped away. Her cheeks were so flushed that the scars stood out upon them like flecks of white paint, her breast heaved at the sight of me. I had known that she desired me but I had never expected her to lose control of herself so absolutely.

‘I came to find you,’ she said.

‘I am flattered that you thought of me.’ It was a fairly poor response, I knew.

‘I always think of you,’ she said. ‘I am not sure that you think of me any longer. Won’t you show me that you do?’

She placed the candle in the alcove and advanced a few steps, then stood on her toes and tilted her face to my kiss. I could not deny her what she looked for. Her lips were as soft as ever, her breath as sweet, but I did not feel the rush of desire I would have expected; I had imagined that she would need coaxing. I found I did not quite like to be approached so brazenly. I pushed her away and held her so that I might look at her. Her eyes were in shadow.

‘I wish you would take me away from here,’ she whispered. ‘Please, George, we must get away.’

At that moment I spied, over her shoulder, the top of Perry’s blond head, followed by the rest of him as he ascended the stairs to reach us. I had never known him to move so quietly. Miss Sinclair, evidently, had not registered his approach. I let go of her with all haste, so quickly that she reeled a little.

‘I’m far too busy, far too busy just now,’ I said, meeting my friend’s eye above his sister’s head. My look said,
You see how I am fixed here. She has come to bother me, not the other way about
.

‘Too busy for what?’ Perry said, very loud, almost into his sister’s ear.

She jumped, as anyone would just then, and her eyes grew wide and implored me to rescue her. Her slim hand crept to her throat.

‘Miss Sinclair was hoping I might take her driving one morning soon,’ I said.

‘She will be driven somewhere, if she doesn’t go to bed,’ Perry replied.

Miss Sinclair turned and fled past him without looking again at either of us. I was left alone to face her brother’s glare.

‘Have you madness in the family?’ I said.

‘What?’ Perry looked as though he should like to throttle me.

‘Your sister was ready to drop down raving,’ I said. ‘I have seen kitchen mops kept in better care than her hair.’

‘The only madness here is the lunacy you will drive me to,’ Perry said.

I went to the library alone and sat, leafing through the book of our friendship, remembering how it had been when Perry and I were equals in our future expectations, and that future an age away.

At last, when I began to feel my eyes closing, I heard the door open and looked up to find Perry standing before me. He gripped a decanter of golden liquid in one hand. I could not see a glass.

‘I am come to tell you,’ he said, swaying the slightest bit, ‘that you are to cease your teasing of me. I’ll be hanged if I’ll stand for it, George.’

I nearly affected not to know what he meant but something in his eye warned me not to.

‘What have you determined you will do, if I do not?’ I asked him.
I might as well know the stakes
,
I thought.

‘What will I do? I will shoot you. I would shoot us both tomorrow before you part us, George. I have said so many times, and never yet lied to you.’

He had said so many times, indeed. I was heartily sick of hearing it. There was something about the way he said it this time, however, that showed me that I would be a fool to discount his words. He looked like a man polishing his musket.

The next morning I awoke with a weary kind of dread pressing upon me. I was made even more nervous to find Perry already at the breakfast table and Miss Sinclair entirely absent. Perry was working his way through a plate of kidneys, looking as fresh as the morning dew, and when I entered he looked up and smiled quite as though we had never been at odds.

‘By heaven, you need not cringe so, George,’ he said, by way of good morning.

I tried to look steady, and sat, and gestured for coffee.