Forrest Leo - The Gentleman

‘There,’ he says. ‘The pistols are identical, but the choice is yours.’

I take one of the weapons eagerly. I have never held a gun before. It is cool to the touch, and fits in my hand with a feeling that is alarmingly sensual. The thing hypnotises me, and I stare at it as though in a trance. Lancaster takes its mate and walks to the far side of the room.

‘Now hold on a minute,’ I say, considering. ‘A duel sounds marvellous in theory, but the thing is, I don’t actually want to kill you.’ I realise I’d never really thought it through.

‘Don’t worry,’ he says, with that feral look in his eye. ‘You won’t.’

‘Don’t be naïve — if we’re fighting a duel, one of us isn’t going to leave this room alive. Isn’t that how a duel works?’

‘It is.’

I suddenly grasp his meaning. ‘And you think that the chances of you being the man on the floor are… marginal.’

‘I do.’

‘In which case, I would be the man on the floor.’

‘That’s more or less how it works, yes.’

‘Well,’ I say, intrigued, ‘this is a conundrum. Because the fact of the matter is, I don’t want to kill you; but I also don’t want you to kill me. And of course you don’t want to die, and I don’t believe that you truly want to kill me, either. Whatever I may have done, you don’t strike me as a bloodthirsty fellow. Yet you feel it your fraternal duty to challenge me, and as an Englishman and a poet I am honour-bound to accept your challenge. If either one of us could avoid the whole thing we would, but our social standing, nationality, and chosen professions forbid it. This really is a philosophical paradox.’ I study the gun. ‘Is this where the bullet goes?’ I observe him load his weapon, and follow suit. I make a mess of it of course, and he is forced to cross the room and do it for me. I watch his feet on the carpet and imagine poor Simmons trying to scrub out my blood.

Lizzie, who has been supervising the proceedings in silence, stands up. ‘Give me the guns,’ she says. Well, she is too late. If she had planned to intervene, the time to do it was back when Lancaster was batting me about like a toy. Now, however, we are in the realm of gentlemen.

‘Lizzie,’ I say, ‘you’re out of your depth. This is a matter of honour, and far beyond—’

‘Shut up,’ she says. ‘Ashley, give me your gun.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he says. Your brother is right — where honour is concerned—’

Lizzie stamps her foot. ‘Honour be damned! I’ve sat here and watched you two hit each other for the sake of your silly honour for the last ten minutes, and it was perfectly amusing, but now you’ve had your fun and quite frankly my patience is exhausted. It’s time for both of you to grow up. Give me the guns.’

Lancaster and I glance at each other. Then at Lizzie. She eyes us flatly. Her jaw is set and her nostrils are flared.

We give her our weapons.

‘Careful,’ says Lancaster as he hands his to her. ‘They’re still loaded—’

Lizzie brandishes the pistols with some negligence, and both Lancaster and I drop to the ground. Lancaster mutters unprintable things, and I cry out.

‘I don’t trust you not to try to hit each other,’ she says, ignoring our terror. She gestures to me with one of the guns. I cower. ‘Lionel, hands to yourself!’ She points to Lancaster with the other. ‘Ashley, go over there.’

‘WOULD YOU STOP POINTING THOSE AT US!’ he cries. ‘For God’s sake, unload them!’

‘Ashley,’ says Lizzie, ‘you know I haven’t the slightest idea how to do that. You’ll please to stay on your side of the sofa. Nellie—’

Lancaster interrupts her. ‘If you promise not to point them at me, I’ll explain how to unload them. First, you’re going to very carefully—’

‘Sorry, Ashley, I haven’t the patience.’

Lizzie spreads her arms and fires both pistols at once. Plaster flies from the walls and the simultaneous reports make my ears ring.*

‘Well now, that wasn’t so complicated after all. Oh do get up,’ she says, ‘you look so silly down there.’ We rise. ‘Now. It seems there are some things you two need to discuss, only I’d rather the discussion didn’t include one of you getting shot. So because someone has to be an adult, I hereby decree that we are going to sit down right now and have a family meeting.’

Simmons used to make us have family meetings when one or both of us had misbehaved. They were never my favourite activity, and usually ended with deeper feelings of resentment than they began.

Lancaster and I give voice to our displeasure. Lizzie stamps her foot again. There is as much threat in the stamp of that little foot as in the negligent handling of two loaded weapons.*

‘Don’t speak,’ she says. ‘Sit over there.’ She directs me to a chair on the near side of my desk. ‘Ashley, you go there.’ He sits on the sofa where she points. ‘And now we’ll talk like civilised human beings.’

We object again.

‘Oh shut up!’ she cries. ‘You are children ! Here. Only the person holding the magic gun may speak. Ashley’s the guest, so he goes first.’

She hands one of the pistols to him. ‘Thank you, Lizzie,’ he says smugly.

‘Don’t call her Lizzie!’ I say for no particular reason.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, ‘I’m holding the magic gun.’

‘Oh, for the love of—’

‘NELLIE!’ says Lizzie. I stop speaking. She says, ‘You were saying, Ashley?’

‘I was saying that Lionel married my little sister for her money and sold her to the Devil. And then lied to me about it.’ All of which is true, but had I the power of speech I should add that that was all a very long time ago, and that things are significantly different now.

‘Anything else?’ asks Lizzie.

Lancaster takes his time considering. I believe it is only because he enjoys holding the magic gun. At last he says, ‘Not at the moment.’

‘Very well,’ says Lizzie, ‘then give the magic gun to Lionel and let’s hear what he has to say for himself.’

Lancaster hands me the gun.

‘Am I allowed to speak in my own study now?’ I demand sulkily.

‘Don’t pout,’ says Lizzie.

I am resolved to be the bigger man. I turn to Lancaster. I say, ‘Ashley, listen to me. You’re right—’

Lancaster cuts me off. ‘You’d bloody well—’

‘LIZZIE!’ I cry. ‘I have the gun!’ He is breaking the rules, and if he thinks he is going to get away with it then he does not know Elizabeth Savage.

‘Ashley,’ she reprimands, and there is a dangerous set to her dainty shoulders.

Lancaster holds up his hands in mute apology.

‘You’re right,’ I continue, ‘I have behaved… badly. But something incredible has happened. I have discovered that I am in fact overwhelmingly in love with your sister. And I will do anything in my power to get her back.’

I think it is very handsomely said, but Lancaster grabs the gun from me and says, ‘Listen, Savage, it’s all well and good to be contrite, but for heaven’s sake—’

I snatch the gun back, if only to shut him up. ‘I know that what I’ve done is unforgiveable. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. All I’m asking is that you let me help to look for her. Anything after that… Well, we can only engage one problem at a time. Like Horatius.* But in the meantime let me remind you that your sister has been taken by the Dev’l, and that for all we know he’s doing horrible things to her.’ I do not mention that he seems on the whole quite a decent, rather bookish chap. It seems at the moment to be extraneous information.