The Eustace Diamonds (47 page)

After that Mrs Carbuncle and Luanda remained at Portray Castle till after Christmas, greatly overstaying the original time fixed for their visit. Lord George and Sir Griffin went and returned, and went again and returned again. There was much hunting and a great many love passages, which need not be recorded here. More than once during these six or seven weeks there arose a quarrel, bitter, loud, and pronounced, between Sir Griffin and Lucinda; but Lord George and Mrs Carbuncle between them managed to throw oil upon the waters, and when Christmas came the engagement was still an engagement. The absolute suggestion that it should be broken, and abandoned, and thrown to the winds, always came from Lucinda; and Sir Griffin, when he found that Lucinda was in earnest, would again be moved by his old desires, and would determine that he would have the thing he wanted. Once he behaved with such coarse brutality that nothing but an abject apology would serve the turn. He made the abject apology, and after that became conscious that his wings were clipped, and that he must do as he was bidden. Lord George took him away, and brought him back again, and blew him up; – and at last, under pressure from Mrs Carbuncle, made him consent to
the fixing of a day. The marriage was to take place during the first week in April. When the party moved from Portray, he was to go up to London and see his lawyer. Settlements were to be arranged, and something was to be fixed as to future residence.

In the midst of all this Lucinda was passive as regarded the making of the arrangements, but very troublesome to those around her as to her immediate mode of life. Even to Lady Eustace she was curt and uncivil. To her aunt she was at times ferocious. She told Lord George more than once to his face that he was hurrying her to perdition. ‘What the d— is it you want?' Lord George said to her. ‘Not to be married to this man.' ‘But you have accepted him. I didn't ask you to take him. You don't want to go into a workhouse, I suppose?' Then she rode so hard that all the Ayrshire lairds were startled out of their propriety, and there was a general fear that she would meet with some terrible accident. And Lizzie, instigated by jealousy, learned to ride as hard, and as they rode against each other every day there was a turmoil in the hunt. Morgan, scratching his head, declared that he had known ‘drunken rampaging men, but had never seed ladies so wicked'. Lizzie did come down rather badly at one wall, and Lucinda got herself jammed against a gatepost. But when Christmas was come and gone, and Portray Castle had been left empty, no very bad accident had occurred.

A great friendship had sprung up between Mrs Carbuncle and Lizzie, so that both had become very communicative. Whether both or either had been candid may, perhaps, be doubted. Mrs Carbuncle had been quite confidential in discussing with her friend the dangerous varieties of Lucinda's humours, and the dreadful aversion which she still seemed to entertain for Sir Griffin. But then these humours and this aversion were so visible, that they could not well be concealed; – and what can be the use of confidential communication if things are kept back which the confidante would see even if they were not told? ‘she would be just like that whoever the man was,' said Mrs Carbuncle.

‘I suppose so,' said Lizzie, wondering at such a phenomenon in female nature. But, with this fact understood between them to be a fact – namely that Lucinda would be sure to hate any man
whom she might accept – they both agreed that the marriage had better go on.

‘She must take a husband some day, you know' said Mrs Carbuncle.

‘Of course,' said Lizzie.

‘With her good looks, it would be out of the question that she shouldn't be married.'

‘Quite out of the question,' repeated Lizzie.

‘And I really don't see how she's to do better. It's her nature, you know. I have had enough of it, I can tell you. And at the pension,
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near Paris, they couldn't break her in at all. Nobody ever could break her in. You see it in the way she rides.'

‘I suppose Sir Griffin must do it,' said Lizzie, laughing.

‘Well; that, or the other thing, you know.' But there was no doubt about this; – whoever might break or be broken, the marriage must go on. ‘If you don't persevere with one like her, Lady Eustace, nothing can be done.' Lizzie quite concurred. What did it matter to her who should break, or who be broken, if she could only sail her own little bark without dashing it on the rocks? Rocks there were. She didn't quite know what to make of Lord George, who certainly was a Corsair – who had said some very pretty things to her, quite à la Corsair. But in the meantime, from certain rumours that she heard, she believed that Frank had given up, or at least was intending to give up, the little chit who was living with Lady Linlithgow. There had been something of a quarrel – so, at least, she had heard through Miss Macnulty, with whom Lady Linlithgow still occasionally corresponded in spite of their former breaches. From Frank Lizzie heard repeatedly, but Frank in his letters never mentioned the name of Lucy Morris. Now, if there should be a division between Frank and Lucy, then, she thought, Frank would return to her. And if so, for a permanent holding rock of protection in the world, her cousin Frank would be at any rate safer than the Corsair.

Lizzie and Mrs Carbuncle had quite come to understand each other comfortably about money. It suited Mrs Carbuncle very well to remain at Portray. It was no longer necessary that she should carry Lucinda about in search of game to be run down.
The one head of game needed had been run down, such as it was – not, indeed, a very noble stag; but the stag had been accepted; and a home for herself and her niece, which should have about it a sufficient air of fashion to satisfy public opinion – out of London – better still, in Scotland, belonging to a person with a title, enjoying the appurtenances of wealth, and one to which Lord George and Sir Griffin could have access – was very desirable. But it was out of the question that Lady Eustace should bear all the expense. Mrs Carbuncle undertook to find the stables, and did pay for that rick of hay, and for the cart-load of forage which had made Lizzie's heart quake as she saw it dragged up the hill towards her own granaries. It is very comfortable when all these things are clearly understood. Early in January they were all to go back to London. Then for a while – up to the period of Lucinda's marriage – Lizzie was to be Mrs Carbuncle's guest at the small house in Mayfair; – but Lizzie was to keep the carriage. There came at last to be some little attempt, perhaps, at a hard bargain at the hand of each lady, in which Mrs Carbuncle, as the elder, probably got the advantage. There was a question about the liveries in London. The footman there must appertain to Mrs Carbuncle, whereas the coachman would as necessarily be one of Lizzie's retainers. Mrs Carbuncle assented at last to finding the double livery – but, like a prudent woman, arranged to get her quid pro quo. ‘You can add something, you know, to the present you'll have to give Luanda. Lucinda shall choose something up to forty pounds.' ‘We'll say thirty' said Lizzie, who was beginning to know the value of money. 'split the difference,' said Mrs Carbuncle, with a pleasant little burst of laughter – and the difference was split. That the very neat and even dandified appearance of the groom who rode out hunting with them should be provided at the expense of Mrs Carbuncle was quite understood; but it was equally well understood that Lizzie was to provide the horse on which he rode every third day. It adds greatly to the comfort of friends living together when these things are accurately settled.

Mr Emilius remained longer than had been anticipated, and did not go till Lord George and Sir Griffin took their departure.
It was observed that he never spoke of his wife; and yet Mrs Carbuncle was almost sure that she had heard of such a lady. He had made himself very agreeable, and was, either by art or nature, a courteous man – one who paid compliments to ladies. It was true, however, that he sometimes startled his hearers by things which might have been considered to border on coarseness if they had not been said by a clergyman. Lizzie had an idea that he intended to marry Miss Macnulty. And Miss Macnulty certainly received his attentions with pleasure. In these circumstances his prolonged stay at the castle was not questioned; – but when towards the end of November Lord George and Sir Griffin took their departure, he was obliged to return to his flock.

On the great subject of the diamonds Lizzie had spoken her mind freely to Mrs Carbuncle early in the days of their friendship – immediately, that is, after the bargainings had been completed. ‘Ten thousand pounds,' ejaculated Mrs Carbuncle, opening wide her eyes. Lizzie nodded her head thrice in token of reiterated assurance. ‘Do you mean that you really know their value?' The ladies at this time were closeted together, and were discussing many things in the closest confidence.

‘They were valued for me by jewellers.'

‘Ten thousand pounds! And Sir Florian gave them to you?'

‘Put them round my neck, and told me they were to be mine – always.'

‘Generous man!'

‘Ah, if you had but known him!' said Lizzie, just touching her eye with her handkerchief.

‘I dare say. And now the people claim them. I'm not a bit surprised at that, my dear. I should have thought a man couldn't give away so much as that – not just as one makes a present that costs forty or fifty pounds.' Mrs Carbuncle could not resist the opportunity of showing that she did not think so very much of that coming thirty-five pound ‘gift' for which the bargain had been made.

‘That's what they say. And they say ever so many other things besides. They mean to prove that it's an – heirloom.'

‘Perhaps it is.'

‘But it isn't. My cousin Frank, who knows more about law than any other man in London, says that they can't make a necklace an heirloom. If it was a brooch or a ring it would be different. I don't quite understand it, but it is so.'

‘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 upstairs 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 expediency of avoiding exposure by accepting the service. Of all which explanation Lizzie did not understand one word. Messrs Camperdown's 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?