Chapter 28: The Duel

A loud knocking on the room door brought me out of a deep, exhausted, sleep.

“Who is it, and what’s o’clock?”

“Begging your pardon sir, but there’s a Captain Bassett here to see you, and it has just struck half past five.”

“Send him up – and fetch me some hot water.”

Billy Bassett came in the room a little later.

“It would appear Amy gave you an energetic and loving night,” he said, looking at my dishevelled appearance and the rumpled bed clothes.
I did not tell him who it was that had left me exhausted, and filled with love.
A serving girl brought in a jug of hot water, and I made a quick toilet, shaving with remarkably steady hands considering what I would be facing in a few hours, and the vigorous night spent. between Caroline Vanner’s thighs.

Billy and Matilda were staying a few miles downriver towards London, in The Black Boy at Teddington, and Billy had insisted he accompany me to the duelling ground. He would have had to leave the warmth of Matilda’s bed at an early hour, and I thanked God I had such a good friend as him.

Traditionally duels are fought at dawn. Sunrise today was at 7.30 am, which would just be just light enough to see each other at twenty paces, but Braxton-Clark and I were due to exchange shots at 8 a.m.
It was no more than five miles to the duelling ground from the White Hart, a walk/trot gait by horse would get us there in just over an hour. We had just a cup of coffee before leaving the White Hart, as it was customary not to eat before a duel but to wait until after the exchange of fire.
‘Pistols for two; breakfast for one!’ being the mordant expression used, not that anyone facing the prospect of being shot would have much of an appetite in any case — I certainly did not.

It was just past six thirty we left the White Hart and made our way along the Uxbridge road towards Hounslow. We rode the first mile in silence, until Billy spoke.

“I can see you have recovered from the exertions Amy put you through last night. I hope your hand is steady and your eye clear, and you have nothing in your mind but the duel. Concentration is the most important aspect when facing an opponent.”
I assured him I was fully concentrated on the task at hand, but I lied, as Caroline Vanner now occupied all my thoughts.

“Then that is all to your advantage,” Billy continued, “as I hear Braxton-Clark has many worries pressing on his mind.”
I knew financial problems were liable to be troubling the Braxton-Clarks, and I asked if lack of cash was his worry.
Billy laughed. “No, it is a more personal problem. Matilda has a friend, a Missus Thatcher, who is a Housekeeper at Windsor Castle. It seems Braxton-Clark has been spending much time there, trying to inveigle himself into the Life Guards.”
I nodded; this was not unknown to me.
Billy continued. “The servants at the Castle know all that goes on, as they are ignored by the gentry, who talk in front of them as if they were all deaf or did not exist. The maids tell Missus Thatcher everything they hear, and she passes on the juicier titbits to Matilda. It appears Jarvis Braxton-Clark has given an ultimatum to his wife. She must bring forth a son within the year else he will divorce her.”
Billy laughed. “He has been plugging the Blind Cupid for so many years he probably does not realise it is the madge he should be prodding in order to obtain children. The Ashfords are a well-respected family, and if he divorces the daughter on account of not being able to father a son on her he will not be regarded with much respect by the gentry. He could in fact be accused of being the problem — firing blank shots, as the saying goes. He would be a laughing stock. Anyway he has taken leave from the regiment and is travelling down to Hungerford House after the duel, accompanied by his wife. She has been attending her father in London, and only joined Braxton-Clark in Windsor yesterday. The tale is Braxton-Clark has been taking elixirs and potions to improve his chances of fathering a child, and is going to spend the next month galloping his poor wife, morning, noon, and night. Of course, if he continues to fill the wrong aperture he will never get an heir.”

My first thought was Braxton-Clark must be supremely confident he would survive the exchange of fire. I suppose he should be, given his advantage of being an expert with a duelling pistol, whereas I had not fired a pistol more than a few times, and then only to put horses out of their misery. My second thought was for his poor wife. She was to be galloped morning noon and night solely to achieve a son, rather than for pleasure, love, or even for lust.
We rode on for another mile or two, again in silence, and then Billy resumed talking, probably in order to take my mind from dwelling on what lay before me.

“I know Braxton-Clark has this reputation as a crack shot, but has he ever had to look at a pistol pointing at him?”
I told him the tale Parslow had told me, regarding the duel in Bordeaux.

“As I thought!” Exclaimed Billy triumphantly. “He may shoot well enough when not being fired at, as he did at Waterloo, or when his opponent has not the time to level his pistol at him. Let us see how he behaves when he sees the muzzle of a your pistol aimed at him; he may find his hand tremble, especially when he is not holding his beloved Purdey pistol. You can be sure I will object to those pistols of his being used.”

We arrived at the duelling field at cock crow – actually roosters crow at all hours of the day, and it is merely a figure of speech – and in fact the time was was a quarter to eight by Billy’s handsome half hunter pocket watch.
The spot chosen for the duel was a mile to the west of Hounslow and two hundred or so yards to the south of the Great West Road, shielded from direct view by a small stand of larch and spruce, with here and there the skeletal shapes of leafless silver birch trees.

I dismounted and removed my riding cloak and tunic, then walked about to keep both warm and busy, while Billy’s two Hindoo servants took our horses. There was no sign of Braxton-Clark, but Maddox, his second, appeared at my shoulder.

“Jarvis will be along directly, he has been looking forward to this moment for a year or more.” He cackled with undisguised glee, but I chose to ignore him. About ten minutes later a coach, drawn by a smart team of four bay horses, pulled into the clearing.

“Here he is now,” chortled Maddox. “He’s on his way to Hungerford with his wife, and is going to look over what will be his estate when the old earl dies, and Jarvis produces an heir.”

“That should be an interesting spectacle,” I said. “It is usually the dam that brings forth the offspring, not the sire.”
It was childish response, I know, but anything to take the look of evil joy from off his face, which it did.

“Damn your eyes, Greenaway,” he spluttered. “You’ll not be laughing when Jarvis puts a ball in your entrails.”
He stomped off to welcome his pederast friend.

Surgeon Major Armityge was acting as both surgeon in attendance and referee, and he called out. “Gentlemen, will the seconds please attend me.”
He addressed Billy first. “Will your principal withdraw his challenge?”

“If Braxton-Clark retracts his slur against Miss Fairfax, then my principal will gladly withdraw,” Billy replied.
Armityge turned to Maddox. “Will your principal retract the remark he made concerning Miss Fairfax?”

“I’m damned if he will.” Maddox practically spat out the words.

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed, Captain Maddox.” Armityge’s rebuke was delivered coldly. “Very well, the duel will continue.” He then asked for the weapons which were to be used in the contest to be produced.
Maddox brought out a wooden case from beneath the riding cloak he wore, and opened it to reveal Braxton-Clark’s pair of expensive Purdey duelling pistols.

“Both these weapons are identical,” he announced proudly. “No man will have an advantage, whichever pistol he chooses.”

“I beg to differ,” said Billy. “These weapons are the private property of my principal’s opponent, a man who is known to have used them at Waterloo with deadly effect. This will be the first time my principal will have handled the pistols; obviously his opponent has a huge advantage. I cannot accept these weapons.”
Maddox turned crimson red with fury. “In that case your man will be branded a coward, and will have to resign from the army for refusing to face my principal on the field of honour.”
Armityge rubbed his chin. “Captain Bassett has a point; the Code Duello is specific regarding any participants in a duel holding an unfair advantage. I shall uphold his refusal to accept the weapon. You have brought other pistols, I take it?”
The question was addressed to both seconds.

“I have a brace of dragoon’s saddle pistols with me.” Billy said. “Neither of the principals will have used them, so no man will have an advantage.”
Armityge nodded. “That would seem a reasonable solution.”
Maddox was looking sick. “I have not brought any other weapon; I saw no reason to do so. I must confer with my principal.”

Off he scurried to the coach, and I saw Braxton-Clark appear at the window, and an animated conversation then took place. Maddox returned five minutes later, and delivered what was an obviously parrot learned speech.

“Gentlemen,” – he laid great emphasis on ‘Gentlemen’ – “only fight a duel with proper duelling pistols. My principal is willing to postpone the duel until such time as Greenway has obtained a duelling pistol of his own. Captain Braxton-Clark is willing to wait seven days, and loan Greenway the money, should he be too destitute to afford a gentleman’s weapon.”
Armityge snapped back. “The date of the duel has been set; postponement is not permitted by the Code Duello. As for only fighting with duelling pistols, your principal chose pistols. If Braxton-Clark had meant duelling pistols he should have stipulated them.”
He thought a bit, and a wry smile flickered across his face. “Both of the principals have their swords with them. As Braxton-Clark has refused to use the pistols on offer I suggest swords be used, or I will abandon the duel, and cite Braxton-Clark’s refusal to use the pistols I have authorised as the reason.”