The Eustace Diamonds (52 page)

The duke was struck with awe when he thought of all the circumstances. ‘The brother of a maruis!' he said to his nephew's wife. ‘It's such a disgrace to the peerage!'

‘As for that duke,' said Lady Glencora, 'the peerage is used to it by this time.'

‘I never heard of such an affair as this before,'

‘I don't see why the brother of a marquis shouldn't turn thief as well as anybody else. They say he hasn't got anything of his own; – and I suppose that is what makes men steal other people's
property. Peers go into the trade, and peeresses gamble on the Stock Exchange. Peers become bankrupt and the sons of peers run away; – just like other men. I don't see why all enterprises should not be open to them. But to think of that little purring cat, Lady Eustace, having been so very – very clever! It makes me quite envious.'

All this took place in the morning; – that is, about two o'Clock; but after dinner the subject became general. There might be some little reticence in regard to Lord Fawn's feelings – but it was not sufficient to banish a subject so interesting from the minds and lips of the company. 'The Tewett marriage is to come off, after all,' said Mrs Bonteen. ‘I've a letter from dear Mrs Rutter, telling me so as a fact.'

‘I wonder whether Miss Roanoke will be allowed to wear one or two of the diamonds at the wedding,' suggested one of the private secretaries.

‘Nobody will dare to wear a diamond at all next season,' said Lady Glencora. ‘As for my own part I shan't think of having them out. I should always feel that I was being inspected.'

‘Unless they unravel the mystery,' said Madame Goesler.

‘I hope they won't do that,' said Lady Glencora.

‘The play is too good to come to an end so soon. If we hear that Lord George is engaged to Lady Eustace, nothing, I suppose, can be done to stop the marriage,'

‘Why shouldn't she marry if she pleases?' asked Mr Palliser.

‘I've not the slightest objection to her being married. I hope she will, with all my heart. I certainly think she should have her husband after buying him at such a price. I suppose Lord Fawn won't forbid the banns,' These last words were only whispered to her next neighbour, Lord Chiltern; but poor Lord Fawn saw the whisper, and was aware that it must have had reference to his condition.

On the next morning there came further news. The police had asked permission from the occupants to search the rooms in which lived Lady Eustace and Lord George, and in each case the permission had been refused. So said Barrington Erle in his letter to Lady Glencora. Lord George had told the applicant, very
roughly, that nobody should touch an article belonging to him without a search-warrant. If any magistrate would dare to give such a warrant, let him do it. ‘I am told that Lord George acts the indignant madman uncommonly well,' said Barrington Erle in his letter. As for poor Lizzie, she had fainted when the proposition was made to her. The request was renewed as soon as she had been brought to herself; and then she refused – on the advice, as she said, of her cousin, Mr Greystock. Barrington Erle went on to say that the police were very much blamed. It was believed that no information could be laid before a magistrate sufficient to justify a search-warrant; – and, in such circumstances, no search should have been attempted. Such was the public verdict, as declared in Barrington Erle's last letter to Lady Glencora.

Mr Palliser was of opinion that the attempt to search the lady's house was iniquitous. Mr Bonteen shook his head, and rather thought that, if he were Home Secretary, he would have had the search made. Lady Chiltern said that, if policemen came to her, they might search everything she had in the world. Mrs Grey reminded them that all they really knew of the unfortunate woman was, that her jewel-box had been stolen out of her bedroom at her hotel. Madame Goesler was of opinion that a lady who could carry such a box about the country with her, deserved to have it stolen. Lord Fawn felt himself obliged to confess that he agreed altogether with Madame Goesler. Unfortunately, he had been acquainted with the lady, and now was constrained to say that her conduct had been such as to justify the suspicions of the police. ‘Of course, we all suspect her,' said Lady Glencora; ‘and, of course, we suspect Lord George too, and Mrs Carbuncle and Miss Roanoke. But then, you know, if I were to lose my diamonds, people would suspect me just the same – or perhaps plantagenet. It is so delightful to think that a woman has stolen her own property, and put all the police into a state of ferment.' Lord Chiltern declared himself to be heartily sick of the whole subject; and Mr Grey, who was a very just man, suggested that the evidence, as yet, against anybody, was very slight. ‘Of course, it's slight,' said Lady Glencora. ‘If it were more than slight, it would be just like any other robbery, and there would be nothing in it.'
On the same morning Mrs Bonteen received a second letter from her friend Mrs Rutter. The Tewett marriage had been certainly broken off. Sir Griffin had been very violent, misbehaving himself grossly in Mrs Carbuncle's house, and Miss Roanoke had declared that, under no circumstances, would she ever speak to him again. It was Mrs Rutter's opinion, however, that this violence had been ‘put on' by Sir Griffin, who was desirous of escaping from the marriage because of the affair of the diamonds. ‘He's very much bound up with Lord George,' said Mrs Rutter, ‘and is afraid that he may be implicated.'

‘In my opinion he's quite right,' said Lord Fawn.

All these matters were told to the duke by Lady Glencora and Madame Goesler in the recesses of his grace's private room; for the duke was now infirm, and did not dine in company unless the day was very auspicious to him. But in the evening he would creep into the drawing-room, and on this occasion he had a word to say about the Eustace diamonds to every one in the room. It was admitted by them all that the robbery had been a godsend in the way of amusing the duke. ‘Wouldn't have her boxes searched, you know,' said the duke; ‘that looks uncommonly suspicious. Perhaps, Lady Chiltern, we shall hear tomorrow morning something more about it.'

‘Poor dear duke,' said Lady Chiltern to her husband.

‘Doting old idiot!' he replied.

‘Well, my lord,' said Bunfit, ‘what we want is these diamonds.'

‘Do you believe that I've got them?'

‘A man in my situation, my lord, never believes anything. We has to suspect, but we never believes.'

‘You suspect that I stole them?'

‘No, my lord; – I didn't say that. But things are very queer; am't they?' The immediate object of Mr Bunfit's visit on this morning had been to ascertain from Lord George whether it was true that his lordship had been with Messrs Harter and Benjamin, the jewellers, on the morning after his arrival in town. No one from the police had as yet seen either Harter or Benjamin in connexion with this robbery; but it may not be too much to say that the argus eyes of Major Mackintosh were upon Messrs Harter and Benjamin's whole establishment, and it was believed that, if the jewels were in London, they were locked up in some box within that house. It was thought more than probable by Major Mackintosh and his myrmidons that the jewels were already at Hamburg; and by this time, as the major had explained to Mr Camperdown,
every one of them might have been reset – or even reçut. But it was known that Lord George had been at the house of Messrs Harter and Benjamin
¹
early on the morning after his return to town, and the ingenuous Mr Bunfit, who, by reason of his situation, never believed anything and only suspected, had expressed a very strong opinion to Major Mackintosh that the necklace had in truth been transferred to the Jews on that morning. That there was nothing 'too hot or too heavy' for Messrs Harter and Benjamin was quite a creed with the police of the West-end of London. Might it not be well to ask Lord George what he had to say about the visit? Should Lord George deny the visit, such denial would go far to confirm Mr Bunfit. The question was asked, and Lord George did not deny the visit. ‘Unfortunately, they hold acceptances of mine,' said Lord George, ‘and I am often there,' ‘We know as they have your lordship's name to paper' said Mr Bunfit – thanking Lord George, however, for his courtesy. It may be understood that all this would be unpleasant to Lord George, and that he should be indignant almost to madness.

But Mr Erle's information, though certainly defective in regard to Lord George de Bruce Carruthers, had been more correct when he spoke of the lady. An interview that was very terrible to poor Lizzie did take place between her and Mr Bunfit in Mrs Carbuncle's house on Tuesday, the 30th of January.
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There had been many interviews between Lizzie and various members of the police force in reference to the diamonds, but the questions put to her had always been asked on the supposition that she might have mislaid the necklace. Was it not possible that she might have thought that she locked it up, but have omitted to place it in the box? As long as these questions had reference to a possible oversight in Scotland – to some carelessness which she might have committed on the night before she left her home – Lizzie upon the whole seemed rather to like the idea. It certainly was possible. She believed thoroughly that the diamonds had been locked by her in the box – but she acknowledged that it might be the case that they had been left on one side. This had happened when, the police first began to suspect that the necklace had not been in the box when it was carried out of the Carlisle hotel, but before it
had occurred to them that Lord George had been concerned in the robbery, and possibly Lady Eustace herself. Men had been sent down from London, of course at considerable expense, and Portray Castle had been searched with the consent of its owner, from the weathercock to the foundation-stone – much to the consternation of Miss Macnulty, and to the delight of Andy Gowran. No trace of the diamonds was found, and Lizzie had so far fraternized with the police. But when Mr Bunfit called upon her, perhaps for the fifth or sixth time, and suggested that he should be allowed, with the assistance of the female whom he had left behind him in the hall, to search all her ladyship's boxes, drawers, presses, and receptacles in London, the thing took a very different aspect. ‘You see. my lady,' said Mr Bunfit, excusing the peculiar nature of his request, ‘it may have got anywhere among your ladyship's things, unbeknownst.' Lady Eustace and Mrs Carbuncle were at the time sitting together, and Mrs Carbuncle was the first to protest. If Mr Bunfit thought that he was going to search her things, Mr Bunfit was very much mistaken. What she had suffered about this necklace no man or woman knew – and she meant that there should be an end to it. It was her opinion that the police should have discovered every stone of it days and days ago. At any rate, her house was her own, and she gave Mr Bunfit to understand that his repeated visits were not agreeable to her. But when Mr Bunfit, without showing the slightest displeasure at the evil things said of him, suggested that the search should be confined to the rooms used exclusively by Lady Eustace, Mrs Carbuncle absolutely changed her views, and recommended that he should be allowed to have his way.

At that moment the condition of poor Lizzie Eustace was very sad. He who recounts these details has scorned to have a secret between himself and his readers. The diamonds were at this moment locked up within Lizzie's desk. For the last three weeks they had been there – if it may not be more truly said that they were lying heavily on her heart. For three weeks had her mind with constant stretch been working on that point – whither should she take the diamonds, and what should she do with them? A certain very wonderful strength she did possess, or she could not have
endured the weight of so terrible an anxiety; but from day to day the thing became worse and worse with her, as gradually she perceived that suspicion was attached to herself. Should she confide the secret to Lord George, or to Mrs Carbuncle, or to Frank Greystock? She thought she could have borne it all, if only some one would have borne it with her. But when the moments came in which such confidence might be made, her courage failed her. Lord George she saw frequently, but he was unsympathetic and almost rough with her. She knew that he also was suspected, and she was almost disposed to think that he had planned the robbery. If it were so, if the robbery had been his handiwork, it was not singular that he should be unsympathetic with the owner and probable holder of the prey which he had missed. Nevertheless Lizzie thought that if he would have been soft with her, like a dear, good, genuine Corsair, for half an hour, she would have told him all, and placed the necklace in his hands. And there were moments in which she almost resolved to tell her secret to Mrs Carbuncle. She had stolen nothing; – so she averred to herself. She had intended only to defend and save her own property. Even the lie that she had told, and the telling of which was continued from day to day, had in a measure been forced upon her by circumstances. She thought that Mrs Carbuncle would sympathize with her in that feeling which had prevented her from speaking the truth, when first the fact of the robbery was made known to herself in her own bedroom. Mrs Carbuncle was a lady who told many lies, as Lizzie well knew – and surely could not be horrified at a lie told in such circumstances. But it was not in Lizzie's nature to trust a woman. Mrs Carbuncle would tell Lord George – and that would destroy everything. When she thought of confiding everything to her cousin, it was always in his absence. The idea became dreadful to her as soon as he was present. She could not dare to own to him that she had sworn falsely to the magistrate at Carlisle. And so the burthen had to be borne, increasing every hour in weight, and the poor creature's back was not broad enough to bear it. She thought of the necklace every waking minute, and dreamed of it when she slept. She could not keep herself from unlocking her desk and looking at it twenty times a
day, although she knew the peril of such nervous solicitude. If she could only rid herself of it altogether, she was sure now that she would do so. She would throw it into the ocean fathoms deep, if only she could find herself alone upon the ocean. But she felt that, let her go where she might, she would be watched. She might declare tomorrow her intention of going to Ireland – or, for that matter, to America. But, were she to do so, some horrid policeman would be on her track. The iron box had been a terrible nuisance to her; – but the iron box had been as nothing compared to the necklace locked up in her desk. From day to day she meditated a plan of taking the thing out into the streets, and dropping it in the dark; but she was sure that, were she to do so, someone would have watched her while she dropped it. She was unwilling to trust her old friend Mr Benjamin; but in these days her favourite scheme was to offer the diamonds for sale to him at some very low price. If he would help her they might surely be got out of their present hiding-place into his hands. Any man would be powerful to help, if there were any man whom she could trust. In furtherance of this scheme she went so far as to break a brooch – a favourite brooch of her own – in order that she might have an excuse for calling at the jewellers'. But even this she postponed from day to day. Circumstances, as they had occurred, had taught her to believe that the police could not insist on breaking open her desk unless some evidence could be brought against her. There was no evidence, and her desk was so far safe. But the same circumstances had made her understand that she was already suspected of some intrigue with reference to the diamonds – though of what she was suspected she did not clearly perceive. As far as she could divine the thoughts of her enemies, they did not seem to suppose that the diamonds were in her possession. It seemed to be believed by those enemies that they had passed into the hands of Lord George. As long as her enemies were on a scent so false, might it not be best that she should remain quiet?

But all the ingenuity, the concentrated force, and trained experience of the police of London would surely be too great and powerful for her in the long-run. She could not hope to keep her
secret and the diamonds till they should acknowledge themselves to be baffled. And then she was aware of a morbid desire on her own part to tell the secret – of a desire that amounted almost to a disease. It would soon burst her bosom open, unless she could share her knowledge with someone. And yet, as she thought of it all, she told herself that she had no friend so fast and true as to justify such confidence. She was ill with anxiety, and – worse than that – Mrs Carbuncle knew that she was ill. It was acknowledged between them that this affair of the necklace was so terrible as to make a woman ill. Mrs Carbuncle at present had been gracious enough to admit so much as that. But might it not be probable that Mrs Carbuncle would come to suspect that she did not know the whole secret? Mrs Carbuncle had already, on more than one occasion, said a little word or two which had been unpleasant.

Such was Lizzie's condition when Mr Bunfit came, with his authoritative request to be allowed to inspect Lizzie's boxes – and when Mrs Carbuncle, having secured her own privacy, expressed her opinion that Mr Bunfit should be allowed to do as he desired.

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