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“I am sorry if I have offended you, my Lord,” Hedge said, as though the gun were irrelevant. “But I would not have your life endangered, or your good nature imposed upon.”

“Well spoken, sir,” said the constable. 

Edward lowered the gun, out manoeuvred. 

“Look, everyone can see you’ve got a temper, old man,” said Jackson. “And Thornton rushed you into meeting him here, ignoring all the proper proceedings. He was never going to risk you taking a shot at him.”

“Enough.”

 Jackson raised his hands like the long-suffering voice of reason, “And he was turning, my Lord.”

“I said, enough.”

“I’ll to swear it, if that’s what it takes. And Stevens saw it, too.”

“No, he didn’t. Did you Stevens?”

Stevens said nothing for a long while, and then, “My Lord, I…” He shook his head, “I’m afraid I was talking with the Watch, asking them what business they had here. I heard Jackson call out to us, but...”

“Well, thank you for your warnings, Mr Jackson, Mr Hedge,” said the constable. 

Edward stared dully at the fellow, then turned to the mist, which began to burn off, the mist into which Dickie had vanished. 

“My Lord,” said the constable, and bowed. “I appreciate the volume of your choler in this matter and wish to assure you we are proud to have been of service.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“My colleague, my Lord?”

“Mr Thornton.”

“Apprehend him and take him to gaol, sir. I mean, my Lord. He’s to be tried for murder.”

Edward drew long breaths, trying to understand where the morning was gone. He was shaking. “It was an accident.” 

“Your testimony will be of great service, my Lord, when he is in custody.”

“That’s very good of you, sir,” said Peaches, stepping between them. “We’ll get my Lord safely home now.”

The constable bowed again, then walked away. For long minutes, the small group stood in silence, a little distance from the body and its solitary watchman.

“You knew,” Edward said, after they had vanished.

“My Lord, I swear that I knew nothing.”

“Not you, Stevens. Peach. You knew.”

She bowed, “Knew what, my Lord?”

 “Knew what this… this bloody craven was plotting.”

For long enough to confirm it, Peaches didn’t answer, but when she did, she said, “I do not believe this is the best place to discuss such things, my Lord.”

“God damn it, Peach, are you my man or aren’t you?”

Peaches held her head high and said nothing.

“He had called me out. Bloody Dickie had finally called me out. But now, he’s on the run for murder because you pack of swine cooked up some story against him. Well. Now, Hedge, and this is a command, you get him off that charge, and you bring him to me so I can apologise in person. I will not have it said that -”

“That what?” Jackson’s voice oozed in. “That you were attacked and only the prompt action of me and your man were able to save you?”

“Hedge is not my man.”

Jackson shrugged. “Teddy,” he said, as though they were still at school and he were being tutored in an excuse, “Look. If you take this line on it, then no-one else gets hurt. If you start putting it about that this was some grand scheme laid against you, then it’s going to look like you ducked out of the duel. You’re protesting too much. Do you want people saying you couldn’t face Thornton in the field?”

“I don’t give a moll’s wedding vow about what people say. If I let this damned underhand dealing go unchallenged, then I’ll be as much of a villain as they’ll think me.”

“They won’t think that if the record states that he turned,” said Jackson.

“He’s a gentleman. No-one would believe that of him.”

Jackson nodded to the body, “They’ll believe it when they hear about that poor sod.”

“Besides,” said Hedge, “there are the testimony of other witnesses to consider. He had proved himself quite capable of assault. Those at your tavern, although not the most salubrious, would say they saw you receive Mr Thornton kindly, and that he responded with threats. They would say he attempted to strike you, that he pressed you into accepting his challenge. They would say that, once you departed, he behaved rudely and irrationally. That he threatened, and indeed struck, your serving man.”

“He hit you, Peach?”

She shrugged. “Chalked me the once.”

“In essence,” Hedge concluded, “there is no shortage of evidence to suggest Mr Thornton behaved in a fashion that would justify my fearing for your life.”

“Well, yes, because you’ve got this whole business stitched up from start to finish.”

“And if he has, Teddy,” said Peach in his ear, in her softest voice, “then don’t you think it’s better not to fight him?”

“No, I damned well do not. Stevens, you’ll stand by me, won’t you? This isn’t fair play. Even Dickie Upright deserves fair play.”

But Stevens had his face in his hands. He’d always been a tender little bug. “My Lord, I tried to convince you that this duel was irregular. You entered in to it in the flush of anger. Proprieties were not observed. I have stated over and again that I was uncomfortable with proceeding. Further, I can testify that Mr Thornton is a vindictive man, one who sought a quarrel with you on the thinnest of premises. I… My Lord, there is a man lying dead.” His voice was higher than usual, desperate. “And if Mr Jackson and Hedge both say they saw him turn…”

“He did not bloody turn.”

“My Lord,” said Peaches, with the kind of reverence she only used when she was trying to get one over on him in public, “You trust Mr Thornton. I understand that. You two were friends. You don’t want to think he could do that to you -”

“And how the hell can I do this to him?”

“We’ll deal with it, my Lord.” She looked over her shoulder, as though fearing she would be overheard, “We’ll make them see this was an accident, won’t we, Mr Hedge?”

“I do not know how you expect me to control a jury, Henry Peach.”

“What do you mean? What the hell does he mean?”

It was Stevens who spoke, “Teddy, he means that if you interfere now, it’s going to look a damned sight more suspect. My Lord, I mean. I’m sorry. I... What he’s saying is that trying to control this is going to make you look guilty.”

“You’re saying I should just… I should just leave him to hang?”

Not one of them said a word.

“We shall go back to Forthenby, my Lord. Until the season.” said Hedge.

“And run away? And have the whole of London call me a coward?”

“I thought you didn’t care what they thought,” said Jackson, damn his eyes.

“Besides, they won’t,” said Stevens. “My Lord, if he turned, if he did turn...” He stopped at the look Edward gave him, “Well, even if he didn’t, you cannot escape the fact that he has killed someone. Please, my Lord, I have never been a second before, and this whole business has been so irregular that I cannot rightfully say what has occurred and...”

“And you don’t wish to offend Forthenby by taking a bank clerk’s part?”

“My Lord, you said yourself that you should not even have accepted his challenge.” The poor boy seemed almost in tears.

“Oh, go easy, Stevens. It’s not you I’m displeased with.” Edward heard his own voice, and it was so very cold. 

But of course, Dickie hadn’t turned. He could no more have fired upon Edward’s back than he could have gunned down an unarmed constable. 

Edward shut his eyes, not wanting to see the body, but doing that, he saw only Thornton’s blood-drenched, angry face.

His finger had slipped, that was all. Of course, of course, his finger had slipped. He was Dickie Upright, defender of the letter of the law as well as its spirit.

But he had struck Edward more times than Edward could count. A blow, an insult unforgivable, a thing that was not done between gentlemen. Last night, he had tried to strike Edward again, in public, before witnesses. Not a considered horsewhipping, or in one of their games but an angry, unscientific punch. That went beyond all their old pastimes, all the secrecy attendant upon them - if Thornton had forgotten himself to that extent, why would he care for the traditions and propriety of a duel?

He remembered the sheer, deadly rage on Thornton’s face.

He remembered the pressure of a pistol in the soft skin under his jaw.

Edward rubbed his temples.

“Could you not,” he said, slowly, “just have let me shoot the blighter?”

“And if he had shot you first, my Lord?” burred Hedge.

“Stevens,” said Edward, “I beg your pardon for what you’ve had to see this morning. You’re a man of honour and decency. Would you care to walk me home, sir?”