From Scotland Yard Lord George went direct to Hertford Street. He was in want of money, in want of a settled home, in want of a future income, and altogether unsatisfied with his present mode of life. Lizzie Eustace, no doubt, would take him—unless she had told her secret to some other lover. To have his wife, immediately on her marriage, or even before it, arraigned for perjury, would not be pleasant. There was very much in the whole affair of which he would not be proud as he led his bride to the altar;—but a man does not expect to get four thousand pounds a year for nothing. Lord George, at any rate, did not conceive himself to be in a position to do so. Had there not been something crooked about Lizzie—a screw loose, as people say—she would never have been within his reach. There are men who always ride lame horses, and yet see as much of the hunting as others. Lord George, when he had begun to think that, after the tale which he had forced her to tell him, she had caused the diamonds to be stolen by her own maid out of her own desk, became almost afraid of her. But now, as he looked at the matter again and again, he believed that the second robbery had been genuine. He did not quite make up his mind, but he went to Hertford Street resolved to see her.
He asked for her, and was shown at once into her own sitting-room. “So you have come at last,” she said.
“Yes;—I’ve come at last. It would not have done for me to come up to you when you were in bed. Those women downstairs would have talked about it everywhere.”
“I suppose they would,” said Lizzie almost piteously.
“It wouldn’t have been at all wise after all that has been said. People would have been sure to suspect that I had got the things out of your desk.”
“Oh, no;—not that.”
“I wasn’t going to run the risk, my dear.” His manner to her was anything but civil, anything but complimentary. If this was his Corsair humour, she was not sure that a Corsair might be agreeable to her. “And now tell me what you know about this second robbery.”
“I know nothing, Lord George.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You know something. You know, at any rate, that the diamonds were there.”
“Yes;—I know that.”
“And that they were taken?”
“Of course they were taken.”
“You are sure of that?” There was something in his manner absolutely insolent to her. Frank was affectionate, and even Lord Fawn treated her with deference. “Because, you know, you have been very clever. To tell you the truth, I did not think at first that they had been really stolen. It might, you know, have been a little game to get them out of your own hands—between you and your maid.”
“I don’t know what you take me for, Lord George.”
“I take you for a lady who, for a long time, got the better of the police and the magistrates, and who managed to shift all the trouble off your own shoulders on to those of other people. You have heard that they have taken one of the thieves?”
“And they have got the girl.”
“Have they? I didn’t know that. That scoundrel Benjamin has levanted too.”
“Levanted!” said Lizzie, raising both her hands.
“Not an hour too soon, my lady. And now what do you mean to do?”
“What ought I to do?”
“Of course the whole truth will come out.”
“Must it come out?”
“Not a doubt of that. How can it be helped?”
“You won’t tell. You promised that you would not.”
“Psha;—promised! If they put me in a witness-box of course I must tell. When you come to this kind of work, promises don’t go for much. I don’t know that they ever do. What is a broken promise?”
“It’s a story,” said Lizzie, in innocent amazement.
“And what was it you told when you were upon your oath at Carlisle; and again when the magistrate came here?”
“Oh, Lord George;—how unkind you are to me!”
“Patience Crabstick will tell it all, without any help from me. Don’t you see that the whole thing must be known? She’ll say where the diamonds were found;—and how did they come there, if you didn’t put them there? As for telling, there’ll be telling enough. You’ve only two things to do.”
“What are they, Lord George?”
“Go off, like Mr. Benjamin; or else make a clean breast of it. Send for John Eustace and tell him the whole. For his brother’s sake he’ll make the best of it. It will all be published, and then, perhaps, there will be an end of it.”
“I couldn’t do that, Lord George!” said Lizzie, bursting into tears.
“You ask me, and I can only tell you what I think. That you should be able to keep the history of the diamonds a secret, does not seem to me to be upon the cards. No doubt people who are rich, and are connected with rich people, and have great friends—who are what the world call swells—have great advantages over their inferiors when they get into trouble. You are the widow of a baronet, and you have an uncle a bishop, and another a dean, and a countess for an aunt. You have a brother-in-law and a first-cousin in Parliament, and your father was an admiral. The other day you were engaged to marry a peer.”
“Oh yes,” said Lizzie, “and Lady Glencora Palliser is my particular friend.”
“She is; is she? So much the better. Lady Glencora, no doubt, is a very swell among swells.”
“The Duke of
