The Eustace Diamonds (24 page)

‘I hardly knew whether I am or not,' said Frank – and he almost felt that he was blushing.

‘I hope you are,' said Lucy. ‘When a man has to work all day and nearly all night he should go where he may get fresh air.'

‘There's very good air without going to Scotland for it,' said Lady Fawn, who kept up an excellent house at Richmond, but who, with all her daughters, could not afford autumn trips. The Fawns lived at Fawn Court all the year round, and consequently Lady Fawn thought that air was to be found in England sufficiently good for all purposes of vitality and recreation.

‘It's not quite the same thing,' said Lucy; – ‘at least, not for a man.'

After that she was allowed to escape into the grounds with her lover, and was made happy with half-an-hour of unalloyed bliss. To be alone with the girl to whom he is not engaged, is a man's delight; – to be alone with the man to whom she is engaged is the woman's. When the thing is settled there is always present to the man something of a feeling of clipped wings; whereas the woman is conscious of a new power of expanding her pinions. The certainty of the thing is to him repressive. He has done his work, and gained his victory, and by conquering has become a slave. To her the certainty of the thing is the removal of a restraint which has hitherto always been on her. She can tell him everything, and be told everything – whereas her previous confidences, made with those of her own sex, have been tame, and by comparison valueless. He has no new confidence to make – unless when he comes to tell her he likes his meat well done, and wants his breakfast to be punctual. Lucy now not only promised herself, but did actually realise a great joy. He seemed to be to her all that her heart desired. He was a man whose manner was naturally caressing and demonstrative, and she was to him, of all women, the sweetest, the dearest, the most perfect – and all his own. ‘But, Frank' – she had already been taught to call him Frank when they were alone together – ‘what will come of all this about Lizzie Eustace?'

‘They will be married – of course.'

‘Do you think so? I am sure Lady Fawn doesn't think so.'

‘What Lady Fawn thinks on such a matter cannot be helped. When a man asks a woman to marry him, and she accepts, the
natural consequence is that they will be married. Don't you think so?'

‘I hope so – sometimes,' said Lucy, with her two hands joined upon his arm, and hanging to it with all her little weight.

‘You really do hope it?' he said.

‘Oh, I do; you know I do. Hope it! I should die if I didn't hope it.'

‘Then why shouldn't she?' He asked his question with a quick sharp voice, and then turned upon her for an answer.

‘I don't know,' she said, very softly, and still clinging to him. ‘I sometimes think there is a difference in people.'

‘There is a difference; but, still, we hardly judge of people sufficiently by our own feelings. As she accepted him, you may be sure that she wishes to marry him. She has more to give than he has.'

‘And I have nothing to give,' she said.

‘If I thought so, I'd go back even now,' he answered. ‘It is because you have so much to give – so much more than most others – that I have thought of you, dreamed of you as my wife, almost ever since I first knew you.'

‘I have nothing left to give,' she said. ‘What I ever had is all given. People call it the heart. I think it is heart, and brain, and mind, and body – and almost soul. But, Frank, though Lizzie Eustace is your cousin, I don't want to be likened to her. She is very clever, and beautiful – and has a way with her that I know is charming; but–'

‘But what, Lucy?'

‘I don't think she cares so much as some people. I dare say she likes Lord Fawn very well, but I do not believe she loves him as I love you'

‘They're engaged,' said Frank, ‘and the best thing they can do is to marry each other. I can tell you this, at any rate' – and his manner again became serious – ‘if Lord Fawn behaves ill to her, I, as her cousin, shall take her part.'

‘You don't mean that you'll – fight him!'

‘No, my darling. Men don't fight each other now-a-days; – not often, at least, and Fawn and I are not of the fighting sort. I can
make him understand what I mean and what others will mean without fighting him. He is making a paltry excuse.'

‘But why should he want to excuse himself – without reason?'

‘Because he is afraid. People have got hold of him and told him lies, and he thinks there will be a scrape about this necklace, and he hates a scrape. He'll marry her at last, without a doubt, and Lady Fawn is only making trouble for herself by trying to prevent it. You can't do anything.'

‘Oh, no; – I can't do anything. When she was here it became at last quite disagreeable. She hardly spoke to them, and I'm sure that even the servants understood that there was a quarrel.' She did not say a word of Lizzie's offer of the brooch to herself, nor of the stories which by degrees were reaching her ears as to the old debts, and the diamonds, and the young bride's conduct to Lady Linlithgow as soon as she married her grand husband, Sir Florian. She did think badly of Lizzie, and could not but regret that her own noble, generous Frank should have to expend his time and labour on a friend unworthy of his friendship; but there was no shade of jealousy in her feeling, and she uttered no word against Lizzie more bitter than that in which she declared that there was a difference between people.

And then there was something said as to their own prospects in life. Lucy at once and with vehemence declared that she did not look for or expect an immediate marriage. She did not scruple to tell him that she knew well how difficult was the task before him, and that it might be essential for his interest that he should remain as he was for a year or two. He was astonished to find how completely she understood his position, and how thoroughly she sympathized with his interests. ‘There is only one thing I couldn't do for you,' she said.

‘And what is the one thing?'

‘I couldn't give you up. I almost thought that I ought to refuse you because I can do nothing – nothing to help you. But there will always come a limit to self-denial. I couldn't do that! could I?'

The reader will know how this question was answered, and will not want to be told of the long, close, clinging, praiseworthy kiss
with which the young barrister assured her that would have been on her part an act of self-denial which would to him have been absolutely ruinous. It was agreed, however, between them, that Lady Fawn should be told that they did not propose to marry till some time in the following year, and that she should be formally asked to allow Lucy to have a home at Fawn Court in the interval.

But Frank Greystock did visit her – more than once. On the day after the above letter was written he came to her. It was on Sunday afternoon, when July was more than half over, and he found her alone. Miss Macnulty had gone to church, and Lizzie was lying listlessly on a sofa with a volume of poetry in her hand. She had in truth been reading the book, and in her way enjoying it. It told her the story of certain knights of old, who had gone forth in quest of a sign from heaven, which sign, if verily seen by them,
might be taken to signify that they themselves were esteemed holy, and fit for heavenly joy. One would have thought that no theme could have been less palatable to such a one as Lizzie Eustace; but the melody of the lines had pleased her ear, and she was always able to arouse for herself a false enthusiasm on things which were utterly outside herself in life. She thought she too could have travelled in search of that holy sign, and have borne all things, and abandoned all things and have persevered – and of a certainty have been rewarded. But as for giving up a string of diamonds – in common honesty – that was beyond her.

‘I wonder whether men ever were like that,' she said, as she allowed her cousin to take the book from her hands.

‘Let us hope not.'

‘Oh, Frank!'

‘They were, no doubt, as fanatic and foolish as you please. If you will read to the end –'

‘I have read it all – every word of it,' said Lizzie enthusiastically.

‘Then you know that Arthur did not go on the search, because he had a job of work to do, by the doing of which the people around him might perhaps be somewhat benefited.'

‘I like Launcelot better than Arthur,'
¹
said Lizzie.

‘So did the Queen,' replied Frank.

‘Your useful, practical man, who attends vestries and sits at Boards, and measures out his gifts to others by the ounce, never has any heart. Has he, Frank?'

‘I don't know what heart means. I sometimes fancy that it is a talent for getting into debt, and running away with other men's wives.'

‘You say that on purpose to make me quarrel with you. You don't run away with other men's wives, and you have heart.'

‘But I get into debt, unfortunately; and as for other men's wives, I am not sure that I may not do even that some day. Has Lord Fawn been here?' She shook her head. ‘Or written?.' Again she shook her head. As she did so the long curl waved and was very near to him, for he was sitting close to the sofa, and she raised herself so that she might look into his face and speak to him
almost in a whisper. ‘Something should be settled, Lizzie, before you leave town.'

‘I wrote to him, yesterday – one line, and desired him to come. I expected him here today, but you have come instead. Shall I say that I am disappointed?'

‘No doubt you are so.'

‘Oh, Frank, how vain you men are! You want me to swear to you that I would sooner have you with me than him. You are not content with – thinking it, unless I tell you that it is so. You know that it is so. Though he is to be my husband – I suppose he will be my husband – his spirit is not congenial to mine as is yours.'

‘Had you not loved him you would not have accepted him.'

‘What was I to do, Frank? What am I to do? Think how desolate I am, how unfriended, how much in want of some one whom I can call a protector! I cannot always have you with me. You care more for the little finger of that prim piece of propriety down at the old dowager's than you do for me and all my sorrows.' This was true, but Frank did not say that it was true. ‘Lord Fawn is at any rate respectable. At least, I thought he was so when I accepted his offer.'

‘He is respectable enough.'

‘Just that; – isn't it? – and nothing more. You do not blame me for saying that I would be his wife? If you do, I will unsay it, let it cost me what it may. He is treating me so bady that I need not go far for an excuse.' Then she looked into his face with all the eagerness of her gaze, clearly implying that she expected a serious answer. ‘Why do you not answer me, Frank?'

‘What am I to say? He is a timid, cautious man. They have frightened him about this trumpery necklace, and he is behaving badly. But he will make a good husband. He is not a spendthrift. He has rank. All his people are respectable. As Lady Fawn, any house in England will be open to you. He is not rich, but together you will be rich.'

‘What is all that without love?'

‘I do not doubt his love. And when you are his own he will love you dearly.'

‘Ah, yes; – as he would a horse or a picture. Is there anything
of the rapture of love in that? Is that your idea of love? Is it so you love your Miss Demure?'

‘Don't call names, Lizzie.'

‘I shall say what I please of her. You and I are to be friends, and I may not speak? No; – I will have no such friendship! She is demure. If you like it, what harm is there in my saying it? I am not demure. I know that. I do not, at least, pretend to be other than I am. When she becomes your wife, I wonder whether you will like her ways?' He had not yet told her that she was to be his wife, nor did he so tell her now. He thought for a moment that he had better tell her, but he did not so do. It would, he said to himself, add an embarrassment to his present position. And as the marriage was to be postponed for a year, it might be better, perhaps, for Lucy that it should not be declared openly. It was thus he argued with himself, but yet, no doubt, he knew well that he did not declare the truth because it would take away something of its sweetness from this friendship with his cousin Lizzie.

‘If ever I do marry,' he said, ‘I hope I shall like my wife's ways.'

‘Of course you will not tell me anything. I do not expect confidence from you. I do not think a man is ever able to work himself up to the mark of true confidence with his friend. Men together, when they like each other, talk of politics, or perhaps of money; but I doubt whether they ever really tell their thoughts and longings to each other.'

‘Are women more communicative?'

‘Yes; – certainly. What is there that I would not tell you if you cared to hear it? Every thought I have is open to you if you choose to read it. I have that feeling regarding you that I would keep nothing back from you. Oh, Frank, if you understood me, you could save me – I was going to say from all unhappiness.'

She did it so well that he would have been more than man had he not believed some of it. She was sitting almost upright now, though her feet were still on the sofa, and was leaning over towards him, as though imploring him for his aid, and her eyes were full of tears, and her lips were apart as though still eager with the energy of expression, and her hands were clasped together. She was very lovely, very attractive, almost invincible. For such a one as Frank
Greystock opposition to her in her present mood was impossible. There are men by whom a woman, if she have wit, beauty, and no conscience, cannot be withstood. Arms may be used against them, and a sort of battle waged, against which they can raise no shield – from which they can retire into no fortress – in which they can parry no blow. A man so weak and so attacked may sometimes run; but even the poor chance of running is often cut off from him. How unlike she was to Lucy! He believed her – in part; and yet that was the idea that occurred to him. When Lucy was much in earnest, in her eye, too, a tear would sparkle, the smallest drop, a bright liquid diamond that never fell; and all her face would be bright and eloquent with feeling; – but how unlike were the two! He knew that the difference was that between truth and falsehood; – and yet he partly believed the falsehood! ‘If I knew how to save you from an hour's uneasiness I would do it,' he said.

‘No; – no; – no;' she murmured.

‘Would I not? You do not know me then.' He had nothing further to say, and it suited her to remain silent for the moment, while she dried her eyes, and recovered her composure, and prepared herself to carry on the battle with a smile. She would carry on the battle, using every wile she knew, straining every nerve to be victorious, encountering any and all dangers, and yet she had no definite aim before her. She herself did not know what she would be at. At this period of her career she did not want to marry her cousin – having resolved that she would be Lady Fawn. Nor did she intend that her cousin should be her lover – in the ordinary sense of love. She was far too wary in the pursuit of the world's goods to sacrifice herself to any such wish as that. She did want him to help her about the diamonds – but such help as that she might have, as she knew well, on much easier terms. There was probably an anxiety in her bosom to cause him to be untrue to Lucy Morris; but the guiding motive of her conduct was the desire to make things seem to be other than they were. To be always acting a part rather than living her own life was to be everything. ‘After all we must come to facts,' he said, after a while. ‘I suppose it will be better that you should marry Lord Fawn.'

‘If you wish it.'

‘Nay; I cannot have that said. In this matter you must rule yourself by your own judgement. If you are averse to it –' She shook her head. ‘Then you will own that it had better be so.' Again she shook her head. ‘Lizzie, for your sake and my own I must declare, that if you have no opinion in this matter, neither will I have any. You shall never have to say that I pressed you into this marriage or debarred you from marrying. I could not bear such an accusation.'

‘But you might tell me what I ought to do.'

‘No; – certainly not.'

‘Think how young I am, and – by comparison – how old you are. You are eight years older than I am. Remember; – after all that I have gone through, I am but twenty-two. At my age other girls have their friends to tell them. I have no one – unless you will tell me.'

‘You have accepted him?'

‘Yes.'

‘I suppose he is not altogether indifferent to you?'

She paused, and again shook her head. ‘Indeed, I do not know. If you mean, do I love him, as I could love some man whose heart was quite congenial to my own, certainly I do not.' She continued to shake her head very sadly. ‘I esteemed him – when he asked me.'

‘Say at once that, having made up your mind, you will go through with it.'

‘You think that I ought?'

‘You think so – yourself.'

‘So be it, Frank. I will. But, Frank, I will not give up my property. You do not wish me to do that. It would be weak, now – would it not? I am sure that it is my own.'

‘His faith to you should not depend on that.'

‘No; of course not; that is just what I mean. He can have no right to interfere. When he asked me to be his wife, he said nothing about that. But if he does not come to me, what shall I do?'

‘I suppose I had better see him,' said Frank slowly.

‘Will you? That will be so good of you. I feel that I can leave
it all so safely in your hands. I shall go out of town, you know, on the thirtieth. I feel that I shall be better away, and I am sick of all the noise, and glitter, and worldliness of London. You will come on the twelfth?'
²

‘Not quite so soon as that,' he said, after a pause.

‘But you will come?'

‘Yes; – about the twentieth'

‘And, of course, I shall see you?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘So that I may have some one to guide me that I can trust. I have no brother, Frank; do you ever think of that?' She put out her hand to him, and he clasped it, and held it tight in his own; and then, after a while, he pulled her towards him. In a moment she was on the ground, kneeling at his feet, and his arm was round her shoulder, and his hand was on her back, and he was embracing her. Her face was turned up to him, and he pressed his lips upon her forehead. ‘As my brother,' she said, stretching back her head and looking up into his face.

‘Yes; – as your brother.'

They were sitting, or rather acting their little play together, in the back drawing-room, and the ordinary entrance to the two rooms was from the landing-place into the larger apartment; – of which fact Lizzie was probably aware, when she permitted herself to fall into a position as to which a moment or two might be wanted for recovery. When, therefore, the servant in livery opened the door, which he did, as Frank thought, somewhat suddenly, she was able to be standing on her legs before she was caught. The quickness with which she sprung from her position, and the facility with which she composed not her face only, but the loose lock of her hair and all her person, for the reception of the coming visitor, was quite marvellous. About her there was none of the look of having been found out which is so very disagreeable to the wearer of it; whereas Frank, when Lord Fawn was announced, was aware that his manner was awkward, and his general appearance flurried. Lizzie was no more flurried than if she had stepped that moment from out of the hands of her tirewoman.
³
She greeted Lord Fawn very prettily, holding him by the
hand long enough to show that she had more claim to do so than could any other woman, and then she just murmured her cousin's name. The two men shook hands – and looked at each other as men do who know that they are not friends, and think that they may live to be enemies. Lord Fawn, who rarely forgot anything, had certainly not forgotten the Sawab; and Frank was aware that he might soon be called on to address his lordship in anything but friendly terms. They said, however, a few words about Parliament and the weather, and the desirability of escaping from London.

‘Frank,' said Lady Eustace, ‘is coming down in August to shoot my three annual grouse at Portray. He would keep one for you, my lord, if he thought you would come for it.'

‘I'll promise Lord Fawn a fair third, at any rate,' said Frank.

‘I cannot visit Portray this August, I'm afraid,' said his lordship, 'much as I might wish to do so. One of us must remain at the India Office –'