Lizzie Triumphs
Reports had, of course, reached Mr. Camperdown of the true story of
the Eustace diamonds. He had learned that the Jew jeweller had made a
determined set at them, having in the first place hired housebreakers
to steal them at Carlisle, and having again hired the same
housebreakers to steal them from the house in Hertford Street, as
soon as he knew that Lady Eustace had herself secreted them. By
degrees this information had reached him,--but not in a manner to
induce him to declare himself satisfied with the truth. But now Lady
Eustace was coming to him,--as he presumed, to confess everything.
When he first heard that the diamonds had been stolen at Carlisle, he
was eager with Mr. Eustace in contending that the widow's liability
in regard to the property was not at all the less because she had
managed to lose it through her own pig-headed obstinacy. He consulted
his trusted friend, Mr. Dove, on the occasion, making out another
case for the barrister, and Mr. Dove had opined that, if it could be
first proved that the diamonds were the property of the estate and
not of Lady Eustace, and afterwards proved that they had been stolen
through her laches,--then could the Eustace estate recover the value
from her estate. As she had carried the diamonds about with her in an
absurd manner, her responsibility might probably be established;--but
the non-existence of ownership by her must be first declared by a
Vice-Chancellor,--with probability of appeal to the Lords Justices
and to the House of Lords. A bill in Chancery must be filed, in the
first place, to have the question of ownership settled; and then,
should the estate be at length declared the owner, restitution of the
property which had been lost through the lady's fault must be sought
at Common Law.
That had been the opinion of the Turtle Dove, and Mr. Camperdown had
at once submitted to the law of his great legal mentor. But John
Eustace had positively declared when he heard it that no more money
should be thrown away in looking after property which would require
two lawsuits to establish, and which, when established, might not be
recovered. "How can we make her pay ten thousand pounds? She might
die first," said John Eustace;--and Mr. Camperdown had been forced to
yield. Then came the second robbery, and gradually there was spread
about a report that the diamonds had been in Hertford Street all the
time;--that they had not been taken at Carlisle, but certainly had
been stolen at last.
Mr. Camperdown was again in a fever, and again had recourse to Mr.
Dove and to John Eustace. He learned from the police all that they
would tell him, and now the whole truth was to be divulged to him by
the chief culprit herself. For, to the mind of Mr. Camperdown the
two housebreakers, and Patience Crabstick,--and even Mr. Benjamin
himself, were white as snow compared with the blackness of Lady
Eustace. In his estimation no punishment could be too great for
her,--and yet he began to understand that she would escape scot-free!
Her evidence would be needed to convict the thieves, and she could
not be prosecuted for perjury when once she had been asked for
her evidence. "After all, she has only told a fib about her own
property," said the Turtle Dove. "About property not her own,"
replied Mr. Camperdown stoutly. "Her own,--till the contrary shall
have been proved; her own, for all purposes of defence before a jury,
if she were prosecuted now. Were she tried for the perjury, your
attempt to obtain possession of the diamonds would be all so much in
her favour." With infinite regrets, Mr. Camperdown began to perceive
that nothing could be done to her.
But she was to come to him and let him know, from her own lips,
facts of which nothing more than rumour had yet reached him.
He had commenced his bill in Chancery, and had hitherto stayed
proceedings simply because it had been reported,--falsely, as it
now appeared,--that the diamonds had been stolen at Carlisle. Major
Mackintosh, in his desire to use Lizzie's evidence against the
thieves, had recommended her to tell the whole truth openly to those
who claimed the property on behalf of her husband's estate; and now,
for the first time in her life, this odious woman was to visit him in
his own chambers.
He did not think it expedient to receive her alone. He consulted
his mentor, Mr. Dove, and his client, John Eustace, and the latter
consented to be present. It was suggested to Mr. Dove that he might,
on so peculiar an occasion as this, venture to depart from the
established rule, and visit the attorney on his own quarter-deck;
but he smiled, and explained that, though he was altogether superior
to any such prejudice as that, and would not object at all to call
on his friend, Mr. Camperdown, could any good effect arise from his
doing so, he considered that, were he to be present on this occasion,
he would simply assist in embarrassing the poor lady.
On this very morning, while Mrs. Carbuncle was abusing Lizzie in
Hertford Street, John Eustace and Mr. Camperdown were in Mr. Dove's
chambers, whither they had gone to tell him of the coming interview.
The Turtle Dove was sitting back in his chair, with his head leaning
forward as though it were going to drop from his neck, and the two
visitors were listening to his words. "Be merciful, I should say,"
suggested the barrister. John Eustace was clearly of opinion that
they ought to be merciful. Mr. Camperdown did not look merciful.
"What can you get by harassing the poor, weak, ignorant creature?"
continued Mr. Dove. "She has hankered after her bauble, and has told
falsehoods in her efforts to keep it. Have you never heard of older
persons, and more learned persons, and persons nearer to ourselves,
who have done the same?" At that moment there was presumed to be
great rivalry, not unaccompanied by intrigue, among certain leaders
of the learned profession with reference to various positions of
high honour and emolument, vacant or expected to be vacant. A Lord
Chancellor was about to resign, and a Lord Justice had died. Whether
a somewhat unpopular Attorney-General should be forced to satisfy
himself with the one place, or allowed to wait for the other,
had been debated in all the newspapers. It was agreed that there
was a middle course in reference to a certain second-class
Chief-Justiceship,--only that the present second-class Chief-Justice
objected to shelving himself. There existed considerable jealousy,
and some statements had been made which were not, perhaps, strictly
founded on fact. It was understood, both by the attorney and by the
Member of Parliament, that the Turtle Dove was referring to these
circumstances when he spoke of baubles and falsehoods, and of
learned persons near to themselves. He himself had hankered after no
bauble,--but, as is the case with many men and women who are free
from such hankerings, he was hardly free from that dash of malice
which the possession of such things in the hands of others is so
prone to excite. "Spare her," said Mr. Dove. "There is no longer
any material question as to the property, which seems to be gone
irrecoverably. It is, upon the whole, well for the world, that
property so fictitious as diamonds should be subject to the risk
of such annihilation. As far as we are concerned, the property
is annihilated, and I would not harass the poor, ignorant young
creature."
As Eustace and the attorney walked across from the Old to the New
Square, the former declared that he quite agreed with Mr. Dove. "In
the first place, Mr. Camperdown, she is my brother's widow." Mr.
Camperdown with sorrow admitted the fact. "And she is the mother of
the head of our family. It should not be for us to degrade her;--but
rather to protect her from degradation, if that be possible." "I
heartily wish she had got her merits before your poor brother ever
saw her," said Mr. Camperdown.
Lizzie, in her fears, had been very punctual; and when the two
gentlemen reached the door leading up to Mr. Camperdown's chambers,
the carriage was already standing there. Lizzie had come up the
stairs, and had been delighted at hearing that Mr. Camperdown was
out, and would be back in a moment. She instantly resolved that
it did not become her to wait. She had kept her appointment, had
not found Mr. Camperdown at home, and would be off as fast as her
carriage-wheels could take her. But, unfortunately, while with a
gentle murmur she was explaining to the clerk how impossible it
was that she should wait for a lawyer who did not keep his own
appointment, John Eustace and Mr. Camperdown appeared upon the
landing, and she was at once convoyed into the attorney's particular
room.
Lizzie, who always dressed well, was now attired as became a lady of
rank, who had four thousand a year, and was the intimate friend of
Lady Glencora Palliser. When last she saw Mr. Camperdown she had
been arrayed for a long, dusty summer journey down to Scotland, and
neither by her outside garniture nor by her manner had she then been
able to exact much admiration. She had been taken by surprise in the
street, and was frightened. Now, in difficulty though she was, she
resolved that she would hold up her head and be very brave. She was
a little taken aback when she saw her brother-in-law, but she strove
hard to carry herself with confidence. "Ah, John," she said, "I did
not expect to find you with Mr. Camperdown."
"I thought it best that I should be here,--as a friend," he said.
"It makes it much pleasanter for me, of course," said Lizzie. "I am
not quite sure that Mr. Camperdown will allow me to regard him as a
friend."
"You have never had any reason to regard me as your enemy, Lady
Eustace," said Mr. Camperdown. "Will you take a seat? I understand
that you wish to state the circumstances under which the Eustace
family diamonds were stolen while they were in your hands."
"My own diamonds, Mr. Camperdown."
"I cannot admit that for a moment, my lady."
"What does it signify?" said Eustace. "The wretched stones are
gone for ever; and whether they were of right the property of my
sister-in-law, or of her son, cannot matter now."
Mr. Camperdown was irritated, and shook his head. It cut him to the
heart that everybody should take the part of the wicked, fraudulent
woman who had caused him such infinite trouble. Lizzie saw her
opportunity and was bolder than ever. "You will never get me to
acknowledge that they were not my own," she said. "My husband gave
them to me, and I know that they were my own."
"They have been stolen, at any rate," said the lawyer.
"Yes;--they have been stolen."
"And now will you tell us how?"
Lizzie looked round upon her brother-in-law and sighed. She had never
yet told the story in all its nakedness, although it had been three
or four times extracted from her by admission. She paused, hoping
that questions might be asked her which she could answer by easy
monosyllables, but not a word was uttered to help her. "I suppose you
know all about it," she said at last.
"I know nothing about it," said Mr. Camperdown.
"We heard that your jewel-case was taken out of your room at Carlisle
and broken open," said Eustace.
"So it was. They broke into my room in the dead of night, when I was
in bed, fast asleep, and took the case away. When the morning came,
everybody rushed into my room, and I was so frightened that I did not
know what I was doing. How would your daughter bear it, if two men
cut away the locks and got into her bedroom when she was asleep? You
don't think about that at all."
"And where was the necklace?" asked Eustace.
Lizzie remembered that her friend the major had specially advised her
to tell the whole truth to Mr. Camperdown,--suggesting that by doing
so she would go far towards saving herself from any prosecution. "It
was under my pillow," she whispered.
"And why did you not tell the magistrate that it had been under your
pillow?"
Mr. Camperdown's voice, as he put to her this vital question, was
severe, and almost justified the little burst of sobs which came
forth as a prelude to Lizzie's answer. "I did not know what I was
doing. I don't know what you expect from me. You had been persecuting
me ever since Sir Florian's death about the diamonds, and I didn't
know what I was to do. They were my own, and I thought I was not
obliged to tell everybody where I kept them. There are things which
nobody tells. If I were to ask you all your secrets, would you tell
them? When Sir Walter Scott was asked whether he wrote the novels, he
didn't tell."
"He was not upon his oath, Lady Eustace."
"He did take his oath,--ever so many times. I don't know what
difference an oath makes. People ain't obliged to tell their secrets,
and I wouldn't tell mine."
"The difference is this, Lady Eustace;--that if you give false
evidence upon oath, you commit perjury."
"How was I to think of that, when I was so frightened and confused
that I didn't know where I was or what I was doing? There;--now I
have told you everything."
"Not quite everything. The diamonds were not stolen at Carlisle, but
they were stolen afterwards. Did you tell the police what you had
lost,--or the magistrate,--after the robbery in Hertford Street?"
"Yes; I did. There was some money taken, and rings, and other
jewellery."
"Did you tell them that the diamonds had been really stolen on that
occasion?"
"They never asked me, Mr. Camperdown."
"It is all as clear as a pike-staff, John," said the lawyer.
"Quite clear, I should say," replied Mr. Eustace.
"And I suppose I may go," said Lizzie, rising from her chair.
There was no reason why she should not go; and, indeed, now that
the interview was over, there did not seem to be any reason why she
should have come. Though they had heard so much from her own mouth,
they knew no more than they had known before. The great mystery
had been elucidated, and Lizzie Eustace had been found to be the
intriguing villain; but it was quite clear, even to Mr. Camperdown,
that nothing could be done to her. He had never really thought that
it would be expedient that she should be prosecuted for perjury, and
he now found that she must go utterly scatheless, although, by her
obstinacy and dishonesty, she had inflicted so great a loss on the
distinguished family which had taken her to its bosom. "I have no
reason for wishing to detain you, Lady Eustace," he said. "If I were
to talk for ever, I should not, probably, make you understand the
extent of the injury you have done, or teach you to look in a proper
light at the position in which you have placed yourself and all those
who belong to you. When your husband died, good advice was given you,
and given, I think, in a very kind way. You would not listen to it,
and you see the result."
"I ain't a bit ashamed of anything," said Lizzie.
"I suppose not," rejoined Mr. Camperdown.
"Good-bye, John." And Lizzie put out her hand to her brother-in-law.
"Good-bye, Lizzie."
"Mr. Camperdown, I have the honour to wish you good morning." And
Lizzie made a low curtsey to the lawyer, and was then attended to her
carriage by the lawyer's clerk. She had certainly come forth from the
interview without fresh wounds.
"The barrister who will have the cross-examining of her at the
Central Criminal Court," said Mr. Camperdown, as soon as the door was
closed behind her, "will have a job of work on his hands. There's
nothing a pretty woman can't do when she has got rid of all sense of
shame."
"She is a very great woman," said John Eustace,--"a very great woman;
and, if the sex could have its rights, would make an excellent
lawyer." In the meantime Lizzie Eustace returned home to Hertford
Street in triumph.