On leaving Sir Murray Gernon, the energy which Lord Maudlaine had
displayed seemed to disappear, and he entered his own room, pale and
drawn of countenance. His hand, too, trembled, as, taking up a small
silver flask which lay upon a side-table, he drained it to the last
drop.
The brandy seemed to supply him with the nerve he required; and with a
renewed energy, that wore something of the air of desperation, he opened
a drawer in the bottom of his dressing-case, and took from it a pair of
small, handsomely-mounted pistols. But his hands trembled as he turned
them over and over, and the hue of his countenance became more and more
sallow, while dark lines showed themselves beneath his eyes.
For strange thoughts were intruding themselves upon his mind, and it
seemed to him that unless Brace Norton were out of his way he might just
as well apply one of those pistols to his own forehead, and draw the
trigger. This was not Italy, where he had first made the acquaintance
of the Gernons, or how easily he might have been rid of his rival. But
rid of him he must be, or ruin stared him in the face. Gambling and
betting had taken his last shilling, and now, supplied with cash for the
prosecution of his matrimonial project by one of the money-lending
fraternity, he knew what his fate must be should he fail. Confound this
Norton!--he was always starting up in his path; and he knew in his heart
that he was afraid of him; and, but for the recollection of the fierce
blow dealt him--a blow whose smart he still seemed to feel--the Viscount
dared not have prosecuted the intent for which he was now preparing.
The age of duelling was long past, and he gave Brace Norton the credit
for sending a note of challenge to the police, the result probably being
a summons before the bench of magistrates at Marshton, and his being
bound over to keep the peace towards Brace Norton and all her Majesty's
liege servants. So, in accordance with the plan he had laid down, he
proceeded to carefully load both pistols: powder and bullet, cap, and
one was ready; powder, wad, cap, and another was ready; and then--
perhaps by accident--his lordship took up a pen, dipped it in the silver
inkstand close by, and let it fall, so that one pistol-butt was slightly
marked with the black fluid. Then he sat, pen in hand, thoughtful and
silent for some time, but he did not write; and at last, still very pale
and anxious of mien, he took up the pistols, sounded the barrels one by
one with the ramrods, and then placed one in each pocket of his coat,
and slowly left the room, encountering, as he did so, the quiet,
thoughtful countenance of shrewd old Sandy McCray, who watched him out
into the pleasure-grounds, and then, having seen that his lordship's
valet was in the housekeeper's room, walked swiftly up-stairs, and into
the bed-room the Viscount had just vacated.
"He's been writing, seemingly," said the old Scot; "but he looked
woondrous bad. But what ha'e we here, spillit a' ower the table-cover?
Gude presairve us! if it isn't poother; and whaat would he be wanting
with poother?"
Sandy McCray's pondering was arrested by the sight of the dressing-case
drawer partly opened; and pulling it out, and gazing within it for a few
moments, he hurriedly closed it again, and hastened down-stairs, and out
into the stable yard, where he was not long before he found Peter, his
young lady's groom. Peter had coat and vest off, his braces tied round
his waist, and his shirt sleeves rolled-up to the elbows, squaring away
at a corn-sack stuffed full of hay, and stood up on a bin in the large
stable.
"One, two--one, two!" he kept on repeating; and, after a slight feint
each time, he delivered a most tremendous blow, at the height of a man's
face, right in the tightly-stuffed sack. "One, two, thud--one, two,
thud!" went the blows, as the active little fellow sparred away,
perspiring profusely the while, till he became aware of the old
major-domo's presence, when he stopped short, abashed.
"So ye're practising boxing, my lad, air ye? Gude-sake! gi'e up that,
and lairne to wrastle and throw the caber and put the stane. But leuke
here, my laddie: does it ever happen that my young leddy meets Mr
Norton when she's oot? There--there, I dinna wush ye to betray ony one,
laddie; but ye lo'e her weel, like we all do, and I hae a soospeeshun
that a' isn't reet. Noo, I've been a gude friend to ye always, Peter,
and eef there's iver been anything wrang, I've been like Sir Murray
himsel' to all ye sairvants, and paid yer wage, and seen ye raised, and
that no ane put upon ye; so now tell me, like a gude laddie, has there
been any clishmaclaver with Maister Norton and my laird here?"
Peter nodded shortly.
"Gude lad; it's for the gude of all I ask ye, sae tell me all. Did they
come to blows?"
"Lordship hit Mr Norton with his whip," said Peter.
"Weel, laddie?" said McCray, for the groom paused.
"Mr Norton turns round like a shot; and `one, two'--that's the blow;
and my lord goes over just like that sack--that's the cut, sir!"
As he spoke, the groom rushed at the sack, and with one of his vigorous
blows struck it right from the corn-bin to the ground.
"Gude, lad--gude, lad, and weel planted!" said McCray. "But noo, keep
yer ain counsel, and put on yer duds, and come wi' me." Then, slowly
making his way from the stable, McCray muttered: "And that accoonts for
the poother."
Book 2, Chapter XVI.