Page 12 of The Rum and The Fox

She strode to the door then, satisfied that she’d done all she could at present. “Pick me up on Widcombe Hill at eleven,” she said, tying her bonnet back on as she went, and then turned as she reached the door. “Oh,” she said, pointing a stern finger at him. “And don’t forget to bring a pistol and plenty of shot.”

***

Ash stared at the door as it closed and wondered if he’d just experienced some strange kind of hallucination, or a waking dream, perhaps. It certainly seemed too far fetched to be real.

So apparently … Lord Todd was planning to murder him and marry his mother, not necessarily in that order, and the man’s own daughter was going to help him turn the cards and murder him first. Apparently, this involved a picnic in Smallcombe Woods and pistols, and he wasn’t entirely sure which part of that plan unnerved him more.

He could handle a pistol, of course. Like most young men, he’d spent some time shooting at targets and the like, but, unlike most young men, he didn’t seem able to hit the side of a barn. That he’d have to illustrate this fact to the redoubtable Lady Todd was not something he looked forward too. Add to that an intimate picnic in a secluded wood with a young woman who had begun to do strange things to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and he wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

He walked back to the window and watched the lady in question as she strode away from his house, shoulders straight, head held high, and with a determined air that he only wished he could emulate. Decidedly unsettled, he went and poured himself a drink and wondered exactly where he could lay his hand on a pistol before tomorrow afternoon.

***

By the time he’d found the lonely figure of Lady Todd, waiting none too patiently at the side of the road, it was well past midday.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he handed her up into his curricle. “You have no idea how awkward it was to get away.”

“Oh, well,” she replied, sounding positively waspish. “If it’s inconvenient for you …”

“No, no,” Ash said, rushing to reassure her as he vaulted back in. “I didn’t mean …” But before he got any further she sighed and shook her head, holding up a hand to silence him.

“No, I’m sorry,” she said as she sat down, sounding all at once utterly dejected. “It’s my father causing all this turmoil and, well, to be honest, I had the devil’s own job getting away myself. I’ve been looking over my shoulder the whole morning, and I’m horribly frightened, and it’s such a ghastly mess, and … and you’ve not once reproached me for it.” She sniffed and turned away, fumbling for a handkerchief.

“Ah,” Ash began, horrified by the idea that she might actually cry. “Well, it’s not as if it’s your fault. We can none of us help our fathers, after all.”

She dabbed at her eyes and nodded, looking grateful for his understanding. “Yes. You are right, of course, but not everyone would see it that way.”

Ash sighed, relieved that the storm had passed. “Well,” he said, a trifle cautious as he offered her a smile. “It’s a nice day for it at least.”

“For learning to shoot my father, you mean?” she asked with a perfectly straight face before dissolving into laughter. “Oh, oh, forgive me,” she said, and now he was unsure if she was laughing or crying. “It’s just so ridiculous and dreadful at the same time, and I don’t know what’s come over me.” She hid her face in her hanky, making little agitated hiccoughing sounds. Ash returned a nervous laugh and regarded his passenger a little as though she might explode at any moment before giving her hand a reassuring pat. “There, there,” he said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which for some reason just sent her off into peals of laughter once more. He sighed and turned his attention to the roads. It was looking as though it might be a long afternoon.

He guided them as far into the woods as he could, and actually earned a word of admiration for his handling of the ribbons. That, at least, was one thing he could do well, to say the least. As a proud member of the Four Horse Club, he was well respected for his ability to drive to an inch.

“Will this suit?” he asked, turning to his now rather more subdued passenger. She nodded, looking about her.

“Yes,” she said, returning a smile that held a hint of apology. “This will be just fine.”

Relieved, as he would rather not risk his horses by taking them any further down the uneven path, he jumped down and ran around to help her alight.

Lady Todd strode off as Ash turned back to the curricle and retrieved both the picnic and a rather fine set of duelling pistols. These had been borrowed from Freddie, who had asked rather too many pointed questions and had been the reason for Ash’s tardy arrival. It had taken him the best part of twenty minutes to reassure the man that he wasn’t setting off at that moment to fight Lord Todd to the death, and Ash thought it best if he knew as little as possible about the whole affair - for both their sakes. In fact, he determined to give his friends a wide berth until this dreadful affair was done. He shuddered at the idea. Though there was no way on earth he could shoot a man, and privately he didn’t have the slightest intention of murdering Lord Todd, he was of the opinion that it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared in case of who knew what eventuality.

He caught up with Lady Todd as she perched on the edge of a fallen tree situated on the edge of a little clearing. Spring was becoming apparent as the first glorious colour of the bluebells carpeted the ground in swathes, the delicate scent a barely-there perfume that gave you hope that warmer days were not so far away after all.

“Pretty,” he said, smiling his approval and placing the basket down.

“Oh, are those the pistols?” she asked, getting to her feet once more and relieving him of the elegant box, inlaid with mother of pearl.

She opened the box and gave a little trill of approval. “Oh, Manton’s,” she said, startling him a little at her instant recognition of the maker. “Yes, .44-bore and very fine indeed,” she added. His surprise only deepened as she proceeded to take one of the pistols from the case, pull the cock half back, and proceed to load it. He watched as she worked, her fingers deft and sure as she trickled the black powder down the muzzle before tamping it down. Wrapping the little ball in the tiny patch, it followed the powder down the muzzle before she tamped it down once more with the air of someone who knew what they were about. After priming the flash, she handed the pistol to him and nodded at a large dead tree over the other side of the little clearing.

“Come on, then,” she said, looking at him with a measuring air that he didn’t find terribly flattering. “Show me what you can do.”

With trepidation and a feeling of heat creeping up the back of his neck, he raised the pistol and took careful aim.

The recoil and the noise took him by surprise as it always did, but not enough to deaden his complete mortification when it became apparent that the shot had gone wide and struck a good four feet to the left of the one he’d been aiming for.

His ears felt as hot as his neck now as he avoided looking at his companion, and she took the gun from his hand and proceeded to reload it, muttering under her breath.

It looked like it really was going to be a long afternoon.