Matthew Hawkwood Thriller Series Books 1-3: Ratcatcher, Resurrectionist, Rapscallion. James McGee

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 Hawkwood as immediately familiar. The officer took a step closer and in the lantern light his face became clear. Hawkwood found himself staring into the stern features of Major Lawrence of His Majesty’s 40th Regiment of Foot.

      Lawrence ignored Hawkwood’s astonishment, his gaze moving over the small gathering, settling briefly on Rutherford, and continuing on to the woman, whereupon he bowed formally. “Major Douglas Lawrence at your service, ma’am. You’re safe, I trust? The servant here advised me of your predicament.”

      The woman inclined her head. “Quite safe, Major. Thank you.” The words, spoken in English, carried a soft yet distinct accent. “Perhaps I should not have ventured out alone, but it did not occur to me that I might be in need of protection. Had this gallant gentleman not come to my assistance, I fear …” The woman’s voice faltered and her hand went to her throat.

      Hawkwood recalled the shadowy figure he thought he’d seen beneath the trees. Yet the woman said she had been alone. It must have been his imagination, after all.

      Lawrence, apparently oblivious to Hawkwood’s stare, was sympathy personified. “Quite so. Most fortunate.” The major nodded towards the footman. “However, may I now suggest you allow our man here to accompany you back to the house. My friend and I have private business to discuss with these … er … gentlemen.”

      The woman nodded. She looked directly at Hawkwood. “I’m in your debt, monsieur.”

      Hawkwood was struck by the depth of colour in her eyes. The irises were very dark. Touched by the lantern glow they seemed to burn with a feline intensity. Her full lips parted slightly as if she was about to speak further then, without a word, she turned and was gone, the footman in her wake. Hawkwood was left with a curious sense of loss, the hint of a message left unspoken, and the realization that he didn’t even know her name.

      Lawrence watched her depart. “Exquisite,” he murmured. “Quite exquisite.” He waited until she had disappeared behind the trees. Abruptly his mood changed. He turned to Rutherford. “You’ll allow us a moment?” Without waiting for a reply, the major took Hawkwood’s elbow and led him aside.

      “Well now, Captain, I’ll confess I’d not expected our paths to cross quite so soon.” Lawrence’s eyes bored into Hawkwood’s own. In a low voice he said, “Oh yes, Captain Hawkwood, I know who you are. I knew you when we met at the Blind Fiddler. Truth is, I saw you earlier this evening, but after our last meeting I was hesitant about making myself known.” Lawrence’s grip tightened. “Tell me you don’t really intend to go through with this?”

      “The die’s been cast, Major, though I appreciate your concern.”

      “But this is madness!”

      “Quite possibly,” Hawkwood admitted.

      “Good God, man, you don’t have to fight him. Arrest him, for Christ’s sake!”

      Hawkwood sighed. “Major, he has two witnesses who’ll vouch for the fact that he helps old ladies across the street and gives alms to the poor. My threat to arrest him was an attempt to dissuade. There’s little chance I could make the charge stick.”

      “But the risk! Have you forgotten the last time? And you’re a police officer! You’d forfeit another career? What if he bests you? What then?”

      Hawkwood smiled thinly. “In that case, it won’t matter a damn, will it?”

      Lawrence emitted a groan of despair.

      “It’s not too late to change your mind, Major,” Hawkwood said.

      But Lawrence shook his head. “No, I’ve said I’d stand with you and I’ll not go back on my word.” An unexpected wry grin transformed the major’s face. “Fact is, I should probably thank you for enlivening an exceedingly dull evening. I’m a soldier, damn it. I’ve no time for these affairs. What do these fops know of campaigning? Closest most of ‘em have ever come to a battle is attending one of those bloody pageants at Astley’s. Frankly, I’m sick of the lot of them. Now that we’ve got Boney on the run, I can’t wait to get back to my regiment. I leave for Spain in two days and, between you and me, it won’t be a moment too soon.” Lawrence looked suddenly contrite. “Forgive me. Didn’t mean to stir up memories. My apologies.”

      “Forget it, Major. It was a long time ago.”

      Lawrence acknowledged the gesture. “Aye, well, I meant it all the same. But look here, let me speak with our hot-headed friend over yonder, see if I can’t persuade him to withdraw. You’ll not begrudge me that?”

      Hawkwood looked on as Lawrence walked over to the three men. It was Campbell to whom Lawrence СКАЧАТЬ