"Noble friend,--I am going to try, this morning, whether you are a good fencing-master, and whether the blade you gave me is worth handling. Should I not join you and dear Emmy by eight o'clock, you will hear something of me in Mary-le-bone fields. God bless you both for a pair of loving turtles. If you don't see him again, think, from time to time, of
"Poor Dick."
Emmeline had not yet risen; and Smeaton, calling some of the servants hastily together, set out with terrible feelings of apprehension, for the spot which the note had indicated, and which, I may remark, was notorious at the time for the number of duels which it witnessed. Calling some people, who were better acquainted with the locality than themselves, to their aid, they searched the fields, which then extended where now stands Baker Street and the adjacent masses of houses, for some time without success; but, at length, they came upon the body of a man lying on his back, with his sword still clutched in his grasp, an old scar on his brow, and a sword-wound right through his chest. Life had evidently been extinct for some time; and Smeaton, who knew him well, bestowed little thought upon him.
Near the spot where he lay, which was one pool of gore, the ground was again dabbled with blood; and, tracking the drops which marked the frosty grass for nearly three hundred yards, they came to a place where, under some tall trees, and with his back leaning against one of them, sat Richard Newark, near a stile which he had apparently attempted, in vain, to reach. His face was ashy pale, and his hand rested languidly against the tree; but he still held a handkerchief, sopped in blood, to his right side, as if to staunch the bleeding of a severe wound. He could not speak nor even lift his head at first; but Smeaton, while one of the men ran off for a surgeon and some restoratives, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and with remarkable skill soon contrived to stop the current which was draining away his life. He recovered a little in a few minutes; and, after the arrival of the surgeon, who immediately gave him some of the essences then in vogue, looked up, with a light smile, in his friend's face, saying, "Ha, ha, Eskdale! I have paid our friend all debts; but that which vexed the scoundrel most was that he should be killed by the hand of a boy, as he called me. How he did curse when he was dying! Well, you may set up for a fencing-master when all other trades fail, though he did whip me his point over the arm, because I did not turn my wrist quick enough, as you taught me."
The surgeon insisted upon his keeping silence; and a door, taken off the hinges, being obtained, he was placed upon it and carried away to the nearest house where lodging could be procured. There the wound he had received was more fully examined, and proved to be in reality of no very dangerous character, except from the great loss of blood it had occasioned. Before evening, he was better and stronger; and the sight of Emmeline and her husband by his bedside seemed to revive and cheer him greatly. But as the tidings of another fatal duel in Mary-le-bone fields began to spread, inquiries and investigations were set on foot which, it was evident, could not long be baffled. The fact of the duel having taken place without seconds, or witnesses, rendered the youth's situation rather perilous; and a long consultation took place that night between the Earl of Eskdale and the surgeon.
On the following morning, early, a ship in the Thames, bound for Dunkirk, received some five or six persons on board, and set sail immediately. Amongst them was Richard Newark, who was carried into the vessel on a mattress. There was also the young and beautiful Countess of Eskdale, somewhat pale and anxious of look, who sat upon the deck as they dropped down the river, with her hand resting on that of a tall dignified lady, advanced in life and habited in deep mourning. The rest of the party consisted of Smeaton, two men servants, the good old woman who had played such a conspicuous part in the events which have been narrated, and a maid servant.
There can be no doubt that the government at that time connived at the escape of many persons from the rigour of the law; and certain it is that the vessel I have mentioned was suffered to set sail without any obstruction. The passage was smooth and easy; and the whole party landed safely on the shores of France.
CHAPTER XLIV.
The darker scenes of the early part of the reign of George I. had passed away, and, though there were troubles and contentions in many parts of Europe, and conspiracies and designs against the existing government in England, general tranquillity reigned in this island, and prosperity and happiness were following fast upon the steps of peace.
But I must lead the reader away from England to a small village in France, some eight or nine miles from the capital; a sufficient distance to retain all its rustic quietness, and yet near enough to allow the intelligence of the great world to penetrate before it had grown very stale. At the distance of half a mile from this village was placed a small French château, built in a little trim park on a rising ground. The château had nothing remarkable about it; it was just like all other châteaux at the same period; a congregation of oddly-shaped masses of building, with several little round towers, having conical slated roofs, like candles with extinguishers on their tops. It had a sunny and pleasant aspect, however, and an avenue of fine old walnut trees ran up to it from the high road.