She nodded enthusiastically. “I like tea. It is very nice.”Verra nice.
She looped her arm through mine while we walked like two schoolgirls on holiday, searching for Lysander. The library and music room—his likeliest haunts—were quite empty, but as we quitted the latter I detected a faint roar. I turned to Violante.
“Did you hear that?”
She cocked her head, jetty curls spilling over one shoulder. “The growl? Like the boar?”
“Bear,” I corrected. “Yes, that is precisely what I meant.”
I led the way down the corridor, and as we moved closer I distinctly heard another muffled growl and an unmistakable metallic clang. I groaned.
“What is it?” Violante demanded, her eyes wide as she clutched at my arm.
“A prime display of male conceit is what it is,” I muttered.
We had reached the door of the billiard room. It was closed, but I did not need to see inside to know what mischief was afoot. Carved from the great width of the south transept, the billiard room was a vast open space. Previous earls had found it a useful place to store weapons. The walls were studded with every conceivable variety of blade and bow, axe and arquebus. It was also the room where all of my brothers had received their fencing instruction. Father had shoved a billiard table into a corner and renamed the place, but to us it would always hold fond memories as the armoury.
I threw open the door and crossed my arms over my chest. As I expected, mock combat was under way. Lysander and Plum were engaged, while Ludlow sat at a safe distance, instructing Charlotte in the finer points of swordsmanship. To my shock, I saw another pair of duelists, Alessandro and Brisbane.
“This cannot end well,” I said, more to myself than Violante. I motioned for her to follow me and we skirted the fencers, making our way to where Ludlow and Charlotte sat on a bench of polished oak. They greeted us, Charlotte rather more coolly than Ludlow. Violante took no note of the snub, and I welcomed it. It saved me the trouble of being nice to her. Violante and I seated ourselves and I turned my attention eagerly to the bouts already engaged.
The gentlemen combatants sported various states of undress. Plum had removed only his coat, while Alessandro and Ly had discarded their waistcoats as well. Brisbane had retained his waistcoat, but lost his neckcloth at some juncture, and his shirt was open at the throat.
“It is a friendly bout,” I told Violante. “Do you see that each of the swords wears a blunt tip? And none of the gentlemen wear a mask. That means they agree to direct their thrusts away from the face.”
I had thought to reassure Violante, but in truth I was the one heaving a sigh of relief. For one mad moment when I had spotted Brisbane parrying a thrust of Alessandro’s, I had feared the worst.
Violante asked a few questions then, and I answered her as best I could. What facts I forgot, Ludlow was prevailed upon to supply, and he pointed out a particularly nice bit of footwork on Plum’s part.
Charlotte gave an ecstatic little sigh and looked at him worshipfully.
“Beh,” Violante said. “Lysander, he is faster than Plum, and his sword is much nicer. See how pretty,” she said, pointing toward the finely etched hilt of Lysander’s weapon.
Charlotte set her mouth in irritation, and Ludlow suppressed a smile.
“I believe the quality of the blade, not the beauty of the hilt, is of primary importance, Mrs. Lysander,” he said kindly.
Violante, utterly unconcerned, shrugged and watched the fencers with interest, clapping and cheering for Lysander, booing Plum with enthusiasm. I did not have the heart to tell her such things were not done, and as I watched her face, shining with pleasure, it occurred to me Ly had done rather well in finding a bride to fit into our family.
“You seem to know a great deal about swordsmanship, Mr. Ludlow,” I remarked during a lull in the bouts. “Did you have a go with the others?”
Ludlow smiled. “I did. I believe Mr. Lysander thought it an unfair advantage that I wield a sword in my left hand, but Lord Wargrave fought me right-handed and thrashed me soundly. It did not seem to confound him in the least.”
Just then Lysander and Plum executed a series of complicated maneuvers, each of them moving smoothly, although Ly seemed a little off his footing. Plum was attacking rather aggressively, and Ly was determined not to let him land a blow. They seemed likely to resort to fisticuffs soon, and as I watched them I realised what Ludlow had just told me. Ludlow was left-handed. He and I had been seated next to one another at the luncheon at Uncle Fly’s. We had spent half the interval apologising to one another for our colliding elbows. I had known it, but I had not translated it within the context of our murder. The syllogism was a simple one: the murderer was right-handed. Ludlow was not right-handed, ergo Ludlow was not the murderer.
Lysander rallied then, posting a series of deft attacks that left Plum breathless. After another bold maneuver, Ly had the tip of his sword at Plum’s chest. Violante cheered loudly, and Plum stepped forward, slapping Lysander’s sword aside to punch him soundly on the jaw.
Lysander staggered back, then dropped his sword and came back at Plum, fists swinging.
“Well, honestly,” I muttered. The scuffle was over as quickly as it had begun. Plum was bleeding profusely from his nose, and Lysander’s lip was split open cleanly. They circled each other warily as they moved apart, each of them mouthing profanities.
Violante was shaking her head. “Lysander must learn to move his head to the side. He should have ducked and hit Plum in the—what do you call this?” she asked, pointing to the small of her back.
“Kidneys?” I hazarded.
She nodded. “Si,the kidneys. That is how to hurt a man,” she concluded sagely.
Charlotte stared at her in horror, then rose to go to Plum, clucking and fussing as she handed him her handkerchief to stem the flow of blood welling from his nose.