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Ottilie A Liljencrantz - "The Ward of King Canute"

The Eustace Diamonds

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Eustace Diamonds




"MY LORD: I do not know how to acknowledge with sufficient humility the
condescension and great kindness of your lordship's letter. But perhaps
its manly generosity is more conspicuous than either. The truth is, my
lord, you want to escape from your engagement, but are too much afraid of
the consequences to dare to do so by any act of your own. Therefore you
throw it upon me. You are quite successful. I don't think you ever read
poetry, but perhaps you may understand the two following lines:

"'I am constrained to say your lordship's scullion
Should sooner be my husband than yourself.'

"I see through you, and despise you thoroughly.

"E. EUSTACE."

She was comparing the two answers together, very much in doubt as to which
should be sent, when there came a message to her by a man whom she knew to
be a policeman, though he did not announce himself as such, and was
dressed in plain clothes. Major Mackintosh sent his compliments to her,
and would wait, upon her that afternoon at three o'clock, if she would
have the kindness to receive him. At the first moment of seeing the man
she felt that after all the rock was what she wanted. Mrs. Carbuncle was
right. She had had troubles and might have more, and the rock was the
thing. But then the more certainly did she become convinced of this by the
presence of the major's messenger, the more clearly did she see the
difficulty of attaining the security which the rock offered. If this
public exposure should fall upon her, Lord Fawn's renewed offer, as she
knew well, would stand for nothing. If once it were known that she had
kept the necklace--her own necklace--under her pillow at Carlisle, he
would want no further justification in repudiating her, were it for the
tenth time. 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 would 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
up-stairs 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 care 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, 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. 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."

"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--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 confession of two of the accomplices has 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--to-morrow?" 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 mean time, you must not be surprised," said the major.

"Tell me one thing, Major Mackintosh," she said, as she gave him her hand
at parting, "they can't take away from me anything that is my own--can
they?"

"I don't think they can," said the major, escaping rather quickly from the
room.




CHAPTER LXIX

"I CANNOT DO IT"


The Saturday and the Sunday Lizzie passed in outward tranquillity, though
doubtless her mind was greatly disturbed. She said nothing of what had
passed between her and Major Mackintosh, explaining that his visit had
been made solely with the object of informing her that Mr. Benjamin was to
be sent home from Vienna, but that the diamonds were gone forever. She
had, as she declared to herself, agreed with Major Mackintosh that she
would not go to Mr. Camperdown till the Tuesday--justifying her delay by
her solicitude in reference to Miss Roanoke's marriage; and therefore
these two days were her own. After them would come a totally altered phase
of existence. All the world would know the history of the diamonds--cousin
Frank, and Lord Fawn, and John Eustace, and Mrs. Carbuncle, and the
Bobsborough people, and Lady Glencora, and that old vulturess, her aunt,
the Countess of Linlithgow. It must come now--but she had two days in
which she could be quiet and think of her position. She would, she
thought, send one of her letters to Lord Fawn before she went to Mr.
Camperdown--but which should she send? Or should she write a third
explaining the whole matter in sweetly piteous feminine terms, and
swearing that the only remaining feeling in her bosom was a devoted
affection to the man who had now twice promised to be her husband?

In the mean time the preparations for the great marriage went on. Mrs.
Carbuncle spent her time busily between Lucinda's bedchamber and the
banqueting hall in Albemarle street. In spite of pecuniary difficulties
the trousseau was to be a wonder; and even Lizzie was astonished at the
jewelry which that indefatigable woman had collected together for a
preliminary show in Hertford Street. She had spent hours at Howell and
James's, and had made marvellous bargains there and elsewhere. Things were
sent for selection, of which the greater portion were to be returned, but
all were kept for the show. The same things which were shown to separate
friends in Hertford Street as part of the trousseau on Friday and Saturday
were carried over to Albemarle Street on the Sunday, so as to add to the
quasi-public exhibition of presents on the Monday. The money expended had
gone very far. The most had been made of a failing credit. Every particle
of friendly generosity had been so manipulated as to add to the external
magnificence. And Mrs. Carbuncle had done all this without any help from
Lucinda, in the midst of most contemptuous indifference on Lucinda's part.
She could hardly be got to allow the milliners to fit the dresses to her
body, and positively refused to thrust her feet into certain golden-heeled
boots with brightly-bronzed toes which were a great feature among the
raiment. Nobody knew it except Mrs. Carbuncle and the maid; even Lizzie
Eustace did not know it; but once the bride absolutely ran amuck among the
finery, scattering the laces here and there, pitching the glove-boxes
under the bed, chucking the golden-heeled boots into the fire-place, and
exhibiting quite a tempest of fury against one of the finest shows of
petticoats ever arranged with a view to the admiration and envy of female
friends. But all this Mrs. Carbuncle bore, and still persevered. The thing
was so nearly done now that she could endure to persevere though the
provocation to abandon it was so great. She had even ceased to find fault
with her niece, but went on in silence counting the hours till the trouble
should be taken off her own shoulders and placed on those of Sir Griffin.
It was a great thing to her, almost more than she had expected, that
neither Lucinda nor Sir Griffin should have positively declined the
marriage. It was impossible that either should retreat from it now.

Luckily for Mrs. Carbuncle, Sir Griffin took delight in the show. He did
this after a bearish fashion, putting his finger upon little flaws with an
intelligence for which Mrs. Carbuncle had not hitherto given him credit.
As to certain ornaments, he observed that the silver was plated and the
gold ormolu. A "rope" of pearls he at once detected as being false, and
after fingering certain lace he turned up his nose and shook his head.
Then, on the Sunday, in Albemarle Street, he pointed out to Mrs. Carbuncle
sundry articles which he had seen in the bedroom on the Saturday.

"But, my dear Sir Griffin, that's of course," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Oh; that's of course, is it?" said Sir Griffin turning up his nose again.
"Where did that Delft bowl come from?"

"It is one of Mortlook's finest Etruscan vases," said Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Oh, I thought that Etruscan vases came from--from somewhere in Greece or
Italy," said Sir Griffin.

"I declare that you are shocking," said Mrs. Carbuncle, struggling to
maintain her good-humour.

He passed hours of the Sunday in Hertford Street, and Lord George also was
there for some time. Lizzie, who could hardly devote her mind to the
affairs of the wedding, remained alone in her own sitting-room during the
greater part of the day; but she did show herself while Lord George was
there.

"So I hear that Mackintosh has been here," said Lord George.

"Yes, he was here."

"And what did he say?" Lizzie did not like the way in which the man looked
at her, feeling it to be not only unfriendly, but absolutely cruel. It
seemed to imply that he knew that her secret was about to be divulged. And
what was he to her now that he should be impertinent to her? What he knew,
all the world would know before the end of the week. And that other man
who knew it already, had been kind to her, had said nothing about perjury,
but had explained to her that what she would have to bear would be
trouble, and not imprisonment and loss of money. Lord George, to whom she
had been so civil, for whom she had spent money, to whom she had almost
offered herself and ail that she possessed--Lord George, whom she had
selected as the first repository of her secret, had spoken no word to
comfort her, but had made things look worse for her than they were. Why
should she submit to be questioned by Lord George? In a day or two the
secret which he knew would be no secret. "Never mind what he said, Lord
George," she replied.

"Has he found it all out?"

"You had better go and ask him yourself," said Lizzie. "I am sick of the
subject, and I mean to have done with it."

Lord George laughed, and Lizzie hated him for his laugh.

"I declare," said Mrs. Carbuncle, "that you two who were such friends are
always snapping at each other now."

"The fickleness is all on her ladyship's part, not on mine," said Lord
George; whereupon Lady Eustace walked out of the room and was not seen
again till dinner-time.

Soon afterwards Lucinda also endeavoured to escape, but to this Sir
Griffin objected. Sir Griffin was in a very good humour, and bore himself
like a prosperous bridegroom.

"Come, Luce," he said, "get off your high horse for a little. To-morrow,
you know, you must come down altogether."

"So much the more reason for my remaining up to-day."

"I'll be shot if you shall," said Sir Griffin. "Luce, sit in my lap, and
give me a kiss."

At this moment Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle were in the front drawing-
room, and Lord George was telling her the true story as to the necklace.
It must be explained on his behalf that in doing this he did not consider
that he was betraying the trust reposed in him. "They know all about it in
Scotland Yard," he said; "I got it from Gager. They were bound to tell me
as, up to this week past, every man in the police thought that I had been
the master-mind among the thieves. When I think of it I hardly know
whether to laugh or cry."

"And she had them all the time?" exclaimed Mrs. Carbuncle.

"Yes; in this house! Did you ever hear of such a little cat? I could tell
you more than that. She wanted me to take them and dispose of them."

"No!"

"She did, though; and now see the way she treats me! Never mind. Don't say
a word to her about it till it comes out of itself. She'll have to be
arrested, no doubt."

"Arrested!" Mrs. Carbuncle's further exclamations were stopped by
Lucinda's struggles in the other room. She had declined to sit upon the
bridegroom's lap, but had acknowledged that she was bound to submit to be
kissed. He had kissed her, and then had striven to drag her onto his knee.
But she was strong, and had resisted violently, and, as he afterwards
said, had struck him savagely.

"Of course I struck him," said Lucinda.

"By ----, you shall pay for it," said Sir Griffin. This took place in the
presence of Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle, and yet they were to be
married to-morrow.

"The idea of complaining that a girl hit you--and the girl who is to be
your wife!" said Lord George, as they walked off together.

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