Page 97 of Affair

Norris lowered his weapon very slowly. A perplexed expression passed over his face. He stared at Tiles, who was taking careful aim, and then he looked at Hamilton. Baxter could see the gathering shock and horror in his eyes. He turned back to Tiles. His mouth worked but no words came. A mouse confronting a snake.

With chilling calculation, Tiles fired his pistol.

A second explosion echoed in the fog.

Norris blinked several times and then looked down at himself as though expecting to see his own blood.

He was not the only one who looked surprised. All of the men gathered to witness the duel gazed at the still-upright, uninjured Norris in astonishment.

“Damnation, Tony missed his man,” someone finally said.

The doctor who had been paid to attend the duel emerged from one of the carriages with an expectant, businesslike expression. He came to a halt when he saw that Norris was still standing.

Baxter stepped forward. “One shot each. That was the agreement. It’s finished.” He watched Tiles, who was examining his pistol with great attention. “Honor has been satisfied. You know how quickly rumors of this sort of thing spread. Let’s all go home before the authorities get word of this meeting.”

There was a general murmur of agreement. The prospect of being arrested for participating in a duel was enough to add a lively spring to everyone’s step. The men headed for the various carriages parked beneath the trees on the side of the field.

Baxter frowned at Norris, who still looked scared and confused. The glazed expression was gone from his eyes, however. He was once again fully aware of his surroundings.

“I’ll take Norris to the carriage.” Hamilton started toward his friend.

Baxter touched his arm briefly. “I want to speak to both of you later. This morning. Before you take Norris home.”

Hamilton hesitated. Then he nodded. “I don’t know what we can tell you, but we owe you some answers. Norris and I shall accompany you back to your house.”

Baxter started toward his carriage. Anthony Tiles stepped into his path.

“St. Ives, a word, if you don’t mind.”

Baxter stopped, removed his spectacles, and began to polish them with his handkerchief. He did not need his eyeglasses to see the penetrating inquiry in Tiles’s gray eyes.

For all his notoriety, Tiles was not yet as dissipated or as debauched as his companions. Baxter sensed that the festering rage that was eating him from the inside out still provided a sense of purpose. When it had devoured too much, Tiles would be destroyed. Charlotte was right. Anthony was crafting his own bad end.

“What is it, Tony?”

“It has been a long time since Oxford, has it not?”

“Yes.”

“I have not seen much of you in recent years. I have missed your companionship.”

“Our interests have diverged.”

Anthony nodded pensively. “Indeed. You always did have a peculiar penchant for your laboratory. And I have always preferred the hells. But we still have one thing in common, do we not?”

“Yes.” That both of them had been born bastards had drawn them together for a time at Oxford, Baxter knew. Perhaps some remnants of that friendship still survived.

“I confess that I was surprised to see you here this morning. I would not have thought that this was your sort of sport.”

“It isn’t.” Baxter replaced his spectacles. “And if you had any sense, Tony, you’d find something more useful to do with your time than engage in dawn meetings. One of these days you’ll find yourself facing someone whose aim is more deadly than your own.”

“And perhaps one whose powder has not been tampered with?”

Baxter smiled faintly. “I trust you are not making any accusations of fraud. After all, your own seconds witnessed the loading of the powder.”

“Yes, but neither of my seconds is a chemist.” Anthony’s expression was surprisingly wry. “They would not have known if a very clever scientist substituted altered gunpowder.”

“Come now, Tony, everyone heard the powder explode when you pulled the trigger.”

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