Alas!
No attempt was made to send other messages from Hertford Street than
those which were taken to the church and to the hotel. Sir Griffin
and Lord George went together to the church in a brougham, and, on
the way, the best man rather ridiculed the change in life which he
supposed that his friend was about to make. "I don't in the least
know how you mean to get along," said Lord George.
"Much as other men do, I suppose."
"But you're always sparring, already."
"It's that old woman that you're so fond of," said Sir Griffin. "I
don't mean to have any ill-humour from my wife, I can tell you. I
know who will have the worst of it if there is."
"Upon my word, I think you'll have your hands full," said Lord
George. They got out at a sort of private door attached to the
chapel, and were there received by the clerk, who wore a very long
face. The news had already come, and had been communicated to Mr.
Emilius, who was in the vestry. "Are the ladies here yet?" asked
Lord George. The woebegone clerk told them that the ladies were not
yet there, and suggested that they should see Mr. Emilius. Into the
presence of Mr. Emilius they were led, and then they heard the truth.
"Sir Griffin," said Mr. Emilius, holding the baronet by the hand,
"I'm sorry to have to tell you that there's something wrong in
Hertford Street."
"What's wrong?" asked Sir Griffin.
"You don't mean to say that Miss Roanoke is not to be here?" demanded
Lord George. "By George, I thought as much. I did indeed."
"I can only tell you what I know, Lord George. Mrs. Carbuncle's
servant was here ten minutes since, Sir Griffin,--before I came down,
and he told the clerk that--that--"
"What the d---- did he tell him?" asked Sir Griffin.
"He said that Miss Roanoke had changed her mind, and didn't mean to
be married at all. That's all that I can learn from what he says.
Perhaps you will think it best to go up to Hertford Street?"
"I'll be ---- if I do," said Sir Griffin.
"I am not in the least surprised," repeated Lord George. "Tewett, my
boy, we might as well go home to lunch, and the sooner you're out of
town the better."
"I knew that I should be taken in at last by that accursed woman,"
said Sir Griffin.
"It wasn't Mrs. Carbuncle, if you mean that. She'd have given her
left hand to have had it completed. I rather think you've had an
escape, Griff; and if I were you, I'd make the best of it." Sir
Griffin spoke not another word, but left the church with his friend
in the brougham that had brought them, and so he disappears from our
story. Mr. Emilius looked after him with wistful eyes, regretful for
his fee. Had the baronet been less coarse and violent in his language
he would have asked for it; but he feared that he might be cursed
in his own church, before his clerk, and abstained. Late in the
afternoon Lord George, when he had administered comfort to the
disappointed bridegroom in the shape of a hot lunch, Curaçoa,
and cigars, walked up to Hertford Street, calling at the hotel
in Albemarle Street on the way. The waiter told him all that he
knew. Some thirty or forty guests had come to the wedding-banquet,
and had all been sent away with tidings that the marriage had
been--postponed. "You might have told 'em a trifle more than that,"
said Lord George. "Postponed was pleasantest, my lord," said the
waiter. "Anyways, that was said, and we supposes, my lord, as the
things ain't wanted now." Lord George replied that, as far as he
knew, the things were not wanted, and then continued his way up to
Hertford Street.
At first he saw Lizzie Eustace, upon whom the misfortune of the
day had had a most depressing effect. The wedding was to have been
the one morsel of pleasing excitement which would come before she
underwent the humble penance to which she was doomed. That was
frustrated and abandoned, and now she could think only of Mr.
Camperdown, her cousin Frank, and Lady Glencora Palliser. "What's
up now?" said Lord George, with that disrespect which had always
accompanied his treatment of her since she had told him her secret.
"What's the meaning of all this?"
"I daresay that you know as well as I do, my lord."
"I must know a good deal if I do. It seems that among you there is
nothing but one trick upon another."
"I suppose you are speaking of your own friends, Lord George. You
doubtless know much more than I do of Miss Roanoke's affairs."
"Does she mean to say that she doesn't mean to marry the man at all?"
"So I understand;--but really you had better send for Mrs.
Carbuncle."
He did send for Mrs. Carbuncle, and after some words with her, was
taken up into Lucinda's room. There sat the unfortunate girl, in the
chair from which she had not moved since the morning. There had come
over her face a look of fixed but almost idiotic resolution; her
mouth was compressed, and her eyes were glazed, and she sat twiddling
her book before her with her fingers. She had eaten nothing since she
had got up, and had long ceased to be violent when questioned by her
aunt. But, nevertheless, she was firm enough when her aunt begged to
be allowed to write a letter to Sir Griffin, explaining that all this
had arisen from temporary indisposition. "No; it isn't temporary. It
isn't temporary at all. You can write to him; but I'll never come out
of this room if I am told that I am to see him."
"What is all this about, Lucinda?" said Lord George, speaking in his
kindest voice.
"Is he there?" said she, turning round suddenly.
"Sir Griffin?--no indeed. He has left town."
"You're sure he's not there? It's no good his coming. If he comes for
ever and ever he shall never touch me again;--not alive; he shall
never touch me again alive." As she spoke she moved across the room
to the fire-place and grasped the poker in her hand.
"Has she been like that all the morning?" whispered Lord George.
"No;--not like. She has been quite quiet. Lucinda!"
"Don't let him come here, then; that's all. What's the use? They
can't make me marry him. And I won't marry him. Everybody has known
that I hated him,--detested him. Oh, Lord George, it has been very,
very cruel."
"Has it been my fault, Lucinda?"
"She wouldn't have done it if you had told her not. But you won't
bring him again;--will you?"
"Certainly not. He means to go abroad."
"Ah,--yes; that will be best. Let him go abroad. He knew it all the
time,--that I hated him. Why did he want me to be his wife? If he has
gone abroad, I will go down-stairs. But I won't go out of the house.
Nothing shall make me go out of the house. Are the bridesmaids gone?"
"Long ago," said Mrs. Carbuncle, piteously.
"Then I will go down." And, between them, they led her into the
drawing-room.
"It is my belief," said Lord George to Mrs. Carbuncle, some minutes
afterwards, "that you have driven her mad."
"Are you going to turn against me?"
"It is true. How you have had the heart to go on pressing it upon
her, I could never understand. I am about as hard as a milestone, but
I'll be shot if I could have done it. From day to day I thought that
you would have given way."
"That is so like a man,--when it is all over, to turn upon a woman
and say that she did it."
"Didn't you do it? I thought you did, and that you took a great deal
of pride in the doing of it. When you made him offer to her down in
Scotland, and made her accept him, you were so proud that you could
hardly hold yourself. What will you do now? Go on just as though
nothing had happened?"
"I don't know what we shall do. There will be so many things to be
paid."
"I should think there would,--and you can hardly expect Sir Griffin
to pay for them. You'll have to take her away somewhere. You'll find
that she can't remain here. And that other woman will be in prison
before the week's over, I should say,--unless she runs away."
There was not much of comfort to be obtained by any of them from
Lord George, who was quite as harsh to Mrs. Carbuncle as he had been
to Lizzie Eustace. He remained in Hertford Street for an hour, and
then took his leave, saying that he thought that he also should go
abroad. "I didn't think," he said, "that anything could have hurt my
character much; but, upon my word, between you and Lady Eustace, I
begin to find that in every deep there may be a lower depth. All the
town has given me credit for stealing her ladyship's necklace, and
now I shall be mixed up in this mock marriage. I shouldn't wonder if
Rooper were to send his bill in to me,"--Mr. Rooper was the keeper of
the hotel in Albemarle Street,--"I think I shall follow Sir Griffin
abroad. You have made England too hot to hold me." And so he left
them.
The evening of that day was a terrible time to the three ladies in
Hertford Street,--and the following day was almost worse. Nobody came
to see them, and not one of them dared to speak of the future. For
the third day, the Wednesday, Lady Eustace had made her appointment
with Mr. Camperdown, having written to the attorney, in compliance
with the pressing advice of Major Mackintosh, to name an hour. Mr.
Camperdown had written again, sending his compliments, and saying
that he would receive Lady Eustace at the time fixed by her. The
prospect of this interview was very bad, but even this was hardly so
oppressive as the actual existing wretchedness of that house. Mrs.
Carbuncle, whom Lizzie had always known as high-spirited, bold, and
almost domineering, was altogether prostrated by her misfortunes. She
was querulous, lachrymose, and utterly despondent. From what Lizzie
now learned, her hostess was enveloped in a mass of debt which would
have been hopeless, even had Lucinda gone off as a bride; but she had
been willing to face all that with the object of establishing her
niece. She could have expected nothing from the marriage for herself.
She well knew that Sir Griffin would neither pay her debts nor give
her a home nor lend her money. But to have married the girl who was
in her charge would have been in itself a success, and would have in
some sort repaid her for her trouble. There would have been something
left to show for her expenditure of time and money. But now there was
nothing around her but failure and dismay. The very servants in the
house seemed to know that ordinary respect was hardly demanded from
them.
As to Lucinda, Lizzie felt, from the very hour in which she first saw
her on the morning of the intended wedding, that her mind was astray.
She insisted on passing the time up in her own room, and always sat
with the Bible before her. At every knock at the door, or ring at
the bell, she would look round suspiciously, and once she whispered
into Lizzie's ear that if ever "he" should come there again she
would "give him a kiss with a vengeance." On the Tuesday, Lizzie
recommended Mrs. Carbuncle to get medical advice,--and at last they
sent for Mr. Emilius that they might ask counsel of him. Mr. Emilius
was full of smiles and consolation, and still allowed his golden
hopes as to some Elysian future to crop out;--but he did acknowledge
at last, in a whispered conference with Lady Eustace, that somebody
ought to see Miss Roanoke. Somebody did see Miss Roanoke,--and the
doctor who was thus appealed to shook his head. Perhaps Miss Roanoke
had better be taken into the country for a little while.
"Dear Lady Eustace," said Mrs. Carbuncle, "now you can be a friend
indeed,"--meaning, of course, that an invitation to Portray Castle
would do more than could anything else towards making straight
the crooked things of the hour. Mrs. Carbuncle, when she made the
request, of course knew of Lizzie's coming troubles;--but let them
do what they could to Lizzie, they could not take away her house.
But Lizzie felt at once that this would not suit. "Ah, Mrs.
Carbuncle," she said. "You do not know the condition which I am in
myself!"