The Palliser Novels (260 page)

“It’s a pity Sir Florian didn’t say something about it in his will,” suggested Mrs. Carbuncle.

“But he did; — at least, not just about the necklace.” Then Lady Eustace explained the nature of her late husband’s will, as far as it regarded chattels to be found in the Castle of Portray at the time of his death; and added the fiction, which had now become common to her, as to the necklace having been given to her in Scotland.

“I shouldn’t let them have it,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.

“I don’t mean,” said Lizzie.

“I should — sell them,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.

“But why?”

“Because there are so many accidents. A woman should be very rich indeed before she allows herself to walk about with ten thousand pounds upon her shoulders. Suppose somebody broke into the house and stole them. And if they were sold, my dear, so that some got to Paris, and others to St. Petersburg, and others to New York, they’d have to give it up then.” Before the discussion was over, Lizzie tripped up-stairs and brought the necklace down, and put it on Mrs. Carbuncle’s neck. “I shouldn’t like to have such property in my house, my dear,” continued Mrs. Carbuncle. “Of course, diamonds are very nice. Nothing is so nice. And if a person had a proper place to keep them, and all
that — “

“I’ve a very strong iron case,” said Lizzie.

“But they should be at the bank, or at the jewellers, or somewhere quite — quite safe. People might steal the case and all. If I were you, I should sell them.” It was explained to Mrs. Carbuncle on that occasion that Lizzie had brought them down with her in the train from London, and that she intended to take them back in the same way. “There’s nothing the thieves would find easier than to steal them on the way,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.

It was some days after this that there came down to her by post some terribly frightful documents, which were the first results, as far as she was concerned, of the filing of a bill in Chancery; — which hostile proceeding was, in truth, effected by the unaided energy of Mr. Camperdown, although Mr. Camperdown put himself forward simply as an instrument used by the trustees of the Eustace property. Within eight days she was to enter an appearance, or go through some preliminary ceremony towards showing why she should not surrender her diamonds to the Lord Chancellor, or to one of those satraps of his, the Vice-Chancellors, or to some other terrible myrmidon. Mr. Camperdown in his letter explained that the service of this document upon her in Scotland would amount to nothing, — even were he to send it down by a messenger; but that, no doubt, she would send it to her attorney, who would see the expedience of avoiding exposure by accepting the service. Of all which explanation Lizzie did not understand one word. Messrs. Camperdowns’ letter and the document which it contained did frighten her considerably, although the matter had been discussed so often that she had accustomed herself to declare that no such bugbears as that should have any influence on her. She had asked Frank whether, in the event of such missiles reaching her, she might send them to him. He had told her that they should be at once placed in the hands of her attorney; — and consequently she now sent them to Messrs. Mowbray and Mopus, with a very short note from herself. “Lady Eustace presents her compliments to Messrs. Mowbray and Mopus, and encloses some papers she has received about her diamonds. They are her own diamonds, given to her by her late husband. Please do what is proper, but Mr. Camperdown ought to be made to pay all the expenses.”

She had, no doubt, allowed herself to hope that no further steps would be taken in the matter; and the very name of the Vice-Chancellor did for a few hours chill the blood at her heart. In those few hours she almost longed to throw the necklace into the sea, feeling sure that, if the diamonds were absolutely lost, there must be altogether an end of the matter. But, by degrees, her courage returned to her, as she remembered that her cousin had told her that, as far as he could see, the necklace was legally her own. Her cousin had, of course, been deceived by the lies which she had repeated to him; but lies which had been efficacious with him might be efficacious with others. Who could prove that Sir Florian had not taken the diamonds to Scotland, and given them to her there, in that very house which was now her own?

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 to-morrow. 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 sha’n’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 daresay 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. 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 way,” said Lucinda, “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 is 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 Kilmarnock. 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.

Something as to the jewels had been told to Lord George; — and this was quite necessary, as Lord George intended to travel with the ladies from Portray to London. Of course, he had heard of the diamonds, — as who had not? He had heard too of Lord Fawn, and knew why it was that Lord Fawn had peremptorily refused to carry out his engagement. But, till he was told by Mrs. Carbuncle, he did not know that the diamonds were then kept within the castle, nor did he understand that it would be part of his duty to guard them on their way back to London. “They are worth ever so much; ain’t they?” he said to Mrs. Carbuncle, when she first gave him the information.

“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 our 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. 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.