Father--mother? Whom could he fly to for advice at such a time? Brace
Norton asked himself. To neither. He knew what his father's counsel
would be, and that his mother, while sympathising, could not help him.
Reveal the words spoken to him by the baronet he could not. After the
first few hours of agony--of bitter agony--that he had suffered, he
would not even revert to them himself. He could not but think that Sir
Murray had felt what he said to be true; but, for himself, he felt that
it was monstrous. He believed that his mother had told him all she
knew, and he was ready to cast his life upon the honour and truth of his
father. There was no failing of confidence between them, and he
reddened with shame at having, even for a moment, credited the baronet's
assertion. Give up Isa? No; not while he had life! His course was
plainly enough marked out; he could see it now: it was to be his duty to
clear up the mystery that had long hung over Merland Castle, and he
would do it. Happiness might yet be the result for him; but even if it
were not, there was in the eyes of many yet living a stain upon his
fathers fair fame. That stain he would wipe away, even to the
convincing of Sir Murray Gernon.
He must, he felt, keep every thought and act from those who were dear to
him--the subject was too painful even to be broached in their hearing.
Where, then, should he commence?--for his time was but short ere his
vessel would be refitted, and he must join. The old steward, McCray?
No; he had found him close and reserved. Jane--Mrs McCray: the woman
of whom Isa always spoke so tenderly--who had nursed her from a child,
and had been Lady Gernon's confidential maid? She could help him,
perhaps; but would she? He could try, without waiting for Isa.
Brace Norton pondered long as he strove to contrive a plan for seeing
Jane, but only to decide at last that he must write.
He wrote a long, earnest appeal, such as he felt he could write in
safety to so staunch a friend of Isa's. He told, in frank, earnest
terms, of his love, of his sorrow for the dense cloud that existed
between the two houses, and of his determination to pierce it. His
letter breathed throughout his firm faith in his father's honour--words
which, of course, to Jane McCray, would convey the young man's faith in
her mistress, though her name was not mentioned; and Brace concluded by
imploring Jane to tell him all she knew, keeping back nothing that might
aid him in his endeavours to find a clue that should bring to light the
causes of the sorrows that had so long overshadowed the houses of Gernon
and Norton.
He sent his letter, and waited one--two--three days; on each of which he
had the misery of seeing Isa at a distance riding out, accompanied by
Lord Maudlaine.
On the fourth day, though, an answer came, written in very guarded
language, but all the same, whispering of pity and a plainly-expressed
hope that for Isa's sake Mr Brace Norton might be successful in his
quest; but help, Mrs McCray said, she could give him none--she had
nothing she could tell more than was known already by Mrs Norton.
Simple facts, these; and with one exception--that of Jane's suspicions--
Brace was already well-informed, every word being treasured deeply in
his heart.
Brace Norton's brow knit as he thought over again and again the
narrative of his mother. If his father would but take counsel with him,
and they together tried to investigate the matter, he felt that all
would be well; but he dared not broach the subject in his presence, and
once more he turned to himself for aid.
There was the disappearance of that cross: what could have become of
that? The answer was plain enough--his parents' and his own suspicions
must be correct: Gurdon, the old butler, must have stolen it. Sir
Murray had accused him of it; and if proper search had been made, no
doubt it would have been found. Twenty years transportation he was to
suffer, and that period must be up now some time; was it possible that,
upon a promise being given him that no further prosecution should
follow, and a bribe were supplied, he would afford such information as
should prove to the satisfaction of all what had become of the cross?
No doubt he would--_if alive_!
Brace determined to try and trace Gurdon--to see if he had returned to
this country; and, leaving home, he sought out the proper official place
at which to apply, and learned that John Gurdon had completed his term
of servitude, and had then been set at liberty. That was all. He had
been set at liberty twelve thousand miles from England; nothing further
was known.
"I shall meet him, perhaps, during my cruises," muttered Brace,
bitterly; and he returned home utterly disheartened.
Then he turned his attention to the disappearance of Lady Gernon. What
had become of her? Elopement was out of the question. Had she, moved
thereto by Sir Murray's harsh treatment and cruel suspicions, fled, to
pass the rest of her life somewhere at peace? If so, without doubt, in
the course of twenty years, she must have been heard of. That
supposition was not likely, and he dismissed it, to give place to a
dread fear that, sick of life, she might have sought rest in direct
opposition to the divine canon. But Brace could not harbour that
thought. Lady Gernon had always been painted to him as too pure-minded,
patient, and suffering a woman to fly to such a refuge; she was rather
one to suffer and pray for strength to bear it.
"Of what are you thinking, Brace?" said Mrs Norton, tenderly, as,
entering his room, she found him brooding over a new suspicion that had
entered his mind.
He started as she spoke to him, and tried to drive away his thoughts,
and to speak to her cheerfully; but the same dire suspicion came again
and again, and at last, as she urged him to speak--to confide in her--he
said, almost in a whisper:
"Mother, I was wondering if it were possible that Lady Gernon was
murdered!"
Mrs Norton shuddered as she recalled the visit of Jane McCray, and the
disclosures she had made--every word of which, in spite of the great
lapse of time, now seemed to occur to her as plainly as if they had been
spoken but a few hours since.
"Hush, Brace!" she whispered, her face assuming an aspect of horror.
"The idea is too dreadful. Think, too, of what it embraces."
"Yes--yes, I know," he exclaimed, impetuously; "but, mother, this must
be cleared up. I will have all brought to light. I should have said
nothing but for your questions, rather choosing to pursue my own
course."
"But think, Brace--think of Isa. Suppose such a revelation as you seek
to make, how then?--consider how it would affect her. My son, had you
not better suffer than bring such a charge against her father?"
"Her father--Sir Murray Gernon? I never suspected him of so foul a
crime. Mother, you have something you keep back from me. You have
suspected him of this, then, perhaps years ago."
Mrs Norton said nothing, but her agitated countenance spoke volumes;
and rising from his seat, Brace exclaimed, bitterly:
"Oh! mother--mother. Is there an evil fate hanging over us? Everything
seems to militate against my prospects of happiness. If I had never
seen her--if I had never seen her!" he groaned.
"Brace, my son, be a man!" exclaimed Mrs Norton, her eyes the while
swimming with tears. "You are young yet, and women's hearts are not so
frail as novelists would paint them. Wait on and hope. Live in the
happy thought that Isa loves you; and, if she be her mother's child, no
threat, no persuasion will tempt her to give her hand without her heart.
You are young, very young yet, and time may prove all--may lay bare the
secrets of the past. I did suspect him. Promise me that you will hold
my words secret as the grave, and that you will make no use of them, for
Isa's sake, and I will tell you."
"Mother," said Brace, bitterly, "I would cut off my right hand sooner
than speak a word that would injure any one belonging to her. Say what
you will, you cannot alter what I see already. It is all plain enough.
My hands are chained, and I must, as you say, live on and hope."
"Yes," he said, after Mrs Norton had told him of Jane's visit, "it is
possible that all may have been her hallucinations; and it is as
possible that--there--no, it is impossible, and I will not harbour the
thought. Mother dear, you must teach me your old resignation, that I
may wait patiently for the good time when all shall be made plain; for I
will wait, you helping, though,"--he said, with a sad and mournful
smile--"that time may not be on this side of the grave!"
Book 2, Chapter XX.