In Hertford Street
During all this time Lucinda Roanoke was engaged to marry Sir Griffin
Tewett, and the lover was an occasional visitor in Hertford Street.
Mrs. Carbuncle was as anxious as ever that the marriage should be
celebrated on the appointed day, and though there had been repeated
quarrels, nothing had as yet taken place to make her despond. Sir
Griffin would make some offensive speech; Lucinda would tell him
that she had no desire ever to see him again; and then the baronet,
usually under the instigation of Lord George, would make some awkward
apology. Mrs. Carbuncle,--whose life at this period was not a
pleasant one,--would behave on such occasions with great patience,
and sometimes with great courage. Lizzie, who in her present
emergency could not bear the idea of losing the assistance of any
friend, was soft and graceful, and even gracious, to the bear. The
bear himself certainly seemed to desire the marriage, though he would
so often give offence which made any prospect of a marriage almost
impossible. But with Sir Griffin, when the prize seemed to be lost,
it again became valuable. He would talk about his passionate love to
Mrs. Carbuncle, and to Lizzie,--and then, when things had been made
straight for him, he would insult them, and neglect Lucinda. To
Lucinda herself, however, he would rarely dare to say such words as
he used daily to the other two ladies in the house. What could have
been the man's own idea of his future married life, how can any
reader be made to understand, or any writer adequately describe! He
must have known that the woman despised him, and hated him. In the
very bottom of his heart he feared her. He had no idea of other
pleasure from her society than what might arise to him from the pride
of having married a beautiful woman. Had she shown the slightest
fondness for him, the slightest fear that she might lose him, the
slightest feeling that she had won a valuable prize in getting him,
he would have scorned her, and jilted her without the slightest
remorse. But the scorn came from her, and it beat him down.
"Yes;--you hate me, and would fain be rid of me; but you have said
that you will be my wife, and you cannot now escape me." Sir Griffin
did not exactly speak such words as these, but he acted them. Lucinda
would bear his presence,--sitting apart from him, silent, imperious,
but very beautiful. People said that she became more handsome from
day to day, and she did so, in spite of her agony. Hers was a face
which could stand such condition of the heart without fading or
sinking under it. She did not weep, or lose her colour, or become
thin. The pretty softness of a girl,--delicate feminine weakness,
or laughing eyes and pouting lips, no one expected from her. Sir
Griffin, in the early days of their acquaintance, had found her to be
a woman with a character for beauty,--and she was now more beautiful
than ever. He probably thought that he loved her; but, at any rate,
he was determined that he would marry her.
He had expressed himself more than once as very angry about this
affair of the jewels. He had told Mrs. Carbuncle that her inmate,
Lady Eustace, was suspected by the police, and that it might be well
that Lady Eustace should be--be made to go, in fact. But it did not
suit Mrs. Carbuncle that Lady Eustace should be made to go;--nor
did it suit Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. Lord George, at Mrs.
Carbuncle's instance, had snubbed Sir Griffin more than once, and
then it came to pass that he was snubbed yet again more violently
than before. He was at the house in Hertford Street on the day of Mr.
Bunfit's visit, some hours after Mr. Bunfit was gone, when Lizzie was
still lying on her bed up-stairs, nearly beaten by the great danger
which had oppressed her. He was told of Mr. Bunfit's visit, and then
again said that he thought that the continued residence of Lady
Eustace beneath that roof was a misfortune. "Would you wish us
to turn her out because her necklace has been stolen?" asked Mrs.
Carbuncle.
"People say very queer things," said Sir Griffin.
"So they do, Sir Griffin," continued Mrs. Carbuncle. "They say such
queer things that I can hardly understand that they should be allowed
to say them. I am told that the police absolutely suggest that Lord
George stole the diamonds."
"That's nonsense."
"No doubt, Sir Griffin. And so is the other nonsense. Do you mean to
tell us that you believe that Lady Eustace stole her own diamonds?"
"I don't see the use of having her here. Situated as I am, I have a
right to object to it."
"Situated as you are, Sir Griffin!" said Lucinda.
"Well;--yes, of course; if we are to be married, I cannot but think a
good deal of the persons you stay with."
"You were very glad to stay yourself with Lady Eustace at Portray,"
said Lucinda.
"I went there to follow you," said Sir Griffin gallantly.
"I wish with all my heart you had stayed away," said Lucinda. At
that moment Lord George was shown into the room, and Miss Roanoke
continued speaking, determined that Lord George should know how the
bear was conducting himself. "Sir Griffin is saying that my aunt
ought to turn Lady Eustace out of the house."
"Not quite that," said Sir Griffin with an attempt at laughter.
"Quite that," said Lucinda. "I don't suppose that he suspects poor
Lady Eustace, but he thinks that my aunt's friend should be like
Caesar's wife, above the suspicion of others."
"If you would mind your own business, Tewett," said Lord George, "it
would be a deal better for us all. I wonder Mrs. Carbuncle does not
turn you out of the room for making such a proposition here. If it
were my room, I would."
"I suppose I can say what I please to Mrs. Carbuncle? Miss Roanoke is
not going to be your wife."
"It is my belief that Miss Roanoke will be nobody's wife,--at any
rate, for the present," said that young lady;--upon which Sir Griffin
left the room, muttering some words which might have been, perhaps,
intended for an adieu. Immediately after this, Lizzie came in, moving
slowly, but without a sound, like a ghost, with pale cheeks and
dishevelled hair, and that weary, worn look of illness which was
become customary with her. She greeted Lord George with a faint
attempt at a smile, and seated herself in a corner of a sofa. She
asked whether he had been told the story of the proposed search, and
then bade her friend Mrs. Carbuncle describe the scene.
"If it goes on like this it will kill me," said Lizzie.
"They are treating me in precisely the same way," said Lord George.
"But think of your strength and of my weakness, Lord George."
"By heavens, I don't know!" said Lord George. "In this matter your
weakness is stronger than any strength of mine. I never was so cut up
in my life. It was a good joke when we talked of the suspicions of
that fellow at Carlisle as we came up by the railway,--but it is no
joke now. I've had men with me, almost asking to search among my
things."
"They have quite asked me!" said Lizzie piteously.
"You;--yes. But there's some reason in that. These infernal diamonds
did belong to you, or, at any rate, you had them. You are the last
person known to have seen them. Even if you had them still, you'd
only have what you call your own." Lizzie looked at him with all her
eyes and listened to him with all her ears. "But what the mischief
can I have had to do with them?"
"It's very hard upon you," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Unless I stole them," continued Lord George.
"Which is so absurd, you know," said Lizzie.
"That a pig-headed provincial fool should have taken me for a
midnight thief, did not disturb me much. I don't think I am very
easily annoyed by what other people think of me. But these fellows, I
suppose, were sent here by the head of the metropolitan police; and
everybody knows that they have been sent. Because I was civil enough
to you women to look after you coming up to town, and because one
of you was careless enough to lose her jewels, I--I am to be talked
about all over London as the man who took them!" This was not spoken
with much courtesy to the ladies present. Lord George had dropped
that customary chivalry of manner which, in ordinary life, makes it
to be quite out of the question that a man shall be uncivil to a
woman. He had escaped from conventional usage into rough, truthful
speech, under stress from the extremity of the hardship to which he
had been subjected. And the women understood it and appreciated it,
and liked it rather than otherwise. To Lizzie it seemed fitting that
a Corsair so circumstanced should be as uncivil as he pleased; and
Mrs. Carbuncle had long been accustomed to her friend's moods.
"They can't really think it," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Somebody thinks it. I am told that your particular friend, Lord
Fawn,"--this he said, specially addressing Lizzie,--"has expressed a
strong opinion that I carry about the necklace always in my pocket. I
trust to have the opportunity of wringing his neck some day."
"I do so wish you would," said Lizzie.
"I shall not lose a chance if I can get it. Before all this occurred
I should have said of myself that nothing of the kind could put me
out. I don't think there is a man in the world cares less what people
say of him than I do. I am as indifferent to ordinary tittle-tattle
as a rhinoceros. But, by George,--when it comes to stealing ten
thousand pounds' worth of diamonds, and the delicate attentions
of all the metropolitan police, one begins to feel that one is
vulnerable. When I get up in the morning, I half feel that I shall be
locked up before night, and I can see in the eyes of every man I meet
that he takes me for the prince of burglars!"
"And it is all my fault," said Lizzie.
"I wish the diamonds had been thrown into the sea," said Mrs.
Carbuncle.
"What do you think about them yourself?" asked Lucinda.
"I don't know what to think. I'm at a dead loss. You know that man
Mr. Benjamin, Lady Eustace?" Lizzie, with a little start, answered
that she did,--that she had had dealings with him before her
marriage, and had once owed him two or three hundred pounds. As the
man's name had been mentioned, she thought it better to own as much.
"So he tells me. Now, in all London, I don't suppose there is a
greater rascal than Benjamin."
"I didn't know that," said Lizzie.
"But I did; and with that rascal I have had money dealings for the
last six or seven years. He has cashed bills for me, and has my name
to bills now,--and Sir Griffin's too. I'm half inclined to think that
he has got the diamonds."
"Do you indeed?" said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Mr. Benjamin!" said Lizzie.
"And he returns the compliment."
"How does he return it?" asked Mrs. Carbuncle.
"He either thinks that I've got 'em, or he wants to make me believe
that he thinks so. He hasn't dared to say it;--but that's his
intention. Such an opinion from such a man on such a subject would be
quite a compliment. And I feel it. But yet it troubles me. You know
that greasy, Israelitish smile of his, Lady Eustace." Lizzie nodded
her head and tried to smile. "When I asked him yesterday about the
diamonds, he leered at me and rubbed his hands. 'It's a pretty little
game;--ain't it, Lord George?' he said. I told him that I thought it
a very bad game, and that I hoped the police would have the thief and
the necklace soon. 'It's been managed a deal too well for that, Lord
George;--don't you think so?'" Lord George mimicked the Jew as he
repeated the words, and the ladies, of course, laughed. But poor
Lizzie's attempt at laughter was very sorry. "I told him to his face
that I thought he had them among his treasures. 'No, no, no, Lord
George,' he said, and seemed quite to enjoy the joke. If he's got
them himself, he can't think that I have them;--but if he has not, I
don't doubt but he believes that I have. And I'll tell you another
person who suspects me."
"What fools they are," said Lizzie.
"I don't know how that may be. Sir Griffin, Lucinda, isn't at all
sure but what I have them in my pocket."
"I can believe anything of him," said Lucinda.
"And it seems he can believe anything of me. I shall begin to think
soon that I did take them, myself,--or, at any rate, that I ought to
have done so. I wonder what you three women think of it. If you do
think I've got 'em, don't scruple to say so. I'm quite used to it,
and it won't hurt me any further." The ladies again laughed. "You
must have your suspicions," continued he.
"I suppose some of the London thieves did get them," said Mrs.
Carbuncle.
"The police say the box was empty," said Lord George.
"How can the police know?" asked Lucinda. "They weren't there to see.
Of course, the thieves would say that they didn't take them."
"What do you think, Lady Eustace?"
"I don't know what to think. Perhaps Mr. Camperdown did it."
"Or the Lord Chancellor," said Lord George. "One is just as likely
as the other. I wish I could get at what you really think. The whole
thing would be so complete if all you three suspected me. I can't get
out of it all by going to Paris or Kamschatka, as I should have half
a dozen detectives on my heels wherever I went. I must brazen it out
here; and the worst of it is, that I feel that a look of guilt is
creeping over me. I have a sort of conviction growing upon me that I
shall be taken up and tried, and that a jury will find me guilty. I
dream about it; and if,--as is probable,--it drives me mad, I'm sure
that I shall accuse myself in my madness. There's a fascination about
it that I can't explain or escape. I go on thinking how I would have
done it if I did do it. I spend hours in calculating how much I would
have realised, and where I would have found my market. I couldn't
keep myself from asking Benjamin the other day how much they would be
worth to him."
"What did he say?" asked Lizzie, who sat gazing upon the Corsair, and
who was now herself fascinated. Lord George was walking about the
room, then sitting for a moment in one chair and again in another,
and after a while leaning on the mantelpiece. In his speaking he
addressed himself almost exclusively to Lizzie, who could not keep
her eyes from his.
"He grinned greasily," said the Corsair, "and told me they had
already been offered to him once before by you."
"That's false," said Lizzie.
"Very likely. And then he said that no doubt they'd fall into his
hands some day. 'Wouldn't it be a game, Lord George,' he said, 'if,
after all, they should be no more than paste?' That made me think
he had got them, and that he'd get paste diamonds put into the same
setting,--and then give them up with some story of his own making.
'You'd know whether they were paste or not; wouldn't you, Lord
George?' he asked." The Corsair, as he repeated Mr. Benjamin's words,
imitated the Jew's manner so well, that he made Lizzie shudder.
"While I was there, a detective named Gager came in."
"The same man who came here, perhaps," suggested Mrs. Carbuncle.
"I think not. He seemed to be quite intimate with Mr. Benjamin, and
went on at once about the diamonds. Benjamin said that they'd made
their way over to Paris, and that he'd heard of them. I found myself
getting quite intimate with Mr. Gager, who seemed hardly to scruple
at showing that he thought that Benjamin and I were confederates. Mr.
Camperdown has offered four hundred pounds reward for the jewels,--to
be paid on their surrender to the hands of Mr. Garnett, the jeweller.
Gager declared that, if any ordinary thief had them, they would be
given up at once for that sum."
"That's true, I suppose," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"How would the ordinary thief get his money without being detected?
Who would dare to walk into Garnett's shop with the diamonds in
his hands and ask for the four hundred pounds? Besides, they have
been sold to some one,--and, as I believe, to my dear friend, Mr.
Benjamin. 'I suppose you ain't a-going anywhere just at present, Lord
George?' said that fellow Gager. 'What the devil's that to you?' I
asked him. He just laughed and shook his head. I don't doubt but
that there's a policeman about waiting till I leave this house;--or
looking at me now with a magnifying glass from the windows at the
other side. They've photographed me while I'm going about, and
published a list of every hair on my face in the 'Hue and Cry.' I
dined at the club yesterday, and found a strange waiter. I feel
certain that he was a policeman done up in livery all for my sake.
I turned sharp round in the street yesterday, and found a man at a
corner. I am sure that man was watching me, and was looking at my
pockets to see whether the jewel case was there. As for myself, I can
think of nothing else. I wish I had got them. I should have something
then to pay me for all this nuisance."
"I do wish you had," said Lizzie.
"What I should do with them I cannot even imagine. I am always
thinking of that, too,--making plans for getting rid of them,
supposing I had stolen them. My belief is, that I should be so
sick of them that I should chuck them over the bridge into the
river,--only that I should fear that some policeman's eye would be on
me as I did it. My present position is not comfortable,--but if I had
got them, I think that the weight of them would crush me altogether.
Having a handle to my name, and being a lord, or, at least, called a
lord, makes it all the worse. People are so pleased to think that a
lord should have stolen a necklace."
Lizzie listened to it all with a strange fascination. If this strong
man were so much upset by the bare suspicion, what must be her
condition? The jewels were in her desk up-stairs, and the police had
been with her also,--were even now probably looking after her and
watching her. How much more difficult must it be for her to deal with
the diamonds than it would have been for this man. Presently Mrs.
Carbuncle left the room, and Lucinda followed her. Lizzie saw them
go, and did not dare to go with them. She felt as though her limbs
would not have carried her to the door. She was now alone with her
Corsair; and she looked up timidly into his deep-set eyes, as he came
and stood over her. "Tell me all that you know about it," he said, in
that deep, low voice which, from her first acquaintance with him, had
filled her with interest, and almost with awe.