Job's Comforters
Mrs. Carbuncle and Lady Eustace had now been up in town between six
and seven weeks, and the record of their doings has necessarily dealt
chiefly with robberies and the rumours of robberies. But at intervals
the minds of the two ladies had been intent on other things. The
former was still intent on marrying her niece, Lucinda Roanoke, to
Sir Griffin, and the latter had never for a moment forgotten the
imperative duty which lay upon her of revenging herself upon Lord
Fawn. The match between Sir Griffin and Lucinda was still to be a
match. Mrs. Carbuncle persevered in the teeth both of the gentleman
and of the lady, and still promised herself success. And our Lizzie,
in the midst of all her troubles, had not been idle. In doing her
justice we must acknowledge that she had almost abandoned the hope
of becoming Lady Fawn. Other hopes and other ambitions had come
upon her. Latterly the Corsair had been all in all to her,--with
exceptional moments in which she told herself that her heart belonged
exclusively to her cousin Frank. But Lord Fawn's offences were not to
be forgotten, and she continually urged upon her cousin the depth of
the wrongs which she had suffered.
On the part of Frank Greystock there was certainly no desire to let
the Under-Secretary escape. It is hoped that the reader, to whom
every tittle of this story has been told without reserve, and every
secret unfolded, will remember that others were not treated with so
much open candour. The reader knows much more of Lizzie Eustace than
did her cousin Frank. He, indeed, was not quite in love with Lizzie;
but to him she was a pretty, graceful young woman, to whom he was
bound by many ties, and who had been cruelly injured. Dangerous she
was doubtless, and perhaps a little artificial. To have had her
married to Lord Fawn would have been a good thing,--and would still
be a good thing. According to all the rules known in such matters
Lord Fawn was bound to marry her. He had become engaged to her,
and Lizzie had done nothing to forfeit her engagement. As to the
necklace,--the plea made for jilting her on that ground was a
disgraceful pretext. Everybody was beginning to perceive that Mr.
Camperdown would never have succeeded in getting the diamonds from
her, even if they had not been stolen. It was "preposterous," as
Frank said over and over again to his friend Herriot, that a man
when he was engaged to a lady, should take upon himself to judge her
conduct as Lord Fawn had done,--and then ride out of his engagement
on a verdict found by himself. Frank had therefore willingly
displayed alacrity in persecuting his lordship, and had not been
altogether without hope that he might drive the two into a marriage
yet,--in spite of the protestations made by Lizzie at Portray.
Lord Fawn had certainly not spent a happy winter. Between Mrs.
Hittaway on one side and Frank Greystock on the other, his life had
been a burthen to him. It had been suggested to him by various people
that he was behaving badly to the lady,--who was represented as
having been cruelly misused by fortune and by himself. On the other
hand it had been hinted to him, that nothing was too bad to believe
of Lizzie Eustace, and that no calamity could be so great as that by
which he would be overwhelmed were he still to allow himself to be
forced into that marriage. "It would be better," Mrs. Hittaway had
said, "to retire to Ireland at once, and cultivate your demesne in
Tipperary." This was a grievous sentence, and one which had greatly
excited the brother's wrath;--but it had shown how very strong was
his sister's opinion against the lady to whom he had unfortunately
offered his hand. Then there came to him a letter from Mr. Greystock,
in which he was asked for his "written explanation." If there be a
proceeding which an official man dislikes worse than another, it is a
demand for a written explanation. "It is impossible," Frank had said,
"that your conduct to my cousin should be allowed to drop without
further notice. Hers has been without reproach. Your engagement with
her has been made public,--chiefly by you, and it is out of the
question that she should be treated as you are treating her, and that
your lordship should escape without punishment." What the punishment
was to be he did not say; but there did come a punishment on Lord
Fawn from the eyes of every man whose eyes met his own, and in the
tones of every voice that addressed him. The looks of the very clerks
in the India Office accused him of behaving badly to a young woman,
and the doorkeeper at the House of Lords seemed to glance askance
at him. And now Lady Glencora, who was the social leader of his
own party, the feminine pole-star of the Liberal heavens, the most
popular and the most daring woman in London, had attacked him
personally, and told him that he ought to call on Lady Eustace!
Let it not for a moment be supposed that Lord Fawn was without
conscience in the matter, or indifferent to moral obligations. There
was not a man in London less willing to behave badly to a young woman
than Lord Fawn; or one who would more diligently struggle to get back
to the right path, if convinced that he was astray. But he was one
who detested interference in his private matters, and who was nearly
driven mad between his sister and Frank Greystock. When he left Lady
Glencora's house he walked towards his own abode with a dark cloud
upon his brow. He was at first very angry with Lady Glencora. Even
her position gave her no right to meddle with his most private
affairs as she had done. He would resent it, and would quarrel with
Lady Glencora. What right could she have to advise him to call upon
any woman? But by degrees this wrath died away, and gave place to
fears, and qualms, and inward questions. He, too, had found a change
in general opinion about the diamonds. When he had taken upon himself
with a high hand to dissolve his own engagement, everybody had, as he
thought, acknowledged that Lizzie Eustace was keeping property which
did not belong to her. Now people talked of her losses as though the
diamonds had been undoubtedly her own. On the next morning Lord Fawn
took an opportunity of seeing Mr. Camperdown.
"My dear lord," said Mr. Camperdown, "I shall wash my hands of the
matter altogether. The diamonds are gone, and the questions now are,
who stole them, and where are they? In our business we can't meddle
with such questions as those."
"You will drop the bill in Chancery then?"
"What good can the bill do us when the diamonds are gone? If Lady
Eustace had anything to do with the robbery--"
"You suspect her, then?"
"No, my lord; no. I cannot say that. I have no right to say that.
Indeed it is not Lady Eustace that I suspect. She has got into bad
hands, perhaps; but I do not think that she is a thief."
"You were suggesting that,--if she had anything to do with the
robbery--"
"Well;--yes;--if she had, it would not be for us to take steps
against her in the matter. In fact, the trustees have decided that
they will do nothing more, and my hands are tied. If the minor, when
he comes of age, claims the property from them, they will prefer to
replace it. It isn't very likely; but that's what they say."
"But if it was an heirloom--" suggested Lord Fawn, going back to the
old claim.
"That's exploded," said Mr. Camperdown. "Mr. Dove was quite clear
about that."
This was the end of the filing of that bill in Chancery as to which
Mr. Camperdown had been so very enthusiastic! Now it certainly was
the case that poor Lord Fawn in his conduct towards Lizzie had
trusted greatly to the support of Mr. Camperdown's legal proceeding.
The world could hardly have expected him to marry a woman against
whom a bill in Chancery was being carried on for the recovery of
diamonds which did not belong to her. But that support was now
altogether withdrawn from him. It was acknowledged that the necklace
was not an heirloom,--clearly acknowledged by Mr. Camperdown! And
even Mr. Camperdown would not express an opinion that the lady had
stolen her own diamonds.
How would it go with him, if after all, he were to marry her? The
bone of contention between them had at any rate been made to vanish.
The income was still there, and Lady Glencora Palliser had all but
promised her friendship. As he entered the India Office on his return
from Mr. Camperdown's chambers, he almost thought that that would
be the best way out of his difficulty. In his room he found his
brother-in-law, Mr. Hittaway, waiting for him. It is always necessary
that a man should have some friend whom he can trust in delicate
affairs, and Mr. Hittaway was selected as Lord Fawn's friend. He was
not at all points the man whom Lord Fawn would have chosen, but for
their close connexion. Mr. Hittaway was talkative, perhaps a little
loud, and too apt to make capital out of every incident of his life.
But confidential friends are not easily found, and one does not wish
to increase the circle to whom one's family secrets must become
known. Mr. Hittaway was at any rate zealous for the Fawn family, and
then his character as an official man stood high. He had been asked
on the previous evening to step across from the Civil Appeal Office
to give his opinion respecting that letter from Frank Greystock
demanding a written explanation. The letter had been sent to him; and
Mr. Hittaway had carried it home and shown it to his wife. "He's a
cantankerous Tory, and determined to make himself disagreeable," said
Mr. Hittaway, taking the letter from his pocket and beginning the
conversation. Lord Fawn seated himself in his great arm-chair,
and buried his face in his hands. "I am disposed, after much
consideration, to advise you to take no notice of the letter," said
Mr. Hittaway, giving his counsel in accordance with instructions
received from his wife. Lord Fawn still buried his face. "Of course
the thing is painful,--very painful. But out of two evils one should
choose the least. The writer of this letter is altogether unable to
carry out his threat." "What can the man do to him?" Mrs. Hittaway
had asked, almost snapping at her husband as she did so. "And then,"
continued Mr. Hittaway, "we all know that public opinion is with you
altogether. The conduct of Lady Eustace is notorious."
"Everybody is taking her part," said Lord Fawn, almost crying.
"Surely not."
"Yes;--they are. The bill in Chancery has been withdrawn, and it's
my belief that if the necklace were found to-morrow, there would be
nothing to prevent her keeping it,--just as she did before."
"But it was an heirloom?"
"No, it wasn't. The lawyers were all wrong about it. As far as I can
see, lawyers always are wrong. About those nine lacs of rupees for
the Sawab, Finlay was all wrong. Camperdown owns that he was wrong.
If, after all, the diamonds were hers, I'm sure I don't know what I
am to do. Thank you, Hittaway, for coming over. That'll do for the
present. Just leave that ruffian's letter, and I'll think about it."
This was considered by Mrs. Hittaway to be a very bad state of
things, and there was great consternation in Warwick Square when Mr.
Hittaway told his wife this new story of her brother's weakness.
She was not going to be weak. She did not intend to withdraw her
opposition to the marriage. She was not going to be frightened by
Lizzie Eustace and Frank Greystock,--knowing as she did that they
were lovers, and very improper lovers, too. "Of course she stole them
herself," said Mrs. Hittaway; "and I don't doubt but she stole her
own money afterwards. There's nothing she wouldn't do. I'd sooner see
Frederic in his grave than married to such a woman as that. Men don't
know how sly women can be;--that's the truth. And Frederic has been
so spoilt among them down at Richmond, that he has no real judgment
left. I don't suppose he means to marry her."
"Upon my word I don't know," said Mr. Hittaway. Then Mrs. Hittaway
made up her mind that she would at once write a letter to Scotland.
There was an old lord about London in those days,--or, rather, one
who was an old Liberal but a young lord,--one Lord Mount Thistle,
who had sat in the Cabinet, and had lately been made a peer when
his place in the Cabinet was wanted. He was a pompous, would-be
important, silly old man, well acquainted with all the traditions of
his party, and perhaps, on that account, useful,--but a bore, and
very apt to meddle when he was not wanted. Lady Glencora, on the
day after her dinner-party, whispered into his ear that Lord Fawn
was getting himself into trouble, and that a few words of caution,
coming to him from one whom he respected so much as he did Lord Mount
Thistle, would be of service to him. Lord Mount Thistle had known
Lord Fawn's father, and declared himself at once to be quite entitled
to interfere. "He is really behaving badly to Lady Eustace," said
Lady Glencora, "and I don't think that he knows it." Lord Mount
Thistle, proud of a commission from the hands of Lady Glencora, went
almost at once to his old friend's son. He found him at the House
that night, and whispered his few words of caution in one of the
lobbies.
"I know you will excuse me, Fawn," Lord Mount Thistle said, "but
people seem to think that you are not behaving quite well to Lady
Eustace."
"What people?" demanded Lord Fawn.
"My dear fellow, that is a question that cannot be answered. You know
that I am the last man to interfere if I didn't think it my duty as a
friend. You were engaged to her?"--Lord Fawn only frowned. "If so,"
continued the late cabinet minister, "and if you have broken it off,
you ought to give your reasons. She has a right to demand as much as
that."
On the next morning, Friday, there came to him the note which Lady
Glencora had recommended Lizzie to write. It was very short. "Had you
not better come and see me? You can hardly think that things should
be left as they are now. L. E.--Hertford Street, Thursday." He had
hoped,--he had ventured to hope,--that things might be left, and
that they would arrange themselves; that he could throw aside his
engagement without further trouble, and that the subject would drop.
But it was not so. His enemy, Frank Greystock, had demanded from him
a "written explanation" of his conduct. Mr. Camperdown had deserted
him. Lady Glencora Palliser, with whom he had not the honour of any
intimate acquaintance, had taken upon herself to give him advice.
Lord Mount Thistle had found fault with him. And now there had come
a note from Lizzie Eustace herself, which he could hardly venture to
leave altogether unnoticed. On that Friday he dined at his club, and
then went to his sister's house in Warwick Square. If assistance
might be had anywhere, it would be from his sister;--she, at any
rate, would not want courage in carrying on the battle on his behalf.
"Ill-used!" she said, as soon as they were closeted together. "Who
dares to say so?"
"That old fool, Mount Thistle, has been with me."
"I hope, Frederic, you don't mind what such a man as that says. He
has probably been prompted by some friend of hers. And who else?"
"Camperdown turns round now and says that they don't mean to do
anything more about the necklace. Lady Glencora Palliser told me the
other day that all the world believes that the thing was her own."
"What does Lady Glencora Palliser know about it? If Lady Glencora
Palliser would mind her own affairs it would be much better for her.
I remember when she had troubles enough of her own, without meddling
with other people's."
"And now I've got this note." Lord Fawn had already shown Lizzie's
few scrawled words to his sister. "I think I must go and see her."
"Do no such thing, Frederic."
"Why not? I must answer it, and what can I say?"
"If you go there, that woman will be your wife, and you'll never have
a happy day again as long as you live. The match is broken off, and
she knows it. I shouldn't take the slightest notice of her, or of her
cousin, or of any of them. If she chooses to bring an action against
you, that is another thing."
Lord Fawn paused for a few moments before he answered. "I think I
ought to go," he said.
"And I am sure that you ought not. It is not only about the
diamonds,--though that was quite enough to break off any engagement.
Have you forgotten what I told you that the man saw at Portray?"
"I don't know that the man spoke the truth."
"But he did."
"And I hate that kind of espionage. It is so very likely that
mistakes should be made."
"When she was sitting in his arms,--and kissing him! If you choose
to do it, Frederic, of course you must. We can't prevent it. You are
free to marry any one you please."
"I'm not talking of marrying her."
"What do you suppose she wants you to go there for? As for political
life, I am quite sure it would be the death of you. If I were you I
wouldn't go near her. You have got out of the scrape, and I would
remain out."
"But I haven't got out," said Lord Fawn.
On the next day, Saturday, he did nothing in the matter. He went
down, as was his custom, to Richmond, and did not once mention
Lizzie's name. Lady Fawn and her daughters never spoke of her
now,--neither of her, nor, in his presence, of poor Lucy Morris. But
on his return to London on the Sunday evening he found another note
from Lizzie. "You will hardly have the hardihood to leave my note
unanswered. Pray let me know when you will come to me." Some answer
must, as he felt, be made to her. For a moment he thought of asking
his mother to call;--but he at once saw that by doing so he might lay
himself open to terrible ridicule. Could he induce Lord Mount Thistle
to be his Mercury? It would, he felt, be quite impossible to make
Lord Mount Thistle understand all the facts of his position. His
sister, Mrs. Hittaway, might have gone, were it not that she herself
was violently opposed to any visit. The more he thought of it the
more convinced he became that, should it be known that he had
received two such notes from a lady and that he had not answered or
noticed them, the world would judge him to have behaved badly. So, at
last, he wrote,--on that Sunday evening,--fixing a somewhat distant
day for his visit to Hertford Street. His note was as follows:--
Lord Fawn presents his compliments to Lady Eustace. In
accordance with the wish expressed in Lady Eustace's two
notes of the 23rd instant and this date, Lord Fawn will
do himself the honour of waiting upon Lady Eustace on
Saturday next, March 3rd, at 12, noon. Lord Fawn had
thought that under circumstances as they now exist, no
further personal interview could lead to the happiness of
either party; but as Lady Eustace thinks otherwise, he
feels himself constrained to comply with her desire.
Sunday evening, 25 February, 18--.
"I am going to see her in the course of this week," he said, in
answer to a further question from Lady Glencora, who, chancing to
meet him in society, had again addressed him on the subject. He
lacked the courage to tell Lady Glencora to mind her own business and
to allow him to do the same. Had she been a little less great than
she was,--either as regarded herself or her husband,--he would have
done so. But Lady Glencora was the social queen of the party to which
he belonged, and Mr. Palliser was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and
would some day be Duke of Omnium.
"As you are great, be merciful, Lord Fawn," said Lady Glencora. "You
men, I believe, never realise what it is that women feel when they
love. It is my belief that she will die unless you are re-united to
her. And then she is so beautiful!"
"It is a subject that I cannot discuss, Lady Glencora."
"I daresay not. And I'm sure I am the last person to wish to give you
pain. But you see,--if the poor lady has done nothing to merit your
anger, it does seem rather a strong measure to throw her off and
give her no reason whatever. How would you defend yourself, suppose
she published it all?" Lady Glencora's courage was very great,--and
perhaps we may say her impudence also. This last question Lord Fawn
left unanswered, walking away in great dudgeon.
In the course of the week he told his sister of the interview which
he had promised, and she endeavoured to induce him to postpone it
till a certain man should arrive from Scotland. She had written for
Mr. Andrew Gowran,--sending down funds for Mr. Gowran's journey,--so
that her brother might hear Mr. Gowran's evidence out of Mr.
Gowran's own mouth. Would not Frederic postpone the interview
till he should have seen Mr. Gowran? But to this request Frederic
declined to accede. He had fixed a day and an hour. He had made an
appointment;--of course he must keep it.