Alfie’s knees turned to water as his lantern illuminated Silas Mourney’s harsh features and glinted off the cold metal of the pistol he held. In his other hand he held a wicked looking knife. Clearly, he did not mean to miss this time. Stiffening his spine, Alfie cast around for something to do, something to say. Anything to buy him some time.
“I’m sure we can come to s-some arrangement, Silas,” he said, wondering if he was going to die here. He set the lantern down, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed.
“Nah. You’ve cost me, boy, and Silas Mourney always settles his accounts.”
Alfie braced himself, heart hammering, wondering if it would hurt, if he would know anything about it. Would Aubrey find him here, like this? That thought was the worst pain of all.
Alfie heard the pistol cock, his world shrinking to the barrel of the gun.
A blur of movement, so sudden Alfie didn’t have time to scream, and someone crashed into Silas. The gun exploded, the terrifying sound stopping Alfie’s heart even as the shot went wide. The two figures struggled on the ground, exchanging blows, Silas slashing out with the knife.
“Run, Alfie!”
Alfie’s blood ran cold as Aubrey’s voice echoed through the night. Run? And leave him to Silas? Was he mad?
Galvanised into action, Alfie cast about for a branch or a rock, anything that could be used as a weapon. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aubrey stagger to his feet, Silas lumbering after him. Slashing with the knife, he went after Aubrey, who raised his arm to protect his face, giving a shout of pain as the knife sliced into him.
A rock! Alfie grasped it with both hands, fully intending to bash Silas’ brains in when another shot rang out, sharp and close. Silas jerked, the knife poised, ready to stab Aubrey in the neck. The scene froze for a bare second before he crashed to the ground, utterly still. The lamp Alfie had set down spilled a puddle of golden light which illuminated the horror of his face, set in a grimace.
Alfie and Aubrey’s eyes met, and as one they turned. At the edge of the clearing, a shadow lowered a smoking pistol. Even in the gloom Alfie could see the blood dripping from his fingers where they clutched at his side. His fair hair shone too brightly, almost white in the lamplight.
“Go,” he rasped, and Alfie heard the pain in that one word. “Go! Get out of here…now!”
Before anyone could move, another gunshot sounded close behind them. The man cursed, crossed the path, and disappeared once more.
Alfie hurried to Aubrey’s side. “You’re hurt!”
Aubrey shook his head. “A scratch.” The longing in his eyes was palpable, the terror, but they could not embrace, not here, not now. He reached out giving Alfie’s hand a swift squeeze, releasing his grip as a redcoat crashed out of the woods close to where the smuggler had stood.
“Where did he go?”
“That way.” Aubrey and Alfie spoke at once, both pointing in the opposite direction to the one the smuggler had taken. The redcoat obligingly ran off towards the town.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Aubrey said urgently.
“I c-came to speak to H-Hawkney,” Alfie stammered, aware of how his voice trembled, of how his whole body trembled, but there was no time to discuss anything as men from the hall surged around them.
Hawkney ran up to Aubrey and grasped his shoulders.
“Aubrey! What happened? Are you hurt?”
If Alfie had been in any doubt of the duke’s affection for his cousin, it was washed away now. The man’s voice vibrated with concern.
Aubrey shook his head, slanting Alfie a mischievous glance. “I’m fine, thanks to Alfie here. This villain seemed to take a dislike to me. I relieved him of his pistol, which Alfie then got hold of. Happily, he shot the devil before he could cut my throat. It was a near thing, though.”
Alfie froze, stunned by Aubrey’s audacity in rewriting history. The duke turned to stare at him.
“Alfred Marwick?”
Alfie nodded, too dumbfounded to speak as Hawkney held out his hand.
“Mr Marwick, it seems I owe you a great debt.”
Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, 21stJanuary 1816.
The entire evening had been surreal. Aubrey wondered if it was all a peculiar dream, an idea he quickly dismissed as Vinnie poured vinegar over the cut on his arm.
“Christ almighty!”
