The Eustace Diamonds (48 page)

She told Mrs Carbuncle of the missiles which had been hurled at her from the London courts of law, and Mrs Carbuncle evidently thought that the diamonds were as good as gone. ‘Then I suppose you can't sell them?' said she.

‘Yes I could; – I could sell them tomorrow. What is to hinder me? Suppose I took them to jewellers in Paris.'

‘The jewellers would think you had stolen them.'

‘I didn't steal them,' said Lizzie; ‘they're my very own. Frank says that nobody can take them away from me. Why shouldn't a man give his wife a diamond necklace as well as a diamond ring? That's what I can't understand. What may he give her so that men shan't come and worry her life out of her in this way? As for an heirloom, anybody who knows anything, knows that it can't be an heirloom. A pot or a pan may be an heirloom; – but a diamond necklace cannot be an heirloom. Everybody knows that, that knows anything.'

‘I dare say it will all come right,' said Mrs Carbuncle, who did not in the least believe Lizzie's law about the pot and pan.

In the first week in January Lord George and Sir Griffin returned to the castle with the view of travelling up to London with the three ladies. This arrangement was partly thrown over by circumstances, as Sir Griffin was pleased to leave Portray two days before the others and to travel by himself. There was a bitter quarrel between Lucinda and her lover, and it was understood afterwards by Lady Eustace that Sir Griffin had had a few words with Lord George; – but what those few words were, she never quite knew. There was no open rupture between the two gentlemen, but Sir Griffin showed his displeasure to the ladies, who were more likely to bear patiently his ill-humour in the present circumstances than was Lord George. When a man has shown himself to be so far amenable to feminine authority as to have put himself in the way of matrimony, ladies will bear a great deal
from him. There was nothing which Mrs Carbuncle would not endure from Sir Griffin – just at present; and, on behalf of Mrs Carbuncle even Lizzie was long-suffering. It cannot, however, be said that this Petruchio had as yet tamed his own peculiar shrew.
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Lucinda was as savage as ever, and would snap and snarl, and almost bite. Sir Griffin would snarl, too, and say very bearish things. But when it came to the point of actual quarrelling, he would become sullen, and in his sullenness would yield.

‘I don't see why Carruthers should have it all his own way,' he said, one hunting morning, to Lucinda.

‘I don't care twopence who have their own way,' said Luanda. ‘I mean to have mine; – that's all.'

‘I'm not speaking about you. I call it downright interference on his part. And I do think you give way to him. You never do anything that I suggest.'

‘You never suggest anything that I like to do,' said Lucinda.

‘That's a pity,' said Sir Griffin, ‘considering that I shall have to suggest so many things that you will have to do.'

‘I don't know that at all,' said Lucinda.

Mrs Carbuncle came up during the quarrel, meaning to throw oil upon the waters. ‘What children you are!' she said laughing. ‘As if each of you won't have to do what the other suggests.'

‘Mrs Carbuncle' began Sir Griffin, ‘if you will have the great kindness not to endeavour to teach me what my conduct should be now or at any future time, I shall take it as a kindness'

‘Sir Griffin, pray don't quarrel with Mrs Carbuncle,' said Lizzie.

‘Lady Eustace, if Mrs Carbuncle interferes with me, I shall quarrel with her. I have borne a great deal more of this kind of thing than I like. I'm not going to be told this and told that because Mrs Carbuncle happens to be the aunt of the future Lady Tewett – if it should come to that. I'm not going to marry a whole family; and the less I have of this kind of thing the more likely it is that I shall come up to scratch when the time us up'

Then Lucinda rose and spoke. ‘sir Griffin Tewett,' she said, ‘there is not the slightest necessity that you should come up – “to scratch”. I wonder that I have not as yet been able to make you understand that if it will suit your convenience to break off our
match, it will not in the least interfere with mine. And let me tell you this, Sir Griffin – that any repetition of your unkindness to my aunt will make me utterly refuse to see you again.'

‘Of course, you like her better than you do me.'

‘A great deal better,' said Lucinda.

‘If I stand that I'll be – ,' said Sir Griffin, leaving the room. And he left the castle, sleeping that night at the inn at Kilmar-nock. The day, however, was passed in hunting; and though he said nothing to either of the three ladies, it was understood by them as they returned to Portray that there was to be no quarrel. Lord George and Sir Griffin had discussed the matter, and Lord George took upon himself to say that there was no quarrel. On the morning but one following, there came a note from Sir Griffin to Lucinda – just as they were leaving home for their journey up to London – in which Sir Griffin expressed his regret if he had said anything displeasing to Mrs Carbuncle.

‘Ten thousand pounds,' said Mrs Carbuncle, almost with awe.

‘I don't believe a word of it,' said Lord George.

‘She says that they've been valued at that, since she's had them.'

Lord George owned to himself that such a necklace was worth having – as also, no doubt, were Portray Castle and the income arising from the estate, even though they could be held in possession only for a single life. Hitherto in his very chequered career he had escaped the trammels of matrimony, and among his many modes of life had hardly even suggested to himself the expediency of taking a wife with a fortune, and then settling down for the future, if submissively, still comfortably. To say that he had never looked forward to such a marriage as a possible future arrangement, would probably be incorrect. To men such as Lord George it is too easy a result of a career to be altogether banished from the mind. But no attempt had ever yet been made, nor had any special lady ever been so far honoured in his thoughts as to be connected in them with any vague ideas which he might have formed on the subject. But now it did occur to him that Portray Castle was a place in which he could pass two or three
months annually without ennui. And that if he were to marry, little Lizzie Eustace would do as well as any other woman with money whom he might chance to meet. He did not say all this to anybody, and therefore cannot be accused of vanity. He was the last man in the world to speak on such a subject to any one. And as even Lizzie certainly bestowed upon him many of her smiles, much of her poetry, and some of her confidence, it cannot be said that he was not justified in his views. But then she was such an – ‘infernal little liar' Lord George was quite able to discover so much of her.

‘She does lie, certainly' said Mrs Carbuncle, ‘but then who doesn't?'

On the morning of their departure the box with the diamonds was brought down into the hall just as they were about to depart. The tall London footman again brought it down, and deposited it on one of the oak hall-chairs, as though it were a thing so heavy that he could hardly stagger along with it. How Lizzie did hate the man as she watched him, and regret that she had not attempted to carry it down herself. She had been with her diamonds that morning, and had seen them out of the box and into it. Few days passed on which she did not handle them and gaze at them. Mrs Carbuncle had suggested that the box, with all her diamonds in it, might be stolen from her – and as she thought of this her heart almost sank within her. When she had them once again in London she would take some steps to relieve herself from this embarrassment of carrying about with her so great a burthen of care. The man, with a vehement show of exertion, deposited the box on a chair, and then groaned aloud. Lizzie knew very well that she could lift the box by her own unaided exertions, and that the groan was at any rate unnecessary.

‘Supposing somebody were to steal that on the way' said Lord George to her, not in his pleasantest tone.

‘Do not suggest anything so horrible' said Lizzie, trying to laugh.

‘I shouldn't like it at all,' said Lord George.

‘I don't think it would make me a bit unhappy. You've heard about it all. There never was such a persecution. I often say that
I should be well pleased to take the bauble and fling it into the ocean waves.'

‘I should like to be a mermaid and catch it,' said Lord George.

‘And what better would you be? Such things are all vanity and vexation of spirit.
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I hate the shining thing.' And she hit the box with the whip she held in her hand.

It had been arranged that the party should sleep at Carlisle. It consisted of Lord George, the three ladies, the tall man-servant, Lord George's own man, and the two maids. Miss Macnulty, with the heir and the nurses, were to remain at Portray for yet a while longer. The iron box was again put into the carriage; and was used by Lizzie as a footstool. This might have been very well, had there been no necessity for changing their train. At Troon the porter behaved well, and did not struggle much as he carried it from the carriage on to the platform. But at Kilmarnock, where they met the train from Glasgow, the big footman interfered again, and the scene was performed under the eyes of a crowd of people. It seemed to Lizzie that Lord George almost encouraged the struggling, as though he were in league with the footman to annoy her. But there was no further change between Kilmarnock and Carlisle, and they managed to make themselves very comfortable. Lunch had been provided; – for Mrs Carbuncle was a woman who cared for such things, and Lord George also liked a glass of champagne in the middle of the day. Lizzie professed to be perfectly indifferent on such matters; but nevertheless she enjoyed her lunch, and allowed Lord George to press upon her a second, and perhaps a portion of a third glass of wine. Even Lucinda was roused up from her general state of apathy, and permitted herself to forget Sir Griffin for a while.

During this journey to Carlisle Lizzie Eustace almost made up her mind that Lord George was the very Corsair she had been expecting ever since she had mastered Lord Byron's great poem. He had a way of doing things and of saying things, of proclaiming himself to be master, and at the same time of making himself thoroughly agreeable to his dependents – and especially to the one dependent whom he most honoured at the time – which exactly suited Lizzie's ideas of what a man should be. And then
he possessed that utter indifference to all conventions and laws, which is the great prerogative of Corsairs. He had no reverence for aught divine or human – which is a great thing. The Queen and Parliament, the bench of bishops, and even the police, were to him just so many fungi and parasites, and noxious vapours, and false hypocrites. Such were the names by which he ventured to call these bugbears of the world. It was so delightful to live with a man, who himself had a title of his own, but who could speak of dukes and marquises as being quite despicable by reason of their absurd position. And as they became gay and free after their luncheon he expressed almost as much contempt for honesty as for dukes, and showed clearly that he regarded matrimony and marquises to be equally vain and useless. ‘How dare you say such things in our hearing!' exclaimed Mrs Carbuncle.

‘I assert that if men and women were really true, no vows would be needed; – and if no vows, then no marriage vows. Do you believe such vows are kept?'

‘Yes,' said Mrs Carbuncle enthusiastically.

‘I don't,' said Lucinda.

‘Nor I,' said the Corsair. ‘Who can believe that a woman will always love her husband because she swears she will? The oath is false on the face of it.'

‘But women must marry,' said Lizzie. The Corsair declared freely that he did not see any such necessity.

And then, though it could hardly be said that this Corsair was a handsome man, still he had fine Corsair's eyes, full of expression and determination, eyes that could look love and bloodshed almost at the same time; and then he had those manly properties – power, bigness, and apparent boldness – which belong to a Corsair. To be hurried about the world by such a man, treated sometimes with crushing severity, and at others with the tenderest love, not to be spoken to for one fortnight, and then to be embraced perpetually for another, to be cast every now and then into some abyss of despair by his rashness, and then raised to a pinnacle of human joy by his courage – that, thought Lizzie, would be the kind of life which would suit her poetical temperament. But then, how would it be with her, if the Corsair were to
take to hurrying about the world without carrying her with him; – and were to do so always at her expense! Perhaps he might hurry about the world and take somebody else with him. Medora, if Lizzie remembered rightly, had had no jointure or private fortune. But yet a woman must risk something if the spirit of poetry is to be allowed any play at all! ‘And now these weary diamonds again' said Lord George, as the carriage was stopped against the Carlisle platform. ‘I suppose they must go into your bedroom, Lady Eustace?'

‘I wish you'd let the man put the box in yours; – just for this night' said Lizzie.

‘No – not if I know it' said Lord George. And then he explained. Such property would be quite as liable to be stolen when in his custody as it would in hers; – but if stolen while in his would entail upon him a grievous vexation which would by no means lessen the effect of her loss. She did not understand him, but finding that he was quite in earnest she directed that the box should be again taken to her own chamber. Lord George suggested that it should be entrusted to the landlord; and for a moment or two Lizzie submitted to the idea. But she stood for that moment thinking of it, and then decided that the box should go to her own room. ‘There's no knowing what that Mr Camper-down mightn't do,' she whispered to Lord George. The porter and the tall footman, between them, staggered along under their load, and the iron box was again deposited in the bedroom of the Carlisle inn.

The evening at Carlisle was spent very pleasantly. The ladies agreed that they would not dress – but of course they did so with more or less of care. Lizzie made herself to look very pretty, though the skirt of the gown in which she came down was that which she had worn during the journey. Pointing this out with much triumph, she accused Mrs Carbuncle and Lucinda of great treachery in that they had not adhered to any vestige of their travelling raiment. But the rancour was not vehement, and the evening was passed pleasantly. Lord George was infinitely petted by the three Houris
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around him, and Lizzie called him a Corsair to his face. ‘And you are the Medora' said Mrs Carbuncle.

‘Oh no. That is your place – certainly,' said Lizzie.

‘What a pity Sir Griffin isn't here,' said Mrs Carbuncle, ‘that we might call him the Giaour,' Lucinda shuddered, without any attempt at concealing her shudder. ‘That's all very well, Lucinda, but I think Sir Griffin would make a very good Giaour.'

‘Pray don't, aunt. Let one forget it all just for a moment'

‘I wonder what Sir Griffin would say if he was to hear this!' said Lord George.

Late in the evening Lord George strolled out, and of course the ladies discussed his character in his absence. Mrs Carbuncle declared that he was the soul of honour. In regard to her own feeling for him, she averred that no woman had ever had a truer friend. Any other sentiment was of course out of the question – for was she not a married woman? Had it not been for that accident, Mrs Carbuncle really thought that she could have given her heart to Lord George. Lucinda declared that she always regarded him as a kind of supplementary father. ‘I suppose he is a year or two older than Sir Griffin' said Lizzie. ‘Lady Eustace, why should you make me unhappy?' said Lucinda. Then Mrs Carbuncle explained, that whereas Sir Griffin was not yet thirty, Lord George was over forty. ‘All I can say is, he doesn't look it' urged Lady Eustace enthusiastically. ‘Those sort of men never do' said Mrs Carbuncle. Lord George, when he returned, was greeted with an allusion to angel's wings – and would have been a good deal spoilt among them were it in the nature of such an article to receive injury. As soon as the clock had struck ten the ladies all went away to their beds.

Lizzie, when she was in her own room, of course found her maid waiting for her. It was necessarily part of the religion of such a woman as Lizzie Eustace that she could not go to bed, or change her clothes, or get up in the morning, without the assistance of her own young woman. She would not like to have it thought that she could stick a pin into her own belongings without such assistance. Nevertheless it was often the case with her, that she was anxious to get rid of her girl's attendance. It had been so on this morning, and before dinner, and was so now again. She was secret in her movements, and always had some
recess in her boxes and bags and dressing apparatuses to which she did not choose that Miss Patience Crabstick should have access. She was careful about her letters, and very careful about her money. And then as to that iron box in which the diamonds were kept; Patience Crabstick had never yet seen the inside of it. Moreover, it may be said – either on Lizzie's behalf or to her discredit, as the reader may be pleased to take it – that she was quite able to dress herself, to brush her own hair, to take off her own clothes; and that she was not, either by nature or education, an incapable young woman. But that honour and glory demanded it, she would almost as lief have had no Patience Crabstick to pry into her private matters. All which Crabstick knew, and would often declare her missus to be ‘of all missuses the most slyest and least come-at-able.' On this present night she was very soon despatched to her own chamber. Lizzie, however, took one careful look at the iron box before the girl was sent away.

Crabstick, on this occasion, had not far to go to seek her own couch. Alongside of Lizzie's larger chamber there was a small room – a dressing-room with a bed in it, which, for this night, was devoted to Crabstick's accommodation. Of course, she departed from attendance on her mistress by the door which opened from the one room to the other; but this had no sooner been closed than Crabstick descended to complete the amusements of the evening. Lizzie, when she was alone, bolted both the doors on the inside, and then quickly retired to rest. Some short prayer she said, with her knees close to the iron box. Then she put certain articles of property under her pillow – her watch and chain, and the rings from her fingers, and a packet which she had drawn from her travelling-desk – and was soon in bed, thinking that, as she fell away to sleep, she would revolve in her mind that question of the Corsair; – would it be good to trust herself and all her belongings to one who might perhaps take her belongings away, but leave herself behind? The subject was not unpleasant, and while she was considering it, she fell asleep.

It was, perhaps, about two in the morning when a man, very efficient at the trade which he was then following, knelt outside Lady Eustace's door, and, with a delicately-made saw, aided, probably,
by some other equally well-finished tools, absolutely cut out that portion of the bedroom door on which the bolt was fastened. He must have known the spot exactly, for he did not doubt a moment as he commenced his work; and yet there was nothing on the exterior of the door to show where the bolt was placed. The bit was cut out without the slightest noise, and then, when the door was opened, was placed just inside, upon the floor. The man then with perfectly noiseless step entered the room, knelt again – just where poor Lizzie had knelt as she said her prayers – so that he might the more easily raise the iron box without a struggle, and left the room with it in his arms without disturbing the lovely sleeper. He then descended the stairs, passed into the coffee-room at the bottom of them, and handed the box through an open window to a man who was crouching on the outside in the dark. He then followed the box, pulled down the window, put on a pair of boots which his friend had ready for him; and the two, after lingering a few moments in the shade of the dark wall, retreated with their prize round a corner. The night itself was almost pitch-dark, and very wet. It was as nearly black with darkness as a night can be. So far, the enterprising adventurers had been successful, and we will now leave them in their chosen retreat, engaged on the longer operation of forcing open the iron safe. For it had been arranged between them that the iron safe should be opened then and there. Though the weight to him who had taken it out of Lizzie's room had not been oppressive, as it had oppressed the tall serving-man, it might still have been an encumbrance to gentlemen intending to travel by railway with as little observation as possible. They were, however, well supplied with tools, and we will leave them at their work.