The witchs head 1884, p.12
The Witch’s Head (1884), page 12
“I am Sir Hugh Kershaw’s son; my name is Hugh Kershaw,” was the reply.
“Indeed! Then we are cousins, I suppose; for I am his nephew, the son of his brother Ernest.”
Hugh Kershaw the elder did not receive this intelligence with even the moderate amount of enthusiasm that might have been expected; he simply lifted his scanty eyebrows, and said, “Oh, I remember, my uncle left a son;” then he turned and made some remark to the gentleman who sat next him that made the latter laugh.
Ernest felt the blood rise to his cheeks; there was something very insolent about his cousin’s tone.
Shortly afterwards the dinner came to an end, and madame with another fascinating smile, retired. As for Ernest, he smoked a pipe with Mr. Alston, and about nine o’clock strolled over with him to the Hall, or Assembly Rooms, a building largely composed of glass, where thrice a week, during the season, the visitors at St. Peter’s Port adjoined to dance, flirt, and make merry.
One of the first sights that caught his eye was a fair creature in evening dress, and with conspicuously white shoulders, in whom he recognised madame. She was sitting near the door, and appeared to be watching it. Ernest bowed to her, and was about to pass on; but, pursuing her former tactics, she dropped the bouquet she was carrying. He stooped, picked it up, returned it, and again made as though he would pass on, when she addressed him, just as the band struck up.
“Ah, que c’est belle, la musique! Monsieur valse, n’est-ce pas?”
In another minute they were floating down the room together. As they passed along, Ernest saw his cousin standing in the corner, looking at him with no amiable air. Madame saw his glance.
“Ah,” she said, “Monsieur Hugh ne valse pas, il se grise; il a l’air jaloux, n’est-ce pas?”
Ernest danced three times with this fair enslaver, and with their last waltz the ball came to an end. Just then his cousin came up, and they all, including Mr. Alston, walked together along the steep streets, which were now quite deserted, to the door of the hotel. Here Ernest said good-night to madame, who extended her hand. He took it, and as he did so he felt a note slipped into it, which, not being accustomed to such transactions, he clumsily dropped. It was the ball programme, and there was something written across it in pencil. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who saw this; his cousin, Hugh, who had evidently been drinking, saw it too, and tried to pick up the programme, but Ernest was too quick for him.
“Give me that,” said his cousin, hoarsely.
Ernest answered by putting it into his pocket.
“What is written on that programme?”
“I don’t know.”
“What have you written on that programme, Camille?”
“Mon Dieu, mais vous m’ennuyez!” was the answer.
“I insist upon your giving me that!” with an oath.
“Monsieur est ‘gentleman.’ Monsieur ne la rendra pas,” said madame, with a meaning glance; and then turning, she entered the hotel.
“I am not going to give it to you,” said Ernest.
“You shall give it to me.”
“Is this lady your wife?” asked Ernest.
“That is my affair; give me that note.”
“I shall not give it to you,” said Ernest, whose temper was rapidly rising. “I don’t know what is on it, and I don’t wish to know; but whatever it is, the lady gave it to me, and not to you. She is not your wife, and you have no right to ask for it.”
His cousin Hugh turned livid with fury. At the best of times he was an evil-tempered man; and now, inflamed as he was by drink and jealousy, he looked a perfect fiend.
“Damn you!” he hissed, “you half-bred cur; I suppose that you get your —— manners from your —— of a mother!”
He did not get any further; for at this point Ernest knocked him into the gutter, and then stood over him, very quiet and pale, and told him that if ever he dared to let a disrespectful word about his mother pass his lips again, he (Ernest) would half-kill him (Hugh). Then he let him get up.
Hugh Kershaw rose, and turning, whispered something to his friend, who had sat next him at dinner, a man about thirty years of age, and with a military air about him. His friend listened and pulled his large moustache thoughtfully. Then he addressed Ernest with the utmost politeness:
“I am Captain Justice, of the —— Hussars. Of course, Mr. Kershaw, you are aware that you cannot indulge yourself in the luxury of knocking people down without hearing more about it. Have you any friend with you?”
Ernest shook his head as he answered: “This,” indicating Mr. Alston, who had been an attentive observer of everything that had passed, “is the only gentleman I know in the town, and I cannot ask him to mix himself up in my quarrels.” Ernest was beginning to understand that this quarrel was a very serious business.
“All right, my lad,” said Mr. Alston quietly, “I will stand by you.”
“Really, I have no right — —” began Ernest.
“Nonsense! It is one of our colonial customs to stick by one another.”
“Mr. Justice — —”
“Captain Justice,” put in that gentleman, with a bow.
“Captain Justice, my name is Alston. I am very much at your service.”
Captain Justice turned to Hugh Kershaw, whose clothes were dripping from the water in the gutter, and after whispering with him for a moment, said aloud, “If I were you, Kershaw, I should go and change those clothes; you will catch cold.” And then, addressing Mr. Alston, “I think the smoking-room is empty. Shall we go and have a chat?”
Mr. Alston assented, and they went in together. Ernest followed; but having lit his pipe, sat down in a far corner of the room. Presently, Mr. Alston called him.
“Look here, Kershaw, this is a serious business, and as you are principally concerned, I think you had better give your own answer. To be brief, your cousin, Mr. Hugh Kershaw, demands that you should apologise in writing for having struck him.”
“I am willing to do that if he will apologise for the terms he used in connection with my mother.”
“Ah!” said the gallant Captain, “the young gentleman is coming to reason.”
“He also demands that you should hand over the note you received from the lady.”
“That I certainly shall not do,” he answered; and drawing the card from his pocket, he tore it into fragments unread.
Captain Justice bowed and left the room. In a few minutes he returned, and, addressing Mr. Alston and Ernest, said:
“Mr. Kershaw is not satisfied with what you offer to do. He declines to apologise for any expression that he may have used with reference to your mother, and he now wishes you to choose between signing an apology, which I shall dictate, or meeting him to-morrow morning. You must remember that we are in Guernsey, where you cannot insult a man on the payment of forty shillings.”
Of course, this view was an entirely incorrect one. Although Guernsey has a political constitution of its own, many of its laws being based upon the old Norman-French customs, and judicial proceedings being carried on in French, &c., it is quite as criminal an act to fight a duel there as in England, as Captain Justice himself afterwards found out to his cost. But they none of them knew that.
Ernest felt the blood run to his heart. He understood now what Captain Justice meant. He answered simply:
“I shall be very happy to meet my cousin in whatever place and way you and Mr. Alston may agree upon;” and then he returned to his chair, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of his pipe and an entirely new set of sensations.
Captain Justice gazed after him pityingly. “I am sorry for him,” he said to Mr. Alston. “Kershaw is, I believe, a good shot with pistols. I suppose you will choose pistols. It would be difficult to get swords in such a hurry. He is a fine young fellow. Took it coolly, by George! Well, I don’t think that he will trouble the world much longer.”
“This is a silly business, and likely to land us all in a nasty mess. Is there no way out of it?”
“None that I know of, unless your young friend will eat dirt. He is a nasty-tempered fellow, Kershaw, and wild about that woman, over whom he has spent thousands. Nor is he likely to forgive being rolled in the gutter. You had better get your man to give in, for if you don’t, Kershaw will kill him.”
“It is no good talking of it. I have lived a rough life, and know what men are made of. He is not of that sort. Besides, your man is in the wrong, not that boy. If anybody spoke of my mother like that I would shoot him.”
“Very good, Mr. Alston. And now about the pistols; I have none.”
“I have a pair of Smith & Wesson revolvers that I bought yesterday to take out to Africa with me. They throw a very heavy bullet, Captain Justice.”
“Too heavy. If one of them is hit anywhere in the body — —” He did not finish the sentence.
Mr. Alston nodded. “We must put them twenty paces apart, to give them a chance of missing. And now about the place and the time?”
“I know a place on the beach, about a mile and a half from here, that will do very well. You go down that street till you strike the beach, then turn to your right, and follow the line of the sea till you come to a deserted hut or cottage. There we will meet you.”
“At what time?”
“Let me see; shall we say a quarter to five. It will be light enough for us then.”
“Very good. The Weymouth boat leaves at half-past six. I am going to see about getting my things ready to go to meet it. I should advise you to do the same, Captain Justice. We had better not return here after it is over.”
“No.”
Then they parted.
Luckily the manager of the hotel had not gone to bed; so the various parties concerned were able to pay their bills, and make arrangements about their luggage being sent to meet the early boat, without exciting the slightest suspicion. Ernest wrote a note, and left it to be given to his friend when he should arrive on the morrow, in which he stated mysteriously that business had called him away. He could not help smiling to himself sadly when he thought that his business might be of a sort that it would take all eternity to settle.
Then he went to his room and wrote two letters, one to Eva and one to Dorothy. Mr. Alston was to post them if anything happened to him. The first was of a passionate nature, and breathed hopes of reunion in another place — ah, how fondly the poor human heart clings to that idea! — the second collected and sensible enough. The letters finished, following Mr. Alston’s advice, he undressed and took a bath; then he said his prayers — the prayers his mother had taught him — put on a quiet dark suit of clothes, and went and sat by the open window. The night was very still and fragrant with the sweet strong breath of the sea. Not a sound came from the quaint old town beneath — all was at peace. Ernest, sitting there, wondered whether he would live to see another night, and, if not, what the nights were like in the land whither he was journeying. As he thought of it the grey damps that hide that unrisen world from our gaze struck into his soul and made him feel afraid. Not afraid of death, but afraid of the empty loneliness beyond it — of the cold air of an infinite space in which nothing human can live. Would his mother meet him there, he wondered, or would she put him from her, coming with blood upon his hands? Next he thought of Eva, and in his solitude a tear gathered in his dark eyes, it seemed so hard to go to that other place without her.
CHAPTER XVI
MADAME’S WORK
PRESENTLY THE EASTERN sky began to be barred with rays of light, and Ernest knew that the dawn was near.
Rising with a sigh, he made his last preparations, inwardly determining that, if he was to die, he would die in a way befitting all English gentlemen. There should be no sign of his fears on his face when he looked at his adversary’s pistol.
Presently there came a soft knock at the door, and Mr. Alston entered with his shoes off. In his hand he held the case containing the two Smith & Wessons.
“We must be off presently,” he said. “I just heard Captain Justice go down. Look here, Kershaw, do you understand anything about these?” and he tapped the Smith & Wessons.
“Yes; I have often practised with a pair of old duelling pistols at home. I used to be a very fair shot with them.”
“That is lucky. Now take one of these revolvers; I want to give you a lesson, and accustom you to handle it.”
“No, I will not. It would not be fair to the other man. If I did, and killed him, I should feel like a murderer.”
“As you like; but I am going to tell you something, and give you a bit of advice. These revolvers are hair-triggered; I had the scears filed. When the word is given, bring the barrel of your pistol down till you get the sight well on to your antagonist, somewhere about his chest, then press the trigger, do not pull it, remember that. If you do as I tell you, he will never hear the report. Above all, do not lose your nerve; and don’t be sentimental and fire in the air, or any such nonsense, for that is a most futile proceeding, morally, and in every other way. Mark my words, if you do not kill him, he will kill you. He intends to kill you, and you are in the right. Now we must be going. Your luggage is in the hall, is it not?”
“All except this bag.”
“Very good; bring it down with you. My boy will bring it to the boat with my own. If you are not hit, you will do well to get out of this as soon as possible. I mean to make for Southampton as straight as I can. There is a vessel sailing for South Africa on Friday morning; I shall embark in her. We will settle what you are to do afterwards.”
“Yes,” said Ernest, with a smile, “there is no need to talk of that at present.”
Five minutes afterwards they met in the hall, and slipped quietly out through the door that always stood open all night for the accommodation of visitors addicted to late hours. Following the street that Captain Justice had pointed out, they descended to the beach, and, turning to the right, walked along it leisurely. The early morning air was very sweet, and all nature smiled dimly upon them as they went, for the sun was not yet up; but at that moment Ernest did not think much of the beauty of the morning. It all seemed like a frightful dream. At last they came to the deserted hut, looming large in the grey mist. By it stood two figures.
“They are there already,” said Mr. Alston.
As they approached, the two figures lifted their hats, a compliment which they returned. Then Mr. Alston went to Captain Justice, and fell into conversation with him, and together they paced off a certain distance on the sand, marking its limits with their walking sticks. Ernest noticed that it was about the length of a short cricket pitch.
“Shall we place them?” he heard Captain Justice say.
“Not just yet,” was the reply; “there is barely light enough.”
“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Alston presently, “I have prepared in duplicate a paper setting forth as fairly as I can the circumstances under which this unhappy affair has come about. I propose to read it to you, and to ask you all to sign it, as a protection to — to us all. I have brought a pen and a pocket ink-pot with me for that purpose.”
Nobody objected, so he read the paper. It was short, concise, and just, and they all signed it as it stood. Ernest’s hand shook a good deal as he did so.
“Come, that won’t do,” said Mr. Alston, encouragingly, as he pocketed one copy of the document after handing the other to Captain Justice. “Shake yourself together, man!”
But for all his brave words he looked the more nervous of the two.
“I wish to say,” began Ernest, addressing himself to all the other three, “that this quarrel is none of my seeking. I could not in honour give up the note the lady wrote to me. But I feel that this is a dreadful business; and if you,” addressing his cousin, “are ready to apologise for what you said about my mother, I am ready to do the same for attacking you.”
Mr. Hugh Kershaw smiled bitterly, and, turning, said something to his second. Ernest caught the words “white feather.”
“Mr. Hugh Kershaw refuses to offer any apology; he expects one,” was Captain Justice’s ready answer.
“Then if any blood is shed, on his head be it!” said Mr. Alston solemnly. “Come let us get it over.”
Each took his man and placed him by one of the sticks, and then handed him a revolver.
“Stand sideways, and remember what I told you,” whispered Mr. Alston.
“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked Captain Justice presently.
There was no answer; but Ernest felt his heart stand still, and a mist gathered before his eyes. At that moment he heard a lark rise into the air near him and begin to sing. Unless he could get his sight back he felt that he was lost.
“One:” The mist cleared away from his eyes; he saw his adversary’s pistol-barrel pointing steadily at him.
“Two:” A ray broke from the rising sun, and caught a crystal pin Hugh Kershaw incautiously wore. Instinctively Ernest remembered Mr. Alston’s advice, and lowered the sight of his long barrel till it was dead on the crystal pin. Curiously enough, it reminded him at that moment of the eyes in the witch’s head at Dum’s Ness. His vital forces rose to the emergency, and his arm grew as steady as a rock. Then came a pause that seemed hours long.
“Three:” There was a double report, and Ernest became aware of a commotion in his hair. Hugh Kershaw flung up his arms wildly, sprang a few inches off the ground, and fell backwards. Great God, it was over!
Ernest staggered a moment from the reaction, and then ran with the others towards his cousin — nay, towards what had been his cousin. He was lying on his back upon the sand, his wide-opened eyes staring up at the blue sky, as though to trace the flight of the spirit, his arms extended. The heavy revolver-ball had struck near the crystal pin, and then passed upwards through the throat and out at the base of the head, shattering the spinal column.
“He is dead,” said Captain Justice, solemnly.
Ernest wrung his hands.
“I have killed him,” he said—”I have killed my own cousin!”
“Young man,” said Mr. Alston, “do not stand there wringing your hands, but thank providence for your own escape. He was very near killing you, let me tell you. Is your head cut?”
