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Prologue
“Gentlemen, this morning is not a good one on which to die, be it for honour or not. Mr Nicholson.” Pettigrew’s second turned to Edward. “You have accused my client and friend of abominable acts and crimes. He is well justified to seek satisfaction. It will not be the first time he has defended his honour. You have the opportunity, sir, to escape the fate of those others who have offended Mr Pettigrew. Do you, sir, withdraw unreservedly your false accusations and issue an apology?”
Edward raised his eyes to the lightening pale blue sky as if considering his answer. He lowered his gaze to meet the arrogant sneer on Pettigrew’s face. Very quietly he said. “I cannot withdraw the truth.”
“Mr Pettigrew you will be a better man if you withdraw your demand for satisfaction. I implore you sir, withdraw.”
Tobias Pettigrew, Solicitor at Law met the intense gaze of Edward Nicholson. His left lip curled slightly upward. He replied to his second, “I do not withdraw so please get on with it”
Edward drew a deep breath, held it for a few seconds before audibly releasing it in a fog of steam in the cold dawn air. The chill inside was greater than the chill in the air. He wondered how many more breaths he would breathe in this life. He cared little.
“Let us proceed then gentlemen and may God have mercy on you both” he intoned. “Seconds please load and prime the pistols and then withdraw.”
The attending seconds snapped open polished walnut boxes to reveal gleaming duelling pistols. They busied themselves with powder and shot while Nicholson and Pettigrew looked on. Nicholson’s pale skin was in contrast to two red-flushed spots high on his cheek bones and the blue black shadow of his clean shaven jowls. His gaze was intense. His grey-green eyes flecked with yellow missed nothing. Despite the fear in his heart and looseness of his bowel, he managed to display a nonchalant, calm demeanour.
Tobias Pettigrew was the opposite in appearance. As with all that he did there was nothing nonchalant about him this morning. Intensity of gaze and posture, the small twitching of jaw muscles and firm clenching of his hands behind his back were clear indications of the anticipation he felt for the upcoming contest.
“Mr Nicholson, Mr Pettigrew you will both turn outwards on my order and I shall then count from one to ten. On each count you will take a pace. On the tenth pace you are to turn and face one another and discharge your weapons.”
“Gentleman, outwards turn! One, two ..” The count began and each man strode purposely away from the other.
“Ten”
As one, the two men turned towards each other, right arms rising to their shoulders. Pettigrew, showing his skill, was quicker to come on aim and with steady nerve he sighted at Nicholson’s chest and squeezed the trigger. There was a flash and puff of smoke.