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asked Philpott as they approached the other two men.
    “Finch is his second.”
    “Not yours? Surely you two haven’t quarrelled, not after all this time.”
    “Smith knows no one in London, so I let him have Finch.”
    “Most irregular,” muttered Philpott.
    Meldon stopped walking and turned to the other man.
    “Do you wish to abandon the duel?”
    Philpott considered for a moment.
    “Would Smith consider that a suitable conclusion?”
    “No.”
    “Then I will accept Mr Finch as Mr Smith’s referee. It’s not that I doubt he will do his best for the man, just...”
    “ That it’s so irregular. I’m sorry, this is not what I wanted.”
    The two men started walking again and came to Finch and Smith. Smith stopped talking and Finch turned round to meet them.
    “Mr Smith, please allow me to introduce Lord Philpott, our referee.”
    Smith t urned away from Finch and bowed.
    “I’m honoured to meet you, Lord Philpott.”
    “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”
    “And I.”
    “You understand the rules of engagement?”
    “Mr Finch has been very clear.”
    “Very well, your pistol, please.”
    Smith handed it over for Philpott’s ins pection. When he was finished Philpott held out his hand for Meldon’s pistol. He was satisfied.
    “Are you ready to begin?” he asked.
    “I still have a few things to explain to Mr Smith,” said Finch.
    “Meldon, will you wait until Finch has finished?”
    “Of course,” replied Meldon, although he wanted to get it all over with.
    “Perkins is with you, then?” asked Philpott as they walked back to the carriages.
    “Yes. I thought it best not to involve a surgeon. Perkins is perfectly capable and discreet.”
    “Yes,” agreed Philpott. “Discretion is everything in these affairs. ”
    They fell into an easy silence while Finch continued to talk to Smith a few yards away. For Smith’s benefit, Meldon tried to appear as relaxed and confident as possible. This was not his first duel, but he preferred swords, where it was more a matter of skill and experience. Duelling with pistols was all the rage now and he felt the disadvantage keenly. Increasingly fewer men had the patience to learn to fence, believing that pointing a pistol at a man and pulling the trigger was simplicity itself. Perhaps it was, but most underestimated the strain it put on a man to stand still and wait for their opponent’s shot. Some proved themselves not up to the task and were branded cowards as a result. Meldon knew he would not run, would not even shake, but he would still avoid this if he could.
    Meldon loaded his pistol, having checked, once again, that it was clean and that everything moved smoothly. He had no intention of using it unless he had to, for even a shot aimed to disable Smith could kill him. Only once Smith had fired would he fire and he would fire wide. Meldon was under no illusions about his ability as a marksman, nor about the reliability of his pistol. He was a terrible shot and very rarely hit his target.
    Since Smith had gone to such trouble to call him out , he had to assume that the boy was the better shot and would try to kill him and might even succeed. Still Meldon feared more for the boy than for himself. Meldon had killed men, not with a pistol, but with a sword or a knife and once with his bare hands. Soldiers were often called on to do such things and he did not regret what he had done, but he did know that it had diminished him somehow. He felt that a poet like Smith might be destroyed if he took someone’s life.
    Distractedly, he presented the pistol again to Philpott for inspection. Then he noticed that Finch was coming towards him.
    “Does he withdraw his challenge?” he asked, hopefully.
    “No and, Meldon...”
    “Yes?”
    “He seems to know what he’s doing with that pistol.”
    Meldon nodded. The boy’s actions in calling him out only made sense if he thought he had a better than average chance of killing his opponent. The chances were