Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

square. After that first loud remark I could not hear any conversation, but I knew the duel was about to begin from the serious aspect of the proceedings and finally the stiff bows Mr Jenkins and Mr Sunderland exchanged.
    The brace of pistols was presented and the two men chose their weapons. The short man then commanded them to take their positions, which they did, a mere twelve paces apart, and then turned to face one another, but with their pistols pointed at the ground. The short man then raised his hand.
    ‘They will fire wide,’ Charlotte said, almost as a prayer.
    The short man dropped his hand and yelled ‘Fire!’ upon which the two men raised their weapons … and pointedly fired at one another almost in unison. On the open down, with the softly falling snow, the sound was not as devastating as I had expected, but the sight of the two men falling backward has surely scarred itself upon my memory.
    Mr Jenkins seemed merely to fall backward, his arms flung wide, while Mr Sunderland’s hands flew toward his head, releasing his hold of his pistol, which went flying, as did the length of his muffler.
    Despite our distance, I could see the look of horror on the faces of the men gathered as if I were one of their party. Mr Wallace was the most distressed of all and I saw him looking to our place of concealment. It was then that I noticed my friend standing next to me and I saw on her face a similar look of horror. I stood to join her and that movement broke her stillness and she began to run to the duelling ground.
    As it made no sense to remain behind after Charlotte had revealed herself, I rushed to join her but her run slowed to a fast walk after a few steps. I saw her wrap her muffler tighter about her face, which I imitated. Mr Wallace, seeing us emerge from the copse, took a few steps toward us, but then thought better of it, turned back and rushed to Mr Jenkins. We soon stood but a slight distance away from Mr Wallace and the principal second Mr Purcell.
    I saw Mr Wallace struggle with Mr Jenkins’s greatcoat and also saw Mr Jenkins move his hand over his heart as I had seen him do earlier.
    ‘He is alive!’ I cried. Both my cry and Mr Jenkins sitting upright in the snow so completely surprised Mr Wallace that he stumbled and fell back into the snow.
    Mine was not the only outcry and it would be improper were I to repeat some of what was uttered, but I completely understood the emotion that produced those remarks. Mr Jenkins was now standing, although helped by Mr Purcell, and Mr Wallace had returned to trying to find his wound. I saw him reach inside the greatcoat, palm down as if to check for blood, but when he withdrew his hand he held … the silver flask from which Mr Jenkins had earlier been drinking, but now its shape was contorted by the impact of a bullet.
    ‘My God, Jenkins, you’re lucky to be alive,’ Mr Purcell said.
    Mr Wallace continued searching for any injury, ripping away at his clothing with a penknife. I should have looked away, but my curiosity would not allow it. Finally Mr Jenkins’s chest was revealed to show angry red flesh, but clearly not pierced by a bullet.
    I looked to my friend and expected to see the same surprise on her face, but instead I only saw a vast smile.
    ‘Come Jane, let’s see how Mr Sunderland has fared,’ she said to me quietly, and led me to the other group. We found Mr Arkwright, the surgeon and the short man hovering over the supine form of Mr Sunderland, but we also heard that gentleman’s voice saying, ‘Help me up, please.’
    As he stood, his face, no longer concealed by a muffler, shewed a terrible red line of burned flesh across his left cheek. Mr Sunderland raised his hand to touch it but the surgeon stopped him and examined the wound. I shuddered to think of Mr Jenkins’s bullet so nearly killing him.
    But I did not wonder long before I felt Charlotte’s hand upon my arm.
    ‘We must leave before questions are asked,’ she said softly but forcefully. I would have liked to stay and marvel at the Providence that had spared these men but I followed my friend, who made directly for the road. Despite her haste, however, she stopped to bend down and retrieve something from the ground. As I passed the spot where she had knelt, I saw the case that had held the duelling pistols, its remaining contents—a powder flask, ramrod and cleaning supplies—spilled on the ground where they had fallen during the excitement.
    Once past the carriages we