Jane Austen Made Me Do It by Laurel Ann Nattress Page B

was with me, might still be abroad on his errand. I did not wish to meet the Rogue; it was the Witch I was after.
    I sent up my card to Mademoiselle; on the obverse, I had written—
Regarding Lord Cecil
. I was not surprised when she received me—in dishabille, before her dressing table, her hair undone and a brush in her hand. She was exceedingly lovely.
    â€œWho are you,” she demanded, when she had sent away her maid, “and what would you dare to say to me of Lord Cecil?”
    If I felt a strong desire to shatter her mirror, I may perhaps be forgiven.
    â€œI shall come straight to the point,” I returned. “Harcourt intends to kill Lord Harold Trowbridge tomorrow at dawn—to save himself from the scandal and ruin necessarily involved in the charge of
traitor
. You, mademoiselle, have ensnared the fellow in this web of despicable deceit, and now fear for his life. Am I wrong?”
    â€œYou are not wrong,” she said in a voice aching and low; “I did my best, me, to shield him—I did not give up the paper—but itwas as nothing! He was
enragé
—he would throw his life away to defend my honour! He does not know that ’Arry will of a certainty kill him!”
    â€œIs Harcourt accounted a good shot?”
    She shrugged with Gallic eloquence. “I do not know this. I only know that ’Arry has shot scores of men in duels! He is famous for killing, that one!”
    The Rogue’s reputation in France far exceeded even his exploits, it seemed; he would be no end gratified to learn of it. But I saw no reason to improve the lady’s faulty understanding.
    â€œThere might be a way you may save Harcourt,” I said. “Give up that paper he stole from the Admiralty. Tell Lord Harold what his lordship most wishes to learn—the movements of the French fleet.”
    She frowned at me warily. “Are you mad? You would trap me! You would see me hanged!”
    I sank down beside her and took her hand—the very soft, white article that had slapped Lord Harold so fiercely. “Do you love Harcourt very much?” I enquired.
    â€œTo the point of madness!” she cried.
    â€œâ€”And would do anything to save him?”
    â€œ
Mon dieu
—but anything!” She turned streaming eyes to mine. “Can it be that you will help me? But
why
? —Why should I trust you,
hein
?”
    â€œBecause
I
would do anything to save Lord Harold,” I retorted drily. “Now listen, mademoiselle. Here is what we must do.”
    When the two men met on a flat stretch of ground adjacent to the Kennet & Avon canal, at precisely six o’clock yesterday morning, with their Seconds soberly pacing the ground and examining the pistols; with good Mr. Bowen, the surgeon, waiting to turn hisback upon the opponents in expectation of an act his medical oath should not countenance; with a swift curricle-and-four standing ominously in readiness, to bear Harcourt away to the port of Bristol—Mademoiselle de la Neuve and I were there.
    The duelists did not see us, of course; Desirée was too adept an Adventuress for self-betrayal, and I was something of a Student of Deception myself. She had paid off the boot-boy at the White Hart to overlisten the Seconds’ conversation, establishing the hour and place of meeting; and after that, it was mere child’s play. We hired our hacks at the livery-stable in Milsom Street, and rode out to the ground before dawn; tethered our mounts in a coppice, with feed-bags to their noses; and awaited the gentlemen’s pleasure. By the time they arrived, both Mademoiselle and I were shivering to the bone—from apprehension as much as the raw Spring weather.
    We lay flat on our stomachs, our gowns fearfully crushed beneath us, the cold seeping through our stout pelisses. We were invisible to the combatants; but our view of the ground was admirable.
    Lord Harold and Harcourt stood with their backs together, and