Chapter 1: A Fatal Mishap

January 1818

The year 1817 had come to an end, too. Though not as catastrophic as 1816 in terms of failed crops and lost livestock, the yields of farming and animal husbandry had not yet returned to normal. Food was scarce and expensive, the families of labourers and peasants were still at the brink of starvation, and even well educated clerks, teachers and the lower tiers of the Army and Navy officers felt the pinch.

Now the new year was starting. Looking over the crowd of his tenants and their families and dependants, Thomas was feeling a bit of pride. By prudent and timely purchases of preserved foods from surplus Navy stores, he and a few of his neighbours had prevented much of the hardship felt elsewhere in the countryside. There had been some rioting in Guildford, when hungry labourers looted the warehouse of a profiteering merchant, but his own land holdings had not been affected by this.

Of course, lowering the rents to help his tenants had affected his own income, but fortunately, his other investments had paid off handsomely enough. The Whitney and Sons shipping line had paid another dividend of £316.16s .5d for 1817, and the powder mill he owned had shown a tidy profit, not the least because of the enormous amounts of gunpowder that were expended during the Battle of Algiers. Firewood, too, had added to the earnings, and even the coal trading had left a surplus. There was no reason for him to worry or complain.

Their family was thriving, too. Mirabel was expecting her second child, and she was vibrantly happy about that. Their daughters, Teresa and Margaret, were growing and healthy, too. They lived peacefully and comfortably in their little corner of Surrey.

If anything, Thomas was a little tired. He and Mirabel had attended Mister Egerton’s traditional New Year’s Eve soiree. Egerton had asked Thomas for advice whether having a soiree would be in good taste given the high prices for foods and wines and the general scarceness of food, and he had followed Thomas’s suggestion to have the soiree with foods prepared mostly from the Navy surplus provisions, but also from freshly caught fish. Thomas’s own cook, Lisette, had been sent to Egerton’s house to help, and the results of her and the other cooks’ efforts had been surprisingly delicious, if unaccustomed. For the most part, the invited guests had not complained.

The only thing marring the evening had been the poor mood of both their hosts. Mister Egerton had married a then seventeen year-old beauty in 1803 when he was 54 himself, a mismatch as everybody agreed. This was compounded by his increasing and — as Thomas believed — mostly unfounded jealousy directed at virtually any man who spoke to her more than a few words, and the poor woman was chafing under this.

They were barely on speaking terms with each other anymore; he being suspicious of her and she being snide in return. It was quite the conundrum for the Greys, with Mister Egerton a longtime supporter of Thomas and Mirabel a good friend of Madeleine Egerton. At breakfast, they had avoided the issue, but it would have to come up over the next days.

For the time being, they made the rounds in the barn where tables had been placed for the tenants and families to celebrate the new year. So far, the autumn and early winter had not been as harsh as the last, and Thomas sensed an upbeat mood about the farmers. Recent events had also fostered a better cooperation between the farms, and the tenants had elected a spokesman for their interest, the former boatswain, Mister Hanson, who together with the curate, Mister Edwin Berwick, sought to inspire the formation of a community. Mister Conway, their caretaker, supported this wholeheartedly, since it reduced possible disputes which he would have to mediate.

The celebrations were already petering out, when a coach was approaching from Guildford Lane. Thomas recognised it as belonging to the Egertons, and he sighed involuntarily, expecting another tirade from his benefactor about his wife. It made him uncomfortable, to say the least.

It was indeed Egerton, who alighted from the coach, but he seemed strangely upbeat when he approached them.

“Sir Thomas, Lady Grey, I must apologise for intruding on you during this celebration, but I have urgent business with you, Sir Thomas. May I speak with you in private?”

“Of course, Mister Egerton! Let us step into the estate office!”

The estate office, barely used by Thomas, was on the ground floor, facing the backyard and estate barn, and having its own entrance. Here, Mister Conway received the tenants and kept the books. It was empty since Conway and his nephew were out amongst the tenants. Once inside, Thomas closed the door and fiddled with the burning oil lamp to increase the flame.

“What may I do for you, Mister Egerton?”

“I need you to act for me, Sir Thomas. I am under challenge from Colonel Whitsby, who will be represented by Major Carson.”

Thomas had to swallow. “May I ask what occasioned the challenge?”

“The rascal was accosting my wife, and under my very eyes! Of course, she denies it now; she enjoys the attention of so-called gentlemen altogether too much, but I saw it and put a stop to it. He claims that I insulted him, the rascal, but I’ll show him that Bartholomew Egerton is not cuckolded in his own house!”

“You will accept the challenge then?”

“Of course! I must see him punished to discourage others from similar shameless affronts to my honour!”

“Mister Egerton, the Colonel is likely an excellent shot.”

“I know. To put him in his place will clarify my stance once and for all! No, I am determined to see this through!”

“As you wish, Mister Egerton. Where does Major Carson reside?”

“He is a guest at the Whitsbys’. They live in a rented cottage on the Loseley Park grounds.”

“I shall call on the Major tomorrow. Since you are under challenge, what is your weapon of choice?”

“Given my age, I should prefer pistols, say twenty paces?”

“Very well, Mister Egerton. I shall suggest those terms to the Major. Have you a location in mind?”

“The meadow along the River Wey, upstream of the town, should serve us perfectly.”

“I shall suggest that, too. What day will suit you? Will you need some time to practice?”

“No. I want this done as soon as possible. I want my wife to realise that I am no dotty old fool!”

Thomas suppressed the reply that, if anything, Egerton was confirming just that.

“I shall let the Major know that, too. Once the modalities will be settled, I shall call on you.”

“Splendid! I let you return to your celebrations now, Sir Thomas. It is good to know that I can rely on you!”

“That is understood, Mister Egerton. You have been my unwavering supporter all these years, after all. Do you wish for some refreshment before you leave?”

“No, my dear Sir Thomas. I shall return home now, knowing that the details of this matter are now in your able hands.”

“What is it this time?” Mirabel asked when Thomas joined her again.

“There must have been an altercation after we left. Egerton is under challenge from Colonel Whitsby, and I am to act for him,” Thomas said under his breath.

“Oh, no! Why?”

“Apparently, the Colonel spoke to Madeleine Egerton a trifle too long, and Egerton had a jealousy tantrum and insulted Whitsby.”

“Poor Madeleine! Doesn’t he realise how much his insanity hurts her reputation?”

“He is quite obsessive about showing himself manly.”

“It were better if he showed himself manly in their bedroom ... I’m sorry, Thomas. I should not have said that. I know that you are grateful for his support.”

“I suspected something like that anyway. Don’t fret about it, Mirabel. I suppose that women talk about such things?”

“Some do; I don’t. Then again, I am not stuck in a marriage with an old man, and I have no reasons to complain. Madeleine and Harriet-Anne were in a bitter mood and vented their feelings. Anyway, you will be meeting this Colonel Whitsby’s friend?”

“Yes, a Major Carson. He is lodging with the Whitsbys.”

“Do you think you may be able to avert a duel?”

“I’m afraid not. Whitsby will not retract his challenge, and Egerton will bite off his own tongue before apologising.”

“Oh, dear, so one of them may die?”

“Hardly. Pistols at twenty paces means that they will both miss most likely. Whitsby may be the best shot in the world, but a smooth-bore pistol is wildly inaccurate over more than ten paces. That is why obsessive duelists insist on settling their matters at sword point.”

“You were never involved in anything like that, were you?”

“My father taught me how to avoid duels in the first place by being composed and polite. A difficult lesson, but worthwhile.”

When Thomas called upon Major Carson, it was shortly after eleven in the following morning. He was wearing uniform for the call, albeit without the insignia of his chivalrous orders, but with his honour sword at his side. He handed over his visiting card to the young housemaid who answered the door and expressed his wish to see Major Carson. After being led into a small by cozy living room, the maid fairly ran upstairs.

Only a few minutes later, a young man in hussar’s uniform welcomed him.

“I am Major John Carson, Sir Thomas. You come on behalf of Mister Egerton, I trust.”

“This is so, to my regret. Will your principal stand by his challenge?”

“Colonel Whitsby was insulted by Mister Egerton. Unless Mister Egerton will issue an unqualified apology, my principal insists on clearing his name.”

“I see. My principal, too, wishes to pursue the affair. I shall therefore offer Mister Egerton’s terms for your consideration. He proposes pistols at twenty paces. He offers his own set of pistols but is agreeable to your principal’s weapons if so desired.”

“Those are agreeable terms for us, Sir Thomas. My client accepts any pair of matching pistols, provided he can pick his weapon.”

“The latter is understood, and I am glad to hear that. As for the location, my principal suggests the meadow on the left bank of the River Wey, upstream of Guildford. I shall also see to it that a surgeon will be present.”

“Again, I can find no fault with your proposal, Sir Thomas. When does your principal propose this to happen?”

“My principal wishes for a speedy conclusion of the matter, Major.”

“How about the day after tomorrow, an hour after sunrise?”

“My principal will hold himself ready, Major. Are there any additional stipulations from your side?”

“None comes to mind, Sir Thomas. Will you preside over the affair?”

“I’d rather not. This is my first involvement in such an affair.”

“Sadly, that is not the case for me. I had to fight three duels in my life. May I suggest that I shall have the principals stand and cock their weapons whilst you will direct them to start?”

“Sharing the burden, eh? I agree. Oh, what happens in case of a misfire?”

“Usually, an affair is deemed closed then.”

“Let us agree on that, too, Major. I have to thank you for your time and I bid you a good day!”

“The same to you, Sir Thomas. I do appreciate the generous terms.”

An hour later, Thomas had informed his principal of the acceptance of his terms, and of the date and time for the rendezvous. Egerton had been upbeat and eager, but his wife Madeleine, had just shaken her head over what Thomas also regarded as dangerous and damaging folly for all involved. He returned home then, eager to escape the poisoned atmosphere of the Egertons’ household.

It was infernally cold during the coach ride from Egerton’s house to the chosen site of the duel. Thomas had been freezing for thirty minutes already whilst driving into Guildford, and he, like the other gentlemen involved, were constantly moving on their feet to beat the cold.

Thomas was now carrying the wooden case with the pistols which he had carefully loaded, but not yet primed. The opposing party was also there. Thomas recognised Major Carson and assumed that the small and erect gentleman at his side had to be Colonel Whitsby. He gave both men a measured bow, but as etiquette dictated, he only addressed Carson.

“Major, I have the pistols with me. I loaded them both with utmost care, but I can pull the charges if...”

“Please, Sir Thomas, do not bother. My principal trusts you implicitly, and we are all getting cold.”

“Thank you, Major. It remains for you to apply the priming charges, if you will.”

All this had to be done strictly according to the rules. Since the pistols were Egerton’s, Whitsby had the right to choose, and he took the one lying closer to him in the box. The box was then held to Egerton, who picked it up eagerly.

“Gentlemen, I shall now ask you to stand back to back,” Carson announced, and the two combatants complied. Egerton still looked determined and did not waver.

“I wish to appeal to you gentlemen one last time, to settle this dispute peacefully,” Carson said gravely, but both men shook their head.

“Gentlemen, you may now cock your weapons!”

Both men pulled back the hammers.

“I shall now count ten steps and ask you to proceed away from your adversary,” Thomas announced. “At the count of ten, you may turn around and fire your pistol. One,” he started, and both men made their first steps, “two — three — four — five — six — seven — eight — nine — ten!”

Both men turned on their heels, but in his haste, Egerton must have touched the trigger whilst still turning, for his shot rang out, and Major Carson, who was standing to the side, cried out in pain. Colonel Whitsby immediately pointed his pistol to the sky and fired it, whilst Thomas and the surgeon, Mister Marley, rushed to Carson’s side. Egerton’s pistol ball had hit the Major in the right shoulder, and blood was seeping freely from the wound.

On tottering legs, Egerton approached them and seeing Carson’s wound, he sank to his knees, grabbing his chest. The others were too busy looking after the wounded man to pay Egerton much attention, and it was a few minutes before they remembered him. Whitsby noticed him first.

“Good Lord! Mister Egerton! Are you all right?”

Bartholomew Egerton did not hear him or feel anything when the surgeon turned him over. His face was contorted from what had to have been terrible pain, and he was quite dead.

“I fear his heart gave out from the shock,” the surgeon announced.

“I should have looked after him,” Thomas said ruefully.

“It would not have helped, Sir Thomas,” the surgeon said matter-of-factly. “It was a massive heart failure to guess from his painful expression. There is just no help in cases like that.”