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.