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The Eustace Diamonds

A >> Anthony Trollope >> The Eustace Diamonds




There had been much in the interview to make Lord Fawn unhappy. In the
first place, that golden hope as to the perpetuity of the property was at
an end. He had never believed that it was so; but a man may hope without
believing. And he was quite sure that Lizzie was bound to give up the
diamonds, and would ultimately be made to give them up. Of any property in
them, as possibly accruing to himself, he had not thought much; but he
could not abstain from thinking of the woman's grasp upon them. Mr.
Camperdown's plain statement, which was gospel to him, was directly at
variance with Lizzie's story. Sir Florian certainly would not have given
such diamonds in such a way. Sir Florian would not have ordered a separate
iron safe for them, with a view that they might be secure in his wife's
bedroom. And then she had had them valued, and manifestly was always
thinking of her treasure. It was very well for a poor, careful peer to be
always thinking of his money, but Lord Fawn was well aware that a young
woman such as Lady Eustace should have her thoughts elsewhere. As he sat
signing letters at the India Board, relieving himself when he was left
alone between each batch by standing up with his back to the fireplace,
his mind was full of all this. He could not unravel truth quickly, but he
could grasp it when it came to him. She was certainly greedy, false, and
dishonest. And--worse than all this--she had dared to tell him to his face
that he was a poor creature because he would not support her in her greed,
and falsehood, and dishonesty! Nevertheless, he was engaged to marry her!
Then he thought of one Violet Effingham whom he had loved, and then came
over him some suspicion of a fear that he himself was hard and selfish.
And yet what was such a one as he to do? It was of course necessary for
the maintenance of the very constitution of his country that there should
be future Lord Fawns. There could be no future Lord Fawns unless he
married; and how could he marry without money? "A peasant can marry whom
he pleases," said Lord Fawn, pressing his hand to his brow, and dropping
one flap of his coat, as he thought of his own high and perilous destiny,
standing with his back to the fireplace, while a huge pile of letters lay
there before him waiting to be signed.

It was a Saturday evening, and as there was no House there was nothing to
hurry him away from the office. He was the occupier for the time of a
large, well-furnished official room, looking out into St. James's Park;
and as he glanced round it he told himself that his own happiness must be
there, and not in the domesticity of a quiet home. The House of Lords, out
of which nobody could turn him, and official life--as long as he could
hold to it--must be all in all to him. He had engaged himself to this
woman, and he must--marry her. He did not think that he could now see any
way of avoiding that event. Her income would supply the needs of her home,
and then there might probably be a continuation of Lord Fawns. The world
might have done better for him--had he been able to find favour in Violet
Effingham's sight. He was a man capable of love, and very capable of
constancy to a woman true to him. Then he wiped away a tear as he sat down
to sign the huge batch of letters. As he read some special letter in which
instructions were conveyed as to the insufficiency of the Sawab's claims,
he thought of Frank Greystock's attack upon him, and of Frank Greystock's
cousin. There had been a time in which he had feared that the two cousins
would become man and wife. At this moment he uttered a malediction against
the member for Bobsborough, which might perhaps have been spared had the
member been now willing to take the lady off his hands. Then the door was
opened, and the messenger told him that Mrs. Hittaway was in the waiting-
room. Mrs. Hittaway was, of course, at once made welcome to the Under-
Secretary's own apartment.

Mrs. Hittaway was a strong-minded woman--the strongest-minded probably of
the Fawn family--but she had now come upon a task which taxed all her
strength to the utmost. She had told her mother that she would tell
"Frederic" what she thought about his proposed bride, and she had now come
to carry out her threat. She had asked her brother to come and dine with
her, but he had declined. His engagements hardly admitted of his dining
with his relatives. She had called upon him at the rooms he occupied in
Victoria Street, but of course she had not found him. She could not very
well go to his club; so now she had hunted him down at his office. From
the very commencement of the interview Mrs. Hittaway was strong-minded.
She began the subject of the marriage, and did so without a word of
congratulation. "Dear Frederic," she said, "you know that we have all got
to look up to you."

"Well, Clara, what does that mean?"

"It means this--that you must bear with me, if I am more anxious as to
your future career than another sister might be."

"Now I know you are going to say something unpleasant."

"Yes, I am, Frederic. I have heard so many bad things about Lady Eustace!"

The Under-Secretary sat silent for a while in his great armchair. "What
sort of evil things do you mean, Clara?" he asked at last. "Evil things
are said of a great many people--as you know. I am sure you would not wish
to repeat slanders."

Mrs. Hittaway was not to be silenced after this fashion. "Not slanders,
certainly, Frederic. But when I hear that you intend to raise this lady to
the rank and position of your wife, then of course the truth or falsehood
of these reports becomes a matter of great moment to us all. Don't you
think you had better see Mr. Camperdown?"

"I have seen him."

"And what does he say?"

"What should he say? Lady Eustace has, I believe, made some mistake about
the condition of her property, and people who have heard it have been
good-natured enough to say that the error has been wilful. That is what I
call slander, Clara."

"And you have heard about her jewels?" Mrs. Hittaway was alluding here to
the report which had reached her as to Lizzie's debt to Harter & Benjamin
when she married Sir Florian; but Lord Fawn of course thought of the
diamond necklace.

"Yes," said he, "I have heard all about them. Who told you?"

"I have known it ever so long. Sir Florian never got over it." Lord Fawn
was again in the dark, but he did not choose to commit himself by asking
further questions. "And then her treatment of Lady Linlithgow, who was her
only friend before she married, was something quite unnatural. Ask the
dean's people what they think of her. I believe even they would tell you."

"Frank Greystock desired to marry her himself."

"Yes, for her money, perhaps; because he has not got a farthing in the
world. Dear Frederic, I only wish to put you on your guard. Of course this
is very unpleasant, and I shouldn't do it if I didn't think it my duty. I
believe she is artful and very false. She certainly deceived Sir Florian
Eustace about her debts; and he never held up his head after he found out
what she was. If she told you falsehoods, of course you can break it off.
Dear Frederic, I hope you won't be angry with me."

"Is that all?" he asked.

"Yes, that is all."

"I'll bear it in mind," he said. "Of course it isn't very pleasant."

"No, I know it is not pleasant," said Mrs. Hittaway, rising, and taking
her departure with an offer of affectionate sisterly greeting, which was
not accepted with cordiality.

It was very unpleasant. That very morning Lord Fawn had received letters
from the Dean and the Bishop of Bobsborough congratulating him on his
intended marriage, both those worthy dignitaries of the Church having
thought it expedient to verify Lizzie's statements. Lord Fawn was,
therefore, well aware that Lady Eustace had published the engagement. It
was known to everybody, and could not be broken off without public
scandal.




CHAPTER XII

I ONLY THOUGHT OF IT


There was great perturbation down at Fawn Court. On the day fixed, Monday,
June 5, Lizzie arrived. Nothing further had been said by Lady Fawn to urge
the invitation; but, in accordance with the arrangement already made, Lady
Eustace, with her child, her nurse, and her own maid, was at Fawn Court by
four o'clock. A very long letter had been received from Mrs. Hittaway that
morning, the writing of which must have seriously interfered with the
tranquillity of her Sunday afternoon. Lord Fawn did not make his
appearance at Richmond on the Saturday evening, nor was he seen on the
Sunday. That Sunday was, we may presume, chiefly devoted to reflection. He
certainly did not call upon his future wife. His omission to do so, no
doubt, increased Lizzie's urgency in the matter of her visit to Richmond.
Frank Greystock had written to congratulate her. "Dear Frank," she had
said in reply, "a woman situated as I am has so many things to think of.
Lord Fawn's position will be of service to my child. Mind you come and see
me at Fawn Court. I count so, much on your friendship and assistance."

Of course she was expected at Richmond, although throughout the morning
Lady Fawn had entertained almost a hope that she wouldn't come. "He was
only lukewarm in defending her," Mrs. Hittaway had said in her letter,
"and I still think that there may be an escape." Not even a note had come
from Lord Fawn himself, nor from Lady Eustace. Possibly something violent
might have been done, and Lady Eustace would not appear. But Lady Eustace
did appear, and, after a fashion, was made welcome at Fawn Court.

The Fawn ladies were not good hypocrites. Lady Fawn had said almost
nothing to her daughters of her visit to Mount Street, but Augusta had
heard the discussion in Mrs. Hittaway's drawing-room as to the character
of the future bride. The coming visit had been spoken of almost with awe,
and there was a general conviction in the dovecote that an evil thing had
fallen upon them. Consequently, their affection to the newcomer, though
spoken in words, was not made evident by signs and manners. Lizzie herself
took care that the position in which she was received should be
sufficiently declared. "It seems so odd that I am to come among you as a
sister," she said. The girls were forced to assent to the claim, but they
assented coldly. "He has told me to attach myself especially to you," she
whispered to Augusta. The unfortunate chosen one, who had but little
strength of her own, accepted the position, and then, as the only means of
escaping the embraces of her newly-found sister, pleaded the violence of a
headache. "My mother," said Lizzie to Lady Fawn.

"Yes, my dear," said Lady Fawn. "One of the girls had perhaps better go up
and show you your room.--I am very much afraid about it," said Lady Fawn
to her daughter Amelia. Amelia replied only by shaking her head.

On the Tuesday morning there came a note from Lord Fawn to his lady love.
Of course the letter was not shown, but Lizzie received it at the
breakfast table, and read it with many little smiles and signs of
satisfaction. And then she gave out various little statements as having
been made in that letter. He says this, and he says that, and he is coming
here, and going there, and he will do one thing, and he won't do the
other. We have often seen young ladies crowing over their lovers' letters,
and it was pleasant to see Lizzie crowing over hers. And yet there was but
very little in the letter. Lord Fawn told her that what with the House and
what with the Office, he could not get down to Richmond before Saturday;
but that on Saturday he would come. Then he signed himself "Yours
affectionately, Fawn." Lizzie did her crowing very prettily. The outward
show of it was there to perfection, so that the Fawn girls really believed
that their brother had written an affectionate lover's letter. Inwardly
Lizzie swore to herself, as she read the cold words with indignation, that
the man should not escape her.

The days went by very tediously. On the Wednesday and the Friday Lady
Eustace made an excuse of going up to town, and insisted on taking the
unfortunate Augusta with her. There was no real reason for these journeys
to London, unless that glance which on each occasion was given to the
contents of the iron case was a real reason. The diamonds were safe, and
Miss Macnulty was enjoying herself. On the Friday Lizzie proposed to
Augusta that they should jointly make a raid upon the member of Her
Majesty's Government at his office; but Augusta positively refused to take
such a step. "I know he would be angry," pleaded Augusta.

"Pshaw! who cares for his anger?" said Lizzie. But the visit was not made.

On the Saturday--the Saturday which was to bring Lord Fawn down to dinner
--another most unexpected visitor made his appearance. At about three
o'clock Frank Greystock was at Fawn Court. Now it was certainly understood
that Mr. Greystock had been told not to come to Fawn Court as long as Lucy
Morris was there. "Dear Mr. Greystock, I'm sure you will take what I say
as I mean it," Lady Fawn had whispered to him. "You know how attached we
all are to our dear little Lucy. Perhaps you know----." There had been
more of it; but the meaning of it all was undoubtedly this, that Frank was
not to pay visits to Lucy Morris at Fawn Court. Now he had come to see his
cousin Lizzie Eustace.

On this occasion Lady Fawn, with Amelia and two of the other girls, were
out in the carriage. The unfortunate Augusta had been left at home with
her bosom friend; while Cecilia and Nina were supposed to be talking
French with Lucy Morris. They were all out in the grounds, sitting upon
the benches, and rambling among the shrubberies, when of a sudden Frank
Greystock was in the midst of them. Lizzie's expression of joy at seeing
her cousin was almost as great as though he had been in fact a brother.
She ran up to him and grasped his hand, and hung on his arm, and looked up
into his face, and then burst into tears. But the tears were not violent
tears. There were just three sobs, and two bright eyes full of water, and
a lace handkerchief, and then a smile. "Oh, Frank," she said, "it does
make one think so of old times." Augusta had by this time been almost
persuaded to believe in her--though the belief by no means made the poor
young woman happy. Frank thought that his cousin looked very well, and
said something as to Lord Fawn being "the happiest fellow going." "I hope
I shall make him happy," said Lizzie, clasping her hands together.

Lucy meanwhile was standing in the circle with the others. It never
occurred to her that it was her duty to run away from the man she loved.
She had shaken hands with him, and felt something of affection in his
pressure. She did not believe that his visit was made entirely to his
cousin, and had no idea at the moment of disobeying Lady Fawn. During the
last few days she had been thrown very much with her old friend Lizzie,
and had been treated by the future peeress with many signs of almost
sisterly affection. "Dear Lucy," Lizzie had said, "you can understand me.
These people--oh, they are so good, but they can't understand me." Lucy
had expressed a hope that Lord Fawn understood her. "Oh, Lord Fawn--well,
yes; perhaps--I don't know. It so often happens that one's husband is the
last person to understand one."

"If I thought so, I wouldn't marry him," said Lucy.

"Frank Greystock will understand you," said Lizzie. It was indeed true
that Lucy did understand something of her wealthy friend's character, and
was almost ashamed of the friendship. With Lizzie Greystock she had never
sympathised, and Lizzie Eustace had always been distasteful to her. She
already felt that the less she should see of Lizzie Fawn the better she
should like it.

Before an hour was over Frank Greystock was walking round the shrubberies
with Lucy--and was walking with Lucy alone. It was undoubtedly the fact
that Lady Eustace had contrived that it should be so. The unfitness of the
thing recommended it to her. Frank could hardly marry a wife without a
shilling. Lucy would certainly not think at all of shillings. Frank, as
Lizzie knew, had been almost at her feet within the last fortnight, and
might, in some possible emergency, be there again. In the midst of such
circumstances nothing could be better than that Frank and Lucy should be
thrown together. Lizzie regarded all this as romance. Poor Lady Fawn, had
she known it all, would have called it diabolical wickedness and inhuman
cruelty.

"Well, Lucy, what do you think of it?" Frank Greystock said to her.

"Think of what, Mr. Greystock?"

"You know what I mean--this marriage?"

"How should I be able to think? I have never seen them together. I suppose
Lord Fawn isn't very rich. She is rich. And then she is very beautiful.
Don't you think her very beautiful?"

"Sometimes exquisitely lovely."

"Everybody says so, and I am sure it is the fact. Do you know--but perhaps
you'll think I am envious."

"If I thought you envious of Lizzie, I should have to think you very
foolish at the same time."

"I don't know what that means"--she did know well enough what it meant--
"but sometimes to me she is almost frightful to look at."

"In what way?"

"Oh, I can't tell you. She looks like a beautiful animal that you are
afraid to caress for fear it should bite you--an animal that would be
beautiful if its eyes were not so restless and its teeth so sharp and so
white."

"How very odd."

"Why odd, Mr. Greystock?"

"Because I feel exactly in the same way about her. I am not in the least
afraid that she'll bite me; and as for caressing the animal--that kind of
caressing which you mean--it seems to me to be just what she's made for.
But I do feel sometimes that she is like a cat."

"Something not quite so tame as a cat," said Lucy.

"Nevertheless she is very lovely, and very clever. Sometimes I think her
the most beautiful woman I ever saw in the world."

"Do you, indeed?"

"She will be immensely run after as Lady Fawn. When she pleases she can
make her own house quite charming. I never knew a woman who could say
pretty things to so many people at once."

"You are making her out to be a paragon of perfection, Mr. Greystock."

"And when you add to all the rest that she has four thousand a year, you
must admit that Lord Fawn is a lucky man."

"I have said nothing against it."

"Four thousand a year is a very great consideration, Lucy."

Lucy for a while said nothing. She was making up her mind that she would
say nothing--that she would make no reply indicative of any feeling on her
part. But she was not sufficiently strong to keep her resolution. "I
wonder, Mr. Greystock," she said, "that you did not attempt to win the
great prize yourself. Cousins do marry."

He had thought of attempting it, and at this moment he would not lie to
her. "The cousinship had nothing to do with it," he said.

"Perhaps you did think of it."

"I did, Lucy. Yes, I did. Thank God, I only thought of it." She could not
refrain herself from looking up into his face and clasping her hands
together. A woman never so dearly loves a man as when he confesses that he
has been on the brink of a great crime, but has refrained and has not
committed it. "I did think of it. I am not telling you that she would have
taken me. I have no reason whatever for thinking so."

"I am sure she would," said Lucy, who did not in the least know what words
she was uttering.

"It would have been simply for her money--her money and her beauty. It
would not have been because I love her."

"Never--never ask a girl to marry you unless you love her, Mr. Greystock."

"Then there is only one that I can ever ask," said he. There was nothing,
of course, that she could say to this. If he did not choose to go further,
she was not bound to understand him. But would he go further? She felt at
the moment that an open declaration of his love to herself would make her
happy forever, even though it should be accompanied by an assurance that
he could not marry her. If they only knew each other--that it was so
between them--that, she thought, would be enough for her. And as for him--
if a woman could bear such a position, surely he might bear it. "Do you
know who that one is?" he asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"Lucy, is that true?"

"What does it matter?"

"Lucy; look at me, Lucy," and he put his hand upon her arm.

"No, no, no," she said.

"I love you so well, Lucy, that I never can love another. I have thought
of many women, but could never even think of one as a woman to love except
you. I have sometimes fancied I could marry for money and position, to
help myself on in the world by means of a wife; but when my mind has run
away with me, to revel amidst ideas of feminine sweetness, you have
always--always been the heroine of the tale, as the mistress of the happy
castle in the air."

"Have I?" she asked.

"Always, always. As regards this," and he struck himself on the breast,
"no man was ever more constant. Though I don't think much of myself as a
man, I know a woman when I see her." But he did not ask her to be his
wife; nor did he wait at Fawn Court till Lady Fawn had come back with the
carriage.




CHAPTER XIII

SHOWING WHAT FRANK GREYSTOCK DID


Frank Greystock escaped from the dovecote before Lady Fawn had returned.
He had not made his visit to Richmond with any purpose of seeing Lucy
Morris, or of saying to her when he did see her anything special--of
saying anything that should, or anything that should not, have been said.
He had gone there, in truth, simply because his cousin had asked him, and
because it was almost a duty on his part to see his cousin on the
momentous occasion of this new engagement. But he had declared to himself
that old Lady Fawn was a fool, and that to see Lucy again would be very
pleasant. "See her; of course I'll see her," he had said. "Why should I be
prevented from seeing her?" Now he had seen her, and as he returned by the
train to London, he acknowledged to himself that it was no longer in his
power to promote his fortune by marriage. He had at last said that to Lucy
which made it impossible for him to offer his hand to any other woman. He
had not, in truth, asked her to be his wife; but he had told her that he
loved her, and could never love any other woman. He had asked for no
answer to this assurance, and then he had left her.

In the course of that afternoon he did question himself as to his conduct
to this girl, and subjected himself to some of the rigours of a cross-
examination. He was not a man who could think of a girl as the one human
being whom he loved above all others, and yet look forward with equanimity
to the idea of doing her an injury. He could understand that a man unable
to marry should be reticent as to his feelings, supposing him to have been
weak enough to have succumbed to a passion which could only mar his own
prospects. He was frank enough in owning to himself that he had been thus
weak. The weakness had come upon himself early in life, and was there, an
established fact. The girl was to him unlike any other girl, or any man.
There was to him a sweetness in her companionship which he could not
analyse. She was not beautiful. She had none of the charms of fashion. He
had never seen her well dressed, according to the ideas of dress which he
found to be prevailing in the world. She was a little thing, who, as a
man's wife, could attract no attention by figure, form, or outward manner;
one who had quietly submitted herself to the position of a governess, and
who did not seem to think that in doing so she obtained less than her due.
But yet he knew her to be better than all the rest. For him, at any rate,
she was better than all the rest. Her little hand was cool and sweet to
him. Sometimes, when he was heated and hard at work, he would fancy how it
would be with him if she were by him, and would lay it on his brow. There
was a sparkle in her eye that had to him more of sympathy in it than could
be conveyed by all the other eyes in the world. There was an expression in
her mouth when she smiled which was more eloquent to him than any sound.
There was a reality and a truth about her which came home to him, and made
themselves known to him as firm rocks which could not be shaken. He had
never declared to himself that deceit or hypocrisy in a woman was
especially abominable. As a rule he looked for it in women, and would say
that some amount of affectation was necessary to a woman's character. He
knew that his cousin Lizzie was a little liar--that she was, as Lucy had
said, a pretty animal that would turn and bite; and yet he liked his
cousin Lizzie. He did not want women to be perfect, so he would say. But
Lucy Morris, in his eyes, was perfect, and when he told her that she was
ever the queen who reigned in those castles in the air which he built, as
others build them, he told her no more than the truth.

He had fallen into these feelings, and could not now avoid them, or be
quit of them; but he could have been silent respecting them. He knew that
in former days, down at Bobsborough, he had not been altogether silent.
When he had first seen her at Fawn Court he had not been altogether
silent. But he had been warned away from Fawn Court, and in that very
warning there was conveyed, as it were, an absolution from the effect of
words hitherto spoken. Though he had called Lady Fawn an old fool, he had
known that it was so--had, after a fashion, perceived her wisdom--and had
regarded himself as a man free to decide, without disgrace, that he might
abandon ideas of ecstatic love and look out for a rich wife. Presuming
himself to be reticent for the future in reference to his darling Lucy, he
might do as he pleased with himself. Thus there had come a moment in which
he had determined that he would ask his rich cousin to marry him. In that
little project he had been interrupted, and the reader knows what had come
of it. Lord Fawn's success had not in the least annoyed him. He had only
half resolved in regard to his cousin. She was very beautiful no doubt,
and there was her income; but he also knew that those teeth would bite and
that those claws would scratch. But Lord Fawn's success had given a turn
to his thoughts, and had made him think, for a moment, that if a man
loved, he should be true to his love. The reader also knows what had come
of that--how at last he had not been reticent. He had not asked Lucy to be
his wife; but he had said that which made it impossible that he should
marry any other woman without dishonour.

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