“To Japan!” said Miss Macnulty, really interested. Had Sir Griffin gone no further than Boulogne, her pleasure in the news would certainly have been much less. Then she asked some single question about Lord George, and from that came to the real marrow of her anxiety. Had Mr. Greystock lately seen the—the Rev. Mr. Emilius? Frank had not seen the clergyman, and could only say of him that had Lucinda Roanoke and Sir Griffin Tewett been made one, the knot would have been tied by Mr. Emilius.
“Would it indeed? Did you not think Mr. Emilius very clever when you met him down here?”
“I don’t doubt but what he is a sharp sort of fellow.”
“Oh, Mr. Greystock, I don’t think that that’s the word for him at all. He did promise me when he was here that he would write to me occasionally, but I suppose that the increasing duties of his position have rendered that impossible.” Frank, who had no idea of the extent of the preacher’s ambition, assured Miss Macnulty that among his multifarious clerical labours it was out of the question that Mr. Emilius should find time to write letters.
Frank had consented to stay one day at Portray, and did not now like to run away without again seeing his cousin. Though much tempted to go at once, he did stay the day, and had an opportunity of speaking a few words to Mr. Gowran. Mr. Gowran was very gracious, but said nothing of his journey up to London. He asked various questions concerning her “leddyship’s” appearance at the police-court, as to which tidings had already reached Ayrshire, and pretended to be greatly shocked at the loss of the diamonds. “When they talk o’ ten thoosand poond, that’s a lee, nae doobt?” asked Andy.
“No lie at all, I believe,” said Greystock.
“And her leddyship wad tak’ aboot wi’ her ten thoosand poond—in a box?” Andy still showed much doubt by the angry glance of his eye and the close compression of his lips, and the great severity of his demeanour as he asked the question.
“I know nothing about diamonds myself, but that is what they say they were worth.”
“Her leddyship’s her ain sell seems nae to ha’ been in ain story aboot the box, Muster Greystock?” But Frank could not stand to be cross-questioned on this delicate matter, and walked off, saying that as the thieves had not yet been tried for the robbery, the less said about it the better.
At four o’clock on that afternoon he had not seen Lizzie, and then he received a message from her to the effect that she was still so unwell from the fatigue of her journey that she could bear no one with her but her child. She hoped that her cousin was quite comfortable, and that she might be able to see him after breakfast on the following day. But Frank was determined to leave Portray very early on the following day, and therefore wrote a note to his cousin. He begged that she would not disturb herself, that he would leave the castle the next morning before she could be up, and that he had only further to remind her that she must come up to London at once as soon as she should be summoned for the trial of Mr. Benjamin and his comrade. It had seemed to Frank that she had almost concluded that her labours connected with that disagreeable matter were at an end. “The examination may be long, and I will attend you if you wish it,” said her cousin. Upon receiving this she thought it expedient to come down to him, and there was an interview for about a quarter of an hour in her own little sitting-room looking out upon the sea. She had formed a project, and at once suggested it to him. If she found herself ill when the day of the trial came, could they make her go up and give her evidence? Frank told her that they could, and that they would. She was very clever about it. “They couldn’t go back to what I said at Carlisle, you know; because they already have made me tell all that myself.” As she had been called upon to criminate herself, she could not now be tried for the crime. Frank, however, would not listen to this, and told her that she must come. “Very well, Frank. I know you like to have your own way. You always did. And you think so little of my feelings! I shall make inquiry, and if I must—why I suppose I must.”
“You’d better make up your mind to come.”
“Very well. And now, Frank, as I am so very tired, if you please I’ll say goodbye to you. I am very much obliged to you for coming with me. Goodbye.” And so they parted.
LXXVII
The Story of Lucy Morris Is Concluded
On the day appointed, Lucy Morris went back from the house of the old countess to Fawn Court. “My dear,” said Lady Linlithgow, “I am sorry that you are going. Perhaps you’ll think I haven’t been very kind to you, but I never am kind. People have always been hard to me, and I’m hard. But I do like you.”
“I’m glad you like me, as we have lived together so long.”
“You may go on staying here, if you choose, and I’ll try to make it better.”
“It hasn’t been bad at all—only that there’s nothing particular to do. But I must go. I shall get another place as a governess somewhere, and that will suit me best.”
“Because of the money, you mean.”
“Well;—that in part.”
“I mean to pay you something,” said the countess, opening her pocketbook, and fumbling for two banknotes which she had deposited there.
“Oh, dear, no. I haven’t earned anything.”
“I always gave Macnulty something, and she was not near so nice as you.” And then the countess produced two ten-pound notes. But Lucy would have none of
