The Eustace Diamonds (10 page)

‘Anything to oblige you, my friend.'

‘It's only a trifle,' said Eustace. ‘Just to marry your cousin, my brother's widow.'

‘By Jove – 1 wish I had the chance!'

‘I don't see why you shouldn't. She is sure to marry somebody, and at her age so she ought. She's not twenty-three yet. We could trust you – with the child and all the rest of it. As it is, she is giving us a deal of trouble.'

‘But, my dear fellow –'

‘I know she's fond of you. You were dining there last Sunday.'

‘And so was Fawn. Lord Fawn is the man to marry Lizzie. You see if he doesn't. He was uncommonly sweet on her the other night, and really interested her about the Sawab.'

‘She'll never be Lady Fawn,' said John Eustace. ‘And to tell the truth, I shouldn't care to have to deal with Lord Fawn. He would be infinitely troublesome; and I can hardly wash my hands of her affairs. She's worth nearly £5000 a year as long as she lives, and I really don't think that she's much amiss.'

‘Much amiss! I don't know whether she's not the prettiest woman I ever saw,' said Greystock.

‘Yes; – but I mean in conduct and all that. She is making herself queer; and Camperdown, our lawyer, means to jump upon her; but it's only because she doesn't know what she ought to be at, and what she ought not. You could tell her.'

‘It wouldn't suit me at all to have to quarrel with Camperdown,' said the barrister, laughing.

‘You and he would settle everything in five minutes, and it would save me a world of trouble,' said Eustace.

‘Fawn is your man; – take my word for it,' said Greystock, as he walked back into the House.

‘I don't see how you're to get them,' said Eustace.

‘We'll throw upon her the burthen of showing that they have become legally her property. She can't do it.'

‘Suppose she sold them?'

‘We'll follow them up. £10,000, my dear John! God bless my soul! it's a magnificent dowry for a daughter – an ample provision for a younger son. And she is to be allowed to filch it, as other widows filch china cups, and a silver teaspoon or two! It's quite a common thing, but I never heard of such a haul as this.'

‘It will be very unpleasant,' said Eustace.

‘And then she still goes about everywhere declaring that the Portray property is her own. She's a bad lot. I knew it from the first. Of course we shall have trouble.' Then Mr Eustace explained
to the lawyer that their best way out of it all would be to get the widow married to some respectable husband. She was sure to marry sooner or later – so John Eustace said – and any ‘decently decent' fellow would be easier to deal with than she herself. ‘He must be very indecently indecent if he is not,' said Mr Camper-down. But Mr Eustace did not name Frank Greystock the barrister as the probable future decent husband.

When Lizzie first got the letter, which she did on the day after the visit at Fawn Court, of which mention has been made, she put it by unread for a couple of days. She opened it, not knowing the clerk's handwriting, but read only the first line and the signature. For two days she went on with the ordinary affairs and amusements of her life, as though no such letter had reached her; but she was thinking of it all the time. The diamonds were in her possession, and she had had them valued by her old friend Mr Benjamin – of the firm of Harter and Benjamin. Mr Benjamin had suggested that stones of such a value should not be left to the risk of an ordinary London house; but Lizzie had felt that if Mr Benjamin got them into his hands, Mr Benjamin might perhaps not return them. Messrs Camperdown and Garnett between them might form a league with Mr Benjamin. Where would she be, should Mr Benjamin tell her that under some legal sanction he had given the jewels up to Mr Camperdown? She hinted to Mr Benjamin that she would perhaps sell them if she got a good offer. Mr Benjamin, who was very familiar with her, hinted that there might be a little family difficulty. ‘Oh, none in the least,' said Lizzie : – ‘but I don't think I shall part with them.' Then she gave Mr Benjamin an order for a strong box, which was supplied to her. The strong box, which was so heavy that she could barely lift it herself, was now in her London bedroom.

On the morning of the third day she read the letter. Miss Mac-nulty was staying with her, but she had not said a word to Miss Macnulty about the letter. She read it up in her own bedroom, and then sat down to think about it. Sir Florian, as he had handed to her the stones for the purpose of a special dinner party which had been given to them when passing through London, had told her that they were family jewels.‘That setting was done for my
mother,' he said, ‘but it is already old. When we are at home again they shall be reset' Then he had added some little husband's joke as to a future daughter-in-law who should wear them. Nevertheless she was not sure whether the fact of their being so handed to her did not make them her own. She had spoken a second time to Mr Mopus and Mr Mopus had asked her whether there existed any family deed as to the diamonds. She had heard of no such deed, nor did Mr Camperdown mention such a deed. After reading the letter once she read it a dozen times; and then, like a woman, made up her mind that her safest course would be not to answer it.

But yet she felt sure that something unpleasant would come of it. Mr Camperdown was not a man to take up such a question and to let it drop. Legal steps! What did legal steps mean, and what could they do to her? Would Mr Camperdown be able to put her in prison – or to take away from her the estate of Portray? She could swear that her husband had given them to her, and could invent any form of words she pleased as accompanying the gift. No one else had been near them then. But she was, and felt herself to be absolutely, alarmingly ignorant, not only of the laws but of custom in such matters. Messrs Mowbray and Mopus and Mr Benjamin were the allies to whom she looked for guidance; but she was wise enough to know that Mowbray and Mopus, and Harter and Benjamin were not trustworthy, whereas Camperdown and Son and the Messrs Garnett were all as firm as rocks and as respectable as the Bank of England. Circumstances – unfortunate circumstances – drove her to Harter and Benjamin and to Mowbray and Mopus, while she would have taken so much delight in feeling the strong honesty of the other people to be on her side! She would have talked to her friends about Mr Camperdown and the people at Garnett's with so much satisfaction! But ease, security, and even respectability may be bought too dearly. Ten thousand pounds! Was she prepared to surrender such a sum as that? She had, indeed, already realized the fact that it might be very difficult to touch the money. When she had suggested to Mr Benjamin that he should buy the jewels, that worthy tradesman had by no means jumped at the offer. Of what
use to her would be a necklace always locked up in an iron box, which box, for aught she knew, myrmidons from Mr Camper-down might carry off during her absence from the house? Would it not be better to come to terms and surrender? But then what should the terms be?

If only there had been a friend whom she could consult; a friend whom she could consult on a really friendly footing! – not a simply respectable, off-handed, high-minded friend, who would advise her as a matter of course to make restitution. Her uncle the dean, or her cousin Frank, or old Lady Fawn, would be sure to give her such advice as that. There are people who are so very high-minded when they have to deal with the interests of their friends! What if she were to ask Lord Fawn?

Thoughts of a second marriage had, of course, crossed Lady Eustace's mind, and they were by no means the worst thoughts that found a place there. She had a grand idea – this selfish, hard-fisted little woman, who could not bring herself to abandon the plunder on which she had laid her hand – a grand idea of surrendering herself and all her possessions to a great passion. For Florian Eustace she had never cared. She had sat down by his side, and looked into his handsome face, and read poetry to him – because of his wealth, and because it had been indispensable to her to settle herself well. And he had been all very well – a generous, open-hearted, chivalrous, irascible, but rather heavy-minded gentleman; but she had never been in love with him. Now she desired to be so in love that she could surrender everything to her love. There was as yet nothing of such love in her bosom. She had seen no one who had so touched her. But she was alive to the romance of the thing, and was in love with the idea of being in love. ‘Ah' she would say to herself in her moments of solitude, ‘if I had a Corsair
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of my own, how I would sit on watch for my lover's boat by the sea-shore!' And she believed it of herself, that she could do so.

But it would also be very nice to be a peeress – so that she might, without any doubt, be one of the great ladies of London. As a baronet's widow with a large income, she was already almost a great lady; but she was quite alive to a suspicion that she was
not altogether strong in her position. The bishop's people and the dean's people did not quite trust her. The Camperdowns and Gar-netts utterly distrusted her. The Mopuses and Benjamins were more familiar than they would be with a really great lady. She was sharp enough to understand all this. Should it be Lord Pawn or should it be a Corsair? The worst of Lord Fawn was the undoubted fact that he was not himself a great man. He could, no doubt, make his wife a peeress; but he was poor, encumbered with a host of sisters, dull as a blue-book, and possessed of little beyond his peerage to recommend him. If she could only find a peer, unmarried, with a dash of the Corsair about him! In the meantime, what was she to do about the jewels?

There was staying with her at this time a certain Miss Macnulty, who was related, after some distant fashion, to old Lady Linlithgow, and who was as utterly destitute of possessions or means of existence as any unfortunate, well-born, and moderately-educated, middle-aged woman in London. To live upon her friends, such as they might be, was the only mode of life within her reach. It was not that she had chosen such dependence; nor, indeed, had she endeavoured to reject it. It had come to her as a matter of course – either that or the poor-house. As to earning her bread, except by that attendance which a poor friend gives – the idea of any possibility that way had never entered her head. She could do nothing – except dress like a lady with the smallest possible cost, and endeavour to be obliging. Now, at this moment, her condition was terribly precarious. She had quarrelled with Lady Linlithgow, and had been taken in by her old friend Lizzie – her old enemy might, perhaps, be a truer expression – because of that quarrel. But a permanent home had not even been promised to her; and poor Miss Macnulty was aware that even a permanent home with Lady Eustace would not be an unmixed blessing. In her way, Miss Macnulty was an honest woman.

They were sitting together one May afternoon in the little back drawing-room in Mount Street. They had dined early, were now drinking tea, and intended to go to the opera. It was six o'Clock, and was still broad day, but the thick coloured blind was kept across the single window, and the folding doors of the room
were nearly closed, and there was a feeling of evening in the room. The necklace during the whole day had been so heavy on Lizzie's heart, that she had been unable to apply her thoughts to the building of that castle in the air in which the Corsair was to reign supreme, but not alone. ‘My dear,' she said – she generally called Miss Macnulty my dear – ‘you know that box I had made by the jewellers.'

‘You mean the safe.'

‘Well – yes; only it isn't a safe. A safe is a great big thing. I had it made especially for the diamonds Sir Florian gave me.'

‘I supposed it was so.'

‘I wonder whether there's any danger about it?'

‘If I were you, Lady Eustace, I wouldn't keep them in the house. I should have them kept where Sir Florian kept them. Suppose anybody should come and murder you!'

‘I'm not a bit afraid of that,' said Lizzie.

‘I should be. And what will you do with it when you go to Scotland?'

‘I took them with me before; – in my own care. I know that wasn't safe. I wish I knew what to do with them?'

‘There are people who keep such things,' said Miss Macnulty.

Then Lizzie paused a moment. She was dying for counsel and for confidence. ‘I cannot trust them anywhere,' she said. ‘It is just possible there may be a lawsuit about them.'

‘How a lawsuit?'

‘I cannot explain it all, but I am very unhappy about it. They want me to give them up; – but my husband gave them to me, and for his sake I will not do so. When he threw them round my neck he told me they were my own; – so he did. How can a woman give up such a present – from a husband – who is dead? As to the value, I care nothing. But I won't do it.' By this time Lady Eustace was in tears, and had so far succeeded as to have produced some amount of belief in Miss Macnulty's mind.

‘If they are your own, they can't take them from you,' said Miss Macnulty.

‘They sha'n't. They shall find that I've got some spirit left' Then she reflected that a real Corsair lover would protect her jewels for
her; – would guard them against a score of Camperdowns. But she doubted whether Lord Fawn would do much in that way. Then the door opened, and Lord Fawn was announced. It was not at all unusual with Lord Fawn to call on the widow at this hour. Mount Street is not exactly in the way from the India Office to the House of Lords; but a Hansom cab
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can make it almost in the way. Of neglect of official duty Lord Fawn was never guilty; but a half hour for private business or for relaxation between one stage of duty and another – can any Minister grudge so much to an indefatigable follower? Lady Eustace had been in tears as he was announced, but the light of the room was so low that the traces of them could hardly be seen. She was in her Corsair state of mind, divided between her jewels and her poetry, and caring not very much for the increased rank which Lord Fawn could give her. The Sawab's case is coining on in the House of Commons this very night,' he said, in answer to a question from Miss Macnulty. Then he turned to Lady Eustace. ‘Your cousin, Mr Greystock, is going to ask a question in the House'

‘Shall you be there to answer him?' asked Miss Macnulty innocently.

‘Oh dear, no. But I shall be present. A peer can go, you know.' Then Lord Fawn, at considerable length, explained to the two ladies the nature and condition of the British Parliament. Miss Macnulty experienced an innocent pleasure in having such things told to her by a lord. Lady Eustace knew that this was the way in which Lord Fawn made love, and thought that from him it was as good as any other way. If she were to marry a second time simply with the view of being a peeress, of having a respected husband, and making good her footing in the world, she would as lief listen to parliamentary details and the prospects of the Sawab as to any other matters. She knew very well that no Corsair propensities would be forthcoming from Lord Fawn. Lord Fawn had just worked himself round to the Sawab again, when Frank Greystock entered the room. ‘Now we have both the Houses represented,' said Lady Eustace, as she welcomed her cousin.

‘You intend to ask your question about the Sawab tonight?' asked Lord Fawn, with intense interest – feeling that, had it been
his lot to perform that task before he went to his couch, he would at this moment have been preparing his little speech.

But Frank Greystock had not come to his cousin's house to talk of the Prince of the Mygawb territory. When his friend Eustace had suggested to him that he should marry the widow, he had ridiculed the idea; – but nevertheless he had thought of it a good deal. He was struggling hard, working diligently, making for himself a character in Parliament, succeeding – so said all his friends – as a barrister. He was a rising young man, one of those whose names began to be much in the mouths of other men; – but still he was poor. It seemed to himself that among other good gifts that of economy had not been bestowed upon him. He owed a little money, and though he owed it, he went on spending his earnings. He wanted just such a lift in the world as a wife with an income would give him. As for looking about for a girl whom he could honestly love, and who should have a fortune of her own as well as beauty, birth, and all the other things – that was out of his reach. If he talked to himself of love, if he were ever to acknowledge to himself that love was to have sway over him, then must Lucy Morris be the mistress of his heart. He had come to know enough about himself to be aware of that; – but he knew also that he had said nothing binding him to walk in that path. It was quite open to him to indulge a discreet ambition without dishonour. Therefore he also had come to call upon the beautiful widow. The courtship with her he knew need not be long. He could ask her to marry him tomorrow – or for that matter today – without a feeling of hesitation. She might accept him or might reject him; but, as he said to himself, in neither case would any harm be done.