Colonel Brandon's Diary (19 page)

‘Nevertheless, we have to give him another chance,’ said Wareham.

‘As my seconds, I would expect you to do no less.’

‘What weapon do you think he will choose?’ asked Green with interest.

‘A pistol, I suspect. He probably fences, but I doubt if he has any experience with a sword.’

‘And will you agree to his choice?’

‘I will.’

‘Whatever it is?’

‘Whatever it is.’

‘He will be able to choose the ground,’ said Green.

‘Let him,’ I said. ‘It makes no difference to me where I fight him.’

‘Then we will go and see him now, and return as soon as possible,’ said Wareham, reaching for his coat.

They left me to kick my heels whilst they sought out Willoughby and returned just over an hour later.

‘Well?’ I demanded.

‘He still refuses to marry her. He says he would rather die at once than die a slow death being married to a woman with nothing to recommend her but a beauty which has now surely gone.’

‘It is a pity he did not think of that before he seduced her,’ I remarked. ‘And what weapon has he chosen?’

‘Pistols. The place to be Hounslow Heath, the time tomorrow at dawn.’

‘That suits me well.’

‘Where are you lodging?’

‘In St James’s Street.’

‘Then we will meet there in the morning and travel to the heath together.’

 

 

I slept soundly and I was roused by my valet well before dawn. The morning was cold and I dressed with alacrity, eating a hearty breakfast before Green and Wareham called for me. I put on my coat, grateful for the warmth of its capes. Then, donning my hat and gloves, I went out into the mist-shrouded morning.

Lighted flambeaus pierced the gloom, their flames flickering fitfully as they strove to push back the dark, revealing the grey streets beyond.

I heard the muffled cry of the night watchman, ‘All’s well.’

‘All’s well for some,’ said Green, as I climbed into the carriage.

‘For us,’ I said. ‘I am ready to finish this business.’

‘Ay,’ said Wareham. ‘Let us be done with it.’

The carriage pulled away. The horses’ hoofs sounded strangely muted, and the turning of the wheels was no more than a grating whisper as the carriage bumped over the cobbles.

‘This damnable fog,’ said Green, peering out of the window. ‘I hope it clears by the time we reach the heath, or you will not be able to see each other, let alone fire.’

We were in luck. When we stepped out onto the heath, we could see for twenty paces, enough for our business.

There was no sign of Willoughby’s carriage.

Ten minutes later Willoughby arrived, attended by two men who looked nervous, as well they might. They were dandies, not soldiers, and had probably never been seconds in their lives.

‘I will give him another chance to change his mind,’ said Green.

He went over to Willoughby, they had words, and Green returned, saying, ‘The duel is to go ahead. It is for you to choose the distance, Brandon.’

That done, the seconds met in the middle and loaded the pistols in each other’s presence to ensure fair play, then Green and Wareham returned to hand me my weapon.

‘Willoughby’s man is to count the paces. After the count of ten, you may turn and fire at will. Is this agreeable to you? ’

‘It is.’

‘Then let us get it over with.’

I removed my coat. Across the heath, Willoughby removed his. The fog was lifting minute by minute, and I could see him clearly. We came together and stood back to back. His man counted the paces. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . I thought of Eliza abandoned and left all alone . . . six . . . seven . . . eight . . . nine . . .

‘Ten!’

I turned.

He turned, too, his arm already raised. He rushed his shot, firing without taking proper aim, and the bullet went wide, so wide I did not even feel it pass. He blanched, and dropped his arm. I saw his knees begin to buckle. I lifted my arm. And then he turned and I thought that he would run. But the horrified look on the faces of his seconds curtailed his cowardice, and he turned back towards me, white-faced and trembling, then turned sideways to present as small a target as possible.

For Eliza, I thought.

I took aim.

But as I did so, I saw not Willoughby and not Eliza, but Marianne. I imagined her face as she heard that Willoughby was dead; I imagined her grief, and I was horrified, for, if she was still enamoured of him, she would not grieve easily or quietly, but would suffer with all the depth of her being. If I killed him, I would cause her great pain, and with her nature, it was a pain she would not be certain of overcoming. And so I raised my arm and fired into the air.

Willoughby fell to his knees, and had to be assisted to his feet by his seconds.

I walked over to him and looked at him in disgust.

‘You are not worth shooting,’ I said.

Then Green brought me my coat, and we climbed into the carriage. It pulled away, jolting over the heath before turning on to the road.

We went back to Green’s and Wareham’s lodgings. By the time we reached them, a wind had sprung up, and it had driven most of the fog away, revealing a cold, clean light as a pale sun broke through the clouds.

‘You deloped,’ said Wareham, as we went inside. ‘Why?’

‘Because there is another young woman caught in Willoughby’s toils,’ I said, as I took off my outdoor clothes and threw myself into a chair, ‘and I feared that, if I killed him, she would love him for ever.’

‘Another one?’ said Wareham. ‘How many women does the fellow have?’

‘A face like that brings them fluttering like moths to a flame,’ said Green, as he sat down on the sofa, flinging his arm along the back of it.

‘Ay, I wish I had his handsome features,’ said Wareham, laughing, as he caught sight of his crooked nose and scarred cheek in the glass. ‘It would make a change. I would dearly love to have all the women dangling after me. I would parade myself through the ballroom and pretend not to notice them following me, then I would turn around, astonished, and smile, just so’ — he simpered — ‘and bow’ — he bowed low — ‘and consider which lucky lady to take onto the floor. And then consider which lucky lady to take into my bed!’

‘Whereas I
do
have his handsome features,’ said Green.

‘True, but in all the wrong places!’ said Wareham.

‘Brandon is the handsome one amongst us,’ said Green.

‘Which is like saying the clean one amongst chimney sweeps!’ said Wareham.

‘Perhaps he is handsome enough to win the lady for whom he spared Willoughby’s life,’ said Green.

‘I cannot think what you mean,’ I said.

‘No?’

‘No.’

They roared with laughter, and Green leapt on me and wrestled me to the ground.

‘Admit it!’ he said as he held me down.

I threw him off, and in another minute the positions were reversed.

‘Never!’ I said.

‘Never?’ said Wareham, adding his strength to Green’s.

They had me!

‘Oh, no, you don’t get up until you admit it,’ said Green, as I struggled.

‘Very well,’ I said, pretending I was beaten. ‘She is someone I met at Barton.’

They let me up and I dusted myself off before launching myself at Green, and then Wareham, catching them off guard and knocking them down one after the other.

We wrestled for some time until at last we were out of breath, and Green said, ‘Well, what is her name?’

‘A gentleman never bandies a lady’s name.’

‘Camilla,’ guessed Green.

‘Arabella,’ said Wareham.

‘Griselda!’ said Green.

‘If you must know, it is Marianne,’ I said, sitting up, for I knew that I could trust them and that her name would go no further; and, moreover, I was longing to speak of her.

‘Marianne,’ said Green thoughtfully.

‘Be still my beating heart!’ said Wareham, clutching his chest.

‘And is it serious?’ said Green.

The mood changed and they both looked at me expectantly.

‘Yes, I think it is,’ I said.

Green let out a whoop! and Wareham clapped me on the back.

‘At last! You have been unhappy for long enough,’ he said.

‘And look set to be unhappy for some time to come,’ I said. ‘The lady has no interest in me. The last time I saw her, she was besotted with Willoughby.’

‘She will not be so besotted when she discovers his true character,’ said Green. ‘You have only to tell her about Eliza and she will be cured of her affliction. No woman could love him after that.’

I sat down and rested my elbows on my knees.

‘It is not so easy,’ I said.

‘Why not? If you like her, and you can show him to be a scoundrel — ’

‘That is just why I cannot tell her. It cannot come from me or it would look like jealousy.’

‘Is that really the reason?’ asked Green, as he continued to look at me. ‘Or is it because you think that she would hate you for destroying her dreams?’

‘Both,’ I admitted.

‘Then what are you going to do?’ asked Wareham.

‘I am not sure. His presence in town is perhaps a sign that he has already tired of her, in which case she might already be aware of his true character, and she might even now be rejoicing in the fact that she has escaped him. And if not, I am hoping that she will soon realize his heart is not deep enough for her.’

‘And then you can court her,’ said Green.

‘Yes, I can.’

To court Marianne, I thought, and I smiled. What could life offer me that was better than that? Unless it was to win her.

Wareham was growing restless, for he was a man of action, not words, and he jumped up as soon as I had finished, saying, ‘Well, that is settled then. Just remember to invite us to the wedding! And now we must have something to eat! There is nothing like a duel to sharpen the appetite. You will stay for a second breakfast, Brandon?’

‘No,’ I said, rising, too. ‘I want to go and see Eliza, and then I am going to Delaford, to look at the cottages on my estate and decide which one of them would make the most suitable home for her.’

They bade me farewell and I went to Eliza’s lodgings, stopping at the shops on my way to buy her a new comb to cheer her. I chose one with a mother-of-pearl inlay, and I was rewarded by her delight in it.

‘It is so pretty,’ she said.

‘And how are you feeling today?’

‘Much better, and longing to be up again,’ she said.

‘It will not be long now.’

I told her I was going to Delaford to choose a cottage for her.

‘Oh, thank you,’ she said. ‘I am so weary of the town. I am longing to be in the country again. Even in the winter it is better than being here, where there are nothing but grey streets outside the window. Have the leaves fallen yet at Barton?’

‘They have just started to fall.’

‘I want to walk in the copse and kick the leaves and see them swirl up in the air and hear the dry crackle as they swish to the ground,’ she said with a sigh.

‘It will be soon, Eliza.’

I praised the baby, who was sleeping in the crib, before I left, and then set out for Delaford.

 

 

I have found a suitable cottage for Eliza, one I am persuaded she will like. It is a pretty building with a small garden, and it has views down the valley. I have given instructions for one or two improvements to be carried out, and as soon as she is well enough to travel, I mean to take her there.

 

 

I returned to town and told Eliza about her cottage. She was cheered by the news, and she is looking forward to the move.

I have some business to attend to, but then I will accompany her to Delaford, and afterwards I will return to Barton, where I hope to find that Miss Marianne has recovered from her infatuation with Willoughby, and that I can court her.

I want to arouse her interest in the wider world and to stimulate her intelligence, which must be wasting away with only Sir John and his family, good though they are, for company; I want to discuss with her books she has never thought of, poems she has never discovered; I want to show her places she has never been.

I want to open up the world for her, as her sensibility has opened it up once again for me.

 

 

I was walking down Bond Street this morning when I saw a familiar face, that of Mrs Jennings’s daughter, Charlotte; Charlotte Palmer as she is now, for of course she has married. After introducing me to her husband, a grave-looking young man of some five or six and twenty, with an air of fashion and sense, she told me that her mother, sister and brother-in-law were well, and that their children were thriving. And then she confounded me by saying:

‘There is a new family come to Barton Cottage, I hear, by the name of Dashwood. Mama sends me word they are very pretty, and that one of them is going to be married to Mr Willoughby, of Combe Magna.’

My spirits sank, and all my ideas of showing Marianne a wider world evaporated like the morning mist.

She was in love with him. She was going to marry him.

There was no hope for me.

Should I have told her? Should I have made her aware of his true character? Should I have prevented her engagement?

I was so lost in my thoughts that I scarcely heard the rest of Mrs Palmer’s speech, though she talked for some time, saying how glad she was to hear of the engagement; how everyone in Devonshire thought Mr Willoughby extremely agreeable; and how nobody was more liked than Mr Willoughby wherever he went.

She paused, and I roused myself, for it was necessary for me to say something, though I scarcely know what I said.