Content warnings can be found here

Edward felt a touch on his arm and wheeled, nearly shooting Peaches in the face.

“What the fuck is happening?”

She put her hand over his, and pushed his pistol down. “Teddy, it’s the Watch.”

“The what? What bastard called the Watch? Peaches, what...?”

“It was Hedge.” She nodded to the grey faced man. 

“Of all the insufferable...” he let out a shout of frustration and charged across the grass to where Dickie was on his feet again, holding the pistol out with all the reckless decision of fury. His eyes were clearest jade, his blood like port-wine. 

A pair of constables were circling him nervously, as if they were contemplating trying to knock the gun from his hand.

“Let him go,” Edward shouted. “Let that man go. I demand satisfaction.”

“My Lord,” Hedge’s soft voice burred in his ear, his hand firm on Edward’s shoulder, “That man is a dangerous criminal, and he must be detained.”

“Dangerous! Dangerous, you lunk? That’s Dickie fucking Thornton of the Treasury. Step away from him this instant. He might not be much of gentleman but he’s a damned cut above being manhandled by your bloody type.”

“He was about to attack you, my Lord,” buzzed Hedge.

“In a duel. A duel of honour, Hedge. Do you not have those up at Forthenby?”

“No, my Lord, as they are forbidden by law.”

Edward turned his attention to the constables, “Stand down, I say.”

They ignored him, continuing to circle Dickie, who jerked the gun about, threatening them at every step. Dear God, his hands were shaking with rage.

“Peach,” screamed Edward. “Peach, get over here, you speak plebian. Make these fucking charlies understand the King’s English.”

“My Lord, that is not perhaps your wisest course,” said Hedge.

“Is this how you want it, Valance,” Dickie said, pointing the gun straight at Edward’s face. His voice was furiously calm. 

Without thinking, Edward bought his own up to cover himself. He felt cold, sickened. This was not how it was supposed to be. At this range...

“Stand down,” he said to the constables again, calmer. “I know this man. Dickie, please just...”

“It’s very magnanimous of you, my Lord,” said Hedge, “to wish this gentleman released. I understand that once he was a school fellow of yours.”

“Damned right he was, and not at all the type to take such treatment lightly. Stand down. Richard, listen to me...” 

“I’m afraid the constables will not do that, My Lord.”

“Why the devil not?”

“Because he is currently threatening to kill you.” And then, more quietly, so that there was no fear of being overheard, “Moreover, I have warned them of your choleric nature, and your insistence on extra-judiciary proceedings in the case of personal injury.”

“You what?”

“They are concerned you might also attempt to kill the gentleman, my Lord.”

“Kill him? What the hell gives them that impression? I don’t want to kill old Dickie.”

“That might sound more convincing,” said Peaches, who had finally reached them. “If you weren’t pointing a pistol at his head.”

Hedge looked insufferably smug.

Edward looked down, lowering his gun for one instant.  “Oh bloody hell. That’s for...”

But he was silenced by the sound of a report, and a cry, and then one of the constables was lying dead upon the ground.

Edward Valance did not slump, did not sink down to the ground or put his face in his hands. He was the Lord Forthenby, son of Sir Charles of Westlehill (bart.). He stood with his back straight and his head up, the way that Dickie had once taught him to. 

Dickie himself had fled, running with the same long-legged, effortless stride that Edward remembered from their school days. Most of the Watch had tried to give chase, but no doubt they had lost him soon. Of the two that remained, one knelt over where his colleague lay on the ground, arranging his limbs, covering him with a coat. 

The other paid swift respects to the fallen, before coming and bowing to the gentlemen. “If I may ask a few questions, my Lord?”

“There’s no need,” Edward replied. “It was duel. You interrupted. Had you left us to our business, your colleague might still be alive.”

“That’s as it may be, sir… I mean, my Lord, nonetheless, I...”

“There was no duel,” said Hedge. “There cannot have been a duel this morning.”

Edward glared. His pistol was growing slick in his hand from sweat. It had still not been fired and it was as though he could feel the weight of the powder in it. “Hedge, I will tell you if there’s to have been a duel, or not.” 

Hedge bowed, every inch the proper servant. “Then, my Lord, your own, and Mr Thornton’s seconds will be happy to produce the letters that they have exchanged to bring this to a non-violent reconciliation. They will be able to attest to the presence of a pair of surgeons. They will be able to state the date when the challenge was issued,” Edward nearly interrupted, but Hedge went on, implacable, “and assure us that a reasonable time has elapsed for hot tempers to cool.” He nodded his head to Stevens and Jackson, “Or, they will confirm what I have told this constable: that last night Mr Thornton harassed you in a public place, that he spoke to you insultingly and has used the thin pretence of a dawn meeting to assassinate you, taking advantage of your good nature and mercurial temperament. They will add that, prevented in his designs, he saw fit to murder a constable of the watch.”

“It was a sodding duel,” said Edward, trying to control himself, trying and failing. “I’ve never troubled with half those damned formalities, and these gentleman will vouch for that, too. Jackson?”

Jackson bowed his head to Edward, but instead of rushing to the rescue, he touched the constable on the arm with the sort of duplicitous conciliation he had often used on the softer Masters. “My Lord is, understandably, quite distraught. If I might have a moment of your time?”

“Of course, sir.” And, again, the constable bowed to him. “My Lord.” 

Edward watched them as they withdrew, their heads together, speaking softly, the odd glance in his direction, at the fallen man upon the dew-soaked grass. 

He remembered the look of blind hatred on Dickie’s face, the way the gun had shaken in his hand. So easy for your finger to slip on a trigger as light as these ones. His Ladies were pistols for a man who knew how to handle guns - and he had been enough of a blessed idiot to loan one to someone like Dickie Thornton.
 
Still looking at Jackson pouring who-knew-what into the constable’s ear, he turned to Hedge, “And just what did you tell them, my man?”

“Why, the truth, my Lord,” said Hedge.

Well, of course he had - the truth according to the dreaded Hedge of Forthenby. Which meant, to clear poor Dickie, he would have to explicate the whole blasted, stupid scheme. Edward clenched his jaw and blinked, trying to make the sight of the corpse vanish. The constable glanced at it sadly, as he returned to him. 

This was not going to be pretty.

“Well,” Jackson drawled, “I hope that’s cleared the matter up.”

“Yes, thank you, sir.”

“Just one moment,” Edward said, but the constable shook his head. 

“There is no need, my Lord. Mr Jackson has explained your feelings upon the matter.” He bowed again, deeply. “Most admirable, and quite comprehensible in the circumstances. I understand your distress. Now, if you would excuse me, my Lord, I must summon a magistrate to inspect the body.”

So, he was not to speak? So it was to be a stitch up? A bloody set up. 

No. Edward raised a hand, every inch the Lord of Forthenby. “One moment, if you would. Jackson, what did you tell this gentleman?”

“The truth, my Lord.”

“Meaning?”

“That Thornton tried to square with you in the tavern, but you wouldn’t have it, my Lord.” He spoke with absolute propriety. You would have had to know him very well to hear the irony that touched every word. “That you were a damn sight more polite than I would have been in the circumstances - that when he jostled you against the bar, you let him off, that when he first challenged you, you wouldn’t take his gage, until he struck you.” He gave Edward a hard look. He and Jackson went way back. “I explained why.”

“Did you now?”

“My Lord, it’s clear to those who love you that you let old fondness stand in the way of fitting pride. Although I know you won’t admit it.” 

Edward opened his mouth to protest.

“And I also said,” Jackson went on, in a low, insinuating tone, “that before they tackled him, Thornton was turning to fire.”

Suddenly, Edward had no words. 

“Why do you think I called them over, my Lord?”

Voiceless, Edward shook his head. 

“I understand your shock,” said Jackson, and put his hand on Edward’s arm like a man laying down the knave that made the flush. “But, Forthenby, with all respect, you were facing the other way. He really wanted you dead.”

“No,” said Edward, “no.” And because that wouldn’t convince a simpleton, he turned directly to the constable and said, “Please, you must understand. Di... Mr Thornton is a gentleman, he wouldn’t have -”

“It’s very honourable of you to try and defend him, My Lord,” said Hedge. “But Mr Thornton has shown himself quite willing to gun down an unarmed man.”

“Thornton can’t shoot for toffee.” Edward pointed to the corpse, “if that damned fool hadn’t...”

“That man was trying to protect you, my Lord,” said the constable.

“And it got him killed. Look, I can handle Dickie. I’ve always...” No, you didn’t go there. Not with outsiders, “Anyway, he wouldn’t have intended that. It was a mistake. His finger must have -”

“My Lord, your forgiving nature does you credit,” said Hedge.

“It’s got bugger all to do with my forgiving nature,” Edward bawled. “It’s merely that yours is that of a duplicitous swine.”

“My Lord,” Hedge chided, “I acted only from concern for your well-being. In this, as in all things, my first consideration must be for your safety.”

“I was perfectly bloody safe. It’s your safety I’d be concerned about.”

There was a silence, the sense of men watching, the presence of the corpse, smell of blood and cordite. 

“My Lord,” said Peaches softly, “The Watch. Words like murder.”

He realised he had levelled the pistol at the Hedge’s head. 

Well, that was his testimony out the window.