Lizzie's Great Friend
The Saturday morning came at last for which Lord Fawn had made his
appointment with Lizzie, and a very important day it was in Hertford
Street,--chiefly on account of his lordship's visit, but also in
respect to other events which crowded themselves into the day. In the
telling of our tale, we have gone a little in advance of this, as it
was not till the subsequent Monday that Lady Linlithgow read in the
newspaper, and told Lucy, how a man had been arrested on account of
the robbery. Early on the Saturday morning Sir Griffin Tewett was
in Hertford Street, and, as Lizzie afterwards understood, there
was a terrible scene between both him and Lucinda and him and Mrs.
Carbuncle. She saw nothing of it herself, but Mrs. Carbuncle brought
her the tidings. For the last few days Mrs. Carbuncle had been very
affectionate in her manner to Lizzie, thereby showing a great change;
for during nearly the whole of February the lady, who in fact owned
the house, had hardly been courteous to her remunerative guest,
expressing more than once a hint that the arrangement which had
brought them together had better come to an end. "You see, Lady
Eustace," Mrs. Carbuncle had once said, "the trouble about these
robberies is almost too much for me." Lizzie, who was ill at the
time, and still trembling with constant fear on account of the lost
diamonds, had taken advantage of her sick condition, and declined
to argue the question of her removal. Now she was supposed to be
convalescent, but Mrs. Carbuncle had returned to her former ways of
affection. No doubt there was cause for this,--cause that was patent
to Lizzie herself. Lady Glencora Palliser had called,--which thing
alone was felt by Lizzie to alter her position altogether. And then,
though her diamonds were gone, and though the thieves who had stolen
them were undoubtedly aware of her secret as to the first robbery,
though she had herself told that secret to Lord George, whom she had
not seen since she had done so,--in spite of all these causes for
trouble, she had of late gradually found herself to be emerging
from the state of despondency into which she had fallen while the
diamonds were in her own custody. She knew that she was regaining
her ascendancy; and, therefore, when Mrs. Carbuncle came to tell her
of the grievous things which had been said down-stairs between Sir
Griffin and his mistress, and to consult her as to the future, Lizzie
was not surprised. "I suppose the meaning of it is that the match
must be off," said Lizzie.
"Oh dear, no;--pray don't say anything so horrid after all that I
have gone through. Don't suggest anything of that kind to Lucinda."
"But surely after what you've told me now, he'll never come here
again."
"Oh yes, he will. There's no danger about his coming back. It's only
a sort of a way he has."
"A very disagreeable way," said Lizzie.
"No doubt, Lady Eustace. But then you know you can't have it all
sweet. There must be some things disagreeable. As far as I can
learn, the property will be all right after a few years,--and it is
absolutely indispensable that Lucinda should do something. She has
accepted him, and she must go on with it."
"She seems to me to be very unhappy, Mrs. Carbuncle."
"That was always her way. She was never gay and cheery like other
girls. I have never known her once to be what you would call happy."
"She likes hunting."
"Yes,--because she can gallop away out of herself. I have done all I
can for her, and she must go on with the marriage now. As for going
back, it is out of the question. The truth is, we couldn't afford
it."
"Then you must keep him in a better humour."
"I am not so much afraid about him; but, dear Lady Eustace, we want
you to help us a little."
"How can I help you?"
"You can, certainly. Could you lend me two hundred and fifty pounds,
just for six weeks?" Lizzie's face fell and her eyes became very
serious in their aspect. Two hundred and fifty pounds! "You know you
would have ample security. You need not give Lucinda her present till
I've paid you, and that will be forty-five pounds."
"Thirty-five," said Lizzie with angry decision.
"I thought we agreed upon forty-five when we settled about the
servants' liveries;--and then you can let the man at the stables know
that I am to pay for the carriage and horses. You wouldn't be out of
the money hardly above a week or so, and it might be the salvation of
Lucinda just at present."
"Why don't you ask Lord George?"
"Ask Lord George! He hasn't got it. It's much more likely that he
should ask me. I don't know what's come to Lord George this last
month past. I did believe that you and he were to come together.
I think these two robberies have upset him altogether. But, dear
Lizzie;--you can let me have it, can't you?"
Lizzie did not at all like the idea of lending money, and by no means
appreciated the security now offered to her. It might be very well
for her to tell the man at the stables that Mrs. Carbuncle would pay
him her bill, but how would it be with her if Mrs. Carbuncle did not
pay the bill? And as for her present to Lucinda,--which was to have
been a present, and regarded by the future Lady Tewett as a voluntary
offering of good-will and affection,--she was altogether averse to
having it disposed of in this fashion. And yet she did not like to
make an enemy of Mrs. Carbuncle. "I never was so poor in my life
before,--not since I was married," said Lizzie.
"You can't be poor, dear Lady Eustace."
"They took my money out of my desk, you know,--ever so much."
"Forty-three pounds," said Mrs. Carbuncle, who was, of course, well
instructed in all the details of the robbery.
"And I don't suppose you can guess what the autumn cost me at
Portray. The bills are only coming in now, and really they sometimes
so frighten me that I don't know what I shall do. Indeed, I haven't
got the money to spare."
"You'll have every penny of it back in six weeks," said Mrs.
Carbuncle, upon whose face a glow of anger was settling down. She
quite intended to make herself very disagreeable to her "dear Lady
Eustace" or her "dear Lizzie" if she did not get what she wanted;
and she knew very well how to do it. It must be owned that Lizzie
was afraid of the woman. It was almost impossible for her not to be
afraid of the people with whom she lived. There were so many things
against her;--so many sources of fear! "I am quite sure you won't
refuse me such a trifling favour as this," said Mrs. Carbuncle, with
the glow of anger reddening more and more upon her brow.
"I don't think I have so much at the bankers," said Lizzie.
"They'll let you overdraw,--just as much as you please. If the cheque
comes back that will be my look out." Lizzie had tried that game
before, and knew that the bankers would allow her to overdraw. "Come,
be a good friend and do it at once," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Perhaps I can manage a hundred and fifty," said Lizzie, trembling.
Mrs. Carbuncle fought hard for the greater sum; but at last consented
to take the less, and the cheque was written.
"This, of course, won't interfere with Lucinda's present," said Mrs.
Carbuncle,--"as we can make all this right by the horse and carriage
account." To this proposition, however, Lady Eustace made no answer.
Soon after lunch, at which meal Miss Roanoke did not show herself,
Lady Glencora Palliser was announced, and sat for about ten minutes
in the drawing-room. She had come, she said, especially to give the
Duke of Omnium's compliments to Lady Eustace, and to express a wish
on the part of the duke that the lost diamonds might be recovered.
"I doubt," said Lady Glencora, "whether there is any one in England
except professed jewellers who knows so much about diamonds as his
grace."
"Or who has so many," said Mrs. Carbuncle, smiling graciously.
"I don't know about that. I suppose there are family diamonds, though
I have never seen them. But he sympathises with you completely, Lady
Eustace. I suppose there is hardly hope now of recovering them."
Lizzie smiled and shook her head. "Isn't it odd that they never
should have discovered the thieves? I'm told they haven't at all
given it up,--only, unfortunately, they'll never get back the
necklace." She sat there for about a quarter of an hour, and then,
as she took her leave, she whispered a few words to Lizzie. "He is
to come and see you;--isn't he?" Lizzie assented with a smile, but
without a word. "I hope it will be all right," said Lady Glencora,
and then she went.
Lizzie liked this friendship from Lady Glencora amazingly. Perhaps,
after all, nothing more would ever be known about the diamonds,
and they would simply be remembered as having added a peculiar and
not injurious mystery to her life. Lord George knew,--but then
she trusted that a benevolent, true-hearted Corsair, such as was
Lord George, would never tell the story against her. The thieves
knew,--but surely they, if not detected, would never tell. And if the
story were told by thieves, or even by a Corsair, at any rate half
the world would not believe it. What she had feared,--had feared till
the dread had nearly overcome her,--was public exposure at the hands
of the police. If she could escape that, the world might still be
bright before her. And the interest taken in her by such persons as
the Duke of Omnium and Lady Glencora was evidence not only that she
had escaped it hitherto, but also that she was in a fair way to
escape it altogether. Three weeks ago she would have given up half
her income to have been able to steal out of London without leaving
a trace behind her. Three weeks ago Mrs. Carbuncle was treating her
with discourtesy, and she was left alone nearly the whole day in
her sick bedroom. Things were going better with her now. She was
recovering her position. Mr. Camperdown, who had been the first to
attack her, was, so to say, "nowhere." He had acknowledged himself
beaten. Lord Fawn, whose treatment to her had been so great an
injury, was coming to see her that very day. Her cousin Frank, though
he had never offered to marry her, was more affectionate to her than
ever. Mrs. Carbuncle had been at her feet that morning borrowing
money. And Lady Glencora Palliser,--the very leading star of
fashion,--had called upon her twice! Why should she succumb? She had
an income of four thousand pounds a year, and she thought that she
could remember that her aunt, Lady Linlithgow, had but seven hundred
pounds. Lady Fawn with all her daughters had not near so much as she
had. And she was beautiful, too, and young, and perfectly free to do
what she pleased. No doubt the last eighteen months of her life had
been made wretched by those horrid diamonds;--but they were gone, and
she had fair reason to hope that the very knowledge of them was gone
also.
In this condition would it be expedient for her to accept Lord Fawn
when he came? She could not, of course, be sure that any renewed
offer would be the result of his visit;--but she thought it probable
that with care she might bring him to that. Why should he come to her
if he himself had no such intention? Her mind was quite made up on
this point,--that he should be made to renew his offer; but whether
she would renew her acceptance was quite another question. She had
sworn to her cousin Frank that she would never do so, and she had
sworn also that she would be revenged on this wretched lord. Now
would be her opportunity of accomplishing her revenge, and of proving
to Frank that she had been in earnest. And she positively disliked
the man. That, probably, did not go for much, but it went for
something, even with Lizzie Eustace. Her cousin she did like,--and
Lord George. She hardly knew which was her real love;--though, no
doubt, she gave the preference greatly to her cousin, because she
could trust him. And then Lord Fawn was very poor. The other two
men were poor also; but their poverty was not so objectionable in
Lizzie's eyes as were the respectable, close-fisted economies of
Lord Fawn. Lord Fawn, no doubt, had an assured income and a real
peerage, and could make her a peeress. As she thought of it all, she
acknowledged that there was a great deal to be said on each side, and
that the necessity of making up her mind then and there was a heavy
burthen upon her.
Exactly at the hour named Lord Fawn came, and Lizzie was, of course,
found alone. That had been carefully provided. He was shown up, and
she received him very gracefully. She was sitting, and she rose from
her chair, and put out her hand for him to take. She spoke no word
of greeting, but looked at him with a pleasant smile, and stood
for a few seconds with her hand in his. He was awkward, and much
embarrassed, and she certainly had no intention of lessening his
embarrassment. "I hope you are better than you have been," he said at
last.
"I am getting better, Lord Fawn. Will you not sit down?" He then
seated himself, placing his hat beside him on the floor, but at the
moment could not find words to speak. "I have been very ill."
"I have been so sorry to hear it."
"There has been much to make me ill,--has there not?"
"About the robbery, you mean?"
"About many things. The robbery has been by no means the worst,
though, no doubt, it frightened me much. There were two robberies,
Lord Fawn."
"Yes,--I know that."
"And it was very terrible. And then, I had been threatened with a
lawsuit. You have heard that, too?"
"Yes,--I had heard it."
"I believe they have given that up now. I understand from my cousin,
Mr. Greystock, who has been my truest friend in all my troubles, that
the stupid people have found out at last that they had not a leg to
stand on. I daresay you have heard that, Lord Fawn?"
Lord Fawn certainly had heard, in a doubtful way, the gist of Mr.
Dove's opinion, namely, that the necklace could not be claimed from
the holder of it as an heirloom attached to the Eustace family. But
he had heard at the same time that Mr. Camperdown was as confident as
ever that he could recover the property by claiming it after another
fashion. Whether or no that claim had been altogether abandoned, or
had been allowed to fall into abeyance because of the absence of the
diamonds, he did not know, nor did any one know,--Mr. Camperdown
himself having come to no decision on the subject. But Lord Fawn had
been aware that his sister had of late shifted the ground of her
inveterate enmity to Lizzie Eustace, making use of the scene which
Mr. Gowran had witnessed, in lieu of the lady's rapacity in regard to
the necklace. It might therefore be assumed, Lord Fawn thought and
feared, that his strong ground in regard to the necklace had been cut
from under his feet. But still, it did not behove him to confess that
the cause which he had always alleged as the ground for his retreat
from the engagement was no cause at all. It might go hard with him
should an attempt be made to force him to name another cause. He knew
that he would lack the courage to tell the lady that he had heard
from his sister that one Andy Gowran had witnessed a terrible scene
down among the rocks at Portray. So he sat silent, and made no answer
to Lizzie's first assertion respecting the diamonds.
But the necklace was her strong point, and she did not intend that
he should escape the subject. "If I remember right, Lord Fawn, you
yourself saw that wretched old attorney once or twice on the
subject?"
"I did see Mr. Camperdown, certainly. He is my own family lawyer."
"You were kind enough to interest yourself about the diamonds,--were
you not?" She asked him this as a question, and then waited for a
reply. "Was it not so?"
"Yes, Lady Eustace; it was so."
"They were of great value, and it was natural," continued Lizzie.
"Of course you interested yourself. Mr. Camperdown was full of awful
threats against me;--was he not? I don't know what he was not going
to do. He stopped me in the street as I was driving to the station in
my own carriage, when the diamonds were with me;--which was a very
strong measure, I think. And he wrote me ever so many,--oh, such
horrid letters. And he went about telling everybody that it was an
heirloom;--didn't he? You know all that, Lord Fawn?"
"I know that he wanted to recover them."
"And did he tell you that he went to a real lawyer,--somebody who
really knew about it, Mr. Turbot, or Turtle, or some such name as
that, and the real lawyer told him that he was all wrong, and that
the necklace couldn't be an heirloom at all, because it belonged to
me, and that he had better drop his lawsuit altogether? Did you hear
that?"
"No;--I did not hear that."
"Ah, Lord Fawn, you dropped your inquiries just at the wrong place.
No doubt you had too many things to do in Parliament and the
Government to go on with them; but if you had gone on, you would have
learned that Mr. Camperdown had just to give it up,--because he had
been wrong from beginning to end." Lizzie's words fell from her with
extreme rapidity, and she had become almost out of breath from the
effects of her own energy.
Lord Fawn felt strongly the necessity of clinging to the diamonds as
his one great and sufficient justification. "I thought," said he,
"that Mr. Camperdown had abandoned his action for the present because
the jewels had been stolen."
"Not a bit of it," said Lizzie, rising suddenly to her legs. "Who
says so? Who dares to say so? Whoever says so is--is a storyteller. I
understand all about that. The action could go on just the same, and
I could be made to pay for the necklace out of my own income if it
hadn't been my own. I am sure, Lord Fawn, such a clever man as you,
and one who has always been in the Government and in Parliament,
can see that. And will anybody believe that such an enemy as Mr.
Camperdown has been to me, persecuting me in every possible way,
telling lies about me to everybody,--who tried to prevent my dear,
darling husband from marrying me,--that he wouldn't go on with it if
he could?"
"Mr. Camperdown is a very respectable man, Lady Eustace."
"Respectable! Talk to me of respectable after all that he has made me
suffer! As you were so fond of making inquiries, Lord Fawn, you ought
to have gone on with them. You never would believe what my cousin
said."
"Your cousin always behaved very badly to me."
"My cousin, who is a brother rather than a cousin, has known how to
protect me from the injuries done to me,--or, rather, has known how
to take my part when I have been injured. My lord, as you have been
unwilling to believe him, why have you not gone to that gentleman
who, as I say, is a real lawyer? I don't know, my lord, that it need
have concerned you at all, but as you began, you surely should have
gone on with it. Don't you think so?" She was still standing up,
and, small as was her stature, was almost menacing the unfortunate
Under-Secretary of State, who was still seated in his chair. "My
lord," continued Lizzie, "I have had great wrong done me."
"Do you mean by me?"
"Yes, by you. Who else has done it?"
"I do not think that I have done wrong to any one. I was obliged to
say that I could not recognise those diamonds as the property of my
wife."
"But what right had you to say so? I had the diamonds when you asked
me to be your wife."
"I did not know it."
"Nor did you know that I had this little ring upon my finger. Is it
fit that you, or that any man should turn round upon a lady and say
to her that your word is to be broken, and that she is to be exposed
before all her friends, because you have taken a fancy to dislike her
ring or her brooch? I say, Lord Fawn, it was no business of yours,
even after you were engaged to me. What jewels I might have, or not
have, was no concern of yours till after I had become your wife.
Go and ask all the world if it is not so? You say that my cousin
affronts you because he takes my part,--like a brother. Ask any one
else. Ask any lady you may know. Let us name some one to decide
between us which of us has been wrong. Lady Glencora Palliser is a
friend of yours, and her husband is in the Government. Shall we name
her? It is true, indeed, that her uncle, the Duke of Omnium, the
grandest and greatest of English noblemen, is specially interested on
my behalf." This was very fine in Lizzie. The Duke of Omnium she had
never seen; but his name had been mentioned to her by Lady Glencora,
and she was quick to use it.
"I can admit of no reference to any one," said Lord Fawn.
"And I then,--what am I to do? I am to be thrown over simply because
your lordship--chooses to throw me over? Your lordship will admit no
reference to any one! Your lordship makes inquiries as long as an
attorney tells you stories against me, but drops them at once when
the attorney is made to understand that he is wrong. Tell me this,
sir. Can you justify yourself,--in your own heart?"
Unfortunately for Lord Fawn, he was not sure that he could justify
himself. The diamonds were gone, and the action was laid aside, and
the general opinion which had prevailed a month or two since, that
Lizzie had been disreputably concerned in stealing her own necklace,
seemed to have been laid aside. Lady Glencora and the duke went for
almost as much with Lord Fawn as they did with Lizzie. No doubt the
misbehaviour down among the rocks was left to him; but he had that
only on the evidence of Andy Gowran,--and even Andy Gowran's evidence
he had declined to receive otherwise than second-hand. Lizzie, too,
was prepared with an answer to this charge,--an answer which she had
already made more than once, though the charge was not positively
brought against her, and which consisted in an assertion that Frank
Greystock was her brother rather than her cousin. Such brotherhood
was not altogether satisfactory to Lord Fawn, when he came once more
to regard Lizzie Eustace as his possible future wife; but still the
assertion was an answer, and one that he could not altogether reject.
It certainly was the case that he had again begun to think what would
be the result of a marriage with Lady Eustace. He must sever himself
altogether from Mrs. Hittaway, and must relax the closeness of his
relations with Fawn Court. He would have a wife respecting whom he
himself had spread evil tidings, and the man whom he most hated
in the world would be his wife's favourite cousin, or, so to
say,--brother. He would, after a fashion, be connected with Mrs.
Carbuncle, Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, and Sir Griffin Tewett,
all of whom he regarded as thoroughly disreputable. And, moreover, at
his own country house at Portray, as in such case it would be, his
own bailiff or steward would be the man who had seen--what he had
seen. These were great objections; but how was he to avoid marrying
her? He was engaged to her. How, at any rate, was he to escape from
the renewal of his engagement at this moment? He had more than once
positively stated that he was deterred from marrying her only by her
possession of the diamonds. The diamonds were now gone.
Lizzie was still standing, waiting for an answer to her
question,--Can you justify yourself in your own heart? Having paused
for some seconds, she repeated her question in a stronger and more
personal form. "Had I been your sister, Lord Fawn, and had another
man behaved to me as you have now done, would you say that he had
behaved well, and that she had no ground for complaint? Can you bring
yourself to answer that question honestly?"
"I hope I shall answer no question dishonestly."
"Answer it then. No; you cannot answer it, because you would condemn
yourself. Now, Lord Fawn, what do you mean to do?"
"I had thought, Lady Eustace, that any regard which you might ever
have entertained for me--"
"Well;--what had you thought of my regard?"
"That it had been dissipated."
"Have I told you so? Has any one come to you from me with such a
message?"
"Have you not received attentions from any one else?"
"Attentions,--what attentions? I have received plenty of
attentions,--most flattering attentions. I was honoured even this
morning by a most gratifying attention on the part of his grace the
Duke of Omnium."
"I did not mean that."
"What do you mean, then? I am not going to marry the Duke of Omnium
because of his attention,--nor any one else. If you mean, sir, after
the other inquiries you have done me the honour to make, to throw it
in my face now, that I have--have in any way rendered myself unworthy
of the position of your wife because people have been civil and kind
to me in my sorrow, you are a greater dastard than I took you to be.
Tell me at once, sir, whom you mean."
It is hardly too much to say that the man quailed before her. And
it certainly is not too much to say that, had Lizzie Eustace been
trained as an actress, she would have become a favourite with the
town. When there came to her any fair scope for acting, she was
perfect. In the ordinary scenes of ordinary life, such as befell her
during her visit to Fawn Court, she could not acquit herself well.
There was no reality about her, and the want of it was strangely
plain to most unobservant eyes. But give her a part to play that
required exaggerated, strong action, and she hardly ever failed. Even
in that terrible moment, when, on her return from the theatre, she
thought that the police had discovered her secret about the diamonds,
though she nearly sank through fear, she still carried on her acting
in the presence of Lucinda Roanoke; and when she had found herself
constrained to tell the truth to Lord George Carruthers, the power
to personify a poor, weak, injured creature was not wanting to her.
The reader will not think that her position in society at the present
moment was very well established,--will feel, probably, that she must
still have known herself to be on the brink of social ruin. But she
had now fully worked herself up to the necessities of the occasion,
and was as able to play her part as well as any actress that ever
walked the boards. She had called him a dastard, and now stood
looking him in the face. "I didn't mean anybody in particular," said
Lord Fawn.
"Then what right can you have to ask me whether I have received
attentions? Had it not been for the affectionate attention of my
cousin, Mr. Greystock, I should have died beneath the load of sorrow
you have heaped upon me!" This she said quite boldly, and yet the
man she named was he of whom Andy Gowran told his horrid story, and
whose love-making to Lizzie had, in Mrs. Hittaway's opinion, been
sufficient to atone for any falling off of strength in the matter of
the diamonds.
"A rumour reached me," said Lord Fawn, plucking up his courage, "that
you were engaged to marry your cousin."
"Then rumour lied, my lord. And he or she who repeated the rumour to
you, lied also. And any he or she who repeats it again will go on
with the lie." Lord Fawn's brow became very black. The word "lie"
itself was offensive to him,--offensive, even though it might not be
applied directly to himself; but he still quailed, and was unable to
express his indignation,--as he had done to poor Lucy Morris, his
mother's governess. "And now let me ask, Lord Fawn, on what ground
you and I stand together. When my friend, Lady Glencora, asked me,
only this morning, whether my engagement with you was still an
existing fact, and brought me the kindest possible message on the
same subject from her uncle, the duke, I hardly knew what answer to
make her." It was not surprising that Lizzie in her difficulties
should use her new friend, but perhaps she over-did the friendship a
little. "I told her that we were engaged, but that your lordship's
conduct to me had been so strange, that I hardly knew how to speak of
you among my friends."
"I thought I explained myself to your cousin."
"My cousin certainly did not understand your explanation."
Lord Fawn was certain that Greystock had understood it well; and
Greystock had in return insulted him,--because the engagement was
broken off. But it is impossible to argue on facts with a woman who
has been ill-used. "After all that has passed, perhaps we had better
part," said Lord Fawn.
"Then I shall put the matter into the hands of the Duke of Omnium,"
said Lizzie boldly. "I will not have my whole life ruined, my good
name blasted--"
"I have not said a word to injure your good name."
"On what plea, then, have you dared to take upon yourself to
put an end to an engagement which was made at your own pressing
request,--which was, of course, made at your own request? On what
ground do you justify such conduct? You are a Liberal, Lord Fawn;
and everybody regards the Duke of Omnium as the head of the Liberal
nobility in England. He is my friend, and I shall put the matter into
his hands." It was, probably, from her cousin Frank that Lizzie had
learned that Lord Fawn was more afraid of the leaders of his own
party than of any other tribunal upon earth,--or perhaps elsewhere.
Lord Fawn felt the absurdity of the threat, and yet it had effect
upon him. He knew that the Duke of Omnium was a worn-out old
debauchee, with one foot in the grave, who was looked after by two or
three women who were only anxious that he should not disgrace himself
by some absurdity before he died. Nevertheless, the Duke of Omnium,
or the duke's name, was a power in the nation. Lady Glencora was
certainly very powerful, and Lady Glencora's husband was Chancellor
of the Exchequer. He did not suppose that the duke cared in the least
whether Lizzie Eustace was or was not married;--but Lady Glencora
had certainly interested herself about Lizzie, and might make London
almost too hot to hold him if she chose to go about everywhere
saying that he ought to marry the lady. And in addition to all this
prospective grief, there was the trouble of the present moment. He
was in Lizzie's own room,--fool that he had been to come there,--and
he must get out as best he could. "Lady Eustace," he said, "I am most
anxious not to behave badly in this matter."
"But you are behaving badly,--very badly."
"With your leave I will tell you what I would suggest. I will submit
to you in writing my opinion on this matter;"--Lord Fawn had been all
his life submitting his opinion in writing, and thought that he was
rather a good hand at the work. "I will then endeavour to explain to
you the reasons which make me think that it will be better for us
both that our engagement should be at an end. If, after reading it,
you shall disagree with me, and still insist on the right which I
gave you when I asked you to become my wife,--I will then perform the
promise which I certainly made." To this most foolish proposal on his
part, Lizzie, of course, acquiesced. She acquiesced, and bade him
farewell with her sweetest smile. It was now manifest to her that she
could have her husband,--or her revenge, just as she might prefer.
This had been a day of triumph to her, and she was talking of it in
the evening triumphantly to Mrs. Carbuncle, when she was told that a
policeman wanted to see her down-stairs! Oh, those wretched police!
Again all the blood rushed to her head and nearly killed her. She
descended slowly; and was then informed by a man, not dressed,
like Bunfit, in plain clothes, but with all the paraphernalia of a
policeman's uniform, that her late servant, Patience Crabstick, had
given herself up as Queen's evidence, and was now in custody in
Scotland Yard. It had been thought right that she should be so far
informed; but the man was able to tell her nothing further.