The sword that Fotherby wore by his side had scarcely left its sheath. He carried it only as a part of the uniform he wore on such occasions as the trip to Buxton had promised to be. That night he had drawn the long thin blade and spent countless minutes studying it, trying to recall all that he had been taught. It served his purpose well that Sutton had chosen the sword, for he was poor with guns, but he could only imagine that Sutton had made this choice knowing himself to be a superior fencer. He could not imagine what his father would make of such an event, but drew some satisfaction in the knowledge that his uncle would certainly approve of this approach.

He had tried to sleep, but he only achieved snatches of slumber before he was awoken, fearful that he should miss his early appointment. He...

Please subscribe to keep reading.