Sir Richard’s reply arrived less than an hour later.
Sir,
I accept your challenge to a pistol duel at dawn. No doubt, your letter shall serve in my defense should my precisely aimed bullet prove fatal to you. No judge would convict a man whose honor has been so hideously maligned as mine, particularly one who has served his country as well as I have done. There will be no need to travel to France. Hampstead Heath will do.
Sincerely,
General Sir Richard Astyr
Jack’s heart pumped with renewed energy. He lowered the note and breathed deeply. The moment he’d been waiting for had arrived. It was time to alert Brandt, check his pistols, and ready himself to face his uncle at dawn.
Chapter Nineteen
And drawing from his belt a pistol,he
Replied, ‘Your blood be then on your ownhead.’
Then look’d dose at the flint, as if tosee
’Twas fresh—for he had lately used thelock—
And next proceeded quietly tocock.
—Byron,“Don Juan”, Canto4
Thirty minutes beforedawn the following day, Jack departed Mayfair for Hampstead Heath in a hired brougham. Brandt stretched beside him, arms crossed and hat over his face. He’d fallen asleep as soon as the carriage rolled away from Half Moon Street, but Jack’s body pulsed with energy. He was no longer a vulnerable lad but a man about to meet his uncle on equal footing.
When the darkness outside lightened a shade and the black night transformed into purple dawn, Jack knew they were approaching their destination. He peered out the carriage window as it trundled over the grassy heath toward the dueling spot.
“It’s time.” Jack lifted the hat from Brandt’s face. “Sir Richard’s day of reckoning is finally here.”
“Already?” Brandt pushed himself upright and rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “That sure was fast.”
“How would you know? You slept like a babe in a rocker.”
Brandt yawned. “Is the big bug here yet?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Let’s find out.” Jack pushed open the carriage door and stepped onto the field, still wet with early morning dew. A hint of orange filtered across the horizon, adding another layer of color to the sky.
“I reckon that’s your man.” Brandt pointed to a large, black and gold-trimmed carriage parked under a cluster of trees about fifty feet across the field. A liveried footman alighted from his box seat and opened the door of the stately carriage. Seconds later, Sir Richard emerged and stepped onto the green field. A second, military-looking gentleman followed him, as did his solicitor Jebkin. Finally, a bespectacled man clutching a medical bag stumbled out of the carriage.
“Good thing he brought a doc with him ’cause he’s gonna need one.” Brandt put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Remember now, dead men can’t talk, so no good will come from killin’ him. Keep your head an’ do him like we did Wardell. Guaranteed, he’ll squeal like a pig.”
Jack ran his hand over the smooth handle of the six-shooter ensconced in his holster. Brandt was right. Keeping his head had already worked in his favor. He’d have liked to put a bullet in his uncle the day after discovering his whereabouts, and it had taken a bucketful of discipline to restrain himself from doing so. But this moment made the wait worthwhile. The fool had behaved predictably and walked right into his trap. It hadn’t even taken long.
Jack squared his shoulders and strode forward to meet his opponent. The two parties met in the middle of the field, and for the first time in eleven years, Jack came face to face with his nemesis.
Sir Richard stood with his back straight and his body as rigid as a wooden soldier’s. Jack hooked his thumbs in his belt and met his uncle’s disdainful stare with a wry smile.You’re a fool if you think you can match my quick draw and sharp eye, General. While retirement and luxurious living made you soft, I spent my time watching my back and mastering survival. And now, I’m going to destroy you.
Sir Richard narrowed his eyes and homed in on Jack, and then shock and recognition registered on his uncle’s face.
Acrid bile rose in Jack’s throat. Why did the fool look surprised? Hadn’t he already gleaned Jack’s identity from the information Miss Hamilton passed on to him?Perhaps my transformation from gullible, skinny boy to hardened gunslinger scares you, Uncle. No doubt, you thought I was good and dead. Little did you know, I’ve spent the last eleven years planning your demise.
“Is this gentleman your second?” Jebkin interrupted Jack’s mental showdown with his uncle and motioned to Brandt.
“He is,” Jack stepped next to Brandt.
“Howdy, y’all.” Brandt tipped his cowboy hat at the party of men and smirked at their disdain.
