“Oh dear, no;—pray don’t say anything so horrid after all that I have gone through. Don’t suggest anything of that kind to Lucinda.”
“But surely after what you’ve told me now, he’ll never come here again.”
“Oh yes, he will. There’s no danger about his coming back. It’s only a sort of a way he has.”
“A very disagreeable way,” said Lizzie.
“No doubt, Lady Eustace. But then you know you can’t have it all sweet. There must be some things disagreeable. As far as I can learn, the property will be all right after a few years—and it is absolutely indispensable that Lucinda should do something. She has accepted him, and she must go on with it.”
“She seems to me to be very unhappy, Mrs. Carbuncle.”
“That was always her way. She was never gay and cheery like other girls. I have never known her once to be what you would call happy.”
“She likes hunting.”
“Yes—because she can gallop away out of herself. I have done all I can for her, and she must go on with the marriage now. As for going back, it is out of the question. The truth is, we couldn’t afford it.”
“Then you must keep him in a better humour.”
“I am not so much afraid about him; but, dear Lady Eustace, we want you to help us a little.”
“How can I help you?”
“You can, certainly. Could you lend me two hundred and fifty pounds, just for six weeks?” Lizzie’s face fell and her eyes became very serious in their aspect. Two hundred and fifty pounds! “You know you would have ample security. You need not give Lucinda her present till I’ve paid you, and that will be forty-five pounds.”
“Thirty-five,” said Lizzie with angry decision.
“I thought we agreed upon forty-five when we settled about the servants’ liveries;—and then you can let the man at the stables know that I am to pay for the carriage and horses. You wouldn’t be out of the money hardly above a week or so, and it might be the salvation of Lucinda just at present.”
“Why don’t you ask Lord George?”
“Ask Lord George! He hasn’t got it. It’s much more likely that he should ask me. I don’t know what’s come to Lord George this last month past. I did believe that you and he were to come together. I think these two robberies have upset him altogether. But, dear Lizzie;—you can let me have it, can’t you?”
Lizzie did not at all like the idea of lending money, and by no means appreciated the security now offered to her. It might be very well for her to tell the man at the stables that Mrs. Carbuncle would pay him her bill, but how would it be with her if Mrs. Carbuncle did not pay the bill? And as for her present to Lucinda—which was to have been a present, and regarded by the future Lady Tewett as a voluntary offering of goodwill and affection—she was altogether averse to having it disposed of in this fashion. And yet she did not like to make an enemy of Mrs. Carbuncle. “I never was so poor in my life before—not since I was married,” said Lizzie.
“You can’t be poor, dear Lady Eustace.”
“They took my money out of my desk, you know—ever so much.”
“Forty-three pounds,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, who was, of course, well instructed in all the details of the robbery.
“And I don’t suppose you can guess what the autumn cost me at Portray. The bills are only coming in now, and really they sometimes so frighten me that I don’t know what I shall do. Indeed, I haven’t got the money to spare.”
“You’ll have every penny of it back in six weeks,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, upon whose face a glow of anger was settling down. She quite intended to make herself very disagreeable to her “dear Lady Eustace” or her “dear Lizzie” if she did not get what she wanted; and she knew very well how to do it. It must be owned that Lizzie was afraid of the woman. It was almost impossible for her not to be afraid of the people with whom she lived. There were so many things against her;—so many sources of fear! “I am quite sure you won’t refuse me such a trifling favour as this,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, with the glow of anger reddening more and more upon her brow.
“I don’t think I have so much at the bankers,” said Lizzie.
“They’ll let you overdraw—just as much as you please. If the cheque comes back that will be my look out.” Lizzie had tried that game before, and knew that the bankers would allow her to overdraw. “Come, be a good friend and do it at once,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Perhaps I can manage a hundred and fifty,” said Lizzie, trembling. Mrs. Carbuncle fought hard for the greater sum; but at last consented to take the less, and the cheque was written.
“This, of course, won’t interfere with Lucinda’s present,” said Mrs. Carbuncle—“as we can make all this right by the horse and carriage account.” To this proposition, however, Lady Eustace made no answer.
Soon after lunch, at which meal Miss Roanoke did not show herself, Lady Glencora Palliser was announced, and sat for about ten minutes in the drawing-room. She had come, she said, especially to give the Duke of Omnium’s compliments to Lady Eustace, and to express a wish on the part of the duke that the lost diamonds might be recovered. “I doubt,” said Lady Glencora, “whether there is anyone in England except professed jewellers who knows so much
