Ratcatcher

rose and fell under the thin muslin of her gown. Reluctantly, Hawkwood dragged his gaze away.

An inner voice told him that the middle one of the three was the ringleader. He was in his early twenties, with sharp features and a thin, petulant mouth: a young man used to getting his own way. He stared back at Hawkwood, his expression one of acute irritation.

“Well?”

Hawkwood regarded the speaker levelly. “Well, what? Clearly the lady’s grown tired of your company. I suggest you and your friends seek your entertainment elsewhere.”

The air seemed suddenly still. From the direction of the mansion, muted by the barrier of trees, the sound of music and merriment could be faintly heard. Distant lights glimmered.

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one who was hard of hearing,” Hawkwood said.

The speaker raised an imperious eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?”

“No, and I can’t say it interests me much, either,” Hawkwood said.

The young man gasped, but to Hawkwood’s surprise the man on the right, who appeared to have sobered slightly, laughed. “By God, Ruthers, I wonder where Mandrake found this one. He’s a surly brute and no mistake.” Still grinning, he said, “Perhaps we should enlighten him. Allow me to make the introductions. This, my impertinent friend, is John Rutherford, son of Sir Pierce Rutherford. The stout gentleman is James Neville. And I, for my sins, am Giles Campbell. My father is Sir Greville Campbell. And you are…?”

“Someone who deserves a lesson in manners,” Rutherford said archly. “And I’ve a mind to teach him myself.”

Hawkwood sighed. “That would be a mistake.”

Three heads lifted in unison.

“A mistake! D’you hear that, Ruthers?” Neville cried. “A mistake indeed! By God, you’ve got to hand it to the fellow. He’s a game one! What say you?”

“I say he’s an upstart who’s about to feel the back of my hand,” Rutherford snapped. “I’m damned if I’ll be dictated to by a bloody servant!”

“Quite right, too!” Neville agreed solemnly. “Don’t know what the world’s coming to!”

“You’d best be on your way, friend,” Campbell advised good-naturedly, his words only slightly slurred. “Back to the kitchen while you have the chance!”

His friend Neville grinned. “That’s right, run along now. Only leave the doxy, there’s a good fellow. Haven’t quite finished makin’ her acquaintance.”

Hawkwood felt the woman stiffen. He looked at Neville. “I’d say you owed the lady an apology. And, for your information, you drunken sod, I’m no bloody servant!”

It was probably the look in Hawkwood’s eyes as much as the words and tone of voice that stopped Neville in his tracks, warning him that he might indeed have made a grave error. His gaze moved slowly over Hawkwood and for the first time an expression of doubt flickered across his fleshy face.

Hawkwood watched Rutherford. He could see the youth’s brain working as he considered the implications. If this man who had interrupted their evening’s pleasure was not a servant, that made it likely he was a fellow guest. And yet one whose style of dress seemed oddly sober. Hawkwood could tell that Rutherford was intrigued by the possibilities.

“So, sir, who are you?” Campbell demanded. “Come on, out with it!”

“My name’s Hawkwood.”

“Well, Mr Hawkwood, if anyone deserves an apology, I’d say it was my friend Neville here. Rutherford, too, for that matter, seein’ as it was he she was fixing with the glad eye, leading him on. Ain’t that so, Ruthers? Why, she’s no more than a calculating bit of skirt. It’s a sorry world if a fellow can’t so much as smile at a filly without her branding him a damned libertine! Apologize, indeed! The very thought! Go on, Ruthers, tell him!”

“Quite true,” Rutherford said with disdain. “She’s naught but a tease, plain and simple.”

“Ce n’est pas vrai!”

The woman’s eyes blazed. Hawkwood could feel the heat of her anger.

A flush spread across Rutherford’s pale, haughty face. His jaw tightened. It was obvious he had understood what the woman had said; if not the words themselves perhaps, then certainly their meaning. Through compressed lips, he said, “The bitch called me a liar. You’d take her word against mine?”

Hawkwood returned Rutherford’s direct gaze. “With the greatest of pleasure.”

The insult stopped Rutherford in his tracks. Campbell sucked in his cheeks. Neville just looked confused.

“Why, you insolent—” Rutherford, strumming with rage, took a pace forward, fists clenched.

“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Hawkwood said. “Give it up. Walk away.”

It was the final straw. Rutherford’s face contorted, but even as he swung his arm, Hawkwood was ready. He assumed that Rutherford had intended it to be a slap across the face. The blow, however, never landed. Instead Rutherford found his right wrist held in a grip of iron.

“I warned you, boy,” Hawkwood said. Contemptuously, he released Rutherford’s arm. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Rutherford, white with anger, rubbed the circulation back into his wrist. “How dare you! By God, I’ll not be manhandled or spoken to like this.” Rutherford’s voice rose. “I demand satisfaction!”

Hawkwood blinked. “What? Are you mad? You’re calling me out? I’m an officer of the law, for Christ’s sake! Here to guard the crowns and cutlery! And you’re challenging me to a duel. Do you want me to arrest you?”

A nerve pulsed along the side of Rutherford’s forehead. “Arrest me? My father buys and sells scum like you! And constable or chief justice, I’ll not have you slandering me in front of my friends. I demand an apology! Or else name your second and by God I’ll teach you to guard your tongue!”

This was lunacy. Hawkwood couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was aware that the woman was looking at him. He tried to interpret the expression on her face. Bewilderment? Apprehension? Or something else? He couldn’t tell. Her outburst had identified her as French though evidently she understood English and had had no trouble following the exchange. Was she now expecting him to withdraw his remarks and run away, tail between his legs?

It was Neville who attempted to restore a sense of order by laughing nervously. “Good lord, Ruthers, you can’t call him out! Why the fellow ain’t even a gentleman!”

At which Campbell nodded vigorously. “He’s right, old man. Wouldn’t do at all.”

For a moment it appeared as if their words might be having a calming effect. One look at Rutherford’s face, however, and the still clenched fists, told Hawkwood that the youth was strung as tight as a bow string.

Then, as he watched, Rutherford’s expression changed. As quickly as it had appeared, the fire in Rutherford’s eyes flickered and died, to be replaced by a cold and calculating gleam.

“Why, I do believe he’s afraid. That’s it! D’you see, Campbell? Neville? Go on, tell me if the fellow ain’t scared witless!”

It was then that Hawkwood felt it; a swift and savage loathing and a desperate urge to wipe the supercilious smile from Rutherford’s face.

“Well?” Rutherford smirked. “Hawkwood, did you say? What’s it to be? Speak up! Are you man enough to face me, or are you going to hide behind your warrant and slink away to your sewer like the gutter rat you are?”

It had gone deathly quiet, as if time was standing still and nothing around them existed; not the gardens, the summer house, the distant music, the scent of the flowers, not even the woman. It was just the two of them, face to face.

From a great distance Hawkwood heard himself say, “I have no second.”

The smile on Rutherford’s face was that of a spider enticing a fly into its silken web. He bowed in mock deference. “In that case, may I offer you the services of my companion here? Neville, my dear fellow, perhaps you’d consider acting for our chivalrous friend?”

Neville, clearly stunned by the escalation of events, blinked dazedly. But before he could respond, a voice behind Hawkwood broke the tension.

“That will not be necessary. I’ll gladly act as his second, if he so wishes.”

Everyone turned. Emerging from under the trees was a stoutly built, ruddy-faced individual in full dress army uniform. Peering out from behind the officer’s back was the missing footman. Something about the newcomer struck