The Viscount, struggling into his coat, said: “Well, I’m for breakfast. Pom, did you bespeak breakfast?”
Sir Roland, who was conferring with Captain Forde, looked over his shoulder. “Now, Pel, would I forget a thing like that? I’m asking Forde here if he cares to join us.”
“Oh, by all means!” said the Viscount, shaking out his ruffles. “Well, if you’re ready, I am, Pom. I’m devilish hungry.”
With which he linked his arm in Sir Roland’s and strolled off to tell his groom to drive the gig round to the inn.
Mr Drelincourt, his shoulder bandaged and his arm put into a sling, was assisted to his feet by the cheerful doctor, and assured that he had merely received a scratch. His surprise at finding himself still alive held him silent for a few moments, but he presently realized that the dreadful affair was at an end, and that his wig lay on the ground beside his shoes.
“My toupet!” he said faintly. “How could you, Francis? Give it to me at once!”
Chapter Ten
For several days after his encounter with the Viscount Mr Drelincourt kept his bed, a pale and interesting invalid. Having conceived a dislike of Dr Parvey, he rejected all that Member of the Faculty’s offers to attend to him to his lodging, and drove home with only the faithful but shaken Mr Puckleton to support him. They shared the vinaigrette, and upon arrival in Jermyn Street Mr Drelincourt was supported upstairs to his bedchamber, while Mr Puckleton sent the valet running to fetch the fashionable Dr Hawkins. Dr Hawkins took a suitably grave view of the wound, and not only blooded Mr Drelincourt, but bade him lie up for a day or two, and sent off the valet once more to Graham’s, the apothecary’s for some of the famous Dr James’s powders.
Mr Puckleton had been so much upset by the fury of the Viscount’s sword-play, so thankful that he had not stood in his friend’s shoes, that he was inclined to look upon Mr Drelincourt as something of a hero, and said so often that he wondered how Crosby should have challenged Winwood so coolly, that Mr Drelincourt began to feel that he had indeed behaved with great intrepidity. He no less than Mr Puckleton had been impressed by the skill the Viscount displayed, and by dint of dwelling on his lordship’s two previous encounters he soon talked himself into believing that he had been pinked by a hardened and expert duellist.
These agreeable reflections were put to flight by the appearance of the Earl of Rule, who came to visit his afflicted relative on the following morning.