Pushing unceremoniously aside the people among whom he was standing, guided by an unerring instinct he strode down to the main hall. On either side the great staircase there were deep alcoves with settees in them that Georgina that morning had screened with banks of flowers.
The hall was empty and, as Roger advanced on the nearest alcove, he heard Georgina's half-strangled cry, 'No. no! Desist, I beg! Enough, I say! No, I won't let you.'
Tearing aside the screen of daffodils and hyacinths, Roger stared down at the couple on the well-cushioned sofa. Georgina was lying full length upon it, her feet dangling on the ground. Gunston was on top of her. With one hand he was endeavouring to muffle her protests, the other he had thrust up under her skirts.
Without a thought that someone might come upon them, instead of simply demanding that Gunston should release Georgina and so put a swift end to this unpleasant scene, Roger lurched forward, seized him by the back of his stiff uniform collar, dragged him off her and shouted, 'You lecherous swine! I'll make you pay for this!'
Gunston was much the bigger man. Regaining his balance he squared up to Roger and cried, 'So 'tis you. Brook! My old schooldays' companion, the snivelling little bookworm Brook. How typical of you to come on the scene just as I was about to get to work on our lovely hostess. I've often heard of her as a game filly, and she was making no more than the usual demurs that well-bred women consider necessary as evidence of their modesty.'
'You lie,' snarled Roger. 'You were holding her down and about to force her.'
'Nonsense! 'Tis only your jealousy that makes you see things in that way. All the town knows that she has been your mistress on and off for years. You should not take it ill that she is now tired of you and would welcome a change.'
At one side of the hall stood a long sword rack, in which it was customary for officers to leave their swords on entering a house. In it, besides those of the officers attending the dance, were several rapiers that had belonged to Sir Humphrey Etheredge. Striding two paces, Roger snatched up the nearest. It happened to be only a Court sword with a slender blade and of less than a duelling sword's standard length. But, swishing it in the air, he advanced on Gunston and cried in a thick, husky voice:
'Arm yourself, you slandering bastard. For having traduced my Lady St. Ermins I intend to kill you here and now.'
'You're drunk,' retorted Gunston. 'Drunk as an owl. Put up that weapon and go douse your head under a cold tap.'
'Drunk I may be,' shouted Roger. 'But I'll not be drunk at dawn tomorrow. You shall face me then and I'll see to it that you never more lay your filthy hands on a decent woman.'
Gunston was sweating under his tight red uniform coat. His normally rubicund face had gone a deep puce and Ins blue eyes showed fear. Running a finger round his tight high collar to case it, he shook his head and gasped, 'No, no! I'll not do that. Everyone knows that when sober few men could meet you. I'll not let myself be cut to pieces to make for you a Roman holiday.'
'Poltroon!' Roger sneered at him. 'By refusing to meet mc you disgrace the uniform you wear. So be it then. I'll settle your business before you are five minutes older.' Then he made a lunge at Gunston with the fragile rapier.
Georgina had pulled herself to her feet, hurriedly rearranged her disordered dress, and was staring at them wide eyed.
'Stop!' she cried. 'For God's sake, stop! Not here! Not here!'
Ignoring her, Roger made another threatening feint at Gunston, driving him back against the sword rack. His eyes as desperate as those of a trapped animal, Gunston fumbled behind him; his hand fell upon the hilt of a cavalry sabre. Wrenching it from its scabbard he threw himself into a posture of defence.
With a drunken laugh Roger engaged him. The steel clashed but the combat was an uneven one. Gunston's heavy blade far outweighed Roger's slender rapier. Within a minute he found that he needed all his skill to avoid his frail weapon being cut off near the hilt or struck from his hand.
Georgina wasted no more breath in pleading with these two life-long enemies to cease from their attempts to kill one another. Gathering up her skirts she ran from the hall into the dining room.
The two antagonists now circled round one another. Roger pinked Gunston's shoulder, but he dared not parry the swipes from the heavy sabre and only by the agility that made him such a formidable swordsman did he succeed in jumping aside in time to save his head from being sliced in half.
Short as their combat was they were both breathing heavily when Georgina came running back with Beefy, whom she had found in the dining room talking to some other men. He shouted to Roger and Gunston to put up their weapons, but they ignored him. Finding his pleas useless, he ran to another rack that held a variety of walking sticks and canes. Grasping a heavy blackthorn, he ran forward brandishing it and attempted to beat down the clashing blades.
Only too glad to see an end to this murderous encounter, Gunston lowered his sabre and gave back. Roger, furious at Beefy's interference, berserk with accumulated rage and determined not to let his old enemy escape without at least a nasty gash that would be a lesson to him, yelled at Beefy to get out of the way, sidestepped and made another thrust.
Beefy was standing between them and sideways on to both, but looking towards Gunston. At Roger's shout he swerved half round and brought up his blackthorn, to strike Roger's rapier down. Roger's thrust had been aimed to pass behind Beefy's back, but the quantity of brandy he had drunk had slightly impaired his timing and, at the same moment, Beefy's swerve had altered his position a little. The slender blade failed to clear him. It ripped through the silk of his coat near the base of his spine.
He suddenly stiffened. His eyes started from their sockets. He gave an awful groan and fell to the ground.
For a moment Roger, Gunston and Georgina all remained as though paralysed, staring with horrified eyes at the squirming figure. Then throwing herself on her knees beside her husband Georgina took his head in her lap. His eyes rolled, froth bubbled from his lips and his body jerked spasmodically, so that she had difficulty in holding him.
Suddenly a prolonged bubbling sound began to issue from Beefy's throat. It was not the first time that Roger had heard a dying man give vent to the death rattle and it confirmed his worst fears. His rapier must have passed through Beefy's liver.
By this time, attracted by the sounds of strife a small crowd of people had come out into the hall. Some of them began to shout, 'Get a doctor!' 'Fetch some water!' 'Give him brandy!', while others violently upbraided Roger and Gunston as being the evident cause of the tragedy.
Ignoring them, Roger threw his rapier on the floor and stared down at Georgina. Letting fall her dead husband's head, she rose and faced him. Then, her black eyes as yet tearless but hard as stones, she said in a low tense voice:
'I always knew you to be unscrupulous towards your enemies. But to have done this thing to me almost passes belief. Seeing an opportunity to gain your ends you put them before all thought of my happiness.' Suddenly her voice rose almost to a scream:
'Go from here! Go! I hate you! I never want to set eyes on you again!'
No more awful thing could have happened to Roger than that Georgina, his life-long love, should drive him from her. Yet even that was not the full price he was to pay for this terrible occurrence. For this was not France, where Napoleon's officers fought one another on the slightest provocation and counted it no more than good practice for using their swords against France's enemies. This was England, where to kill a man was manslaughter—or might be accounted murder.