Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [128]
Dalgetty climbed awkwardly to his feet, fighting his way out of Pitt’s coat, his cheek streaming blood.
“Neither do I lay charge against Mr. Pascoe,” he said, reaching for a handkerchief. “He is a misguided and ignorant old fool who wants to ban any idea that didn’t begin in the Middle Ages. He will stop any freedom of ideas, any flight of the imagination, any discovery of anything new whatsoever. He would keep us believing the earth is flat and the sun revolves around it. But I do not charge him with attacking me—we attacked each other. You are merely a bystander who chose to interfere in something which is none of your affair. You owe us an apology, sir!”
Pitt was livid. But he knew that without a complaint he could not make an arrest that would be prosecuted.
“On the contrary,” he said with sudden freezing contempt. “You owe me a considerable gratitude that I prevented you from injuring each other seriously, even fatally. If you can scramble your wits together long enough, think what that would have done to your cause—not to mention your lives from now on.”
The possibility, which clearly had not occurred to either of them, stopped the next outburst before it began, and when one of the seconds stepped forward nervously, Pitt opened his mouth to round on him for his utter irresponsibility.
But before he could continue on his tirade the other second shouted out and swung around, pointing where across the field from the Highgate direction were rapidly advancing five figures, strung out a dozen yards from each other. The first was obviously, even at that distance, the vigorous, arm-swinging Stephen Shaw, black bag in his hand, coattails flying. Behind him loped the ungainly but surprisingly rapid figure of Hector Clitheridge, and running after him, waving and calling out, his wife, Eulalia. Separated by a slightly longer space was a grim figure with scarf and hat which Pitt guessed to be Josiah Hatch, but he was too distant to distinguish features. And presumably the woman behind him, just breaking into a run, was Prudence.
“Thank God,” one of the seconds gasped. “The doctor—”
“And why in God’s name didn’t you call him before you began, you incompetent ass?” Pitt shouted at him. “If you are going to second in a duel, at least do it properly! It could have meant the difference between a man living or dying!”
The man was stung at last by the injustice of it, and the thoroughgoing fear that Pitt was right.
“Because my principal forbade me,” he retaliated, pulling himself up very straight.
“I’ll wager he did,” Pitt agreed, looking at Dalgetty, now dripping blood freely and very pasty-faced; then at Pascoe holding his arm limply and beginning to shake from cold and shock. “Knew damned well he’d prevent this piece of idiocy!”
As he spoke Shaw came to a halt beside them, staring from one to the other of the two injured men, then at Pitt.
“Is there a crime?” he said briskly. “Is any of this palaver”—he waved his hands, dropping the bag to the ground—“needed for evidence?”
“Not unless they want to sue each other,” Pitt said disgustedly. He could not even charge them with disturbing the peace, since they were out in the middle of a field and no one else was even aware of their having left their beds. The rest of Highgate was presumably taking its breakfast quietly in its dining rooms, pouring its tea, reading the morning papers and totally unaffected.
Shaw looked at the two participants and made the instant decision that Dalgetty was in the more urgent need of help, since he seemed to be suffering from shock whereas Pascoe was merely in pain, and accordingly began his work. He had done no more than open his bag when Clitheridge arrived, acutely distressed and embarrassed.
“What on earth has happened?” he demanded. “Is somebody hurt?”
“Of course somebody’s hurt, you fool!” Shaw said furiously. “Here, hold him up.” He gestured at Dalgetty, who was covered