A Matter of Honor (Dusty Fog Civil War Book 6) Read online

  ‘Are those tail-peddlers supposed to be fighting?’ Mary asked, inserting a profanity before employing a derogatory term for a prostitute, having taken a seat next to Buller.

  ‘That’s what they’re sup—!’ the General commenced, finding the physical appearance of the girls more enjoyable than their efforts. Then, remembering something he had heard about the beautiful yellowish-brunette, he revised his surly comment. ‘Sure they’re fighting. Do you reckon you could do any better?’

  ‘I certainly do!’ Mary asserted. ‘In fact, if that’s the best they’re capable of, I could lick the pair of them with one hand tied behind my back!’

  ‘You reckon you could, huh?’ Buller queried, his manner redolent of disbelief. ‘Well, perhaps so. Those boots would give you a hell of an edge if you tried!’

  ‘Who needs the boots?’ the brunette snapped, glancing with disdain at the struggling pair on the mat. ‘I could do it just as easily barefoot!’

  ‘Talk’s cheap!’ the General sniffed, feigning disdain despite being delighted by the responses he was eliciting. ‘It’s doing that counts!’

  ‘If I go and do it,’ Mary said, eyeing Buller in a calculating fashion. ‘Will you take me to your meeting with the General Staff?’

  ‘Huh?’ the General grunted, then stared at the brunette. ‘Hell, no!’

  ‘Why not?’ Mary challenged.

  ‘What I’m doing is noth—!’ Buller began. ‘I can’t take a woman to meet the General Staff!’

  ‘If you don’t take me,’ the brunette replied. ‘I’m going to tell the General Staff you’ve been to meet them. I’m sure they’ll be most interested to hear about it!’

  ‘How’s that?’ Buller snarled, his attention snapping from the still far from aggressively tussling girls.

  ‘It’s very simple,’ Mary claimed calmly, showing no sign of being intimidated or even slightly perturbed by the raw fury with which she was being surveyed. ‘I have every intention of going with you to the meeting with your “General Staff”. I want to see what General Aaranovitch, shall we call him—has discovered in his laboratory that’s so important it’s brought you running here from Arkansas at a time when most people would think you wouldn’t want to leave.’

  ‘Who the hell told you about Aarano—?’ Buller began, his voice starting to rise beyond the sotto voce level at which he and the brunette were speaking, but he realized just in time what he was doing and brought the furiously commenced question to an uncompleted end.

  ‘I’ll tell you after you’ve let me see what “the General Staff” is up to,’ Mary promised, then glanced at the two girls who were still rolling about on the padded mat in their pretense at fighting. ‘But I’m a good sport and, to prove it, I’ll still make you the same bet.’

  ‘You mean you’ll go and fight the pair of them?’

  ‘Just that!’

  ‘Without your boots?’ Buller asked, concluding he would be ill-advised to refuse her demand to accompany him and, although he doubted whether he would win if all he had heard about the brunette was true, considering that accepting the wager might at least produce some more genuine action than was happening so far.

  ‘Without them!’ Mary confirmed, showing not the slightest hesitation and holding forward her right hand. “Is it a bet?’

  ‘Yes!’ Buller assented, giving the offered hand a confirmatory shake. ‘We’ve got us a bet!’

  ‘That’s what I wanted!’ the brunette declared, glancing around and satisfying herself that none of the other spectators had seen or heard what was taking place. ‘I’ll take them off and be ready in a few seconds!’

  Returning to the table and sitting down, Mary watched the girls while starting to do as she had promised. Nothing she saw led her to change her opinion of their behavior, nor to revise her assumption that she would not have the slightest difficulty in winning the bet. Even if she aroused them to far greater anger than they were displaying as they continued to turn one another over and over across the mat, she was confident of having sufficient ability to render both hors de combat without sustaining more than minor suffering herself. On the other hand, she reminded herself, she must not finish them off too quickly if she was to achieve her purpose.

  Ever since she had received hints that ‘General Aaranovitch’, whom she knew to be a brilliant young chemist, was engaged upon some kind of research for which funds had been provided by Buller, the brunette had tried without success to become privy to the secret. On hearing of the dinner party to be given in honor of the General, and being aware that it had an ulterior motive, she had decided that it offered her a chance to make his acquaintance and she had obtained an invitation by hinting to Wigg that her father might be induced to donate financial backing. Her quick temper had threatened to ruin her ambitions, but the unusual form of entertainment being provided by their host had suggested a way she might further them. Guessing the entertainment had been selected because he was keen on such events, she felt her participation would cause the General to take an active interest in her. He might even forgive her curiosity regarding his private affairs and allow her to join his entourage. For all the less than satisfactory state of the campaign he was conducting against the ‘Johnny Rebs’ in Arkansas, this would grant her a higher status than she had been able to obtain in Washington. What was more, annoyed by the way Mrs. Cutler had reacted on discovering she was present, she wanted to cause the madam to suffer humiliation and, perhaps, lose at least a proportion of her fee for bringing the ‘young ladies’ to supposedly settle a quarrel.

  After she had removed her boots, as she was never averse to flouting what she knew to be a gorgeous and eye-catching figure to members of the opposite sex, Mary decided to grant her male associates some added sensual pleasure. With that in mind, she removed her coat and, taking off the cravat, unbuttoned the man’s shirt to a less than decorous level. Standing up, conscious that her otherwise uncovered bosom was displayed by her actions, she stalked forward to set about what she assumed would be the easy task of winning the wager with Buller.

  Startled exclamations burst from Wigg and all but one of his male guests at the sight presented by the brunette as she walked from behind them towards the mat. However, if Mrs. Cutler was alarmed or distressed by the possibility of interference with the activities of her ‘young ladies’, she gave no sign of it. She did not even so much as glance at the undertaker to discover whether he approved of what was clearly intended by Mary. Instead, she stood peering in her apparently myopic and benevolently understanding fashion to where the brunette was continuing to advance without looking back.

  Although he had known what Mary was intending to do, Buller had not expected that she would discard more than the riding boots and, possibly, her jacket. Therefore, he was surprised, yet far from disapproving, of the sight she presented in passing. In fact, the removal of the cravat and the unbuttoning of the shirt was creating the kind of impression she was wanting to induce and had anticipated might be the case. Running his lascivious gaze over her as she passed, especially at the tightly filled riding breeches and the sensually hip-rolling motion she imparted to them while walking, he lost some of his resentment towards her over the intrusion into his very private and, he had hitherto assumed, secret affairs. Forgetting for the moment even his determination to discover and punish whoever had betrayed his confidential business, he waited with eager anticipation and hoped the two ‘young ladies’ would survive the attentions of the brunette for long enough to supply the kind of spectacle he desired.

  Much the same thought was passing through Mary’s head. Although she had never engaged upon anything of the kind, her previous experiences in unarmed combat having been restricted to controlled contests against others of her kind which were never allowed to go beyond clearly defined limits, she did not doubt her ability to cope. A latent bully and sadist, she had not the slightest remorse over what she was intending to do to the blonde and the redhead. In fact, her only regret was that she would not be up agains
t opponents anywhere near worthy of her skill.

  Three – This Is How She Wants It

  Studying the situation as she was crossing the mat, Mary Wilkinson considered what to do about it. While she was undressing, the two ‘young ladies’ had stopped rolling about. Still showing no greater evidence of trying to inflict pain or injuries upon one another, they were now struggling amateurishly to their feet. They appeared to be completely oblivious of her presence, probably because the possibility of intervention on the part of a guest had never entered their minds. She was confident her arrival would come as such a complete surprise she would be able to gain an advantage from which, even should they start to show a more aggressive spirit than so far, neither would have a chance to recover before she had beaten them both.

  Passing around the girls, the yellowish-brunette watched the reactions of the audience as she caught each by the scruff of the neck. She saw consternation come to the face of the madam, but her main attention was devoted to Brigadier General Moses J. Buller. Clearly he too was aware of what she was in a position to do and, as it would bring the affair to an immediate end, did not care for it. Therefore, despite being granted an opportunity to bang the heads of her captives together, she refrained. To have done so would undoubtedly win the bet for her. However, in addition to her desire to impress the guest of honor, her strong streak of exhibitionism and sadism refused to take the easy way out. Instead, she was determined to make the fight last as long as possible.

  Using all her far from inconsiderable strength, Mary jerked the girls apart. Applying a twist and shove, she sent Francoise into the corner of the room. Using less force, she caused Lotte to take a couple of steps backwards. Giving the buxom blonde no time to recover, believing she might prove the tougher of the pair, the brunette swung around to add power to a blow to her jaw. Sent twirling away, Lotte left the mat to sprawl on hands and knees at the feet of the spectators.

  Having disposed temporarily of what she had estimated to be the greater threat, Mary gave her attention to the other ‘young lady’. Showing fright, Francoise was cowering and seemed to be trying to force herself more deeply into the corner. Concluding the most she could expect would be a feeble attempt at defense or, more likely, nothing beyond a tearful pleading for mercy, the brunette strolled towards the redhead with the intention of stripping her naked if no resistance was offered. That would, at least, offer some titillation for the onlookers. The humiliation might also goad the slender girl into essaying some form of offensive action to keep the men entertained until the blonde was able to return to the fray.

  Suddenly, while Mary was drawing her conclusions, Francoise’s demeanor underwent a startling transformation. The expression of fear departed from the beautiful face, being replaced by one of determination mingled with a suggestion of mockery. Before the brunette could fully comprehend what might be implied by the change, the redhead thrust herself from the confines of the corner. Rising with an almost balletic grace, her left leg passed between the reaching hands of her intended attacker. Caught beneath the right breast with some force, by the ball of the foot instead of the toes, a squeal of pain burst from Mary. Her overconfident advance was turned into a retreat, but she was not permitted to retire unimpeded.

  Showing none of the hesitancy which had characterized the opening stages of her ‘fighting’ with Lotte, Francoise displayed much greater skill than had formerly been the case. The moment her foot returned to the ground, she pivoted upon it. As she was doing so, moving with an equal speed and grace, her right leg flashed out horizontally. Kicked in the stomach, by a limb powered with muscles like those of a ballet dancer in full training, Mary gasped and folded at the middle. She felt a hand sink into her short hair and another grasped the waistband of the riding breeches. Subjected to a surging heave, which warned that the muscular development of the lissome redhead was not solely confined to the legs, she was sent twirling into the corner from which her assailant had erupted. However, having straightened instinctively, it was only her left shoulder which took the impact.

  The unexpected kicks and collision had caused suffering, but Mary was far from rendered hors de combat. To give her credit, obnoxious though she was in many ways, she had considerable courage and fortitude. Added to a naturally competitive spirit, these qualities revolted against the thought of letting herself be seen to go down in defeat. What was more, a further inducement arose from the realization that she could have been deliberately tricked into her far from enjoyable situation. Remembering how she had frequently boasted of her fighting prowess and bewailed the lack of worthwhile opponents, Wigg—or perhaps Colonel Horace Trumpeter—might have arranged for Mrs. Amy Cutler to supply the two ‘young ladies’ ostensibly to ‘settle a quarrel’ between them, the real reason being to have her become embroiled. That would explain the poor display they had been giving. Therefore, if the assumption was correct, whoever was responsible would now be hoping to see her receive a humiliating thrashing.

  Aroused to an even greater pitch of fury by her suppositions, Mary flung herself to meet the approaching redhead. She was behaving with a recklessness which could have caused her greater grief than proved to be the case. Swerving at the last moment, Francoise once again avoided being clutched by the talon-like hands of the brunette. However, on this occasion, there was no retaliatory kick. Instead, grabbing Mary by the hair and back of the shirt as her impetus compelled her to blunder by, Francoise brought her to a halt. Offered no chance to struggle against the holds, much less escape, she was swung around. Feeling the buttons which she had left fastened burst off and the shirt being dragged out of the riding breeches, she was spun and returned to the corner. Only by thrusting her arms before them was she able to prevent her face and bosom striking the wall.

  Despite having contrived to reduce the danger of her arrival, Mary knew she was still far from out of trouble. Keeping her arms raised protectively, as she had been taught during boxing instruction at college, she turned to defend herself against whatever her surprisingly efficient opponent might be contemplating. Peering warily between them, she found the slender girl was approaching with all the latent menace of a cat preparing to torment a crippled mouse. The savage determination still played upon the beautiful olive brown features, warning she was in deadly earnest and meant to show as little mercy as it had been intended would be given to her.

  What was more, to Mary’s fast growing perturbation, the advance was not being made in the kind of wild rush with hands reaching for hair which she had anticipated and was confident she could counter, through superior skill, to regain the initiative. Instead, Francoise’s fists were clenched, the right held just below eye level and the left in line with the solar plexus. This, the brunette knew, allowed the right arm to act as guard against higher and the left to offer protection from lower blows. Added to the way her dancing steps were taken up on the toes, everything pointed to the redhead being a much more experienced fighter than was envisaged. Furthermore, her competence was in a masculine rather than a feminine fashion. Her posture and tactics were derived from the French style of boxing known as ‘savate’, in which kicking supplemented punching with the fists.

  Such a discovery was far from pleasant for Mary, prior comments about the dearth of worthwhile opponents notwithstanding. Nor, regardless of her desire to entertain and earn the approbation of Buller, was she enamored of the prospect that she was up against at least one far more competent antagonist than she had imagined when making the wager. However, if not exactly salvation, a respite was granted before she was called upon to take any action against Francoise.

  Having lifted Lotte to her feet on receipt of an order from the General, Lieutenants Martin Flannery and Robert Cryer—who had been brought to the dinner party in their capacity as his aides-de-camp—felt her start to struggle. Before she could do anything more to free herself, they propelled her on to the mat with a surging heave. Although she had intended to turn upon them and demonstrate her resentment of the intrusion, she
changed her mind on seeing where she was going. Giving a hiss of satisfaction, she continued to move towards the corner.

  ‘Shall I stop them?’ Mrs. Cutler asked, looking at Wigg.

  ‘What for?’ Buller inquired, before his host could speak. Being certain the brunette would insist upon learning more about his secret affairs even if she lost, he felt she should at least be compelled to earn the knowledge. ‘This is how she wants it. She reckoned she could lick the pair of them, so leave us give her the chance.’

  ‘Very well,’ Wigg acceded, concluding the General also wanted to see how the intrusion by Mary would turn out and having no fond feelings for her since her temper had ruined his plans for the evening. ‘Let’s see how she gets on against them.’

  ‘As you wish,’ the madam accepted. ‘Just so long as my young ladies and I aren’t held responsible for whatever happens to her.’

  ‘You won’t be,’ Buller promised and Wigg muttered his agreement.

  Having arrived within reaching distance while the conversation was taking place, Lotte clearly considered the interference by the brunette took precedence over whatever difference of opinion she might have had with Francoise. Despite it having been claimed she had a quarrel to settle, she did nothing more offensive than grab and push the other ‘young lady’ aside. Having sent the redhead reeling across the mat, she sank her fingers into the short hair of the visitor and tugged with a vigor which had not been displayed earlier. Unfortunately for her, the locks she was grasping lacked sufficient length to produce the most painful results. The pulling hurt, but only enough to provoke the recipient into making a more positive kind of response. Bringing her arms from the protective posture, which had proved valueless against the method of attack her present assailant was employing, Mary sent a punch with each clenched fist into the body of the shorter ‘young lady’. Despite the rubbery hardness of her midsection, which testified to her excellent physical condition, Lotte gasped and her fingers lost their hold.