The Eustace Diamonds (82 page)

‘No; – I do not know it.'

‘I have told you so more than once.'

‘You cannot afford to marry her.'

‘Then I shall do it without affording.' Lizzie was about to speak – had already pronounced her rival's name in that tone of contempt which she so well knew how to use, when he stopped her.
‘Do not say anything against her, Lizzie, in my hearing, for I will not bear it. It would force me to leave you at the Troon station, and I had better see you now to the end of the journey.' Lizzie flung herself back into the corner of her carriage, and did not utter another word till she reached Portray Castle. He handed her out of the railway carriage, and into her own vehicle which was waiting for them, attended to the maid, and got the luggage; but still she did not speak. It would be better that she should quarrel with him. That little snake, Lucy, would of course now tell him of the meeting between them in Hertford Street, after which anything but quarrelling would be impossible. What a fool the man must be, what an idiot, what a soft-hearted, mean-spiritied fellow! Lucy, by her sly, quiet little stratagems, had got him once to speak the word, and now he had not courage enough to go back from it! He had less strength of will even than Lord Fawn! What she offered to him would be the making of him. With his position, his seat in Parliament, such a country house as Portray Castle, and the income which she would give him, there was nothing that he might not reach! And he was so infirm of purpose, that though he had hankered after it all, he would not open his hand to take it – because he was afraid of such a little thing as Lucy Morris! It was thus that she thought of him, as she leaned back in the carriage without speaking. In giving her all that is due to her, we must acknowledge that she had less feeling of the injury done to her charms as a woman than might have been expected. That she hated Lucy was a matter of course; – and equally so that she should be very angry with Frank Greystock. But the anger arose from general disappointment, rather than from any sense of her own despised beauty. ‘Ah, now I shall see my child,' she said, as the carriage stopped at the castle-gate,

When Frank Greystock went to his supper, Miss Macnulty brought to him his cousin's compliments with a message saying that she was too weary to see him again that night. The message had been intended to be curt and uncourteous, but Miss Macnulty had softened it – so that no harm was done. 'she must be very weary,' said Frank.

‘I suppose though that nothing would ever really tire Lady Eustace,' said Miss Macnulty. ‘When she is excited nothing will tire her. Perhaps the journey has been dull.'

‘Exceedingly dull,' said Frank, as he helped himself to the collops which the Portray cook had prepared for his supper.

Miss Macnulty was very attentive to him, and had many questions to ask. About the necklace she hardly dared to speak, merely observing how sad it was that all those precious diamonds should have been lost for ever. ‘Very sad indeed,' said Frank with his mouth full. She then went on to the marriage – the marriage that was no marriage. Was not that very dreadful? Was it true that Miss Roanoke was really – out of her mind? Frank acknowledged that it was dreadful, but thought that the marriage had it been completed would have been more so. As for the young lady, he only knew that she had been taken somewhere out of the way. Sir Griffin, he had been told, had gone to Japan.

‘To Japan!' said Miss Macnulty, really interested. Had Sir Griffin gone no farther than Boulogne, her pleasure in the news would certainly have been much less. Then she asked some single question about Lord George, and from that came to the real marrow of her anxiety. Had Mr Greystock lately seen the – the Rev. Mr Emilius? Frank had not seen the clergyman, and could only say of him that had Lucinda Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett been made one, the knot would have been tied by Mr Emilius.

‘Would it indeed? Did you not think Mr Emilius very clever when you met him down here?'

‘I don't doubt but what he is a sharp sort of fellow.'

‘Oh, Mr Greystock, I don't think that that's the word for him at all. He did promise me when he was here that he would write to me occasionally, but I suppose that the increasing duties of his position have rendered that impossible.' Frank, who had no idea of the extent of the preacher's ambition, assured Miss Macnulty that among his multifarious clerical labours it was out of the question that Mr Emilius should find time to write letters.

Frank had consented to stay one day at Portray, and did not now like to run away without again seeing his cousin. Though much tempted to go at once, he did stay the day, and had an
opportunity of speaking a few words to Mr Gowran. Mr Gowran was very gracious, but said nothing of his journey up to London. He asked various questions concerning her ‘leddyship's' appearance at the police-court, as to which tidings had already reached Ayrshire, and pretended to be greatly shocked at the loss of the diamonds. ‘When they talk o' ten thoosand poond, that's a lee, nae doobt?' asked Andy.

‘No lie at all, I believe,' said Greystock.

‘And her leddyship wad tak‘ aboot wi' her ten thoosand poond – in a box?' Andy still showed much doubt by the angry glance of his eye and the close compression of his lips, and the great severity of his demeanour as he asked the question.

‘I know nothing about diamonds myself, but that is what they say they were worth.'

‘Her leddyship her ain sell seems nae to ha' been in ain story aboot the box, Muster Greystock?' But Frank could not stand to be cross-questioned on this delicate matter, and walked off, saying that as the thieves had not yet been tried for the robbery, the less said about it the better.

At four o'clock on that afternoon he had not seen Lizzie, and then he received a message from her to the effect that she was still so unwell from the fatigue of her journey that she could bear no one with her but her child. She hoped that her cousin was quite comfortable, and that she might be able to see him after breakfast on the following day. But Frank was determined to leave Portray very early on the following day, and therefore wrote a note to his cousin. He begged that she would not disturb herself, that he would leave the castle the next morning before she could be up, and that he had only further to remind her that she must come up to London at once as soon as she should be summoned for the trial of Mr Benjamin and his comrade. It had seemed to Frank that she had almost concluded that her labours connected with that disagreeable matter were at an end. ‘The examination may be long, and I will attend you if you wish it,' said lier cousin. Upon receiving this she thought it expedient to come down to him, and there was an interview for about a quarter of an hour in her own little sitting-room looking out
upon the sea. She had formed a project, and at once suggested it to him. If she found herself ill when the day of the trial came, could they make her go up and give her evidence? Frank told her that they could, and that they would. She was very clever about it. ‘They couldn't go back to what I said at Carlisle, you know; because they already have made me tell all that myself.' As she had been called upon to criminate herself, she could not now be tried for the crime. Frank, however, would not listen to this, and told her that she must come. ‘Very well, Frank. I know you like to have your own way. You always did. And you think so little of my feelings! I shall make inquiry, and if I must – why I suppose I must.'

‘You'd better make up your mind to come.'

‘Very well. And now, Frank, as I am so very tired, if you please I'll say good-bye to you. I am very much obliged to you for coming with me. Good-bye.' And so they parted.

*       *       *       

‘I'm glad you like me, as we have lived together so long.'

‘You may go on staying here, if you choose, and I'll try to make it better.'

‘It hasn't been bad at all – only that there's nothing particular to do. But I must go. I shall get another place as a governess somewhere, and that will suit me best'

‘Because of the money, you mean.'

‘Well;-that in part.'

‘I mean to pay you something,' said the countess, opening her pocket-book, and fumbling for two banknotes which she had deposited there.

‘Oh, dear no. I haven't earned anything.'

‘I always gave Macnulty something, and she was not near so nice as you.' And then the countess produced two ten-pound notes. But Lucy would have none of her money, and when she was pressed, became proud and almost indignant in her denial. She had earned nothing, and she would take nothing, and it was in vain that the old lady spread the clean bits of paper before her. ‘And so you'll go and be a governess again; will you?'

‘When I can get a place.'

‘I'll tell you what, my dear. If I were Frank Greystock, I'd stick to my bargain.' Lucy at once fell a-crying, but she smiled upon the old woman through her tears. ‘Of course he's going to marry that little limb of the devil.'

‘Oh, Lady Linlithgow – if you can, prevent that!'

‘How am I to prevent it, my dear? I've nothing to say to either of them.'

‘It isn't for myself I'm speaking. If I can't – if I can't – can't have things go as I thought they would by myself, I will never ask any one to help me. It is not that I mean. I have given all that up.'

‘You have given it up?'

‘Yes; – I have. But nevertheless I think of him. She is bad, and he will never be happy if he marries her. When he asked me to be his wife, he was mistaken as to what would be good for him. He ought not to have made such a mistake. For my sake he ought not.'

‘That's quite true, my dear.'

‘But I do not wish him to be unhappy all his life. He is not bad, but she is very bad. I would not for worlds that anybody should tell him that he owed me anything; but if he could be saved from her – oh, I should be so glad.'

‘You won't have my money, then?'

‘No – Lady Linlithgow.'

‘You'd better. It is honestly your own.'

‘I will not take it, thank you.'

‘Then I may as well put it up again.' And the countess replaced the notes in her pocket-book. When this conversation took place, Frank Greystock was travelling back alone from Portray to London. On the same day the Fawn carriage came to fetch Lucy away. As Lucy was in peculiar distress, Lady Fawn would not allow her to come by any other conveyance. She did not exactly think that the carriage would console her poor favourite; but she did it as she would have ordered something specially nice to eat for any one who had broken his leg. Her soft heart had compassion for misery, though she would sometimes show her sympathy by strange expressions. Lady Linlithgow was almost angry about the carriage. ‘How many carriages and how many horses does Lady Fawn keep?' she asked.

‘One carriage and two horses.'

‘She's very fond of sending them up into the streets of London, I think.' Lucy said nothing more, knowing that it would be impossible
to soften the heart of this dowager in regard to the other. But she kissed the old woman at parting, and then was taken down to Richmond in state.

She had made up her mind to have one discussion with Lady Fawn about her engagement – the engagement which was no longer an engagement – and then to have done with it. She would ask Lady Fawn to ask the girls never to mention Mr Greystock's name in her hearing. Lady Fawn had also made up her mind to the same effect. She felt that the subject should be mentioned once – and once only. Of course Lucy must have another place, but there need be no hurry about that. She fully recognized her young friend's feeling of independence, and was herself aware that she would be wrong to offer to the girl a permanent home among her own daughters, and therefore she could not abandon the idea of a future place; but Lucy would, of course, remain till a situation should have been found for her that would be in every sense unexceptionable. There need, however, be no haste – and, in the meantime, the few words about Frank Greystock must be spoken. They need not, however, be spoken quite immediately. Let there be smiles, and joy, and a merry ring of laughter on this the first day of the return of their old friend. As Lucy had the same feelings on that afternoon, they did talk pleasantly and were merry. The girls asked questions about the Vulturess – as they had heard her called by Lizzie Eustace – and laughed at Lucy to her face when she swore that, after a fashion, she liked the old woman.

‘You'd like anybody, then,' said Nina.

‘Indeed I don't,' said Lucy, thinking at once of Lizzie Eustace.

Lady Fawn planned out the next day with, great precision. After breakfast, Lucy and the girls were to spend the morning in the old schoolroom, so that there might be a general explanation as to the doings of the last six months. They were to dine at three, and after dinner there should be the discussion. ‘Will you come up to my room at four o'clock, my dear?‘ said Lady Fawn, patting Lucy's shoulder, in the breakfast-parlour. Lucy knew well why her presence was required. Of course she would come. It would be wise to get it over and have done with it.

At noon Lady Fawn, with her three eldest daughters, went out in the carriage, and Lucy was busy among the others with books and maps and sheets of scribbled music. Nothing was done on that day in the way of instruction; but there was much of half-jocose acknowledgement of past idleness, and a profusion of resolutions of future diligence. One or two of the girls were going to commence a course of reading that would have broken the back of any professor, and suggestions were made as to very rigid rules as to the talking of French and German. ‘But as we can't talk German,' said Nina, ‘we should simply be dumb.' ‘You'd talk High Dutch, Nina, sooner than submit to that,' said one of the sisters.

The conclave was still sitting in full deliberation, when one of the maids entered the room with a very long face. There was a gentleman in the drawing-room asking for Miss Morris! Lucy, who at the moment was standing at a table on which were spread an infinity of books, became at once as white as a sheet. Her fast friend, Lydia Fawn, who was standing by her, immediately took hold of her hand quite tightly. The face of the maid was fit for a funeral. She knew that Miss Morris had had a ‘follower' – that the follower had come – and that then Miss Morris had gone away. Miss Morris had been allowed to come back; and now, on the very first day, just when my lady's back was turned, here was the follower again! Before she had come up with her message, there had been an unanimous expression of opinion in the kitchen that the fat would all be in the fire. Lucy was as white as marble, and felt such a sudden shock at her heart, that she could not speak. And yet she never doubted for a moment that Frank Greystock was the man. And with what purpose but one could he have come there? She had on the old, old frock in which, before her visit to Lady Linlithgow, she used to pass the morning amidst her labours with the girls – a pale, grey, well-worn frock, to which must have been imparted some attraction from the milliner's art, because everybody liked it so well – but which she had put on this very morning as a testimony, to all the world around her, that she had abandoned the idea of being anything except a governess. Lady Fawn had understood
the frock well. ‘Here is the dear little old woman just the same as ever,' Lydia had said, embracing her. ‘She looks as if she'd gone to bed before the winter, and had a long sleep, like a dormouse,' said Cecilia. Lucy had liked it all, and thoroughly appreciated the loving-kindness; but she had known what it all meant. She had left them as the engaged bride of Mr Greystock, the member for Bobsborough; and now she had come back as Lucy Morris, the governess, again. ‘Just the same as ever,' Lucy had said, with the sweetest smile. They all understood that, in so saying, she renounced her lover.

And now there stood the maid, inside the room, who, having announced that there was a gentleman asking for Miss Morris, was waiting for an answer. Was the follower to be sent about his business, with a flea in his ear, having come slyly, craftily, and wickedly, in Lady Fawn's absence; or would Miss Morris brazen it out, and go and see him?

‘Who is the gentleman?' asked Diana, who was the eldest of the Fawn girls present.

‘It's he as used to come after Miss Morris before,' said the maid.

‘It is Mr Greystock,' said Lucy, recovering herself with an effort. ‘I had better go down to him. Will you tell him, Mary, that I'll be with him almost immediately?'

‘You ought to have put on the other frock, after all' said Nina, whispering into her ear.

‘He has not lost much time in coming to see you,' said Lydia.

‘I suppose it was all because he didn't like Lady Linlithgow,' said Cecilia. Lucy had not a word to say. She stood for a minute among them, trying to think, and then she slowly left the room.

She would not condescend to alter her dress by the aid of a single pin, or by the adjustment of a ribbon. It might well be that, after the mingled work and play of the morning, her hair should not be smooth; but she was too proud to look at her hair. The man whom she had loved, who had loved her but had neglected her, was in the house. He would surely not have followed her thither did he not intend to make reparation for his neglect. But she would use no art with him; – nor would she make any entreaty. It might be that, after all, he had the courage to come
and tell her, in a manly, straightforward way, that the thing must be all over – that he had made a mistake, and would beg her pardon. If it were so there could be no word of reproach. She would be quite quiet with him; but there should be no word of reproach. But if – In that other case she could not be sure of her behaviour, but she knew well that he would not have to ask long for forgiveness. As for her dress – he had chosen to love her in that frock before, and she did not think that he would pay much attention to her dress on the present occasion.

She opened the door very quietly and very slowly, intending to approach him in the same way. But in a moment, before she could remember that she was in the room, he had seized her in his arms, and was showering kisses on her forehead, her eyes, and her lips. When she thought of it afterwards, she could not call to mind a single word that he had spoken before he held her in his embrace. It was she, surely, who had spoken first, when she begged to be released from his pressure. But she well remembered the first words that struck her ear. ‘Dearest Lucy, will you forgive me?' She could only answer them through her tears by taking up his hand and kissing it.

When Lady Fawn came back with the carriage, she herself saw the figures of two persons, walking very close together, in the shrubberies. ‘Is that Lucy?' she asked.

‘Yes,' said Augusta, with a tone of horror. ‘Indeed it is, and – Mr Greystock.'

Lady Fawn was neither shocked nor displeased; nor was she disappointed; but a certain faint feeling of being ill-used by circumstances came over her. ‘Dear me; – the very first day!' she said.

‘It's because he wouldn't go to Lady Linlithgow's' said Amelia. ‘He has only waited, mamma.'

‘But the very first day!' exclaimed Lady Fawn. ‘I hope Lucy will be happy; – that's all.'

There was a great meeting of all the Fawns, as soon as Lady Fawn and the eldest girls were in the house. Mr Greystock had been walking about the grounds with Lucy for the last hour and a half. Lucy had come in once to beg that Lady Fawn might be told
directly she came in. ‘She said you were to send for her, mamma' said Lydia.

‘But it's dinner-time, my dear. What are we to do with Mr Greystock?'

‘Ask him to lunch, of course,' said Amelia.

‘I suppose it's all right,' said Lady Fawn.

‘I'm quite sure it's all right' said Nina.

‘What did she say to you, Lydia?' asked the mother.

‘She was as happy as ever she could be' said Lydia. ‘There's no doubt about its being all right, mamma. She looked just as she did when she got the letter from him before.'

‘I hope she managed to change her frock,' said Augusta.

‘She didn't then' said Cecilia.

‘I don't suppose he cares one halfpenny about her frock' said Nina. ‘I should never think about a man's coat if I was in love.'

‘Nina, you shouldn't talk in that way,' said Augusta. Whereupon Nina made a face behind one of her sister's backs. Poor Augusta was never allowed to be a prophetess among them.

The consultation was ended by a decision in accordance with which Nina went as an ambassador to the lovers. Lady Fawn sent her compliments to Mr Greystock, and hoped he would come in to lunch. Lucy must come in to dinner, because dinner was ready. ‘And mamma wants to see you just for a minute' added Nina, in a pretended whisper.

‘Oh, Nina, you darling girl!' said Lucy, kissing her young friend in an ecstasy of joy.

‘It's all right?' asked Nina in a whisper which was really intended for privacy. Lucy did not answer the question otherwise than by another kiss.

Frank Greystock was, of course, obliged to take his seat at the table, and was entertained with a profusion of civility. Everybody knew that he had behaved badly to Lucy – everybody, except Lucy herself, who, from this time forward, altogether forgot that she had for some time looked upon him as a traitor, and had made up her mind that she had been deceived and ill-used. All the Fawns had spoken of him, in Lucy's absence, in the hardest terms of reproach, and declared that he was not fit to be spoken
to by any decent person. Lady Fawn had known from the first that such a one as he was not to be trusted. Augusta had never liked him. Amelia had feared that poor Lucy Morris had been unwise, and too ambitious. Georgina had seen that, of course, it would never do. Diana had sworn that it was a great shame. Lydia was sure that Lucy was a great deal too good for him. Cecilia had wondered where he would go to; – a form of anathema which had brought down a rebuke from her mother. And Nina had always hated him like poison. But now nothing was too good for him. An unmarried man who is willing to sacrifice himself is in feminine eyes, always worthy of ribbons and a chaplet. Among all these Fawns there was as little selfishness as can be found – even among women. The lover was not the lover of one of themselves, but of their governess. And yet, though he desired neither to eat nor drink at that hour, something special had been cooked for him, and a special bottle of wine had been brought out of the cellar. All his sins were forgiven him. No single question was asked as to his gross misconduct during the last six months. No pledge or guarantee was demanded for the future. There he was, in the guise of a declared lover, and the fatted calf was killed.