“That is if they let you go,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“What do you mean? Who is to prevent me?”
“The police. I know all about it, Lady Eustace, and you need not look like that. Lord George informs me that you will probably—be locked up today or tomorrow.”
“Lord George is a storyteller. I don’t believe he ever said so. And if he did, he knows nothing about it.”
“He ought to know, considering all that you have made him suffer. That you should have gone on, with the necklace in your own box all the time, letting people think that he had taken it, and accepting his attentions all the while, is what I cannot understand! And however you were able to look those people at Carlisle in the face, passes me! Of course, Lady Eustace, you can’t stay here after what has occurred.”
“I shall stay just as long as I like, Mrs. Carbuncle.”
“Poor dear Lucinda! I do not wonder that she should be driven beyond herself by so horrible a story. The feeling that she has been living all this time in the same house with a woman who had deceived all the police—all the police—has been too much for her. I know it has been almost too much for me.” And yet, as Lizzie at once understood, Mrs. Carbuncle knew nothing now which she had not known when she made her petition to be taken to Portray. And this was the woman, too, who had borrowed her money last week, whom she had entertained for months at Portray, and who had pretended to be her bosom-friend. “You are quite right in getting off to Scotland as soon as possible—if they will let you go,” continued Mrs. Carbuncle. “Of course you could not stay here. Up to Friday night it can be permitted; but the servants had better wait upon you in your own rooms.”
“How dare you talk to me in that way?” screamed Lizzie.
“When a woman has committed perjury,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, holding up both her hands in awe and grief, “nothing too bad can possibly be said to her. You are amenable to the outraged laws of the country, and it is my belief that they can keep you upon the treadmill and bread and water for months and months—if not for years.” Having pronounced this terrible sentence, Mrs. Carbuncle stalked out of the room. “That they can sequester your property for your creditors, I know,” she said, returning for a moment and putting her head within the door.
The carriage was ready, and it was time for Lizzie to start if she intended to keep her appointment with Mr. Camperdown. She was much flustered and weakened by Mrs. Carbuncle’s ill-usage, and had difficulty in restraining herself from tears. And yet what the woman had said was false from beginning to end. The maid, who was the successor of Patience Crabstick, was to accompany her; and, as she passed through the hall, she so far recovered herself as to be able to conceal her dismay from the servants.
LXXII
Lizzie Triumphs
Reports had, of course, reached Mr. Camperdown of the true story of the Eustace diamonds. He had learned that the Jew jeweller had made a determined set at them, having in the first place hired housebreakers to steal them at Carlisle, and having again hired the same housebreakers to steal them from the house in Hertford Street, as soon as he knew that Lady Eustace had herself secreted them. By degrees this information had reached him—but not in a manner to induce him to declare himself satisfied with the truth. But now Lady Eustace was coming to him—as he presumed, to confess everything.
When he first heard that the diamonds had been stolen at Carlisle, he was eager with Mr. Eustace in contending that the widow’s liability in regard to the property was not at all the less because she had managed to lose it through her own pigheaded obstinacy. He consulted his trusted friend, Mr. Dove, on the occasion, making out another case for the barrister, and Mr. Dove had opined that, if it could be first proved that the diamonds were the property of the estate and not of Lady Eustace, and afterwards proved that they had been stolen through her laches—then could the Eustace estate recover the value from her estate. As she had carried the diamonds about with her in an absurd manner, her responsibility might probably be established;—but the nonexistence of ownership by her must be first declared by a Vice-Chancellor—with probability of appeal to the Lords Justices and to the House of Lords. A bill in Chancery must be filed, in the first place, to have the question of ownership settled; and then, should the estate be at length declared the owner, restitution of the property which had been lost through the lady’s fault must be sought at Common Law.
That had been the opinion of the Turtle Dove, and Mr. Camperdown had at once submitted to the law of his great legal mentor. But John Eustace had positively declared when he heard it that no more money should be thrown away in looking after property which would require two lawsuits to establish, and which, when established, might not be recovered. “How can we make her pay ten thousand pounds? She might die first,” said John Eustace;—and Mr. Camperdown had been forced to yield. Then came the second robbery, and gradually there was spread about a report that the diamonds had been in Hertford Street all the time;—that they had not been taken at Carlisle, but certainly had been stolen at last.
Mr. Camperdown was again in a fever, and again had recourse to Mr. Dove and to John Eustace. He learned from the police all that they would tell him,
