The Eustace Diamonds (73 page)

Nevertheless, the letter was sent. There was, in truth, no alternative. He had promised that he would write such a letter, and all that had remained to him was the power of cramming
into it every available argument against the marriage. This he had done, and, as he thought, had done well. It was impossible that she should desire to marry him after reading such a letter as that!

Lizzie received it in her bedroom, where she breakfasted, and told of its arrival to her friend Mrs Carbuncle as soon as they met each other. ‘My lord has come down from his high horse at last,' she said, with the letter in her hand.

‘What – Lord Fawn?'

‘Yes; Lord Fawn. What other lord? There is no other lord for me. He is my lord, my peer of Parliament, my Cabinet minister, my right honourable, my member of the Government – my young man, too, as the maid-servants call them.'

‘What does he say?'

‘Say; – what should he say? – just that he has behaved very badly, and that he hopes I shall forgive him.'

‘Not quite that! does he?'

‘That's what it all means. Of course, there is ever so much of it – pages of it. It wouldn't be Lord Fawn if he didn't spin it all out like an Act of Parliament, with “whereas” and “whereis”, and “whereof”. It is full of all that; but the meaning of it is that he's at my feet again, and that I may pick him up if I choose to take him. I'd show you the letter, only perhaps it wouldn't be fair to the poor man.'

‘What excuse does he make?'

‘Oh – as to that he's rational enough. He calls the necklace the – bone of contention. That's rather good for Lord Fawn; isn't it? The bone of contention, he says, has been removed; and, therefore, there is no reason why we shouldn't marry if we like it. He shall hear enough about the bone of contention if we do “marry”.'

‘And what shall you do now?'

‘Ah; yes; that's easily asked; is it not? The man's a good sort of man in his way, you know. He doesn't drink or gamble; and I don't think there is a bit of King David
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about him – that I don't'

‘Virtue personified, I should say.'

‘And he isn't extravagant'

‘Then why not have him and have done with it?' asked Mrs Carbuncle.

‘He is such a lumpy man,' said Lizzie; –'such an ass; such a load of Government waste-paper.'

‘Come, my dear; – you've had troubles.'

‘I have, indeed,' said Lizzie.

‘And there's no quite knowing yet how far they're over.'

‘What do you mean by that, Mrs Carbuncle?'

‘Nothing very much : – but still, you see, they may come again. As to Lord George, we all know that he has not got a penny piece in the world that he can call his own.'

‘If he had as many pennies as Judas, Lord George would be nothing to me,' said Lizzie.

‘And your cousin really doesn't seem to mean anything.'

‘I know very well what my cousin means. He and I understand each other thoroughly; but cousins can love one another very will without marrying.'

‘Of course you know your own business, but if I were you I would take Lord Fawn, I speak in true kindness – as one woman to another. After all, what does love signify? How much real love do we ever see among married people? Does Lady Glencora Palliser really love her husband, who thinks of nothing in the world but putting taxes on and off?'

‘Do you love your husband, Mrs Carbuncle?'

‘No; – but that is a different kind of thing. Circumstances have caused me to live apart from him. The man is a good man, and there is no reason why you should not respect him, and treat him well. He will give you a fixed position – which really you want badly, Lady Eustace.'

‘Tooriloo,
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tooriloo, tooriloo, looriloo,' said Lizzie, in contemptuous disdain of her friend's caution.

‘And then all this trouble about the diamonds and the robberies will be over,' continued Mrs Carbuncle. Lizzie looked at her very intently. What should make Mrs Carbuncle suppose that there need be, or, indeed, could be, any further trouble about the diamonds?

‘So; – that's your advice,' said Lizzie. ‘I'm half inclined to take it. and perhaps I shall. However, I have brought him round, and that's something, my dear. And either one way or the other, I shall let him know that I like my triumph. I was determined to have it, and I've got it.'

Then she read the letter again very seriously. Could she possibly marry a man who in so many words told her that he didn't want her? Well; – she thought she could. Was not everybody treating everybody else much in the same way. Had she not loved her Corsair truly – and how had he treated her? Had she not been true, disinterested, and most affectionate to Frank Grey-stock; and what had she got from him? To manage her business wisely, and put herself upon firm ground; – that was her duty at present. Mrs Carbuncle was right there. The very name of Lady Fawn would be a rock to her – and she wanted a rock. She thought upon the whole that' she could marry him; – unless Patience Crabstick and the police should again interfere with her prosperity.

She was very uncivil to the messenger, and the more so because she found that the man bore her rudeness without turning upon her and rending her. When she declared that the police had behaved very badly, and that Major Mackintosh was inexcusable in troubling her again, and that she had ceased to care twopence about the necklace – the man made no remonstrance to her petulance. He owned that the trouble was very great, and the police very inefficient. He almost owned that the major was inexcusable. He did not care what he owned so that he achieved his object. But, when Lizzie said that she could not see Major Mackintosh at three and objected equally to two, four, or five; then the courteous messenger from Scotland Yard did say a word to make her understand that there must be a meeting – and he hinted also that the major was doing a most unusually good-natured thing in coming to Hertford Street Of course, Lizzie made the appointment. If the major chose to come, she would be at home at three.

As soon as the policeman was gone, she sat alone, with a manner very much changed from that which she had worn since the arrival of Lord Fawn's letter – with a fresh weight of care upon her, greater perhaps than she had ever hitherto borne. She had had bad moments – when, for instance, she had been taken before the magistrates at Carlisle, when she found the police in her house on her return from the theatre, and when Lord George had forced her secret from her. But at each of these periods hope had come renewed, before despair had crushed her. Now it seemed to her that the thing was done and that the game was over. This chief man of the London police no doubt knew the whole story. If she could only already have climbed upon some rock, so that there might be a man bound to defend her – a
man at any rate bound to put himself forward on her behalf and do whatever might be done in her defence, she might have endured it!

What should she do now – at this minute? She looked at her watch and found that it was already past one. Mrs Carbuncle, as she knew, was closeted upstairs with Lucinda, whose wedding was fixed for the following Monday. It was now Friday. Were she to call upon Mrs Carbuncle for aid, no aid would be forthcoming unless she were to tell the whole truth. She almost thought that she would do so. But then, how great would have been her indiscretion if, after all, when the major should come, she should discover that he did not know the truth himself! That Mrs Carbuncle would keep her secret she did not for a moment think. She longed for the comfort of some friend's counsel, but she found at last that she could not purchase it by telling everything to a woman.

Might it not be possible that she should still run away? She did not know much of the law, but she thought that they could not punish her for breaking an appointment even with a man so high in authority as Major Mackintosh. She could leave a note saying that pressing business called her out. But whither should she go? She thought of taking a cab to the House of Commons, finding her cousin, and telling him everything. It would be so much better that he should see the major. But then, again, it might be that she should be mistaken as to the amount of the major's information. After a while, she almost determined to fly off at once to Scotland, leaving word that she was obliged to go instantly to her child. But there was no direct train to Scotland before eight or nine in the evening, and during the intervening hours the police would have ample time to find her. What, indeed, could she do with herself during these intervening hours? Ah, if she had but a rock now, so that she need not be dependent altogether on the exercise of her own intellect!

Gradually the minutes passed by, and she became aware that she must face the major. Well! What had she done? She had stolen nothing. She had taken no person's property. She had, indeed, been wickedly robbed, and the police had done nothing
to get back for her her property, as they were bound to have done. She would take credit to tell the major what she thought about the negligence of the police. The major should not have the talk all to himself.

If it had not been for one word with which Lord George had stunned her ears, she could still have borne it well. She had told a lie; – perhaps two or three lies. She knew that she had lied. But then people lie every day. She would not have minded it much if she were simply to be called a liar. But he had told her that she would be accused of – perjury. There was something frightful to her in the name. And there were, she knew not what, dreadful penalties attached to it Lord George had told her that she might be put in prison – whether he had said for years or for months she had forgotten. And she thought she had heard of people's property being confiscated to the Crown when they had been made out to be guilty of certain great offences. Oh, how she wished that she had a rock!

When three o'clock came, she had not started for Scotland or elsewhere, and at last she received the major. Could she have thoroughly trusted the servant, she would have denied herself at the last moment, but she feared that she might be betrayed, and she thought that her position would be rendered even worse than it was at present by a futile attempt. She was sitting alone, pale, haggard, trembling, when Major Mackintosh was shown into her room. It may be as well explained at once that, at this moment, the major knew, or thought that he knew, every circumstance of the two robberies, and that his surmises were in every respect right. Miss Crabstick and Mr Cann were in comfortable quarters, and were prepared to tell all that they could tell. Mr Smiler was in durance, and Mr Benjamin was at Vienna, in the hands of the Austrian police, who were prepared to give him up to those who desired his society in England, on the completion of certain legal formalities.
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That Mr Benjamin and Mr Smiler would be prosecuted, the latter for the robbery and the former for conspiracy to rob, and for receiving stolen goods, was a matter of course. But what was to be done with Lady Eustace? That, at the present moment, was the prevailing trouble with the police. During the
last three weeks every precaution had been taken to keep the matter secret, and it is hardly too much to say, that Lizzie's interests were handled not only with consideration but with tenderness.

‘Lady Eustace,' said the major, ‘I am very sorry to trouble you. No doubt the man who called on you this morning explained to you who I am.'
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‘Oh yes, I know who you are – quite well.' Lizzie made a great effort to speak without betraying her consternation; but she was nearly prostrated. The major, however, hardly observed her, and was by no means at ease himself in his effort to save her from unnecessary annoyance. He was a tall, thin, gaunt man of about forty, with large, good-natured eyes; – but it was not till the interview was half over that Lizzie took courage to look even into his face.

‘Just so; I am come, you know, about the robbery which took place here – and the other robbery at Carlisle'

‘I have been so troubled about these horrid robberies! Sometimes I think they'll be the death of me.'

‘I think, Lady Eustace, we have found out the whole truth.'

‘Oh, I daresay. I wonder why – you have been so long – finding it out.'

‘We have had very clever people to deal with. Lady Eustace; – and I fear that, even now, we shall never get back the property.'

‘I do not care about the property, sir; – although it was all my own. Nobody has lost anything but myself; and I really don't see why the thing should not die out, as I don't care about it. Whoever it is, they may have it now.'

‘We were bound to get to the bottom of it all, if we could; and I think that we have – at last. Perhaps, as you say, we ought to have done it sooner.'

‘Oh – I don't care.'

‘We have two persons in custody, Lady Eustace, whom we shall use as witnesses, and I am afraid we shall have to call upon you also – as a witness' It occurred to Lizzie that they could not lock her up in prison and make her a witness too, but she said nothing. Then the major continued his speech – and asked her
the question which was, in fact, alone material. ‘Of course, Lady Eustace, you are not bound to say anything to me unless you like it – and you must understand that I by no means wish you to criminate yourself.'

‘I don't know what that means.'

‘If you yourself have done anything wrong, I don't want to ask you to confess it.'

‘I have had all my diamonds stolen, if you mean that. Perhaps it was wrong to have diamonds.'

‘But to come to my question – I suppose we may take it for granted that the diamonds were in your desk when the thieves made their entrance into this house, and broke the desk open, and stole the money out of it?' Lizzie breathed so hardly, that she was quite unable to speak. The man's voice was very gentle and very kind – but then how could she admit that one fact? All depended on that one fact. ‘The woman Crabstick' said the major, ‘has confessed, and will state on her oath that she saw the necklace in your hands in Hertford Street, and that she saw it placed in the desk. She then gave information of this to Benjamin – as she had before given information as to your journey up from Scotland – and she was introduced to the two men whom she let into the house. One of them, indeed, who will also give evidence for us, she had before met at Carlisle. She then was present when the necklace was taken out of the desk. The man who opened the desk and took it out, who also cut the door at Carlisle, will give evidence to the same effect. The man who carried the necklace out of the house, and who broke open the box at Carlisle, will be tried – as will also Benjamin, who disposed of the diamonds. I have told you the whole story, as it has been told to me by the woman Crabstick. Of course, you will deny the truth of it, if it be untrue' Lizzie sat with her eyes fixed upon the floor, but said nothing. She could not speak. ‘If you will allow me, Lady Eustace, to give you advice – really friendly advice –'

‘Oh, pray do'

‘You had better admit the truth of the story, if it is true'

‘They were my own' she whispered.

‘Or, at any rate, you believed that they were. There can be no
doubt, I think, as to that. No one supposes that the robbery at Carlisle was arranged on your behalf.'

‘Oh, no.'

‘But you had taken them out of the box before you went to bed at the inn?'

‘Not then.'

‘But you had taken them?'

‘I did it in the morning before I started from Scotland. They frightened me by saying the box would be stolen.'

‘Exactly; – and then you put them into your desk here, in this house?'

‘Yes – sir'

‘I should tell you, Lady Eustace, that I had not a doubt about this before I came here. For some time past I have thought that it must be so; and latterly the confessions of two of the accomplices have made it certain to me. One of the housebreakers and the jeweller will be tried for the felony, and I am afraid that you must undergo the annoyance of being one of the witnesses.'

‘What will they do to me, Major Mackintosh?' Lizzie now for the first time looked up into his eyes, and felt that they were kind. Could he be her rock? He did not speak to her like an enemy; – and then, too, he would know better than any man alive how she might best escape from her trouble.

‘They will ask you to tell the truth.'

‘Indeed I will do that,' said Lizzie – not aware that, after so many lies, it might be difficult to tell the truth.

‘And you will probably be asked to repeat it, this way and that, in a manner that will be troublesome to you. You see that here in London, and at Carlisle, you have – given incorrect versions.'

‘I know I have. But the necklace was my own. There was nothing dishonest; – was there, Major Mackintosh? When they came to me at Carlisle I was so confused that I hardly knew what to tell them. And when I had once – given an incorrect version, you know, I didn't know how to go back.'

The major was not so well acquainted with Lizzie as is the reader, and he pitied her. ‘I can understand all that,' he said.

How much kinder he was than Lord George had been when she confessed the truth to him. Here would be a rock! And such a handsome man as he was, too, – not exactly a Corsair, as he was great in authority over the London police – but a powerful, fine fellow, who would know what to do with swords and pistols as well as any Corsair; – and one, too, no doubt, who would understand poetry! Any such dream, however, was altogether unavailing, as the major had a wife at home and seven children. ‘If you will only tell me what to do, I will do it,' she said, looking up into his face with entreaty, and pressing her hands together in supplication.

Then at great length, and with much patience, he explained to her what he would have her do. He thought that, if she were summoned and used as a witness, there would be no attempt to prosecute her for the – incorrect versions – of which she had undoubtedly been guilty. The probability was, that she would receive assurance to this effect before she would be asked to give her evidence, preparatory to the committal of Benjamin and Smiler. He could not assure her that it would be so, but he had no doubt of it. In order, however, that things might be made to run as smooth as possible, he recommended her very strongly to go at once to Mr Camperdown and make a clean breast of it to him. The whole family should be told,' said the major, ‘and it will be better for you that they should know it from yourself than from us.' When she hesitated, he explained to her that the matter could no longer be kept as a secret, and that her evidence would certainly appear in the papers. He proposed that she should be summoned for that day week – which would be the Friday after Lucinda's marriage, and he suggested that she should go to Mr Camperdown's on the morrow. ‘What! – tomorrow?' exclaimed Lizzie, in dismay.

‘My dear Lady Eustace,' said the major, ‘the sooner you get back into straight running, the sooner you will be comfortable.' Then she promised that she would go on the Tuesday – the day after the marriage. ‘If he learns it in the meantime, you must not be surprised,' said the major.