"I Cannot Do It"
The Saturday and the Sunday Lizzie passed in outward tranquillity,
though doubtless her mind was greatly disturbed. She said nothing of
what had passed between her and Major Mackintosh, explaining that
his visit had been made solely with the object of informing her that
Mr. Benjamin was to be sent home from Vienna, but that the diamonds
were gone for ever. She had, as she declared to herself, agreed with
Major Mackintosh that she would not go to Mr. Camperdown till the
Tuesday,--justifying her delay by her solicitude in reference to Miss
Roanoke's marriage; and therefore these two days were her own. After
them would come a totally altered phase of existence. All the world
would know the history of the diamonds,--cousin Frank, and Lord Fawn,
and John Eustace, and Mrs. Carbuncle, and the Bobsborough people,
and Lady Glencora, and that old vulturess, her aunt, the Countess
of Linlithgow. It must come now;--but she had two days in which she
could be quiet and think of her position. She would, she thought,
send one of her letters to Lord Fawn before she went to Mr.
Camperdown;--but which should she send? Or should she write a third
explaining the whole matter in sweetly piteous feminine terms, and
swearing that the only remaining feeling in her bosom was a devoted
affection to the man who had now twice promised to be her husband?
In the meantime the preparations for the great marriage went on.
Mrs. Carbuncle spent her time busily between Lucinda's bedchamber
and the banqueting hall in Albemarle Street. In spite of pecuniary
difficulties the trousseau was to be a wonder; and even Lizzie was
astonished at the jewellery which that indefatigable woman had
collected together for a preliminary show in Hertford Street. She had
spent hours at Howell and James's, and had made marvellous bargains
there and elsewhere. Things were sent for selection, of which the
greater portion were to be returned, but all were kept for the show.
The same things which were shown to separate friends in Hertford
Street as part of the trousseau on Friday and Saturday were carried
over to Albemarle Street on the Sunday, so as to add to the
quasi-public exhibition of presents on the Monday. The money expended
had gone very far. The most had been made of a failing credit. Every
particle of friendly generosity had been so manipulated as to add
to the external magnificence. And Mrs. Carbuncle had done all this
without any help from Lucinda,--in the midst of most contemptuous
indifference on Lucinda's part. She could hardly be got to allow
the milliners to fit the dresses to her body, and positively
refused to thrust her feet into certain golden-heeled boots with
brightly-bronzed toes, which were a great feature among the raiment.
Nobody knew it except Mrs. Carbuncle and the maid,--even Lizzie
Eustace did not know it;--but once the bride absolutely ran amuck
among the finery, scattering the laces here and there, pitching the
glove-boxes under the bed, chucking the golden-heeled boots into
the fire-place, and exhibiting quite a tempest of fury against one
of the finest shows of petticoats ever arranged with a view to the
admiration and envy of female friends. But all this Mrs. Carbuncle
bore, and still persevered. The thing was so nearly done now that she
could endure to persevere though the provocation to abandon it was so
great. She had even ceased to find fault with her niece,--but went on
in silence counting the hours till the trouble should be taken off
her own shoulders and placed on those of Sir Griffin. It was a great
thing to her, almost more than she had expected, that neither Lucinda
nor Sir Griffin should have positively declined the marriage. It was
impossible that either should retreat from it now.
Luckily for Mrs. Carbuncle, Sir Griffin took delight in the show.
He did this after a bearish fashion, putting his finger upon little
flaws with an intelligence for which Mrs. Carbuncle had not hitherto
given him credit. As to certain ornaments, he observed that the
silver was plated and the gold ormolu. A "rope" of pearls he at once
detected as being false,--and after fingering certain lace he turned
up his nose and shook his head. Then, on the Sunday, in Albemarle
Street, he pointed out to Mrs. Carbuncle sundry articles which
he had seen in the bedroom on the Saturday. "But, my dear Sir
Griffin,--that's of course," said Mrs. Carbuncle. "Oh;--that's of
course, is it?" said Sir Griffin, turning up his nose again. "Where
did that Delph bowl come from?" "It is one of Mortlock's finest
Etruscan vases," said Mrs. Carbuncle. "Oh,--I thought that Etruscan
vases came from--from somewhere in Greece or Italy," said Sir
Griffin. "I declare that you are shocking," said Mrs. Carbuncle,
struggling to maintain her good humour.
He passed hours of the Sunday in Hertford Street, and Lord George
also was there for some time. Lizzie, who could hardly devote her
mind to the affairs of the wedding, remained alone in her own
sitting-room during the greater part of the day;--but she did show
herself while Lord George was there. "So I hear that Mackintosh has
been here," said Lord George.
"Yes,--he was here."
"And what did he say?" Lizzie did not like the way in which the man
looked at her, feeling it to be not only unfriendly, but absolutely
cruel. It seemed to imply that he knew that her secret was about to
be divulged. And what was he to her now that he should be impertinent
to her? What he knew, all the world would know before the end of the
week. And that other man who knew it already, had been kind to her,
had said nothing about perjury, but had explained to her that what
she would have to bear would be trouble, and not imprisonment and
loss of money. Lord George, to whom she had been so civil, for whom
she had spent money, to whom she had almost offered herself and all
that she possessed,--Lord George, whom she had selected as the first
repository of her secret, had spoken no word to comfort her, but had
made things look worse for her than they were. Why should she submit
to be questioned by Lord George? In a day or two the secret which he
knew would be no secret. "Never mind what he said, Lord George," she
replied.
"Has he found it all out?"
"You had better go and ask himself," said Lizzie. "I am sick of the
subject, and I mean to have done with it."
Lord George laughed, and Lizzie hated him for his laugh.
"I declare," said Mrs. Carbuncle, "that you two who were such friends
are always snapping at each other now."
"The fickleness is all on her ladyship's part,--not on mine," said
Lord George; whereupon Lady Eustace walked out of the room and was
not seen again till dinner-time.
Soon afterwards Lucinda also endeavoured to escape, but to this Sir
Griffin objected. Sir Griffin was in a very good humour, and bore
himself like a prosperous bridegroom. "Come, Luce," he said, "get off
your high horse for a little. To-morrow, you know, you must come down
altogether."
"So much the more reason for my remaining up to-day."
"I'll be shot if you shall," said Sir Griffin. "Luce, sit in my lap,
and give me a kiss."
At this moment Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle were in the front
drawing-room, and Lord George was telling her the true story as to
the necklace. It must be explained on his behalf that in doing this
he did not consider that he was betraying the trust reposed in him.
"They know all about it in Scotland Yard," he said; "I got it from
Gager. They were bound to tell me, as up to this week past every
man in the police thought that I had been the master-mind among the
thieves. When I think of it I hardly know whether to laugh or cry."
"And she had them all the time?" exclaimed Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Yes;--in this house! Did you ever hear of such a little cat? I could
tell you more than that. She wanted me to take them and dispose of
them."
"No!"
"She did though;--and now see the way she treats me! Never mind.
Don't say a word to her about it till it comes out of itself. She'll
have to be arrested, no doubt."
"Arrested!" Mrs. Carbuncle's further exclamations were stopped by
Lucinda's struggles in the other room. She had declined to sit upon
the bridegroom's lap, but had acknowledged that she was bound to
submit to be kissed. He had kissed her, and then had striven to drag
her on to his knee. But she was strong, and had resisted violently,
and, as he afterwards said, had struck him savagely. "Of course I
struck him," said Lucinda.
"By ----, you shall pay for it!" said Sir Griffin. This took place in
the presence of Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle, and yet they were to
be married to-morrow.
"The idea of complaining that a girl hit you,--and the girl who is to
be your wife!" said Lord George, as they walked off together.
"I know what to complain of, and what not," said Sir Griffin. "Are
you going to let me have that money?"
"No;--I am not," said Lord George,--"so there's an end of that."
Nevertheless, they dined together at their club afterwards, and in
the evening Sir Griffin was again in Hertford Street.
This happened on the Sunday, on which day none of the ladies had gone
to church. Mr. Emilius well understood the cause of their absence,
and felt nothing of a parson's anger at it. He was to marry the
couple on the Monday morning, and dined with the ladies on the
Sunday. He was peculiarly gracious and smiling, and spoke of the
Hymeneals as though they were even more than ordinarily joyful and
happy in their promise. To Lizzie he was almost affectionate, and
Mrs. Carbuncle he flattered to the top of her bent. The power of the
man in being sprightly under such a load of trouble as oppressed the
household, was wonderful. He had to do with three women who were
worldly, hard, and given entirely to evil things. Even as regarded
the bride, who felt the horror of her position, so much must be in
truth admitted. Though from day to day and hour to hour she would
openly declare her hatred of the things around her,--yet she went on.
Since she had entered upon life she had known nothing but falsehood
and scheming wickedness;--and, though she rebelled against the
consequences, she had not rebelled against the wickedness. Now to
this unfortunate young woman and her two companions, Mr. Emilius
discoursed with an unctuous mixture of celestial and terrestrial
glorification, which was proof, at any rate, of great ability on his
part. He told them how a good wife was a crown, or rather a chaplet
of aetherial roses to her husband, and how high rank and great
station in the world made such a chaplet more beautiful and more
valuable. His work in the vineyard, he said, had fallen lately among
the wealthy and nobly born; and though he would not say that he was
entitled to take glory on that account, still he gave thanks daily in
that he had been enabled to give his humble assistance towards the
running of a godly life to those who, by their example, were enabled
to have so wide an effect upon their poorer fellow-creatures. He
knew well how difficult it was for a camel to go through the eye
of a needle. They had the highest possible authority for that. But
Scripture never said that the camel,--which, as he explained it, was
simply a thread larger than ordinary thread,--could not go through
the needle's eye. The camel which succeeded, in spite of the
difficulties attending its exalted position, would be peculiarly
blessed. And he went on to suggest that the three ladies before him,
one of whom was about to enter upon a new phase of life to-morrow,
under auspices peculiarly propitious, were, all of them, camels of
this description. Sir Griffin, when he came in, received for a while
the peculiar attention of Mr. Emilius. "I think, Sir Griffin," he
commenced, "that no period of a man's life is so blessed, as that
upon which you will enter to-morrow." This he said in a whisper, but
it was a whisper audible to the ladies.
"Well;--yes; it's all right, I daresay," said Sir Griffin.
"Well, after all, what is life till a man has met and obtained the
partner of his soul? It is a blank,--and the blank becomes every day
more and more intolerable to the miserable solitary."
"I wonder you don't get married yourself," said Mrs. Carbuncle, who
perceived that Sir Griffin was rather astray for an answer.
"Ah!--if one could always be fortunate when one loved!" said Mr.
Emilius, casting his eyes across to Lizzie Eustace. It was evident to
them all that he did not wish to conceal his passion.
It was the object of Mrs. Carbuncle that the lovers should not be
left alone together, but that they should be made to think that they
were passing the evening in affectionate intercourse. Lucinda hardly
spoke, hardly had spoken since her disagreeable struggle with Sir
Griffin. He said but little, but with Mrs. Carbuncle was better
humoured than usual. Every now and then she made little whispered
communications to him, telling that they would be sure to be at the
church at eleven to the moment, explaining to him what would be the
extent of Lucinda's boxes for the wedding tour, and assuring him that
he would find Lucinda's new maid a treasure in regard to his own
shirts and pocket-handkerchiefs. She toiled marvellously at little
subjects, always making some allusion to Lucinda, and never hinting
that aught short of Elysium was in store for him. The labour was
great; the task was terrible; but now it was so nearly over! And to
Lizzie she was very courteous, never hinting by a word or a look that
there was any new trouble impending on the score of the diamonds.
She, too, as she received the greasy compliments of Mr. Emilius with
pretty smiles, had her mind full enough of care.
At last Sir Griffin went, again kissing his bride as he left. Lucinda
accepted his embrace without a word and almost without a shudder.
"Eleven to the moment, Sir Griffin," said Mrs. Carbuncle, with her
best good humour. "All right," said Sir Griffin as he passed out of
the door. Lucinda walked across the room, and kept her eyes fixed on
his retreating figure as he descended the stairs. Mr. Emilius had
already departed, with many promises of punctuality, and Lizzie
now withdrew for the night. "Dear Lizzie, good night," said Mrs.
Carbuncle, kissing her.
"Good night, Lady Eustace," said Lucinda. "I suppose I shall see you
to-morrow?"
"See me!--of course you will see me. I shall come into your room with
the girls, after you have had your tea." The girls mentioned were
the four bridesmaids, as to whom there had been some difficulty,
as Lucinda had neither sister nor cousins, and had contracted no
peculiarly tender friendships. But Mrs. Carbuncle had arranged it,
and four properly-equipped young ladies were to be in attendance at
ten on the morrow.
Then Lucinda and Mrs. Carbuncle were alone. "Of one thing I feel
sure," said Lucinda in a low voice.
"What is that, dear?"
"I shall never see Sir Griffin Tewett again."
"You talk in that way on purpose to break me down at the last
moment," said Mrs. Carbuncle.
"Dear Aunt Jane, I would not break you down if I could help it. I
have struggled so hard,--simply that you might be freed from me.
We have been very foolish, both of us; but I would bear all the
punishment,--if I could."
"You know that this is nonsense now."
"Very well. I only tell you. I know that I shall never see him again.
I will never trust myself alone in his presence. I could not do it.
When he touches me my whole body is in agony. To be kissed by him is
madness."
"Lucinda, this is very wicked. You are working yourself up to a
paroxysm of folly."
"Wicked;--yes, I know that I am wicked. There has been enough of
wickedness certainly. You don't suppose that I mean to excuse
myself?"
"Of course you will marry Sir Griffin to-morrow."
"I shall never be married to him. How I shall escape from him,--by
dying, or going mad,--or by destroying him, God only knows." Then she
paused, and her aunt looking into her face almost began to fear that
she was in earnest. But she would not take it as at all indicating
any real result for the morrow. The girl had often said nearly the
same thing before, and had still submitted. "Do you know, Aunt Jane,
I don't think I could feel to any man as though I loved him. But for
this man,-- Oh God, how I do detest him! I cannot do it."
"You had better go to bed, Lucinda, and let me come to you in the
morning."
"Yes;--come to me in the morning;--early."
"I will,--at eight."
"I shall know then, perhaps."
"My dear, will you come to my room to-night, and sleep with me?"
"Oh, no. I have ever so many things to do. I have papers to burn,
and things to put away. But come to me at eight. Good night, Aunt
Jane." Mrs. Carbuncle went up to her room with her, kissed her
affectionately, and then left her.
She was now really frightened. What would be said of her if she
should press the marriage forward to a completion, and if after
that some terrible tragedy should take place between the bride and
bridegroom? That Lucinda, in spite of all that had been said, would
stand at the altar, and allow the ceremony to be performed, she still
believed. Those last words about burning papers and putting things
away, seemed to imply that the girl still thought that she would
be taken away from her present home on the morrow. But what would
come afterwards? The horror which the bride expressed was, as Mrs.
Carbuncle well knew, no mock feeling, no pretence at antipathy. She
tried to think of it, and to realise what might in truth be the
girl's action and ultimate fate when she should find herself in the
power of this man whom she so hated. But had not other girls done the
same thing, and lived through it all, and become fat, indifferent,
and fond of the world? It is only the first step that signifies.
At any rate, the thing must go on now;--must go on, whatever might
be the result to Lucinda or to Mrs. Carbuncle herself. Yes; it must
go on. There was, no doubt, very much of bitterness in the world
for such as them,--for persons doomed by the necessities of their
position to a continual struggle. It always had been so, and always
would be so. But each bitter cup must be drained in the hope that the
next might be sweeter. Of course the marriage must go on; though,
doubtless, this cup was very bitter.
More than once in the night Mrs. Carbuncle crept up to the door
of her niece's room, endeavouring to ascertain what might be going
on within. At two o'clock, while she was on the landing-place,
the candle was extinguished, and she could hear that Lucinda put
herself to bed. At any rate, so far, things were safe. An indistinct,
incompleted idea of some possible tragedy had flitted across the mind
of the poor woman, causing her to shake and tremble, forbidding her,
weary as she was, to lie down;--but now she told herself at last that
this was an idle phantasy, and she went to bed. Of course Lucinda
must go through with it. It had been her own doing, and Sir Griffin
was not worse than other men. As she said this to herself, Mrs.
Carbuncle hardened her heart by remembering that her own married life
had not been peculiarly happy.
Exactly at eight on the following morning she knocked at her niece's
door, and was at once bidden to enter. "Come in, Aunt Jane." The
words cheered her wonderfully. At any rate, there had been no tragedy
as yet, and as she turned the handle of the door, she felt that, as
a matter of course, the marriage would go on just like any other
marriage. She found Lucinda up and dressed,--but so dressed as
certainly to show no preparation for a wedding-toilet. She had on an
ordinary stuff morning frock, and her hair was close tucked up and
pinned, as it might have been had she already prepared herself for a
journey. But what astonished Mrs. Carbuncle more than the dress was
the girl's manner. She was sitting at a table with a book before her,
which was afterwards found to be the Bible, and she never turned her
head as her aunt entered the room. "What, up already," said Mrs.
Carbuncle,--"and dressed?"
"Yes; I am up,--and dressed. I have been up ever so long. How was I
to lie in bed on such a morning as this? Aunt Jane, I wish you to
know as soon as possible that no earthly consideration will induce me
to leave this room to-day."
"What nonsense, Lucinda!"
"Very well;--all the same you might as well believe me. I want you
to send to Mr. Emilius, and to those girls,--and to the man. And you
had better get Lord George to let the other people know. I'm quite in
earnest."
And she was in earnest,--quite in earnest, though there was a
flightiness about her manner which induced Mrs. Carbuncle for awhile
to think that she was less so than she had been on the previous
evening. The unfortunate woman remained with her niece for an hour
and a half, imploring, threatening, scolding, and weeping. When the
maids came to the door, first one maid and then another, they were
refused entrance. It might still be possible, Mrs. Carbuncle thought,
that she would prevail. But nothing now could shake Lucinda or induce
her even to discuss the subject. She sat there looking steadfastly at
the book,--hardly answering, never defending herself, but protesting
that nothing should induce her to leave the room on that day. "Do you
want to destroy me?" Mrs. Carbuncle said at last.
"You have destroyed me," said Lucinda.
At half-past nine Lizzie Eustace came to the room, and Mrs.
Carbuncle, in her trouble, thought it better to take other counsel.
Lizzie, therefore, was admitted. "Is anything wrong?" asked Lizzie.
"Everything is wrong," said the aunt. "She says that--she won't be
married."
"Oh, Lucinda!"
"Pray speak to her, Lady Eustace. You see it is getting so late, and
she ought to be nearly dressed now. Of course she must allow herself
to be dressed."
"I am dressed," said Lucinda.
"But, dear Lucinda,--everybody will be waiting for you," said Lizzie.
"Let them wait,--till they're tired. If Aunt Jane doesn't choose to
send, it is not my fault. I sha'n't go out of this room to-day unless
I am carried out. Do you want to hear that I have murdered the man?"
They brought her tea, and endeavoured to induce her to eat and drink.
She would take the tea, she said, if they would promise to send to
put the people off. Mrs. Carbuncle so far gave way as to undertake to
do so, if she would name the next day or the day following for the
wedding. But on hearing this she arose almost in a majesty of wrath.
Neither on this day, or on the next, or on any following day, would
she yield herself to the wretch whom they had endeavoured to force
upon her. "She must do it, you know," said Mrs. Carbuncle, turning to
Lizzie. "You'll see if I must," said Lucinda, sitting square at the
table, with her eyes firmly fixed upon the book.
Then came up the servant to say that the four bridesmaids were
all assembled in the drawing-room. When she heard this, even Mrs.
Carbuncle gave way, and threw herself upon the bed and wept. "Oh,
Lady Eustace, what are we to do? Lucinda, you have destroyed me. You
have destroyed me altogether, after all that I have done for you."
"And what has been done to me, do you think?" said Lucinda.
Something must be settled. All the servants in the house by this time
knew that there would be no wedding, and no doubt some tidings as to
the misadventure of the day had already reached the four ladies in
the drawing-room. "What am I to do?" said Mrs. Carbuncle, starting up
from the bed.
"I really think you had better send to Mr. Emilius," said
Lizzie;--"and to Lord George."
"What am I to say? Who is there to go? Oh,--I wish that somebody
would kill me this minute! Lady Eustace, would you mind going down
and telling those ladies to go away?"
"And had I not better send Richard to the church?"
"Oh yes;--send anybody everywhere. I don't know what to do. Oh,
Lucinda, this is the unkindest and the wickedest, and the most
horrible thing that anybody ever did! I shall never, never be able
to hold up my head again." Mrs. Carbuncle was completely prostrate,
but Lucinda sat square at the table, firm as a rock, saying nothing,
making no excuse for herself, with her eyes fixed upon the Bible.
Lady Eustace carried her message to the astonished and indignant
bridesmaids, and succeeded in sending them back to their respective
homes. Richard, glorious in new livery, forgetting that his flowers
were still on his breast,--ready dressed to attend the bride's
carriage,--went with his sad message, first to the church and then
to the banqueting-hall in Albemarle Street.
"Not any wedding?" said the head-waiter at the hotel. "I knew they
was folks as would have a screw loose somewheres. There's lots to
stand for the bill, anyways," he added, as he remembered all the
tribute.