Listen to "Peter Pan RIP" by Kula Shaker for effect and feels etc

Hindley took Francis back to the mansion quite forcibly making him move. He was quite angry that Arthur had just turned up out of the blue like that, expecting him just to be able to leave with him. How dare he? Francis was really upset, and very worried about both of them. When they got back inside, Francis sat on the stairs with his elbows on his knees and just cried quietly,in both sadness and confusion. Young Arthur was there, about to go to bed when he saw him. He was an innocent boy and had no idea what was wrong, but his little heart went out to Francis. "Don't cry Monsieur Bonnefoy." He said and took his hand. Francis stopped for a moment, touched by his innocence and kindness.

"Mr Bonnefoy will be alright Arthur." Hindley said as he ushered him upstairs. "It's your bedtime, go on."

He looked at his father and back to Francis sadly before making his way upstairs.

"He is a gentle petit garcon…" Francis gulped.

"Indeed." Hindley replied. "He would miss you if you left."

Francis' eyes filled with tears again as he sat there, his shoulders wrenching uncontrollably. "You would never shoot your own son would you Hindley?"

"What?" He gasped "Of course not…"

"How can you shoot him? How can you murder your own Great Grandson? It doesn't make any sense!" Francis yelled, tears streaming down his face. "Don't shoot him Hindley please!"

"Francis… " Hindley began as he reached out with the back of his hand and stroked Francis' cheek.

He leaned into his touch as if it was the most needed and wonderful thing in the world. "Oh…" He uttered, wanting so much for Hindley just to hold him, but he stood up, and turned his back, his distress all too clear. "I don't know how you can even contemplate killing him… I can't conceive of it!" he cried and started running up the stairs. Hindley chased after him, concerned for him, wanting to hold him and comfort him but Francis was too distressed.

"Francis, wait!" He yelled "Just calm down, just let me explain…"

Francis didn't wait or calm down, he ran into his bedroom and put a chair under the handle to lock it as there was no actual lock. Then he threw himself on to the bed, sobbing hard, needing and wanting Hindley's love but knowing that he shouldn't, not while he had this notion of duelling with Arthur, it was sheer madness.

"Francis open the door this instant!" Yelled Hindley as he tried to get in, pulling and pushing at the handle. "Francis! Do you hear me?" He screamed, banging hard on the door. "I have to fight him its only right!" He yelled "He can't just come back and expect you to go with him… to leave me… to just walk away!" He roared, kicking at the door. "Open the door Francis for Gods sake!"

He did not open the door. All Hindley could hear behind the locked door was him crying softly into his pillow. "Oh Francis…" He uttered, breathing erratically. "Francis… just open the door… just... don't cry darling please…"

He sighed and leaned against the door. He was very upset but still didn't shed a tear. Young Arthur watched from his bedroom door, looking very afraid and very sad. As his father was walking past, he stopped, and stared at him. "Arthur?" He uttered. "You should be in bed… off you go…"

"Don't fight forever Daddy…" He uttered, his little eyes so innocent. He wasn't to know what the real issues were at his tender age.

"We won't." Hindley replied. "You go to bed, everything is alright." He said quietly. "Go on."

Hindley watched his son go to bed and closed the door. Francis was of course right, it was madness. He went downstairs to the study and poured himself a very large glass of wine, drinking it straight down. He had a decision to make, and he didn't want to make it. He picked up his guitar and started strumming to calm his mind, the tune echoing through the halls of the mansion. Francis could hear it in his bedroom as his heart broke. He clutched at the bedcovers, wishing that things could be different.

Arthur, meanwhile had been offered accommodation at the outhouse which he'd accepted. The servants brought him bed covers and a cup of tea so he would be comfortable. He had shot guns before in the war, but he'd never been involved in a duel like this, and with his own Great Grandfather of all people. It had to be done, Francis had to come home.

"If you don't mind me saying sir…" Mr Townsend uttered as he brought the tea. "You and the master could be twins, you look so alike."

"He and I are… distant family members." He said in reply. "As you can tell."

"I am Mr Townsend, the butler. If you need anything, do ring the bell." He said indicating to a string hanging from the ceiling. "It leads to a wire outside that runs through to the kitchen. Quite ingenious." He said as he poured the tea. "Do you like milk with your tea Sir?"

"Yes please." Arthur replied. "Are you aware of what's happening in the morning?" Arthur asked.

"No Sir, should I be?"

"The duel? Has your master not told you?"

"Duel Sir?" Townsend asked, alarmed. "No, he did not mention it, but then again, he was busy arguing with Mr Bonnefoy about something."

"Arguing?"

"Terribly Sir." He replied. As he finished making his cup of tea. "Do you require anything else sir?"

"No this is fine, thank you Townsend." Arthur replied. "I expect your master will inform you of what is going to happen." He said "But it is me he will be duelling with."

"OH…." Townsend uttered. "Then… I should inform you that Master Kirkland is a crack shot Sir. Never misses, ever."

"Thank you for that…" He replied. "You may go."

"Very good sir."

The night seemed like an endless one. Francis didn't get any sleep at all for worrying about what would happen the next day. Hindley, spent most of the night getting drunk and playing sad tunes on his guitar, but he was going to go ahead with the duel no matter what anyone said. He was adamant that no one was going to ruin his life by taking the only man he'd ever loved away from him. Eventually he fell into a troubled sleep. This was his first night away from Francis since they'd started sleeping together. He felt so lonely, just wanting to be with him, but he was just so upset.

Arthur lay awake staring at the ceiling in the outhouse, thinking about Francis and the whole situation. He couldn't just leave him here, out of his own time, he didn't belong here. He needed to be with him. How dare Hindley even think about challenging him to a duel? Well tomorrow one of them would die… Arthur knew fine well it could be himself.

The next day at dawn, Mr Townsend, Hindley, Arthur and Francis met at the front of the mansion and made their way towards the bridge. Townsend held a black case within which the weapons were stored. Hindley looked at Francis' who couldn't look back at him. If he had, then he would have seen his eyes were red, and he was not his usual self at all. Arthur never said a word either, he just turned up ready for what might happen. Even death. When they got to the middle of the bridge, Mr Townsend held the case open. Inside were two flintlock pistols set in a felt casing. They had never been fired.

"Gentlemen choose your weapons." He uttered. They did so, Hindley choosing his first and loading two bullets into it, as did Arthur. They stood back to back, looking at the ground, and it was at that point Francis noticed that Hindley looked terrible, he looked distressed. He glanced up at Francis who was glancing back at him wondering if he'd been crying too. He blinked a little and looked like he was regretting ever making this challenge.

"Sirs if you would…" Mr Townsend continued. "When I blow this whistle, take ten paces forward, turn and fire. Are we clear?"

"Clear Mr Townsend." Hindley replied. "Ahem."

"Clear." Arthur replied.

A moment later Mr Townsend blew the whistle and started counting from one to ten. The two men took their paces forward, "One… two… three….four…."

However when they reached number eight, Hindley stopped and looked round at Arthur, he didn't aim his weapon, he just watched him. "eight…nine…" He slowly raised his weapon. "…ten…" In the few moments it took for Arthur to turn around, Hindley knew he couldn't shoot him. He looked at Arthur and instead of seeing an enemy, it was like he was looking at his own son. He heard Francis' words in his head from the night before "You wouldn't shoot your own son…" The Frenchman was right, there was absolutely no way he could do it. He looked to him and mouthed "I can't…"

Francis drew a sharp intake of breath, but there was nothing he could do to stop what would happen next.

Thinking that Hindley was a crack shot and would fire on him immediately, Arthur turned around and fired, not realising that Hindley wasn't going to fire at all. The bullet lodged itself in Hindley's shoulder, then Arthur fired again, and that bullet hit his hand knocking the gun to the ground, as he fell to his knees, as Francis cried out to him and ran to his aid. "Hindley!" he screamed holding him by the shoulders. "What happened?"

"You're right, I … I couldn't shoot him." He replied, clutching at his arm. "I couldn't do it." He uttered. "He's my Great Grandson…"
"Oh… Hindley…" Francis uttered through tears and hugged him. He knew that Hindley wasn't a bad man, that he'd never be able to do it. "Je t'aime…" he softly whispered.

"You must go with him." Hindley said quietly. "You must go now, and not look back. Alright?"

Arthur approached cautiously. This was meant to be a duel to the death and he hadn't killed him obviously, but he was prepared to fight.

"Arthur…" Hindley uttered through the pain. "Give him a good life… don't you ever hurt him. He's the most delicate creature in the world… he needs love."

"I can promise you that Sir." He said quietly, as he realised there would be no fight to the death. He took Francis by the arm, picking him up from the ground where he was kneeling with him.

"No… no… Hindley…" he wept as he was practically dragged away. Hindley knelt there nursing his injured arm. The bones on his hand were shattered, and his shoulder was bleeding badly. He didn't look up as he heard Arthur firing up his machine.

"Come on we have to go."

Arthur held on to him and the machine did what it was supposed to do, transporting them back to 1946.