Tribute
Lizzie put off her journey to Scotland from day to day, though her
cousin Frank continually urged upon her the expediency of going.
There were various reasons, he said, why she should go. Her child
was there, and it was proper that she should be with her child. She
was living at present with people whose reputation did not stand
high,--and as to whom all manner of evil reports were flying about
the town. It was generally thought,--so said Frank,--that that Lord
George de Bruce Carruthers had assisted Mr. Benjamin in stealing the
diamonds, and Frank himself did not hesitate to express his belief
in the accusation. "Oh no, that cannot be," said Lizzie, trembling.
But, though she rejected the supposition, she did not reject it very
firmly. "And then, you know," continued Lizzie, "I never see him. I
have actually only set eyes on him once since the second robbery,
and then just for a minute. Of course, I used to know him,--down
at Portray,--but now we are strangers." Frank went on with his
objections. He declared that the manner in which Mrs. Carbuncle
had got up the match between Lucinda Roanoke and Sir Griffin was
shameful,--all the world was declaring that it was shameful,--that
she had not a penny, that the girl was an adventurer, and that Sir
Griffin was an obstinate, pig-headed, ruined idiot. It was expedient
on every account that Lizzie should take herself away from that
"lot." The answer that Lizzie desired to make was very simple. Let me
go as your betrothed bride, and I will start to-morrow,--to Scotland
or elsewhere, as you may direct. Let that little affair be settled,
and I shall be quite as willing to get out of London as you can be to
send me. But I am in such a peck of troubles that something must be
settled. And as it seems that after all the police are still astray
about the necklace, perhaps I needn't run away from them for a little
while even yet. She did not say this. She did not even in so many
words make the first proposition. But she did endeavour to make Frank
understand that she would obey his dictation if he would earn the
right to dictate. He either did not or would not understand her, and
then she became angry with him,--or pretended to be angry. "Really,
Frank," she said, "you are hardly fair to me."
"In what way am I unfair?"
"You come here and abuse all my friends, and tell me to go here and
go there, just as though I were a child. And--and--and--"
"And what, Lizzie?"
"You know what I mean. You are one thing one day, and one another. I
hope Miss Lucy Morris was quite well when you last heard from her."
"You have no right to speak to me of Lucy,--at least, not in
disparagement."
"You are treating her very badly;--you know that."
"I am."
"Then why don't you give it up? Why don't you let her have her
chances,--to do what she can with them? You know very well that you
can't marry her. You know that you ought not to have asked her. You
talk of Miss Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett. There are people quite
as bad as Sir Griffin,--or Mrs. Carbuncle either. Don't suppose I am
speaking for myself. I've given up all that idle fancy long ago. I
shall never marry a second time myself. I have made up my mind to
that. I have suffered too much already." Then she burst into tears.
He dried her tears and comforted her, and forgave all the injurious
things she had said of him. It is almost impossible for a man,--a man
under forty and unmarried, and who is not a philosopher,--to have
familiar and affectionate intercourse with a beautiful young woman,
and carry it on as he might do with a friend of the other sex. In his
very heart Greystock despised this woman; he had told himself over
and over again that were there no Lucy in the case he would not marry
her; that she was affected, unreal,--and, in fact, a liar in every
word and look and motion which came from her with premeditation.
Judging, not from her own account, but from circumstances as he saw
them and such evidence as had reached him, he did not condemn her
in reference to the diamonds. He had never for a moment conceived
that she had secreted them. He acquitted her altogether from those
special charges which had been widely circulated against her; but,
nevertheless, he knew her to be heartless and bad. He had told
himself a dozen times that it would be well for him that she should
be married and taken out of his hands. And yet he loved her after a
fashion, and was prone to sit near her, and was fool enough to be
flattered by her caresses. When she would lay her hand on his arm, a
thrill of pleasure went through him. And yet he would willingly have
seen any decent man take her and marry her, making a bargain that
he should never see her again. Young or old, men are apt to become
Merlins when they encounter Viviens. On this occasion he left her,
disgusted indeed, but not having told her that he was disgusted.
"Come again, Frank, to-morrow, won't you?" she said. He made her no
promise as he went, nor had she expected it. He had left her quite
abruptly the other day, and he now went away almost in the same
fashion. But she was not surprised. She understood that the task she
had in hand was one very difficult to be accomplished,--and she did
perceive, in some dark way, that, good as her acting was, it was not
quite good enough. Lucy held her ground because she was real. You
may knock about a diamond, and not even scratch it; whereas paste
in rough usage betrays itself. Lizzie, with all her self-assuring
protestations, knew that she was paste, and knew that Lucy was real
stone. Why could she not force herself to act a little better, so
that the paste might be as good as the stone,--might at least seem to
be as good? "If he despises me now, what will he say when he finds it
all out?" she asked herself.
As for Frank Greystock himself, though he had quite made up his mind
about Lizzie Eustace, he was still in doubt about the other girl. At
the present moment he was making over two thousand pounds a year,
and yet was more in debt now than he had been a year ago. When he
attempted to look at his affairs, he could not even remember what
had become of his money. He did not gamble. He had no little yacht,
costing him about six hundred a year. He kept one horse in London,
and one only. He had no house. And when he could spare time from his
work, he was generally entertained at the houses of his friends. And
yet from day to day his condition seemed to become worse and worse.
It was true that he never thought of half-a-sovereign; that in
calling for wine at his club he was never influenced by the cost;
that it seemed to him quite rational to keep a cab waiting for him
half the day; that in going or coming he never calculated expense;
that in giving an order to a tailor he never dreamed of anything
beyond his own comfort. Nevertheless, when he recounted with pride
his great economies, reminding himself that he, a successful man,
with a large income and no family, kept neither hunters, nor yacht,
nor moor, and that he did not gamble, he did think it very hard
that he should be embarrassed. But he was embarrassed, and in that
condition could it be right for him to marry a girl without a
shilling?
In these days Mrs. Carbuncle was very urgent with her friend not
to leave London till after the marriage. Lizzie had given no
promise,--had only been induced to promise that the loan of one
hundred and fifty pounds should not be held to have any bearing on
the wedding present to be made to Lucinda. That could be got on
credit from Messrs. Harter and Benjamin; for though Mr. Benjamin was
absent,--on a little tour through Europe in search of precious stones
in the cheap markets, old Mr. Harter suggested,--the business went
on the same as ever. There was a good deal of consultation about
the present, and Mrs. Carbuncle at last decided, no doubt with the
concurrence of Miss Roanoke, that it should consist simply of silver
forks and spoons,--real silver as far as the money would go. Mrs.
Carbuncle herself went with her friend to select the articles,--as to
which, perhaps, we shall do her no injustice in saying that a ready
sale, should such a lamentable occurrence ever become necessary,
was one of the objects which she had in view. Mrs. Carbuncle's
investigations as to the quality of the metal quite won Mr. Harter's
respect; and it will probably be thought that she exacted no
more than justice,--seeing that the thing had become a matter
of bargain,--in demanding that the thirty-five pounds should be
stretched to fifty, because the things were bought on long credit.
"My dear Lizzie," Mrs. Carbuncle said, "the dear girl won't have an
ounce more than she would have got, had you gone into another sort of
shop with thirty-five sovereigns in your hand." Lizzie growled, but
Mrs. Carbuncle's final argument was conclusive. "I'll tell you what
we'll do," said she; "we'll take thirty pounds down in ready money."
There was no answer to be made to so reasonable a proposition.
The presents to be made to Lucinda were very much thought of in
Hertford Street at this time, and Lizzie,--independently of any
feeling that she might have as to her own contribution,--did all she
could to assist the collection of tribute. It was quite understood
that as a girl can only be married once,--for a widow's chance in
such matters amounts to but little,--everything should be done to
gather toll from the tax-payers of society. It was quite fair on such
an occasion that men should be given to understand that something
worth having was expected,--no trumpery thirty-shilling piece of
crockery, no insignificant glass bottle, or fantastic paper-knife
of no real value whatever, but got up just to put money into the
tradesmen's hands. To one or two elderly gentlemen upon whom Mrs.
Carbuncle had smiled, she ventured to suggest in plain words that a
cheque was the most convenient cadeau. "What do you say to a couple
of sovereigns?" one sarcastic old gentleman replied, upon whom
probably Mrs. Carbuncle had not smiled enough. She laughed and
congratulated her sarcastic friend upon his joke;--but the two
sovereigns were left upon the table, and went to swell the spoil.
"You must do something handsome for Lucinda," Lizzie said to her
cousin.
"What do you call handsome?"
"You are a bachelor and a Member of Parliament. Say fifteen pounds."
"I'll be ---- if I do!" said Frank, who was beginning to be very much
disgusted with the house in Hertford Street. "There's a five-pound
note, and you may do what you please with it." Lizzie gave over the
five-pound note,--the identical bit of paper that had come from
Frank; and Mrs. Carbuncle, no doubt, did do what she pleased with it.
There was almost a quarrel because Lizzie, after much consideration,
declared that she did not see her way to get a present from the Duke
of Omnium. She had talked so much to Mrs. Carbuncle about the duke,
that Mrs. Carbuncle was almost justified in making the demand. "It
isn't the value, you know," said Mrs. Carbuncle; "neither I nor
Lucinda would think of that; but it would look so well to have the
dear duke's name on something." Lizzie declared that the duke was
unapproachable on such subjects. "There you're wrong," said Mrs.
Carbuncle. "I happen to know there is nothing his grace likes so much
as giving wedding presents." This was the harder upon Lizzie as she
actually did succeed in saying such kind things about Lucinda, that
Lady Glencora sent Miss Roanoke the prettiest smelling-bottle in the
world. "You don't mean to say you've given a present to the future
Lady Tewett?" said Madame Max Goesler to her friend. "Why not? Sir
Griffin can't hurt me. When one begins to be good-natured, why
shouldn't one be good-natured all round?" Madame Max remarked that
it might, perhaps, be preferable to put an end to good-nature
altogether. "There I daresay you're right, my dear," said Lady
Glencora. "I've long felt that making presents means nothing. Only if
one has a lot of money and people like it, why shouldn't one? I've
made so many to people I hardly ever saw that one more to Lady Tewett
can't hurt."
Perhaps the most wonderful affair in that campaign was the spirited
attack which Mrs. Carbuncle made on a certain Mrs. Hanbury Smith, who
for the last six or seven years had not been among Mrs. Carbuncle's
more intimate friends. Mrs. Hanbury Smith lived with her husband in
Paris, but before her marriage had known Mrs. Carbuncle in London.
Her father, Mr. Bunbury Jones, had, from certain causes, chosen to
show certain civilities to Mrs. Carbuncle just at the period of his
daughter's marriage, and Mrs. Carbuncle being perhaps at that moment
well supplied with ready money, had presented a marriage present.
From that to this present day Mrs. Carbuncle had seen nothing of Mrs.
Hanbury Smith, nor of Mr. Bunbury Jones, but she was not the woman to
waste the return-value of such a transaction. A present so given was
seed sown in the earth,--seed, indeed, that could not be expected to
give back twenty-fold, or even ten-fold, but still seed from which
a crop should be expected. So she wrote to Mrs. Hanbury Smith,
explaining that her darling niece Lucinda was about to be married to
Sir Griffin Tewett, and that, as she had no child of her own, Lucinda
was the same to her as a daughter. And then, lest there might be any
want of comprehension, she expressed her own assurance that her
friend would be glad to have an opportunity of reciprocating the
feelings which had been evinced on the occasion of her own marriage.
"It is no good mincing matters now-a-days," Mrs. Carbuncle would have
said, had any friend pointed out to her that she was taking strong
measures in the exaction of toll. "People have come to understand
that a spade is a spade, and £10, £10," she would have said. Had Mrs.
Hanbury Smith not noticed the application, there might, perhaps, have
been an end of it, but she was silly enough to send over from Paris
a little trumpery bit of finery, bought in the Palais Royal for ten
francs. Whereupon Mrs. Carbuncle wrote the following letter:--
MY DEAR MRS. HANBURY SMITH,
Lucinda has received your little brooch, and is much
obliged to you for thinking of her; but you must remember
that when you were married, I sent you a bracelet which
cost £10. If I had a daughter of my own, I should, of
course, expect that she would reap the benefit of this
on her marriage;--and my niece is the same to me as a
daughter. I think that this is quite understood now among
people in society. Lucinda will be disappointed much if
you do not send her what she thinks she has a right to
expect. Of course you can deduct the brooch if you please.
Yours very sincerely,
JANE CARBUNCLE.
Mr. Hanbury Smith was something of a wag, and caused his wife to
write back as follows:--
DEAR MRS. CARBUNCLE,
I quite acknowledge the reciprocity system, but don't
think it extends to descendants,--certainly not to nieces.
I acknowledge, too, the present quoted at £10. I thought
it had been £7 10s.--["The nasty, mean creature," said
Mrs. Carbuncle, when showing the correspondence to
Lizzie, "must have been to the tradesman to inquire! The
price named was £10, but I got £2 l0s. off for ready
money."]--At your second marriage I will do what is
needful; but I can assure you I haven't recognised nieces
with any of my friends.
Yours very truly,
CAROLINE HANBURY SMITH.
The correspondence was carried no further, for not even can a Mrs.
Carbuncle exact payment of such a debt in any established court; but
she inveighed bitterly against the meanness of Mrs. Smith, telling
the story openly, and never feeling that she told it against herself.
In her set it was generally thought that she had done quite right.
She managed better with old Mr. Cabob, who had certainly received
many of Mrs. Carbuncle's smiles, and who was very rich. Mr. Cabob did
as he was desired, and sent a cheque,--a cheque for £20; and added
a message that he hoped Miss Roanoke would buy with it any little
thing that she liked. Miss Roanoke,--or her aunt for her,--liked a
thirty-guinea ring, and bought it, having the bill for the balance
sent in to Mr. Cabob. Mr. Cabob, who probably knew that he must pay
well for his smiles, never said anything about it.
Lady Eustace went into all this work, absolutely liking it. She had
felt nothing of anger even as regarded her own contribution,--much as
she had struggled to reduce the amount. People, she felt, ought to be
sharp;--and it was nice to look at pretty things, and to be cunning
about them. She would have applied to the Duke of Omnium had she
dared, and was very triumphant when she got the smelling-bottle from
Lady Glencora. But Lucinda herself took no part whatever in all these
things. Nothing that Mrs. Carbuncle could say would induce her to
take any interest in them, or even in the trousseau, which, without
reference to expense, was being supplied chiefly on the very
indifferent credit of Sir Griffin. What Lucinda had to say about
the matter was said solely to her aunt. Neither Lady Eustace, nor
Lord George, nor even the maid who dressed her, heard any of her
complaints. But complain she did, and that with terrible energy.
"What is the use of it, Aunt Jane? I shall never have a house to put
them into."
"What nonsense, my dear! Why shouldn't you have a house as well as
others?"
"And if I had, I should never care for them. I hate them. What does
Lady Glencora Palliser or Lord Fawn care for me?" Even Lord Fawn
had been put under requisition, and had sent a little box full of
stationery.
"They are worth money, Lucinda; and when a girl marries she always
gets them."
"Yes;--and when they come from people who love her, and who pour them
into her lap with kisses, because she has given herself to a man she
loves, then it must be nice. Oh,--if I were marrying a poor man, and
a poor friend had given me a gridiron to help me to cook my husband's
dinner, how I could have valued it!"
"I don't know that you like poor things and poor people better than
anybody else," said Aunt Jane.
"I don't like anything or anybody," said Lucinda.
"You had better take the good things that come to you, then; and not
grumble. How I have worked to get all this arranged for you, and now
what thanks have I?"
"You'll find you have worked for very little, Aunt Jane. I shall
never marry the man yet." This, however, had been said so often that
Aunt Jane thought nothing of the threat.