“You will have to be examined again before a magistrate.”
“Yes;—I suppose I must be examined. You will go with me, Frank—won’t you?” He winced, and made no immediate reply. “I don’t mean to Mr. Camperdown, but before the magistrate. Will it be in a court?”
“I suppose so.”
“The gentleman came here before. Couldn’t he come here again?” Then he explained to her the difference of her present position, and in doing so he did say something of her iniquity. He made her understand that the magistrate had gone out of his way at the last inquiry, believing her to be a lady who had been grievously wronged, and one, therefore, to whom much consideration was due. “And I have been grievously wronged,” said Lizzie. But now she would be required to tell the truth in opposition to the false evidence which she had formerly given; and she would herself be exempted from prosecution for perjury only on the ground that she would be called on to criminate herself in giving evidence against criminals whose crimes had been deeper than her own. “I suppose they can’t quite eat me,” she said, smiling through her tears.
“No;—they won’t eat you,” he replied gravely.
“And you will go with me?”
“Yes;—I suppose I had better do so.”
“Ah;—that will be so nice.” The idea of the scene at the police-court was not at all “nice” to Frank Greystock. “I shall not mind what they say to me as long as you are by my side. Everybody will know that they were my own—won’t they?”
“And there will be the trial afterwards.”
“Another trial?” Then he explained to her the course of affairs—that the men might not improbably be tried at Carlisle for stealing the box, and again in London for stealing the diamonds—that two distinct acts of burglary had been committed, and that her evidence would be required on both occasions. He told her also that her attendance before the magistrate on Friday would only be a preliminary ceremony, and that, before the thing was over she would, doubtless, be doomed to bear a great deal of annoyance, and to answer very many disagreeable questions. “I shall care for nothing if you will only be at my side,” she exclaimed.
He was very urgent with her to go to Scotland as soon as her examination before the magistrates should be over, and was much astonished at the excuse she made for not doing so. Mrs. Carbuncle had borrowed all her ready money; but as she was now in Mrs. Carbuncle’s house, she could repay herself a portion of the loan by remaining there and eating it out. She did not exactly say how much Mrs. Carbuncle had borrowed, but she left an impression on Frank’s mind that it was about ten times the actual sum. With this excuse he was not satisfied, and told her that she must go to Scotland, if only for the sake of escaping from the Carbuncle connection. She promised to obey him if he would be her convoy. The Easter holidays were just now at hand, and he could not refuse on the plea of time. “Oh, Frank, do not refuse me this;—only think how terribly forlorn is my position!” He did not refuse, but he did not quite promise. He was still tenderhearted towards her in spite of her enormities. One iniquity—perhaps her worst iniquity, he did not yet know. He had not as yet heard of her disinterested appeal to Lucy Morris.
When he left her she was almost joyous for a few minutes;—till the thought of her coming interview with Mr. Camperdown again overshadowed her. She had dreaded two things chiefly—her first interview with her cousin Frank after he should have learned the truth, and those perils in regard to perjury with which Lord George had threatened her. Both these bugbears had now vanished. That dear man, the major, had told her that there would be no such perils, and her cousin Frank had not seemed to think so very much of her lies and treachery! He had still been affectionate with her; he would support her before the magistrate, and would travel with her to Scotland. And after that who could tell what might come next? How foolish she had been to trouble herself as she had done—almost to choke herself with an agony of fear, because she had feared detection. Now she was detected;—and what had come of it? That great officer of justice, Major Mackintosh, had been almost more than civil to her; and her dear cousin Frank was still a cousin—dear as ever. People, after all, did not think so very much of perjury—of perjury such as hers, committed in regard to one’s own property. It was that odious Lord George who had frightened her, instead of comforting, as he would have done had there been a spark of the true Corsair poetry about him. She did not feel comfortably confident as to what might be said of her by Lady Glencora and the Duke of Omnium, but she was almost inclined to think that Lady Glencora would support her. Lady Glencora was no poor, mealymouthed thing, but a woman of the world who understood what was what. Lizzie no doubt wished that the trials and examinations were over;—but her money was safe. They could not take away Portray, nor could they rob her of four thousand a year. As for the rest, she could live it down.
She had ordered the carriage to take her to Mr. Camperdown’s chambers, and now she dressed herself for the occasion. He should not be made to think, at any rate by her outside appearance, that she was ashamed of herself.
