He was obliged to say something. “My name has, of course, been much mixed up with hers.”
“Yes, Lord Fawn, I know it has. And it is because I am so sure of your high-minded generosity and—and thorough devotion, that I have ventured to speak to you. I am sure there is nothing you would wish so much as to get at the truth.”
“Certainly, Lady Glencora.”
“All manner of stories have been told about her, and, as I believe, without the slightest foundation. They tell me now that she had an undoubted right to keep the diamonds;—that even if Sir Florian did not give them to her, they were hers under his will. Those lawyers have given up all idea of proceeding against her.”
“Because the necklace has been stolen.”
“Altogether independently of that. Do you see Mr. Eustace, and ask him if what I say is not true. If it had not been her own she would have been responsible for the value, even though it were stolen; and with such a fortune as hers they would never have allowed her to escape. They were as bitter against her as they could be;—weren’t they?”
“Mr. Camperdown thought that the property should be given up.”
“Oh yes;—that’s the man’s name; a horrid man. I am told that he was really most cruel to her. And then, because a lot of thieves had got about her—after the diamonds, you know, like flies round a honeypot—and took first her necklace and then her money, they were impudent enough to say that she had stolen her own things!”
“I don’t think they quite said that, Lady Glencora.”
“Something very much like it, Lord Fawn. I have no doubt in my own mind who did steal all the things.”
“Who was it?”
“Oh—one mustn’t mention names in such an affair without evidence. At any rate, she has been very badly treated, and I shall take her up. If I were you I would go and call upon her;—I would indeed. I think you owe it to her. Well, duke, what do you think of Plantagenet’s penny now? Will it ever be worth two halfpence?” This question was asked of the Duke of St. Bungay, a great nobleman whom all Liberals loved, and a member of the Cabinet. He had come in since dinner, and had been asking a question or two as to what had been decided.
“Well, yes; if properly invested I think it will. I’m glad that it is not to contain five semitenths. A semitenth would never have been a popular form of money in England. We hate new names so much that we have not yet got beyond talking of fourpenny bits.”
“There’s a great deal in a name;—isn’t there? You don’t think they’ll call them Pallisers, or Palls, or anything of that sort;—do you? I shouldn’t like to hear that under the new regime two lollypops were to cost three Palls. But they say it never can be carried this session—and we shan’t be in, in the next year.”
“Who says so? Don’t be such a prophetess of evil, Lady Glencora. I mean to be in for the next three sessions, and I mean to see Palliser’s measure carried through the House of Lords next session. I shall be paying for my mutton-chops at the club at so many quints a chop yet. Don’t you think so, Fawn?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Lord Fawn, whose mind was intent on other matters. After that he left the room as quickly as he could, and escaped out into the street. His mind was very much disturbed. If Lady Glencora was determined to take up the cudgels for the woman he had rejected, the comfort and peace of his life would be over. He knew well enough how strong was Lady Glencora.
LVI
Job’s Comforters
Mrs. Carbuncle and Lady Eustace had now been up in town between six and seven weeks, and the record of their doings has necessarily dealt chiefly with robberies and the rumours of robberies. But at intervals the minds of the two ladies had been intent on other things. The former was still intent on marrying her niece, Lucinda Roanoke, to Sir Griffin, and the latter had never for a moment forgotten the imperative duty which lay upon her of revenging herself upon Lord Fawn. The match between Sir Griffin and Lucinda was still to be a match. Mrs. Carbuncle persevered in the teeth both of the gentleman and of the lady, and still promised herself success. And our Lizzie, in the midst of all her troubles, had not been idle. In doing her justice we must acknowledge that she had almost abandoned the hope of becoming Lady Fawn. Other hopes and other ambitions had come upon her. Latterly the Corsair had been all in all to her—with exceptional moments in which she told herself that her heart belonged exclusively to her cousin Frank. But Lord Fawn’s offences were not to be forgotten, and she continually urged upon her cousin the depth of the wrongs which she had suffered.
On the part of Frank Greystock there was certainly no desire to let the Undersecretary escape. It is hoped that the reader, to whom every tittle of this story has been told without reserve, and every secret unfolded, will remember that others were not treated with so much open candour. The reader knows much more of Lizzie Eustace than did her cousin Frank. He, indeed, was not quite in love with Lizzie; but to him she was a pretty, graceful young woman, to whom he was bound by many ties, and who had been cruelly injured. Dangerous she was doubtless, and perhaps a little artificial. To have had her married to Lord Fawn would have been a good thing—and would still be
