"I'll Give You a Hundred Guinea Brooch"
There had been another "affair" in the house that morning, though of
a nature very different to the "rumpus" which had occurred between
Lord Fawn and Lady Eustace. Lady Fawn had been closeted with Lucy,
and had expressed her opinion of the impropriety of Frank Greystock's
visit. "I suppose he came to see his cousin," said Lady Fawn, anxious
to begin with some apology for such conduct.
"I cannot tell," said Lucy. "Perhaps he did. I think he said so.
I think he cared more to see me." Then Lady Fawn was obliged to
express her opinion, and she did so, uttering many words of wisdom.
Frank Greystock, had he intended to sacrifice his prospects by a
disinterested marriage, would have spoken out before now. He was old
enough to have made up his mind on such a subject, and he had not
spoken out. He did not mean marriage. That was quite evident to Lady
Fawn;--and her dear Lucy was revelling in hopes which would make her
miserable. If Lucy could only have known of the letter, which was
already her own property though lying in the pillar letter-box in
Fleet Street, and which had not already been sent down and delivered
simply because it was Sunday morning! But she was very brave. "He
does love me," she said. "He told me so."
"Oh, Lucy;--that is worse and worse. A man to tell you that he loves
you, and yet not ask you to be his wife!"
"I am contented," said Lucy. That assertion, however, could hardly
have been true.
"Contented! And did you tell him that you returned his love?"
"He knew it without my telling him," said Lucy. It was so hard upon
her that she should be so interrogated while that letter was lying in
the iron box!
"Dear Lucy, this must not be," said Lady Fawn. "You are preparing for
yourself inexpressible misery."
"I have done nothing wrong, Lady Fawn."
"No, my dear;--no. I do not say you have been wrong. But I think he
is wrong,--so wrong! I call it wicked. I do indeed. For your own sake
you should endeavour to forget him."
"I will never forget him!" said Lucy. "To think of him is everything
to me. He told me I was his Queen, and he shall be my King. I will
be loyal to him always." To poor Lady Fawn this was very dreadful.
The girl persisted in declaring her love for the man, and yet did
not even pretend to think that the man meant to marry her! And this,
too, was Lucy Morris,--of whom Lady Fawn was accustomed to say to her
intimate friends that she had altogether ceased to look upon her as a
governess. "Just one of ourselves, Mrs. Winslow,--and almost as dear
as one of my own girls!" Thus, in the warmth of her heart, she had
described Lucy to a neighbour within the last week. Many more words
of wisdom she spoke, and then she left poor Lucy in no mood for
church. Would she have been in a better mood for the morning service
had she known of the letter in the iron post?
Then Lady Fawn had put on her bonnet and gone down into the hall, and
the "rumpus" had come. After that, everybody in the house knew that
all things were astray. When the girls came home from church, their
brother was gone. Half an hour before dinner Lady Fawn sent the
note up to Lizzie, with a message to say that they would dine at
three,--it being Sunday. Lizzie sent down word that as she was
unwell, she would ask to have just a cup of tea and "something" sent
to her own room. If Lady Fawn would allow her, she would remain
up-stairs with her child. She always made use of her child when
troubles came.
The afternoon was very sad and dreary. Lady Fawn had an interview
with Lady Eustace, but Lizzie altogether refused to listen to any
advice on the subject of the necklace. "It is an affair," she said
haughtily, "in which I must judge for myself,--or with the advice
of my own particular friends. Had Lord Fawn waited until we were
married; then indeed--!"
"But that would have been too late," said Lady Fawn severely.
"He is, at any rate, premature now in laying his commands upon
me," said Lizzie. Lady Fawn, who was perhaps more anxious that
the marriage should be broken off than that the jewels should be
restored, then withdrew; and as she left the room Lizzie clasped her
boy to her bosom. "He, at any rate, is left to me," she said. Lucy
and the Fawn girls went to evening church, and afterwards Lizzie came
down among them when they were at tea. Before she went to bed Lizzie
declared her intention of returning to her own house in Mount Street
on the following day. To this Lady Fawn of course made no objection.
On the next morning there came an event which robbed Lizzie's
departure of some of the importance which might otherwise have
been attached to it. The post-office, with that accuracy in the
performance of its duties for which it is conspicuous among all
offices, caused Lucy's letter to be delivered to her while the
members of the family were sitting round the breakfast table.
Lizzie, indeed, was not there. She had expressed her intention of
breakfasting in her own room, and had requested that a conveyance
might be ready to take her to the 11.30 train. Augusta had been with
her, asking whether anything could be done for her. "I care for
nothing now, except my child," Lizzie had replied. As the nurse and
the lady's maid were both in the room, Augusta, of course, could say
nothing further. That occurred after prayers, and while the tea was
being made. When Augusta reached the breakfast-room, Lucy was cutting
up the loaf of bread, and at the same moment the old butler was
placing a letter immediately under her eyes. She saw the handwriting
and recognised it, but yet she finished cutting the bread. "Lucy, do
give me that hunchy bit," said Nina.
"Hunchy is not in the dictionary," said Cecilia.
"I want it in my plate, and not in the dictionary," said Nina.
Lucy did as she was asked, but her hand trembled as she gave the
hunch, and Lady Fawn saw that her face was crimson. She took the
letter and broke the envelope, and as she drew out the sheet of
paper, she looked up at Lady Fawn. The fate of her whole life was in
her hands, and there she was standing with all their eyes fixed upon
her. She did not even know how to sit down, but, still standing, she
read the first words, and at the last, "Dear, dear Lucy,"--"Yours
ever and always, if you will have me, F. G." She did not want to read
any more of it then. She sat down slowly, put the precious paper back
into its envelope, looked round upon them all, and knew that she was
crimson to the roots of her hair, blushing like a guilty thing.
"Lucy, my dear," said Lady Fawn,--and Lucy at once turned her face
full upon her old friend,--"you have got a letter that agitates you."
"Yes,--I have," she said.
"Go into the book-room. You can come back to breakfast when you have
read it, you know." Thereupon Lucy rose from her seat, and retired
with her treasure into the book-room. But even when she was there she
could not at once read her letter. When the door was closed and she
knew that she was alone she looked at it, and then clasped it tight
between her hands. She was almost afraid to read it lest the letter
itself should contradict the promise which the last words of it had
seemed to convey to her. She went up to the window and stood there
gazing out upon the gravel road, with her hand containing the letter
pressed upon her heart. Lady Fawn had told her that she was preparing
for herself inexpressible misery;--and now there had come to her joy
so absolutely inexpressible! "A man to tell you that he loves you,
and yet not ask you to be his wife!" She repeated to herself Lady
Fawn's words,--and then those other words, "Yours ever and always, if
you will have me!" Have him, indeed! She threw from her, at once, as
vain and wicked and false, all idea of coying her love. She would
leap at his neck if he were there, and tell him that for years he had
been almost her god. And of course he knew it. "If I will have him!
Traitor!" she said to herself, smiling through her tears. Then she
reflected that after all it would be well that she should read the
letter. There might be conditions;--though what conditions could he
propose with which she would not comply? However, she seated herself
in a corner of the room and did read the letter. As she read it, she
hardly understood it all;--but she understood what she wanted to
understand. He asked her to share with him his home. He had spoken
to her that day without forethought;--but mustn't such speech be
the truest and the sweetest of all speeches? "And now I write to
you to ask you to be my wife." Oh, how wrong some people can be in
their judgments! How wrong Lady Fawn had been in hers about Frank
Greystock! "For the last year or two I have lived with this hope
before me." "And so have I," said Lucy. "And so have I;--with that
and no other." "Too great confidence! Traitor," she said again,
smiling and weeping, "yes, traitor; when of course you knew it." "Is
his happiness in my hands? Oh,--then he shall be happy." "Of course I
will tell Lady Fawn at once;--instantly. Dear Lady Fawn! But yet she
has been so wrong. I suppose she will let him come here. But what
does it matter, now that I know it?" "Yours ever and always,--if you
will have me.--F. G." "Traitor, traitor, traitor!" Then she got up
and walked about the room, not knowing what she did, holding the
letter now between her hands, and then pressing it to her lips.
She was still walking about the room when there came a low tap at the
door, and Lady Fawn entered. "There is nothing the matter, Lucy?"
Lucy stood stock still, with her treasure still clasped, smiling,
almost laughing, while the tears ran down her cheeks. "Won't you eat
your breakfast, my dear?" said Lady Fawn.
"Oh, Lady Fawn--oh, Lady Fawn!" said Lucy, rushing into her friend's
arms.
"What is it, Lucy? I think our little wise one has lost her wits."
"Oh, Lady Fawn, he has asked me!"
"Is it Mr. Greystock?"
"Yes;--Mr. Greystock. He has asked me. He has asked me to be his
wife. I thought he loved me. I hoped he did, at least. Oh dear, I did
so hope it! And he does!"
"Has he proposed to you?"
"Yes, Lady Fawn. I told you what he said to me. And then he went and
wrote this. Is he not noble and good,--and so kind? You shall read
it,--but you'll give it me back, Lady Fawn?"
"Certainly I'll give it you back. You don't think I'd rob you of your
lover's letter?"
"Perhaps you might think it right."
"If it is really an offer of marriage--," said Lady Fawn very
seriously.
"It couldn't be more of an offer if he had sat writing it for ever,"
said Lucy as she gave up her letter with confidence. Lady Fawn read
it with leisurely attention, and smiled as she put the paper back
into the envelope. "All the men in the world couldn't say it more
plainly," said Lucy, nodding her head forward.
"I don't think they could," said Lady Fawn. "I never read anything
plainer in my life. I wish you joy with all my heart, Lucy. There is
not a word to be said against him."
"Against him!" said Lucy, who thought that this was very insufficient
praise.
"What I mean is, that when I objected to his coming here I was only
afraid that he couldn't afford,--or would think, you know, that in
his position he couldn't afford to marry a wife without a fortune."
"He may come now, Lady Fawn?"
"Well,--yes; I think so. I shall be glad just to say a word to him.
Of course you are in my hands, and I do love you so dearly, Lucy! I
could not bear that anything but good should happen to you."
"This is good," said Lucy.
"It won't be good, and Mr. Greystock won't think you good, if you
don't come and eat your breakfast." So Lucy was led back into the
parlour, and sipped her tea and crunched her toast, while Lydia came
and stood over her.
"Of course it is from him?" whispered Lydia. Lucy again nodded her
head while she was crunching her toast.
The fact that Mr. Greystock had proposed in form to Lucy Morris
was soon known to all the family, and the news certainly did take
away something from the importance which would otherwise have been
attached to Lizzie's departure. There was not the same awe of
the ceremony, the same dread of some scene, which, but for Frank
Greystock's letter, would have existed. Of course, Lord Fawn's future
matrimonial prospects were to them all an affair of more moment
than those of Lucy; but Lord Fawn himself had gone, and had already
quarrelled with the lady before he went. There was at present nothing
more to be done by them in regard to Lizzie, than just to get rid of
her. But Lucy's good fortune, so unexpected, and by her so frankly
owned as the very best fortune in the world that could have befallen
her, gave an excitement to them all. There could be no lessons that
morning for Nina, and the usual studies of the family were altogether
interrupted. Lady Fawn purred, and congratulated, and gave good
advice, and declared that any other home for Lucy before her marriage
would now be quite out of the question. "Of course it wouldn't do for
you to go even to Clara," said Lady Fawn,--who seemed to think that
there still might be some delay before Frank Greystock would be ready
for his wife. "You know, my dear, that he isn't rich;--not for a
member of Parliament. I suppose he makes a good income, but I have
always heard that he was a little backward when he began. Of course,
you know, nobody need be in a hurry." Then Lucy began to think that
if Frank should wish to postpone his marriage,--say for three or four
years,--she might even yet become a burthen on her friend. "But don't
you be frightened," continued Lady Fawn; "you shall never want a home
as long as I have one to give you. We shall soon find out what are
Mr. Greystock's ideas; and unless he is very unreasonable we'll make
things fit."
Then there came a message to Lucy from Lady Eustace. "If you please,
miss, Lady Eustace will be glad to see you for a minute up in her
room before she starts." So Lucy was torn away from the thoughts of
her own happiness, and taken up-stairs to Lady Eustace. "You have
heard that I am going?" said Lizzie.
"Yes;--I heard you were to go this morning."
"And you have heard why? I'm sure you will not deceive me, Lucy.
Where am I to look for truth, if not to an old, old friend like you?"
"Why should I deceive you, Lizzie?"
"Why, indeed? only that all people do. The world is so false, so
material, so worldly! One gives out one's heart and gets in return
nothing but dust and ashes,--nothing but ashes and dust. Oh, I have
been so disappointed in Lady Fawn!"
"You know she is my dearest friend," said Lucy.
"Psha! I know that you have worked for her like a slave, and that she
gives you but a bare pittance."
"She has been more like a mother to me than anything else," said Lucy
angrily.
"Because you have been tame. It does not suit me to be tame. It is
not my plan to be tame. Have you heard the cause of the disagreement
between Lord Fawn and me?"
"Well,--no."
"Tell the truth, Lucy."
"How dare you tell me to tell the truth? Of course I tell the truth.
I believe it is something about some property which he wants you to
give back to somebody; but I don't know any more."
"Yes, my dear husband, Sir Florian, who understood me,--whom I
idolized,--who seemed to have been made for me,--gave me a present.
Lord Fawn is pleased to say that he does not approve of my keeping
any gift from my late lord. Considering that he intends to live
upon the wealth which Sir Florian was generous enough to bestow
upon me, this does seem to be strange! Of course, I resented such
interference. Would not you have resented it?"
"I don't know," said Lucy, who thought that she could bring herself
to comply with any request made to her by Frank Greystock.
"Any woman who had a spark of spirit would resent it, and I have
resented it. I have told Lord Fawn that I will, on no account, part
with the rich presents which my adored Florian showered upon me in
his generosity. It is not for their richness that I keep them, but
because they are, for his sake, so inexpressibly dear to me. If Lord
Fawn chooses to be jealous of a necklace, he must be jealous." Lucy,
who had, in truth, heard but a small fragment of the story,--just so
much of it as Lydia had learned from the discreet Amelia, who herself
had but a very hazy idea of the facts,--did not quite know how
much of the tale, as it was now told to her, might be true and how
much false. After a certain fashion she and Lizzie Eustace called
themselves friends. But she did not believe her friend to be honest,
and was aware that in some matters her friend would condescend--to
fib. Lizzie's poetry, and romance, and high feelings, had never had
the ring of true soundness in Lucy's ears. But her imagination was
not strong enough to soar to the altitude of the lies which Lizzie
was now telling. She did believe that the property which Lizzie was
called upon to restore was held to be objectionable by Lord Fawn
simply because it had reached Lizzie from the hands of her late
husband. "What do you think of such conduct as that?" asked Lady
Eustace.
"Won't it do if you lock them up instead of wearing them?" asked
Lucy.
"I have never dreamed of wearing them."
"I don't understand about such things," said Lucy, determined not to
impute any blame to one of the Fawn family.
"It is tyranny, sheer tyranny," continued the other, "and he will
find that I am not the woman to yield to it. No. For love I could
give up everything;--but nothing from fear. He has told me in so many
words that he does not intend to go on with his engagement!"
"Has he indeed?"
"But I intend that he shall. If he thinks that I am going to be
thrown over because he takes ideas of that kind into his head, he's
mistaken. He shall know that I'm not to be made a plaything of like
that. I'll tell you what you can do for me, Lucy."
"What can I do for you?"
"There is no one in the world I trust more thoroughly than I do you,"
said Lizzie,--"and hardly any one that I love so well. Think how long
we have known each other! And you may be sure of this;--I always have
been, and always will be, your friend with my cousin Frank."
"I don't want anything of that kind," said Lucy,--"and never did."
"Nobody has so much influence with Frank as I. Just do you write to
me to-morrow, and the next day,--and the day after,--a mere line, you
know, to tell me how the land lies here."
"There would be nothing to tell."
"Yes, there will; ever so much. They will be talking about me every
hour. If you'll be true to me, Lucy, in this business, I'll make you
the handsomest present you ever saw in your life. I'll give you a
hundred-guinea brooch;--I will, indeed. You shall have the money, and
buy it yourself."
"A what!" said Lucy.
"A hundred guineas to do what you please with!"
"You mean thing!" said Lucy. "I didn't think there was a woman so
mean as that in the world. I'm not surprised now at Lord Fawn. Pick
up what I hear, and send it you in letters,--and then be paid money
for it!"
"Why not? It's all to do good."
"How can you have thought to ask me to do such a thing? How can you
bring yourself to think so badly of people? I'd sooner cut my hand
off; and as for you, Lizzie--I think you are mean and wicked to
conceive such a thing. And now good-bye." So saying, she left the
room, giving her dear friend no time for further argument.
Lady Eustace got away that morning, not in time, indeed, for the
11.30 train, but at such an hour as to make it unnecessary that she
should appear at the early dinner. The saying of farewell was very
cold and ceremonious. Of course, there was no word as to any future
visit,--no word as to any future events whatever. They all shook
hands with her, and special injunctions were given to the coachman
to drive her safely to the station. At this ceremony Lucy was not
present. Lydia had asked her to come down and say good-bye; but Lucy
refused. "I saw her in her own room," said Lucy.
"And was it all very affectionate?" Lydia asked.
"Well--no; it was not affectionate at all." This was all that Lucy
said, and thus Lady Eustace completed her visit to Fawn Court.
The letters were taken away for the post at eight o'clock in the
evening, and before that time it was necessary that Lucy should write
to her lover. "Lady Fawn," she said in a whisper, "may I tell him to
come here?"
"Certainly, my dear. You had better tell him to call on me. Of course
he'll see you, too, when he comes."
"I think he'd want to see me," said Lucy, "and I'm sure I should want
to see him!" Then she wrote her answer to Frank's letter. She allowed
herself an hour for the happy task; but though the letter, when
written, was short, the hour hardly sufficed for the writing of it.
"DEAR MR. GREYSTOCK;"--there was matter for her of great
consideration before she could get even so far as this; but, after
biting her pen for ten minutes, during which she pictured to herself
how pleasant it would be to call him Frank when he should have told
her to do so, and had found, upon repeated whispered trials, that of
all names it was the pleasantest to pronounce, she decided upon
refraining from writing it now--
Lady Fawn has seen your letter to me,--the dearest letter
that ever was written,--and she says that you may call
upon _her_. But you mustn't go away without seeing _me
too_.
Then there was great difficulty as to the words to be used by her for
the actual rendering herself up to him as his future wife. At last
the somewhat too Spartan simplicity of her nature prevailed, and the
words were written, very plain and very short.
I love you better than all the world, and I will be your
wife. It shall be the happiness of my life to try to
deserve you.
I am, with all my heart,
Most affectionately your own
LUCY.
When it was written it did not content her. But the hour was over,
and the letters must go. "I suppose it'll do," she said to herself.
"He'll know what it means." And so the letter was sent.