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.