Courtly acceptance of Lord Brookwood’s abject attempts at amends; gracious bows, hands, words, laughter at last; and My Lady in a hastily procured post-chaise bids the gibbet at Brook-Armsleigh Village farewell, and starts for London, where she swears she’s due and must not fail of being, for to-morrow, Sunday.
Sir Percy, too, affirms, he must up to town without delay, to have the honor and pleasure of himself rehearsing at Will’s the splendid courage of Sir Robin, and his almost miraculous escape from a horrible and ignominious death.
In truth Percy longed, after the excitements of the past four-and-twenty hours, to be alone; to seek, as was his wont of late, in some unfrequented, obscure part of the town, such as the desolate neighborhood of the Dove Pier, an opportunity to ponder upon Lady Peggy; to guess fruitlessly of her whereabouts; to curse himself, and Sir Robin who had, with a good cause, he generously allowed, so known how to win her from him; to marvel how, at ev’ry turn, this same Baronet appeared to become entangled in his own matters; to question if Peggy were indeed now the lawful wedded wife of this gentleman from Kent. In brief, to pester Fate with queries and surmises far too numerous and intricate to set down.
Thus upon reflection, he purposely absented himself, after his first visit to Will’s on reaching London, from either of the chocolate or coffee-houses, which he was accustomed to patronize, knowing full well that the most pressing and absorbing things he should hear would all have Sir Robin McTart for text. He did not even repair to Mr. Brummell’s house to give an account of the rescue of the Beau’s protégé from the hangman, feeling unwilling to recount his own part in the affair and but too certain that long since the whole matter would have traveled to Peter’s Court and into every other precinct of the town. Having, also, learned from Lady Diana that Kennaston had quitted Brookwood Castle in a dense of a melancholy humor, he did not either go to Lark Lane, (not finding Peg’s twin at the house in Charlotte Street), but moped the Sunday through, thankful that his uncle was gone down into the country; listening to the church-bells; thumbing a prayer-book Lady Peggy had given him one Easter-day, now five years since; finally flinging it from him; pacing up and down the hall; side-curls awry, waistcoat unbuttoned; ruffles tumbled; breeches wrinkled; mind distract, and altogether as valiant a young gentleman as ever made a wager or a toast, unsheathed a blade, or mounted a horse, rendered all of a-muddle by not knowing which way to turn to find the whereabouts and wherefores of a certain fair lady; which has been a state of affairs not uncommon to young gentlemen before this one’s day, and like to occur until the species is extinct.
Yet, ’tis quite true, too, that Sir Percy’s case was a bit out of the usual, inasmuch as the mystery of Lady Peggy’s present abiding place remained as deep to-day as ’twas a fortnight ago.
“Well, Grigson,” asked his master, as his man appeared unsummoned, “what is it?”
“Asking Your Honor’s pardon,” replies this one, “but I made bold during Your Honor’s absence from town to go down to Kennaston Castle.”
“Well, well?” cries Sir Percy excitedly, “what news?”
“With submission, Sir,” replies the man, sadly. “None.”
“’Od’s blood! you fool!” exclaimed the master. “Why do you seek me with your ‘none’! Is Her Ladyship still from home?”