Lady Linlithgow's Mission
"Lady Linlithgow!"--said Frank Greystock, holding up both his hands.
"Yes, indeed!" said Miss Macnulty. "I did not speak to her, but I saw
her. She has sent her--love to Lady Eustace, and begs that she will
see her."
Lady Eustace had been so surprised by the announcement that hitherto
she had not spoken a word. The quarrel between her and her aunt
had been of such a nature that it had seemed to be impossible that
the old countess should come to Mount Street. Lizzie had certainly
behaved very badly to her aunt;--about as badly as a young woman
could behave to an old woman. She had accepted bread, and shelter,
and the very clothes on her back from her aunt's bounty, and had
rejected even the hand of her benefactress the first moment that she
had bread, and shelter, and clothes of her own. And here was Lady
Linlithgow down-stairs in the parlour, and sending up her love to her
niece! "I won't see her!" said Lizzie.
"You had better see her," said Frank.
"I can't see her!" said Lizzie. "Good gracious, my dear--what has she
come for?"
"She says it's very important," said Miss Macnulty.
"Of course you must see her," said Frank. "Let me get out of the
house, and then tell the servant to show her up at once. Don't be
weak now, Lizzie, and I'll come and find out all about it to-morrow."
"Mind you do," said Lizzie. Then Frank took his departure, and Lizzie
did as she was bidden. "You remain in here, Julia," she said,--"so as
to be near if I want you. She shall come into the front room." Then,
absolutely shaking with fear of the approaching evil, she took her
seat in the largest drawing-room. There was still a little delay.
Time was given to Frank Greystock to get away, and to do so without
meeting Lady Linlithgow in the passage. The message was conveyed by
Miss Macnulty to the servant, and the same servant opened the front
door for Frank before he delivered it. Lady Linlithgow, too, though
very strong, was old. She was slow, or perhaps it might more properly
be said she was stately in her movements. She was one of those old
women who are undoubtedly old women,--who in the remembrance of
younger people seem always to have been old women,--but on whom old
age appears to have no debilitating effects. If the hand of Lady
Linlithgow ever trembled, it trembled from anger;--if her foot ever
faltered, it faltered for effect. In her way Lady Linlithgow was
a very powerful human being. She knew nothing of fear, nothing of
charity, nothing of mercy, and nothing of the softness of love. She
had no imagination. She was worldly, covetous, and not unfrequently
cruel. But she meant to be true and honest, though she often failed
in her meaning;--and she had an idea of her duty in life. She was not
self-indulgent. She was as hard as an oak post,--but then she was
also as trustworthy. No human being liked her;--but she had the good
word of a great many human beings. At great cost to her own comfort
she had endeavoured to do her duty to her niece, Lizzie Greystock,
when Lizzie was homeless. Undoubtedly Lizzie's bed, while it had been
spread under her aunt's roof, had not been one of roses; but such as
it had been, she had endured to occupy it while it served her needs.
She had constrained herself to bear her aunt;--but from the moment
of her escape she had chosen to reject her aunt altogether. Now her
aunt's heavy step was heard upon the stairs! Lizzie also was a brave
woman after a certain fashion. She could dare to incur a great danger
for an adequate object. But she was too young as yet to have become
mistress of that persistent courage which was Lady Linlithgow's
peculiar possession.
When the countess entered the drawing-room Lizzie rose upon her
legs, but did not come forward from her chair. The old woman was not
tall;--but her face was long, and at the same time large, square
at the chin and square at the forehead, and gave her almost an
appearance of height. Her nose was very prominent, not beaked, but
straight and strong, and broad at the bridge, and of a dark-red
colour. Her eyes were sharp and grey. Her mouth was large, and over
it there was almost beard enough for a young man's moustache. Her
chin was firm, and large, and solid. Her hair was still brown, and
was only just grizzled in parts. Nothing becomes an old woman like
grey hair, but Lady Linlithgow's hair would never be grey. Her
appearance on the whole was not pre-possessing, but it gave one
an idea of honest, real strength. What one saw was not buckram,
whalebone, paint, and false hair. It was all human,--hardly
feminine, certainly not angelic, with perhaps a hint in the other
direction,--but a human body, and not a thing of pads and patches.
Lizzie, as she saw her aunt, made up her mind for the combat. Who is
there that has lived to be a man or woman, and has not experienced
a moment in which a combat has impended, and a call for such sudden
courage has been necessary? Alas!--sometimes the combat comes, and
the courage is not there. Lady Eustace was not at her ease as she saw
her aunt enter the room. "Oh, come ye in peace, or come ye in war?"
she would have said had she dared. Her aunt had sent up her love,--if
the message had been delivered aright; but what of love could there
be between the two? The countess dashed at once to the matter in
hand, making no allusion to Lizzie's ungrateful conduct to herself.
"Lizzie," she said, "I've been asked to come to you by Mr.
Camperdown. I'll sit down, if you please."
"Oh, certainly, Aunt Penelope. Mr. Camperdown!"
"Yes;--Mr. Camperdown. You know who he is. He has been with me
because I am your nearest relation. So I am, and therefore I have
come. I don't like it, I can tell you."
"As for that, Aunt Penelope, you've done it to please yourself," said
Lizzie, in a tone of insolence with which Lady Linlithgow had been
familiar in former days.
"No, I haven't, miss. I haven't come for my own pleasure at all.
I have come for the credit of the family, if any good can be done
towards saving it. You've got your husband's diamonds locked up
somewhere, and you must give them back."
"My husband's diamonds were my diamonds," said Lizzie stoutly.
"They are family diamonds, Eustace diamonds, heirlooms,--old property
belonging to the Eustaces, just like their estates. Sir Florian
didn't give 'em away, and couldn't, and wouldn't if he could. Such
things ain't given away in that fashion. It's all nonsense, and you
must give them up."
"Who says so?"
"I say so."
"That's nothing, Aunt Penelope."
"Nothing, is it? You'll see. Mr. Camperdown says so. All the world
will say so. If you don't take care, you'll find yourself brought
into a court of law, my dear, and a jury will say so. That's what it
will come to. What good will they do you? You can't sell them;--and
as a widow you can't wear 'em. If you marry again, you wouldn't
disgrace your husband by going about showing off the Eustace
diamonds! But you don't know anything about 'proper feelings.'"
"I know every bit as much as you do, Aunt Penelope, and I don't want
you to teach me."
"Will you give up the jewels to Mr. Camperdown?"
"No--I won't."
"Or to the jewellers?"
"No; I won't. I mean to--keep them--for--my child." Then there came
forth a sob, and a tear, and Lizzie's handkerchief was held to her
eyes.
"Your child! Wouldn't they be kept properly for him, and for the
family, if the jewellers had them? I don't believe you care about
your child."
"Aunt Penelope, you had better take care."
"I shall say just what I think, Lizzie. You can't frighten me. The
fact is, you are disgracing the family you have married into, and as
you are my niece--"
"I'm not disgracing anybody. You are disgracing everybody."
"As you are my niece, I have undertaken to come to you and to tell
you that if you don't give 'em up within a week from this time,
they'll proceed against you for--stealing 'em!" Lady Linlithgow, as
she uttered this terrible threat, bobbed her head at her niece in a
manner calculated to add very much to the force of her words. The
words, and tone, and gesture combined were, in truth, awful.
"I didn't steal them. My husband gave them to me with his own hands."
"You wouldn't answer Mr. Camperdown's letters, you know. That alone
will condemn you. After that there isn't a word to be said about
it;--not a word. Mr. Camperdown is the family lawyer, and when he
writes to you letter after letter you take no more notice of him
than a--dog!" The old woman was certainly very powerful. The way in
which she pronounced that last word did make Lady Eustace ashamed of
herself. "Why didn't you answer his letters, unless you knew you were
in the wrong? Of course you knew you were in the wrong."
"No; I didn't. A woman isn't obliged to answer everything that is
written to her."
"Very well! You just say that before the judge! for you'll have to go
before a judge. I tell you, Lizzie Greystock, or Eustace, or whatever
your name is, it's downright picking and stealing. I suppose you want
to sell them."
"I won't stand this, Aunt Penelope!" said Lizzie, rising from her
seat.
"You must stand it;--and you'll have to stand worse than that. You
don't suppose Mr. Camperdown got me to come here for nothing. If you
don't want to be made out to be a thief before all the world--"
"I won't stand it!" shrieked Lizzie. "You have no business to come
here and say such things to me. It's my house."
"I shall say just what I please."
"Miss Macnulty, come in." And Lizzie threw open the door, hardly
knowing how the very weak ally whom she now invoked could help her,
but driven by the stress of the combat to seek assistance somewhere.
Miss Macnulty, who was seated near the door, and who had necessarily
heard every word of the conversation, had no alternative but to
appear. Of all human beings Lady Linlithgow was to her the most
terrible, and yet, after a fashion, she loved the old woman. Miss
Macnulty was humble, cowardly, and subservient; but she was not a
fool, and she understood the difference between truth and falsehood.
She had endured fearful things from Lady Linlithgow; but she knew
that there might be more of sound protection in Lady Linlithgow's
real wrath than in Lizzie's pretended affection.
"So you are there, are you?" said the countess.
"Yes;--I am here, Lady Linlithgow."
"Listening, I suppose. Well;--so much the better. You know well
enough, and you can tell her. You ain't a fool, though I suppose
you'll be afraid to open your mouth."
"Julia," said Lady Eustace, "will you have the kindness to see that
my aunt is shown to her carriage. I cannot stand her violence, and I
will go up-stairs." So saying she made her way very gracefully into
the back drawing-room, whence she could escape to her bed-room.
But her aunt fired a last shot at her. "Unless you do as you're bid,
Lizzie, you'll find yourself in prison as sure as eggs!" Then, when
her niece was beyond hearing, she turned to Miss Macnulty. "I suppose
you've heard about these diamonds, Macnulty?"
"I know she's got them, Lady Linlithgow."
"She has no more right to them than you have. I suppose you're afraid
to tell her so, lest she should turn you out;--but it's well she
should know it. I've done my duty. Never mind about the servant. I'll
find my way out of the house." Nevertheless the bell was rung, and
the countess was shown to her carriage with proper consideration.
The two ladies went to the opera, and it was not till after their
return, and just as they were going to bed, that anything further was
said about either the necklace or the visit. Miss Macnulty would not
begin the subject, and Lizzie purposely postponed it. But not for a
moment had it been off Lady Eustace's mind. She did not care much for
music, though she professed to do so,--and thought that she did. But
on this night, had she at other times been a slave to St. Cecilia,
she would have been free from that thraldom. The old woman's threats
had gone into her very heart's blood. Theft, and prison, and juries,
and judges had been thrown at her head so violently that she was
almost stunned. Could it really be the case that they would prosecute
her for stealing? She was Lady Eustace, and who but Lady Eustace
should have these diamonds or be allowed to wear them? Nobody could
say that Sir Florian had not given them to her. It could not, surely,
be brought against her as an actual crime that she had not answered
Mr. Camperdown's letters? And yet she was not sure. Her ideas about
law and judicial proceedings were very vague. Of what was wrong and
what was right she had a distinct notion. She knew well enough that
she was endeavouring to steal the Eustace diamonds; but she did not
in the least know what power there might be in the law to prevent, or
to punish her for the intended theft. She knew well that the thing
was not really her own; but there were, as she thought, so many
points in her favour, that she felt it to be a cruelty that any one
should grudge her the plunder. Was not she the only Lady Eustace
living? As to these threats from Mr. Camperdown and Lady Linlithgow,
she felt certain they would be used against her whether they were
true or false. She would break her heart should she abandon her
prey and afterwards find that Mr. Camperdown would have been wholly
powerless against her had she held on to it. But then who would tell
her the truth? She was sharp enough to understand, or at any rate
suspicious enough to believe, that Mr. Mopus would be actuated by no
other desire in the matter than that of running up a bill against
her. "My dear," she said to Miss Macnulty, as they went up-stairs
after the opera, "come into my room a moment. You heard all that my
aunt said?"
"I could not help hearing. You told me to stay there, and the door
was ajar."
"I wanted you to hear. Of course what she said was the greatest
nonsense in the world."
"I don't know."
"When she talked about my being taken to prison for not answering
a lawyer's letter, that must be nonsense?"
"I suppose that was."
"And then she is such a ferocious old termagant,--such an old
vulturess. Now isn't she a ferocious old termagant?" Lizzie paused
for an answer, desirous that her companion should join her in her
enmity against her aunt, but Miss Macnulty was unwilling to say
anything against one who had been her protectress, and might,
perhaps, be her protectress again. "You don't mean to say you don't
hate her?" said Lizzie. "If you didn't hate her after all she has
done to you, I should despise you. Don't you hate her?"
"I think she's a very upsetting old woman," said Miss Macnulty.
"Oh, you poor creature! Is that all you dare to say about her?"
"I'm obliged to be a poor creature," said Miss Macnulty, with a red
spot on each of her cheeks.
Lady Eustace understood this, and relented. "But you needn't be
afraid," she said, "to tell me what you think."
"About the diamonds, you mean?"
"Yes; about the diamonds."
"You have enough without them. I'd give 'em up for peace and quiet."
That was Miss Macnulty's advice.
"No;--I haven't enough;--or nearly enough. I've had to buy ever so
many things since my husband died. They've done all they could to be
hard to me. They made me pay for the very furniture at Portray." This
wasn't true; but it was true that Lizzie had endeavoured to palm off
on the Eustace estate bills for new things which she had ordered for
her own country-house. "I haven't near enough. I am in debt already.
People talked as though I were the richest woman in the world; but
when it comes to be spent, I ain't rich. Why should I give them up if
they're my own?"
"Not if they're your own."
"If I give you a present and then die, people can't come and take it
away afterwards because I didn't put it into my will. There'd be no
making presents like that at all." This Lizzie said with an evident
conviction in the strength of her argument.
"But this necklace is so very valuable."
"That can't make a difference. If a thing is a man's own he can give
it away;--not a house, or a farm, or a wood, or anything like that;
but a thing that he can carry about with him,--of course he can give
it away."
"But perhaps Sir Florian didn't mean to give it for always,"
suggested Miss Macnulty.
"But perhaps he did. He told me that they were mine, and I shall
keep them. So that's the end of it. You can go to bed now." And Miss
Macnulty went to bed.
Lizzie, as she sat thinking of it, owned to herself that no help was
to be expected in that quarter. She was not angry with Miss Macnulty,
who was, almost of necessity, a poor creature. But she was convinced
more strongly than ever that some friend was necessary to her who
should not be a poor creature. Lord Fawn, though a peer, was a poor
creature. Frank Greystock she believed to be as strong as a house.