The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume I

“You think he ‘ll kill him, my Lord?”

“I think so. If the offence had been less flagrant or less public, possibly not. But a blow! to be struck down in the open street! I don’t see how he can do less.”

“What a break-up it will cause here!” said Jekyl, with a nod of his head in the direction of the drawing-room.

“It will send them all back to England, I suppose.”

“I suppose it will,” added Jekyl, mournfully.

“What a bore! It’s particularly unpleasant for me, for I hold some half-dozen of George’s acceptances, not due yet; and, of course, the governor will never think of acquitting them.”

“I conclude it is inevitable the meeting, I mean?” said Jekyl.

“To be sure it is. Onslow took care of that! By the way, Jekyl, how came she there at such an hour, and alone, too?”

“She had been shopping, I fancy, and missed the carriage. There was some blunder, I have heard, about the coachman drawing up at the wrong door.”

“No go, Master Jekyl. Don’t try it on with me, old fellow. You know all about it, if you like to tell.”

“I assure you, my Lord, you give me a credit I don’t deserve.”

“You know the whole story from beginning to end, Jekyl. I ‘d back you against the field, my boy.”

The other shook his head with an air of supreme innocence.

“Then George knows it?” added Norwood, half asserting, half asking the question.

“He may, my Lord, for aught I can tell.”

“If so, he’s treating me unfairly,” said Norwood, rising and pacing the room. “As his friend in this affair, there should be no reserve or concealment with me. You can surely say that much, Jekyl, eh? What a close fellow you are!”

“It is so easy not to blab when one has nothing to tell,” said Jekyl, smiling.

“Come, there is something you can tell me. Where does that small corridor behind George’s apartment lead to? There is a door at the end of it, and, I fancy, a stair beyond it.”

“That, if I mistake not, leads up to Lady Hester. No, I remember now; it leads to Miss Dalton’s room.”

“Just so; I could have sworn it.”

“Why so, my Lord?” asked Jekyl, whose curiosity was now excited to the utmost.

“That ‘s my secret, Master Jekyl.”

“But the door is always locked and bolted from within,” said Jekyl, “and there is no keyhole on the outside.”

“I’ll not stand pumping, Jekyl. If you had been frank with me, perhaps I should have been as open with you.”

For an instant Jekyl hesitated what course to follow. It might be that Norwood really knew something of great importance. It might be that his discovery was valueless. And yet, if it concerned Kate in any way, the information would be all-important, his great game being to make her a princess, and yet preserve such an ascendancy over her as would render her his own slave.

“She’s a strange girl, that Dalton,” said Norwood. “I wish she had about forty thousand pounds.”

“She may have more than that yet, my Lord,” said Jekyl, dryly.

“How do you mean, Jekyl? Is there any truth in that story about the Irish property? Has she really a claim on the estate? Tell me all you know, old fellow, and I ‘ll be on the square with you throughout.”

Jekyl, who in his remark had darkly alluded to the prospect of Kate’s marriage with Midchekoff, now saw that Norwood had totally misconceived his meaning, and like a shrewd tactician, determined to profit by the blunder.

“Come, Jekyl, be frank and aboveboard. What are her prospects?”

“Better than I have told you, my Lord,” replied he, coolly. “If I cannot – for I am not at liberty to explain why – I am quite ready to pledge my word of honor to the truth of what I say, or, what your Lordship will think more of, to back my opinion by a bet.”

“By Jove! that is news!” said the Viscount, leaning his head on the chimney to reflect. “You are such a slippery dog, Master Jekyl, you have so many turnings and windings in you, one is never quite sure with you; but supposing now, for argument’s sake, that one thought of making this fair damsel a peeress, is there no hitch in the affair no screw loose that one ought to look to?”

“In her birth, my Lord?”

“No; d – n her birth! I mean about the tin.”

“I believe, my Lord, that I can save you all speculation on the subject when I say that pursuit would be hopeless there. The Midchekoff has gained the start, and must win in a canter.”

“That Tartar fellow! nonsense, man; I know better than that. He ‘ll never marry anything under royalty; the fellow’s mother was a serf, and he must wash that spot out of his blood whenever he can.”

“You are mistaken, my Lord. He only waits to be certain of being accepted, to offer himself.”

“Refuse him!” said Norwood, laughing, “there’s not that girl in Europe would refuse him. If every decoration he wore on his breast were a stripe of the knout upon his back, his wealth would cover all.”

“The Prince would give half his fortune to be assured of all you say, my Lord,” said Jekyl, gravely.

“By Jove! one might make a good thing of it, even that way,” said Norwood, half aloud. “I say, Jekyl,” added he, louder, “how much are you to have? nay, nay, man, there ‘s no impertinence in the question, we are both too much men of the world for that. It ‘s quite clear that this is your scheme. Now, what ‘s the damage?”

“My Lord, you are as flattering to my abilities as unjust to my character.”

“We ‘ll suppose all that said,” broke in Norwood, impatiently; “and now we come back to the original question, whether I cannot afford to be as liberal as the Russian. Only be explicit, and let us understand each other.”

“My Lord, I will not insult myself by believing I comprehend you;” said Jekyl, calmly.

And before Norwood could detain him he left the room.

“Jekyl, come back, man! just hear me out you’ve mistaken me! Confound the cur,” muttered the Viscount, “with his hypocritical affectation as if I did not know his metier as well as I know my bootmaker’s.”

Norwood walked noiselessly to the door of the salon and peeped in. Lady Hester, the Prince, and Jekyl were in earnest conversation in one quarter; while Kate sat apart, apparently engaged with her embroidery-frame, but in reality too deeply sunk in thought to notice the bright tints before her. Norwood entered listlessly, and strolling across the room, took a place beside her. She moved slightly as he drew forward his chair, and, then, as she drew back her flounce, Norwood saw that it was of deep black lace. He coolly took out his pocket-book wherein he had deposited the torn fragment, and, regarding it with attention, saw that it perfectly corresponded with the dress. So leisurely and with such circumspection did he proceed that several minutes elapsed before he looked up.

“You are meditative, my Lord, to-night,” said Kate, at last, making an effort to relieve an awkward situation; “what are you thinking of, pray?”

“Admiring your dress, Miss Dalton, which strikes me as singularly beautiful and becoming.”

“Great praise this, from such an acknowledged judge as Lord Norwood,” said she, smiling.

“I prefer it to antique lace, which in general is too heavy and cumbrous for my taste; I like these fine and delicate tissues, so frail and gossamer-like, not but their frailty, like all other frailty, incurs occasionally a heavy penalty; as here, for instance, you see this has been torn.”