"Nothing. I'm sorry I was so clumsy." Val stooped hurriedly to hide his
confusion.
"A duel between twin brothers." Ricky twisted one of the buttons which
marched down the front of her sport dress. "That sounds exciting."
"They fought at midnight"--Creighton was enthralled by the story he was
telling--"and one was left for dead. The scene is handled with restraint
and yet you'd think that the writer had been an eye-witness. Now if such
a thing ever did happen, there would have been a certain amount of talk
afterwards--"
Charity nodded. "The slaves would have spread the news," she agreed,
"and the person who found the wounded twin."
Val kept his eyes upon the hearth-stone. There was no stain there, but
his vivid imagination painted the gray as red as it had been that cold
night when the slave woman had come to find her master lying there, his
brother's sword across his body. Someone had used the story of the
missing Ralestone. But who today knew that story except themselves,
Charity, LeFleur, and some of the negroes?
"And you think that some mention of such an event might be found in the
papers of the family concerned?" asked Ricky. She was leaning forward in
her chair, her lips parted eagerly.
"Or in those of some other family covering the same period," Creighton
added. "I realize that this is an impertinence on my part, but I wonder
if such mention might not be found among the records of your own house.
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