All in Scarlet Uniform (Napoleonic War 4) Read Free Page B

meticulous Truscott had been capable of loading instead of the well-meaning but militarily casual Hanley. Still, the cause did not truly matter any more, as a misfire counted as a shot.
    ‘Dear Lord, he is safe,’ whispered Miss Williams, making her sympathies clear. Hanley wondered whether the girl realised that duelling was illegal, and that if either man died all present could be charged with murder. Yet his friends, who in other circumstances he held to be prudent and sensible, most certainly knew this and were still doing this damned silly thing – as was he, although at least he did not have to be happy about it.
    ‘Mr Garland,’ called Tilney without hesitation, ‘you may give fire.’
    The light dragoon seemed surprised to have survived the shot and perhaps did not fully understand what had happened. It was known for men to forgo a shot when their opponent misfired, but there was no sign that the thought had entered Garland’s head. He raised his pistol and fired. The report was muffled by the wind, which instantly whipped away the dirty smoke.
    Billy Pringle felt something flick through his thick brown hair. He dropped his discharged pistol on to the grass and reached up with his hand. His hair was damp, but only from the rain.
    ‘Is there blood, sir?’ demanded the major. The surgeon seemed finally to wake up, his creased red face alert as he went forward, his legs swishing through the long grass.
    Pringle held up his hand, fingers stretched wide. ‘No blood,’ he said.
    ‘There is no wound,’ said the doctor after a close inspection. Pringle could smell the gin on the man’s breath and wished that he had some. It seemed unfair that the offence could be given after a good few drinks, while the encounter must be fought by the sober.
    ‘Mr Pringle, prepare yourself,’ called Tilney as the surgeon retreated. Pringle switched the loaded pistol to his right hand and again held it down against his leg.
    He noticed that the watching dragoon subalterns had turned to look behind them. A tall horseman was riding hard through the meadow beside the stream. The wind had dropped, and Pringle caught the dull pounding of heavy hoofbeats. It was a big piebald horse with heavy features and thick legs, and its rider was an officer, his cocked hat covered in oilskin and his cloak blowing behind him to reveal a scarlet jacket.
    ‘It’s Ham,’ said Miss Williams in a loud tone of genuine surprise. Pringle had not become used to the nickname the sisters used for their brother, but had already recognised that it was Lieutenant Williams in the flesh.
    ‘Damn it, sir, I will brook no more impediments or interruptions.’ Tilney sounded outraged. ‘Go about your business, sir, and leave us in peace.’
    ‘Forgive the intrusion,’ said Williams. ‘I am here merely as a friend, and as a witness.’
    ‘Well, sir, be damned to you if that proves your funeral as well as ours,’ snapped Tilney. ‘Now dismount and call no more attention to yourself. You must not distract the principals. I do not know how the infantry conduct affairs of honour, but in the cavalry we insist on proper decorum.’ Pringle saw Williams bridle, and Truscott also stiffened noticeably, but both men evidently decided that one duel was enough for the day and made no issue of the remark.
    The elegant light dragoon major waited impatiently as Williams dismounted, hitched his reins around a fence and then walked over to join his sister and Hanley.
    ‘Mr Pringle, I say again, prepare yourself.’ Tilney waited, fingers drumming impatiently against the tail of his coat.
    ‘Mr Pringle, you may fire.’
    Pringle levelled his piece and again pulled the trigger. Again the flint sparked, but the main charge failed to ignite. His muttered oath was longer this time, and he turned to glare at Hanley.
    ‘Mr Garland, you may fire.’
    The discharge seemed louder this time, carried to them by a sudden hard gust of wind, and Hanley felt the girl flinch at the