There was staying with her at this time a certain Miss Macnulty, who was related, after some distant fashion, to old Lady Linlithgow, and who was as utterly destitute of possessions or means of existence as any unfortunate, wellborn, and moderately-educated, middle-aged woman in London. To live upon her friends, such as they might be, was the only mode of life within her reach. It was not that she had chosen such dependence; nor, indeed, had she endeavoured to reject it. It had come to her as a matter of course—either that or the poorhouse. As to earning her bread, except by that attendance which a poor friend gives—the idea of any possibility that way had never entered her head. She could do nothing—except dress like a lady with the smallest possible cost, and endeavour to be obliging. Now, at this moment, her condition was terribly precarious. She had quarrelled with Lady Linlithgow, and had been taken in by her old friend Lizzie—her old enemy might, perhaps, be a truer expression—because of that quarrel. But a permanent home had not even been promised to her; and poor Miss Macnulty was aware that even a permanent home with Lady Eustace would not be an unmixed blessing. In her way, Miss Macnulty was an honest woman.
They were sitting together one May afternoon in the little back drawing-room in Mount Street. They had dined early, were now drinking tea, and intended to go to the opera. It was six o’clock, and was still broad day, but the thick coloured blind was kept across the single window, and the folding doors of the room were nearly closed, and there was a feeling of evening in the room. The necklace during the whole day had been so heavy on Lizzie’s heart, that she had been unable to apply her thoughts to the building of that castle in the air in which the Corsair was to reign supreme, but not alone. “My dear,” she said—she generally called Miss Macnulty my dear—“you know that box I had made by the jewellers.”
“You mean the safe.”
“Well—yes; only it isn’t a safe. A safe is a great big thing. I had it made especially for the diamonds Sir Florian gave me.”
“I supposed it was so.”
“I wonder whether there’s any danger about it?”
“If I were you, Lady Eustace, I wouldn’t keep them in the house. I should have them kept where Sir Florian kept them. Suppose anybody should come and murder you!”
“I’m not a bit afraid of that,” said Lizzie.
“I should be. And what will you do with it when you go to Scotland?”
“I took them with me before;—in my own care. I know that wasn’t safe. I wish I knew what to do with them!”
“There are people who keep such things,” said Miss Macnulty.
Then Lizzie paused a moment. She was dying for counsel and for confidence. “I cannot trust them anywhere,” she said. “It is just possible there may be a lawsuit about them.”
“How a lawsuit?”
“I cannot explain it all, but I am very unhappy about it. They want me to give them up;—but my husband gave them to me, and for his sake I will not do so. When he threw them round my neck he told me that they were my own;—so he did. How can a woman give up such a present—from a husband—who is dead? As to the value, I care nothing. But I won’t do it.” By this time Lady Eustace was in tears, and had so far succeeded as to have produced some amount of belief in Miss Macnulty’s mind.
“If they are your own, they can’t take them from you,” said Miss Macnulty.
“They shan’t. They shall find that I’ve got some spirit left.” Then she reflected that a real Corsair lover would protect her jewels for her;—would guard them against a score of Camperdowns. But she doubted whether Lord Fawn would do much in that way. Then the door was opened, and Lord Fawn was announced. It was not at all unusual with Lord Fawn to call on the widow at this hour. Mount Street is not exactly in the way from the India Office to the House of Lords; but a Hansom cab can make it almost in the way. Of neglect of official duty Lord Fawn was never guilty; but a half hour for private business or for relaxation between one stage of duty and another—can any Minister grudge so much to an indefatigable follower? Lady Eustace had been in tears as he was announced, but the light of the room was so low that the traces of them could hardly be seen. She was in her Corsair state of mind, divided between her jewels and her poetry, and caring not very much for the increased rank which Lord Fawn could give her. “The Sawab’s case is coming on in the House of Commons this very night,” he said, in answer to a question from Miss Macnulty. Then he turned to Lady Eustace. “Your cousin, Mr. Greystock, is going to ask a question in the House.”
“Shall you be there to answer him?” asked Miss Macnulty innocently.
“Oh dear, no. But I shall be present. A peer can go, you know.” Then Lord Fawn, at considerable length, explained to the two ladies the nature and condition of the British Parliament. Miss Macnulty experienced an innocent pleasure in having such things told to her by a lord. Lady Eustace knew that this was the way in which Lord Fawn made love, and thought that from him it was as good as any other
