“I always knew that young woman was downright bad,” said Mrs. Carbuncle in her first expression of wrath.
But Lizzie sat in her chair without saying a word, still pale, with that almost awful look of agony in her face. Within ten minutes of their entering the house, Mrs. Carbuncle was making her way upstairs, with the two policemen following her. That her bureau and her dressing-case should have been opened was dreadful to her, though the value that she could thus lose was very small. She also possessed diamonds—but her diamonds were paste; and whatever jewellery she had of any value—a few rings, and a brooch, and suchlike—had been on her person in the theatre. What little money she had by her was in the drawing-room, and the drawing-room, as it seemed, had not been entered. In truth, all Mrs. Carbuncle’s possessions in the house were not sufficient to have tempted a well-bred, well-instructed thief. But it behoved her to be indignant; and she could be indignant with grace, as the thief was discovered to be, not her maid, but Patience Crabstick. The policemen followed Mrs. Carbuncle, and the maids followed the policemen; but Lizzie Eustace kept her seat in the chair by the wall. “Do you think they have taken much of yours?” said Lucinda, coming up to her and speaking very gently. Lizzie made a motion with her two hands upon her heart, and struggled, and gasped—as though she wished to speak but could not. “I suppose it is that girl who has done it all,” said Lucinda. Lizzie nodded her head, and tried to smile. The attempt was so ghastly that Lucinda, though not timid by nature, was frightened. She sat down and took Lizzie’s hand, and tried to comfort her. “It is very hard upon you,” she said, “to be twice robbed.” Lizzie again nodded her head. “I hope it is not much now. Shall we go up and see?” The poor creature did get upon her legs, but she gasped so terribly that Lucinda feared that she was dying. “Shall I send for someone?” she said. Lizzie made an effort to speak, was shaken convulsively while the other supported her, and then burst into a flood of tears.
When that had come she was relieved, and could again act her part. “Yes,” she said, “we will go with them. It is so dreadful;—is it not?”
“Very dreadful;—but how much better that we weren’t at home! Shall we go now?” Then together they followed the others, and on the stairs Lizzie explained that in her desk, of which she always carried the key round her neck, there was what money she had by her;—two ten-pound notes, and four five-pound notes, and three sovereigns;—in all, forty-three pounds. Her other jewels—the jewels which she had possessed over and above the fatal diamond necklace—were in her dressing-case. Patience, she did not doubt, had known that the money was there, and certainly knew of her jewels. So they went upstairs. The desk was open and the money gone. Five or six rings and a bracelet had been taken also from Lizzie’s dressing-case, which she had left open. Of Mrs. Carbuncle’s property sufficient had been stolen to make a long list in that lady’s handwriting. Lucinda Roanoke’s room had not been entered—as far as they could judge. The girl had taken the best of her own clothes, and a pair of strong boots belonging to the cook. A superintendent of police was there before they went to bed, and a list was made out. The superintendent was of opinion that the thing had been done very cleverly, but was of opinion that the thieves had expected to find more plunder. “They don’t care so much about banknotes, my lady, because they fetches such a low price with them as they deal with. The three sovereigns is more to them than all the forty pounds in notes.” The superintendent had heard of the diamond necklace, and expressed an opinion that poor Lady Eustace was especially marked out for misfortune. “It all comes of having such a girl as that about her,” said Mrs. Carbuncle. The superintendent, who intended to be consolatory to Lizzie, expressed his opinion that it was very hard to know what a young woman was. “They looks as soft as butter, and they’re as sly as foxes, and as quick, as quick—as quick as greased lightning, my lady.” Such a piece of business as this which had just occurred, will make people intimate at a very short notice.
And so the diamond necklace, known to be worth ten thousand pounds, had at last been stolen in earnest! Lizzie, when the policemen were gone, and the noise was over, and the house was closed, slunk away to her bedroom, refusing any aid in lieu of that of the wicked Patience. She herself had examined the desk beneath the eyes of her two friends and of the policemen, and had seen at once that the case was gone. The money was gone too, as she was rejoiced to find. She perceived at once that had the money been left—the very leaving of it would have gone to prove that other prize had been there. But the money was gone—money of which she had given a correct account;—and she could now honestly allege that she had been robbed. But she had at last really lost her great treasure;—and if the treasure should be found, then would she infallibly be exposed. She had talked twice of giving away her necklace, and
