Lascelles addressed him thus: “One of our countrymen approached you a few days ago. He spoke to you. You challenged him. Then he ran away. He was a dark, ill-favoured fellow. A person of despicable habits and base origins.”

If the pale young man recognized Childermass from this description, he shewed no sign of it. In a dead voice he said, “I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart. I offer challenges to …”

“Yes, yes!” cried Lascelles, impatiently. “I do not care about that. I have come here to fight. To erase the stain upon England’s honour that was made by that fellow’s cowardice.”

The figure at the window leaned forward eagerly.

The pale young man said nothing.

Lascelles made a sound of exasperation. “Very well! Believe that I mean this woman all sorts of harm if it pleases you. It matters not one whit to me! Pistols?”

The pale young man shrugged.

There being no seconds to act for them, Lascelles told the young man that they would stand at twenty paces and he measured the ground himself.

They had taken their positions and were about to fire, when something occurred to Lascelles. “Wait!” he cried. “What is your name?”

The young man stared dully at him. “I do not remember,” he said.

They both fired their pistols at the same time. Lascelles had the impression that, at the last moment, the young man turned his pistol and deliberately fired wide. Lascelles did not care: if the young man was a coward then so much the worse for him. His own ball flew with pleasing exactitude to pierce the young man’s breast. He watched him die with the same intense interest and sense of satisfaction that he had felt when he had killed Drawlight.

He hung the body upon the nearest thorn-tree. Then he amused himself by taking shots at the decaying bodies and the serpents. He had not been engaged in this pleasant occupation for more than an hour when he heard the sounds of hooves upon the woodland path. From the opposite direction, from Faerie rather than England, a dark figure upon a dark horse was approaching.

Lascelles spun round. “I am the Champion of the Castle of the Plucked Eye and Heart,” he began …

65
The ashes, the pearls, the counterpane and the kiss

Mid February 1817

As Lucas and the others were leaving Hurtfew Abbey, Stephen was dressing in his bed-chamber at the top of the house in Harley-street.