Enlightening Delilah (14 page)

Mr Berkeley thought gloomily of the character of his seconds. He had asked a Mr Withering and a certain Lord Pomfrey to second him and they had agreed. He knew it was no use trying to get them to persuade Sir Charles to drop the duel. Both were looking forward to it immensely. He was furious with that minx, Delilah. She had no right to play such tricks on him. Mr Berkeley was determined to stay alive, if only to get his revenge on her. In his fear, he decided she had deliberately led him on, only to embroil him in a silly fight for his life. He almost forgot he was the instigator of the duel.

The evening before the duel, he was desperate. He took himself off to one of Covent Garden’s most disreputable taverns. He was not unknown there and was acquainted with several of the villains who frequented the place. He found the sort of unsavoury character he needed and bribed the man heavily. His new helper was to conceal himself on Parliament Hill Fields and as soon as Sir Charles raised his pistol, this man was to shoot him dead before Sir Charles could pull the trigger. It would be assumed the bullet came from Mr Berkeley’s pistol.

Feeling much more cheerful, Mr Berkeley went back to his lodgings to get a good night’s sleep.

Delilah felt she could not bear to sit quietly at home waiting for news. She did not know where the duel was to be held. She knew the time would probably be around dawn. But even if she knew the duelling place, she could not hope to get there, for she had no means of transport. In vain did she beg the sisters to alert the authorities. Amy shook her head and said if she did that, Sir Charles would get to hear who had told on him, and would never speak to Delilah again.

It was a freezing night, although there was no fog. Amy and Effy went early to bed. Delilah paced up and down her room, feeling utterly helpless. She was afraid for Sir Charles and afraid of him at the same time. He had such power over her. It would be terrifying to be married to him, to be such a slave to any man. Before, when she was seventeen, Delilah had often dreamt of marriage to Sir Charles, but she had imagined a tranquil existence enlivened with a few sweet kisses, never that her body would so fiercely yearn for his that she felt half mad.

She fell asleep at last in a chair and awoke at six in the morning, hearing the dreary, hoarse voice of the watch calling the hour. Delilah made up her mind. She simply had to take some sort of action. She dressed in a plain warm gown and wrapped herself in her thickest, drabbest cloak and wound a scarf about her hair. The squire kept his daughter generously supplied with pin money. Delilah put a rouleau of guineas in her pocket and then made her way slowly down the stairs and quietly unlocked the front door and slipped out into the street.

She walked down to Oxford Street and waited patiently, hoping not to be surprised by a party of bloods, until she heard the clip-clop of horse’s hooves and saw a hack approaching.

The Jehu listened in surprise as she said she wished him to wait at the corner of Brook Street until he saw a carriage leaving and to follow it. He started to shake his head but she produced the rouleau of guineas, extracted two and held them up so that they glittered faintly in the moonlight.

‘’Op in,’ growled the driver.

Delilah heaved a sigh of relief. The first part was over.

They waited at the corner of Brook Street, Delilah standing beside the carriage. The parish lamps were extinguished at twelve, but there was a full moon riding above. She did not know which was Lord Andrew’s house but was sure anyone leaving so early in the morning must be Sir Charles. She shrank back into the shadow of the hack as a carriage drove into Brook Street and stopped outside one of the houses. A man got out, knocked at the door and was admitted. Delilah waited, shivering.

A carriage was brought around to the front door of the house by grooms from the mews. Then the house door opened again and Sir Charles came out, followed by Lord Andrew and the man Delilah had already seen.

‘Won’t do, miss,’ called down the driver. ‘If them’s the carriages I’m suppose’ to follow, I’ll never keep up with ’em. Besides, even if I could, they’d see me following and I’m having no truck with the quality. Beat my head in they would fer the fun o’ it.’

‘You
must
wait,’ hissed Delilah, but he whipped up his horse and cursed and drove off.

Without thinking, Delilah ran lightly towards the two waiting carriages. She reached Sir Charles’s carriage just as it was moving off and tumbled headlong into the rumble at the back. The man who had first arrived on the scene was driving the carriage in front.

Delilah clung on desperately inside the rumble. The carriage was bowling along at a great rate. The only good thing about all the jolting and shaking was that it had stopped her shivering.

But just when she thought she was going to be sick, that she could not possibly endure another moment, the pace slowed.

She waited until the carriage stopped. It dipped and swayed as Sir Charles and Lord Andrew climbed down. She could hear the murmur of their voices, then the sound of another carriage, then Lord Andrew’s voice saying clearly, ‘Here comes the surgeon.’

Then the voices grew fainter as they moved away.

Delilah climbed out and stood behind the carriage, shivering.

The grass and trees were thick with hoar frost, and a red sun low on the horizon turned everything fiery red.

Delilah peered around the carriage. Sir Charles, Lord Andrew and the other man, who must be Sir Charles’s other second, were standing waiting. She looked about. There was a copse of trees quite near where they were standing. She began to creep towards it, finally coming to rest against the thick trunk of an oak.

All at once she felt completely and utterly helpless. She had left Holles Street on impulse. Perhaps at the back of her mind had been some vague plan to throw herself between them. Now that she was here on the duelling ground, she knew that if she did such a thing, Sir Charles would never forgive her.

Mr Berkeley arrived on the scene, accompanied by his seconds. A box of duelling pistols was produced. Both men took one each and weighed them in their hands and then gave them to their respective seconds for inspection. The surgeon squatted down on the grass and opened his case. He took out a sinister-looking scalpel that winked wickedly in the red sunlight and tested the edge with his thumb before returning it to the case.

The hammering of Delilah’s heart slowed. A voice in her brain said over and over again, ‘There is nothing you can do.’

The men stood back to back and then began to pace across the turf.

Sir Charles was hatless, his fair hair impeccably dressed, his cravat beautifully arranged. Mr Berkeley was wearing a black coat buttoned up to the throat.

And then, just as they were turning to face each other, Delilah heard a sound from the other side of the tree. She crept around the thick bole.

There was a villainous-looking man standing there with a long pistol pointed straight at Sir Charles.

Delilah flung herself on him and screamed, ‘Murder!’ at the top of her lungs. The man struck her to the ground and made his escape as everyone came running up.

Delilah jumped to her feet and pointed to the fleeing man. ‘He was trying to kill you, Charles,’ she gasped. ‘He was hiding here. He had a gun.’

Lord Andrew flew off after the disappearing man, followed by Sir Charles. Delilah leaned against the trunk of the tree and closed her eyes and prayed she would not faint.

‘My dear Miss Wraxall,’ came Mr Berkeley’s voice. ‘You should not have come here. That mad ruffian might have killed you.’

Delilah opened her eyes and looked at him. ‘Are you sure you did not hire him to kill Sir Charles?’

‘On my oath,’ cried Mr Berkeley, ‘I would not dream of such a thing. I forgive the insult, Miss Wraxall, for you are evidently overwrought. Come, let . . .’

His voice trailed away and his face turned white, for coming towards them were Lord Andrew and Sir Charles, dragging the villain between them.

‘Don’t hurt me,’ screeched the man. ‘It was ’im, Berkeley, what paid me to do it.’

Sir Charles released the man and walked straight up to Mr Berkeley, drew back his fist and struck him full in the mouth.

Mr Berkeley drew back and raised his duelling pistol. Delilah seized his arm and tried to bear it down. The gun went off with a loud report. Sir Charles caught Delilah and pulled her away. ‘Are you shot?’ he asked.

‘No,’ said Delilah shakily. ‘The bullet went into the ground.’

‘Stay there, and close your eyes,’ said Sir Charles quietly.

Delilah sank down weakly onto the ground. There came the sounds of blows and curses and then a long silence.

‘Come, Delilah,’ came Sir Charles’s voice.

She looked up. He was smiling down at her, his hand outstretched. He drew her to her feet.

She looked across the duelling ground. Mr Guy Berkeley was lying full-length on the ground, blood running from his nose and mouth. ‘The surgeon will see to him,’ said Sir Charles. He turned to the seconds. ‘If Mr Berkeley still wants satisfaction, you know where to find me. If you will excuse me, I will take Miss Wraxall home.’

He helped her into his carriage, and then turned to her. ‘How did you get here?’ he asked.

‘In the rumble of your carriage,’ said Delilah, shivering, ‘and a very nasty experience it was too. I jumped in the back just as you were moving off.’

He wrapped rugs about her. ‘I am sorry this is an open carriage. How did you know when I planned to leave?’

‘I know duels are usually held at dawn,’ said Delilah, snuggling gratefully into the rugs. ‘I knew the sun would not rise until eight thirty. I waited and waited outside your house with a hack. The driver promised me he would follow you, but when he saw your carriages, he said he could not possibly keep up, and even if he could, you would probably beat him. He seemed to have a sad opinion of the quality.’

‘Brave Delilah! Can it be you care for me a little?’

She had a bearskin rug drawn up over her nose and her large eyes looked up at him over the fur. ‘I would have done the same for anyone,’ she said, feeling miserably shy. His black eyes held a sensuous caressing look and her body was misbehaving again.

‘Liar,’ he teased.

‘C-can w-we go?’ asked Delilah plaintively. ‘It is c-cold.’

‘Yes, my darling. Oh, Delilah!’

He tugged down the fur barrier from her mouth and fell to kissing her. She felt a sensation of drugged, heavy sweetness. His searching mouth roused more passion from her than she could have believed possible and his searching hands beneath the rugs sent liquid fire running through her body. Then he tore off his cravat and wrenched open his shirt and took her hand and placed it on his naked chest and whispered, ‘Do you hear how my heart beats for you?’

‘It should not be like this,’ said Delilah. ‘You frighten me.’

‘This is what it is like when it is real,’ he said huskily, his lips against her hair.

‘It cannot be,’ said Delilah. ‘I cannot marry you. I could not call my soul my own!’

‘You
will
marry me. If I thought for a moment you would ever kiss any other man in the way you kiss me, then I would kill you. The fire will burn like this until I get you in my bed and in my arms, Delilah.’ He laughed. ‘Frustration is the only thing I find frightening.’

Delilah struggled to explain. She felt she had lost her power over men. She had always called the tune. What if he left her again?

‘I have been mistress of myself and my father’s household since you left,’ she said. ‘You did not care a rap for me then. Why should you now?’

‘I am not in the habit of begging ladies I don’t give a rap for to marry me. But you need warmth and rest.’

He buttoned his shirt and kissed her on the nose and then flapped the reins and the carriage began to bowl across the frosty turf.

When they reached Holles Street, he said, ‘I had better come in and give the Tribbles my apologies. They must have discovered your absence by now and be worried to death.’

He called to a passing youth to guard his horses and threw him a guinea.

The door was opened by a little chambermaid who looked excited and flustered. ‘They’ve all gone out in the streets to look for you, miss,’ she gasped. ‘Miss Amy and Miss Effy and Mr Harris have taken a carriage out to Chalk Farm and the rest’s running around the streets. Even Miss Yvette’s gone out.’

‘I will take Miss Wraxall up to her room,’ said Sir Charles. ‘She has had a bad shock.’

‘Why Chalk Farm?’ asked Delilah as he led her up the stairs.

‘That, my love, is where duels are normally held.’

Delilah led the way into her room and then looked up at him shyly. ‘Thank you, Charles,’ she said.

‘I shall stay until you are in bed,’ he replied. ‘Don’t fuss. We are soon to be married, so what does it matter? Go behind that screen and undress.’

Delilah felt too tired to argue. She undressed and put on a nightgown and wrapper and came round the screen and climbed into bed. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding her hand until she fell asleep. He was tired himself and very grateful to be alive. His knuckles were grazed. He tucked the hand he had been holding under the bedclothes and went over to the toilet table and sponged his knuckles. He stretched and yawned and turned and looked at Delilah. How wonderful it would be to stretch out beside her and sleep.

Then he grinned. Why not? An hour’s sleep and then he would go out and get a special licence. He walked round the bed and stretched out on top of the blankets. He felt under the bedclothes for Delilah and gathered her into his arms. She murmured sleepily but did not wake.

Amy and Effy erupting into the room half an hour later stopped short at the dreadful sight, and then came in and slammed the door on the faces of the gaping servants. Sir Charles came awake and sat up. Delilah slept on.

He put a finger to his lips and got out of bed and walked quietly to the door of the room. The sisters followed him out.

‘Not yet,’ he said in a whisper, ‘if you are going to shout at me, Miss Amy. I do not want Delilah to wake.’

‘My room!’ said Amy curtly, pushing open a door opposite.