The Governess

Chapter Ten

"Lord. Alby." Alfred huffed, struggling for breath. He lunged at Edmund, thrusting his foil sword at him. Edmund parried his brother's attack, blocking the blade from any contact with his skin.

Lord Alby. So this was the man who held Alfred's livelihood by its throat. Edmund knew not the man, but as his title suggested, he was a member of the nobility.

Edmund counterattacked with a riposte, which was blocked by Alfred. Their swords clashed together, the satisfying clink of metal bringing Edmund from his thoughts.

"And how did you meet this--Lord Alby?"

Edmund now lunged at his brother, sword and arm extended outwards. Alfred leaned back, just missing the tip of Edmund's blade.

"At the. Gentleman's club," Alfred breathed heavily, but managed to jab his foil at Edmund, grazing him at his ribs. The men immediately lowered their weaponry, and backed away from each other, resetting their dueling positions.

"Ah, so your gambling adventures do not end at the public house. How am I not surprised?" Edmund scoffed, not nearly as devoid of breath as Alfred.

"Gambling is a. Gentleman's past time, Edmund. Do not act as though. You are above it."

Edmund opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Nothing he could say to Alfred would take away his brother's debts. Sarcasm and judgmental comments would be given in vain. Instead, Edmund clenched his jaw and lunged at his brother with his sword.

Fencing was the one sport in which both Langley men enjoyed, though they rarely dueled together. When Edmund was a young boy, he remembered watching his older brother fence with much skill. Such power and precision, each move more calculated than the last. Fencing made Alfred seem of some authority, and someone to look up to. At the time, Edmund was much too young to learn the sport himself, but when he went off to boarding school, and years passed, Edmund found the same power and precision in fencing that Alfred had had.

The brothers continued to yield their swords at one another, in a rhythmic pattern of lunge, parrie, riposte; lunge, parrie, riposte.

"I have a fortnight. To pay Lord Alby. Before he claims. My estate."

Edmund, about to lunge at Alfred, lowered his sword.

"A fortnight? That is not nearly enough time to collect such a large sum of money."

"I know. But there is nothing to do about it."

Alfred grabbed the hem of his shirt and brought it to his face, wiping away the stinging droplets of sweat. The light of the sun shone on Alfred, revealing large damp spots on his untucked shirt, and silver scruff collecting on his face. Edmund realized his brother wasn't as young and powerful as he once used to be. It was the end of many things, Edmund reckoned. It was. . . disappointing, to be sure.

"Have you no fight left in you?" Edmund asked suddenly. The meaning of his words bled through the context of fencing, like a wound bleeding through bandages.

Catching Edmund's words, Alfred promptly threw them back at him.

"Have I no fight left?" My entire life I've been fighting!"

"Yet you give up so easily," Edmund said. He knew it was wrong of him to say this, and that he shouldn't. But he did. How easy it was to provoke his brother, and how quickly his brother would counterattack.

"Perhaps if you had had my life, you would not judge me for my own follies. You have no idea what it was like living with Father. I had to defend and I had to fight every day until he died, while you were shipped away to become educated."