 The Use to Stimans by Anthony Trollop, Chapter 44, A Midnight Adventure. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bethany Simpson. Something as to the jewels had been told to Lord George, and this was quite necessary as Lord George intended to travel with the ladies from Portray to London. Of course he had heard of the diamonds as who had not. He had heard too of Lord Fawn and knew why it was that Lord Fawn had preemptorily refused to carry out his engagement. But till he was told by Mrs. Carbunkle, he did not know that the diamonds were then kept within the castle. Nor did he understand that it would be part of his duty to guard them on their way back to London. They are worth ever so much, ain't they? He said to Mrs. Carbunkle when she first gave him the information. Ten thousand pounds, said Mrs. Carbunkle, almost with awe. I don't believe a word of it, said Lord George. She says they've been valued at that since she's had them. Lord George owned to himself that such a necklace was worth having, as also no doubt were Portray Castle and the income arising from the estate, even though they could be held in possession for only a single life. Hitherto in his very checkered career, he had escaped the trammels of matrimony, and among his many modes of life had hardly even suggested to himself the expediency of taking a wife with a fortune, and then settling down for the future, if submissively, still comfortably. To say that he had never looked forward to such a marriage as a possible future arrangement would probably be incorrect. To men such as Lord George, it is too easy a result of a career to be altogether banished from the mind. But no attempt had ever yet been made. Nor had any special lady ever been so far honored in his thoughts as to be connected in them with any vague ideas which he might have formed on the subject. But now it did occur to him that Portray Castle was a place in which he could pass two or three months annually without ennui, and that if he were to marry, little Lizzie Eustis could do as well as any other woman with money whom he might chance to meet. He did not say all this to anybody, and therefore cannot be accused of vanity. He was the last man in the world to speak on such a subject to anyone. And as our Lizzie certainly bestowed upon him many of her smiles, much of her poetry and some of her confidence, it cannot be said that he was not justified in his views. But then she was such, quote, an infernal little liar. Lord George was quite able to discover so much of her. She does lie, certainly, said Mrs. Carbunkle, but then who doesn't? On the morning of their departure, the box with the diamonds was brought down into the hall just as they were about to depart. The tall London footman again brought it down and deposited it on one of the oak hall chairs, as though it were a thing so heavy that he could hardly stagger along with it. How Lizzie did hate the man as she watched him and regret that she had not attempted to carry it down herself. She had been with her diamonds that morning and had seen them out of the box and into it. A few days passed on which she did not handle them and gaze at them. Mrs. Carbunkle had suggested that the box with all her diamonds in it might be stolen from her, and as she thought of this, her heart almost sank within her. When she had them once again in London, she would take some steps to relieve herself from this embarrassment of carrying about with her so great a burden of care. The man with a vehement show of exertion deposited the box on the chair and then groaned aloud. Lizzie knew very well that she could lift the box of her own unaided exertions and that the groan was at any rate unnecessary. Supposing someone were to steal on the way, said Lord George to her, not in his pleasantest tone. Do not suggest anything so horrible, said Lizzie, trying to laugh. I shouldn't like it at all, said Lord George. I don't think it would make me a bit unhappy. You've heard about it all. There never was such a persecution. I often say that I should be well pleased to take the bobble and fling it into the ocean waves. I should like to be a mermaid and catch it, said Lord George. And what better would you be? Such things are all vanity and vexation of spirit. I hate the shining thing. And she hit the box with the whip that she held in her hand. It had been arranged that the party should sleep at Carlisle. It consisted of Lord George, the three ladies, the tall man's servant, Lord George's own man, and the two maids. Miss McNulty, with the heir and the nurses, were to remain at portray for yet a while longer. The iron box was again put into the carriage and was used by Lizzie as a footstool. This might have been very well, had there been no necessity for changing their train. At Trune, the porter behaved well and did not struggle much as he carried it from the carriage onto the platform. But at Kilmurnock, where they met the train from Glasgow, the big footmen interfered again and the scene was performed under the eyes of a crowd of people. It seemed to Lizzie that Lord George almost encouraged the struggling, as though he were in league with the footmen to annoy her. But there was no further change between Kilmurnock and Carlisle and they managed to make themselves very comfortable. Lunch had been provided, for Mrs. Carbunkle was a woman who cared for such things and Lord George also liked a glass of champagne in the middle of the day. Lizzie professed to be perfectly indifferent on such matters, but nevertheless she enjoyed her lunch and allowed Lord George to press upon her a second and perhaps a portion of a third glass of wine. Even Lucinda was roused up from her general state of apathy and permitted herself to forget Sir Griffin for a while. During this journey to Carlisle, Lizzie Eustace almost made up her mind that Lord George was the very corsair she had been expecting ever since she had mastered Lord Byron's great poem. He had a way of doing things and of saying things, of proclaiming himself to be master, and at the same time of making himself thoroughly agreeable to his dependents, and especially to the one dependent whom he most honored at the time, which exactly suited Lizzie's ideas of what a man should be. And then he possessed that utter indifference to all conventions and laws, which is the great prerogative of corsairs. He had no reverence for ought divine or human, which is a great thing. The queen and parliament, the bench of bishops, and even the police were to him just so many fungi and parasites and noxious vapors and false hypocrites. Such were the names by which he ventured to call these bugbearers of the world. It was so delightful to live with a man who himself had a title of his own, but who could speak of dukes and marquis as being quite despicable by reason of their absurd position. And as they became gay and free after their luncheon, he expressed almost as much contempt for honesty as for dukes, and showed clearly that he regarded matrimony and marquis to be equally vain and useless. How dare you say such things in our hearing, exclaimed Mrs. Carbunkle. I assert that if men and women were really true, no vows would be needed. And if no vows, then no marriage vows. Do you believe such vows are kept? Yes, said Mrs. Carbunkle enthusiastically. I don't, said Lucinda. Nor I, said the corsair, who can believe that a woman will always love her husband because she swears she will. The oath is false on the face of it. But women must marry, said Lizzie. The corsair declared freely that he did not see any such necessity. And then, though it could hardly be said that this corsair was a handsome man, still he had fine corsair's eyes, full of expression and determination, eyes that could look love and bloodshed almost at the same time. And then he had those manly properties, power, bigness, and apparent boldness, which belonged to a corsair. To be hurried about the world by such a man, treated sometimes with crushing severity, and at others with a tenderest love. Not to be spoken to for one fortnight, and then to be embraced perpetually for another. To be cast every now and then into some abyss of despair by his rashness, and then raised to a pinnacle of human joy by his courage. That thought Lizzie would be the kind of life which would suit her poetical temperament. But then how would it be with her, if the corsair were to take to hurrying about the world without carrying her with him, and were to do so always at her expense? Perhaps he might hurry about the world and take somebody else with him. Madora, if Lizzie remembered rightly, had had no jointure or private fortune. But yet a woman must risk something if the spirit of poetry is to be allowed any play at all. And now these weary diamonds again, said Lord George, as the carriage was stopped against the Carlisle platform. I suppose they must go into your bedroom, Lady Eustace. I wish you'd let the man put the box in yours, just for this night, said Lizzie. No, not if I know it, said Lord George. And then he explained. Such property would be quite as liable to be stolen when in his custody as it would in hers. But, if stolen while in his, would entail upon him a grievous vexation that would by no means lessen the effect of her loss. She did not understand him. But finding that he was quite an earnest, she directed that the box should be again taken to her own chamber. Lord George suggested that it should be entrusted to the landlord. And for a moment or two, Lizzie submitted to the idea. But she stood for that moment thinking of it, and then decided that the box should go to her own room. There's no knowing what that Mr. Camperdown might not do, she whispered to Lord George. The porter and the tall footmen between them staggered along under their load, and the iron box was again deposited in the bedroom of the Carlisle Inn. The evening at Carlisle was spent very pleasantly. The ladies agreed that they would not dress, but of course they did so with more or less of care. Lizzie made herself to look very pretty, though the skirt of the gown in which she came down was that which she had worn during the journey. Pointing this out with very much triumph, she accused Mrs. Carbunkle and Lucinda of great treachery in that they had not adhered to any vestige of their traveling reinement. But the rancor was not vehement, and the evening was passed pleasantly. Lord George was infinitely petted by the three whorees around him, and Lizzie called him a Coursera to his face. And you are the Midora, said Mrs. Carbunkle. Oh no, that's your place, certainly, said Lizzie. What a pity Sir Griffin isn't here, said Mrs. Carbunkle, that we might call him the Jower. Lucinda shuddered without any attempt at concealing her shudder. That's all very well, Lucinda. But I think Sir Griffin would make a very good jower. Pray don't, Aunt. Let one forget it all just for a moment. I wonder what Sir Griffin would say if he was to hear this, said Lord George. Late in the evening, Lord George strolled out, and of course the ladies discussed his character and his absence. Mrs. Carbunkle declared that he was the soul of honor. In regard to her own feeling for him, she averred that no woman had ever had a true friend. Any other sentiment was, of course, out of the question. For was she not a married woman? Had it not been for that accident, Mrs. Carbunkle really thought that she could always have given her heart to Lord George. Lucinda declared that she always regarded him as a kind of supplementary father. I suppose he's a year or two older than Sir Griffin, said Lizzie. Lady Eustis, why should you make me unhappy, said Lucinda? Then Mrs. Carbunkle explained that whereas Sir Griffin was not yet 30, Lord George was over 40. All I can say is he doesn't look it, urged Lady Eustis enthusiastically. Those sort of men never do, said Mrs. Carbunkle. Lord George, when he returned, was greeted with an allusion to angels' wings, and would have been a good deal spoiled among them, worried in the nature of such an article to receive injury. As soon as the clock had struck 10, the ladies all went away to their beds. Lizzie, when she was in her own room, of course, found her maid waiting for her. It was a necessary part of the religion for such a woman as Lizzie Eustis, that she could not go to bed or change her clothes or get up in the morning without the assistance of her own young woman. She would not like to have it thought that she could stick a pin into her own belongings without such assistance. Nevertheless, it was often the case with her that she was anxious to get rid of her girl's attendance. It had been so on this morning, and before dinner, and so it now was again. She was secret in her movements, and always had some recess in her boxes and bags and dressing apparatus, to which she did not choose that Miss Patience Crabstick should have access. She was careful about her letters, and very careful about her money. And then as to that iron box in which the diamonds were kept. Patience Crabstick had never yet seen the inside of it. Moreover, it may be said, either on Lizzie's behalf or to her discredit, as the reader may be pleased to take it, that she was quite able to dress herself, to brush her own hair, to take off her own clothes, and that she was not, either by nature or education, an incapable young woman. But that honor and glory demanded it. She would almost as leaf have had no Patience Crabstick to pry into her own private matters, all which Crabstick knew and would often declare her mistress to be, of all Misses, the most slyest and least comettable. On this present night, she was very soon dispatched to her own chamber. Lizzie, however, took one careful look at the iron box before the girl was sent away. Crabstick, on this occasion, had not far to go to seek her own couch. Alongside of Lizzie's larger chamber, there was a small room, a dressing room with a bed in it, which for this night was devoted to Crabstick's accommodation. Of course, she departed from attendance on her mistress by the door which opened from the one room to the other. But this had no sooner been closed than Crabstick descended to complete the amusements of the evening. Lizzie, when she was alone, bolted both the doors on the inside and then quickly retired to rest. Some short prayer, she said, and her knees close to the iron box. Then she put certain articles of property under the pillow, her watch and chain, and the rings from her fingers, and a packet which she had drawn from her traveling desk, and was soon in bed. Thinking that as she fell away to sleep, she would revolve in her mind that question of the corsair. Would it be good to trust herself and all her belongings to one who might perhaps take her belongings away, but leave herself behind? The subject was not unpleasant, and while she was considering it, she fell asleep. It was perhaps about two in the morning when a man very efficient at the trade which he was then following knelt outside Lady Eustace's door. And with a delicately made saw, aided probably by some other equally well-finished tools, absolutely cut out that portion of the bedroom door on which the bolt was fastened. He must have known the spot exactly, for he did not doubt a moment as he commenced his work, and yet there was nothing on the exterior of the door to show where the bolt was placed. The bit was cut out without the slightest noise. And then when the door was opened, was placed just inside upon the floor. The man then with perfectly noiseless step entered the room, knelt again, just where poor Lizzie had knelt as she said her prayers, so that he might the more easily raise the iron box without a struggle, and left the room with it in his arms without disturbing the lovely sleeper. He then descended the stairs, passed into the coffee room at the bottom of them, and handed the box through an open window to a man who was crouching on the outside in the dark. He then followed the box, pulled down the window, put on a pair of boots, which his friend had ready for him, and the two after lingering a few moments in the shade of the dark wall retreated with their prize round a corner. The night itself was almost pitch dark and very wet. It was as nearly black with darkness as the night can be. So far the enterprising adventurers had been successful, and we will now leave them in their chosen retreat, engaged on the longer operation of forcing open the iron safe. For it had been arranged between them that the iron safe should be opened then and there. Though the weight to him who had taken it out of Lizzie's room had not been oppressive, as it had oppressed the tall serving man, it might still have been an encumbrance to gentlemen intending to travel by railway with as little observation as possible. They were, however, well supplied with tools, and we will leave them at their work. On the next morning, Lizzie was awakened earlier than she had expected, and found not only patients' crab stick in her bedroom, but also a chambermaid and the wife of the manager of the hotel. The story was soon told to her. Her room had been broken open, and her treasure was gone. The party had intended to breakfast at their leisure and proceed to London by a train leaving Carlisle in the middle of the day, but they were soon disturbed from their rest. Lady Eustace had hardly time to get her slippers on her feet and to wrap herself in her dressing gown, to get rid of her disheveled nightcap and make herself just fit for public view before the manager of the hotel and Lord George and the tall footmen and the boots were in her bedroom. It was too plainly manifest to them all that the diamonds were gone. The superintendent of the Carlisle police was there almost as soon as the others, and following him very quickly came the important gentleman who was the head of the constabulary of the county. Lizzie, when she first heard the news, was awestruck rather than outwardly demonstrative of grief. There has been a regular plot, said Lord George. Captain Fitzmarice, the gallant chief, nodded his head. Plot enough, said the superintendent, who did not mean to confide his thoughts to any man or to exempt any human being from his suspicion. The manager of the hotel was very angry and at first did not restrain his anger. Did not everybody know that if articles of value were brought into a hotel, they should be handed over to the safekeeping of the manager? He almost seemed to think that Lizzie had stolen her own box of diamonds. My dear fellow, said Lord George, nobody is saying a word against you or your house. No, my Lord, but Lady Eustace is not blaming you and you do not blame anybody else, said Lord George. Let the police do what is right. At last the men retreated and Lizzie was left with patience in Mrs. Carbunkle. But even then she did not give way to her grief but sat upon the bed awestruck and mute. Perhaps I had better get dressed, she said at last. I feared how it might be, said Mrs. Carbunkle, holding Lizzie's hand affectionately. Yes, you said so. The prize was so great. I was always a tellin' my lady, began Crabstick. Hold your tongue, said Lizzie angrily. I suppose the police will do the best they can, Mrs. Carbunkle. Oh yes, and so will Lord George. I think I'll lie down again for a little while, said Lizzie. I feel so sick, I hardly know what to do. If I were to lie down for a little, I should feel better. With much difficulty, she got them both to leave her. Then before she again undressed herself, she bolted the door that still had a bolt and turned the lock on the other. Having done this, she took out from under her pillow the little parcel which had been in her desk and untying it perceived that her dear diamond necklace was perfect and quite safe. The enterprising adventurers had indeed stolen the iron case, but they had stolen nothing else. The reader must not suppose that because Lizzie had preserved her jewels, she was therefore a consenting party to the abstraction of the box. The theft had been a genuine theft, planned with great skill, carried out with much ingenuity, one in the perpetration of which money had been spent. A theft which for a while baffled the police of England and which was supposed to be very credible to those who had been engaged in it. But the box and nothing but the box had fallen into the hands of the thieves. Lizzie's silence when the abstraction of the box was made known to her, her silence as to the fact that the necklace was at that moment within the grasp of her own fingers, was not at first the effect of deliberate fraud. She was ashamed to tell them that she had brought the empty box away from Portray, having the diamonds in her own keeping because she feared that the box might be stolen. And then it occurred to her quick as thought could flash that it might be well that Mr. Camperdown should be made to believe that they had been stolen. And so she kept her secret. The reflections of the next half hour told her how very great would now be her difficulties. But as she had not disclosed the truth at first, she could hardly disclose it now. End of chapter 44. The Eustice Diamonds by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 45, The Journey to London. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bethany Simpson. When we left Lady Eustice alone in her bedroom at the Carlisle Hotel after the discovery of the robbery, she had very many cares upon her mind. The necklace was indeed safe under her pillow in the bed. But when all the people were around her, her own friends and the police, and they who were concerned with the inn, she had not told them that it was so. But it allowed them to leave her with the belief that the diamonds had gone with the box. Even at this moment as she knew well, steps were being taken to discover the thieves and to make public the circumstances of the robbery. Already no doubt the fact that her chamber had been entered in the night and her jewel box withdrawn was known to the London police officers. In such circumstances, how could she now tell the truth? But it might be that already had the thieves been taken. In that case, would not the truth be known, even though she should not tell it? Then she thought for a while that she would get rid of the diamonds altogether so that no one should know odd of them. If she could only think of a place fit for such purpose, she would so hide them that no human ingenuity could discover them. Let the thieves say what they might. Her word would, in such case, be better than that of the thieves. She would declare that the jewels had been in the box when the box was taken. The thieves would swear that the box had been empty. She would appeal to the absence of the diamonds and the thieves who would be known as thieves would be supposed, even by their own friends and associates, to have disposed of the diamonds before they had been taken. There would be a mystery in all of this and a cunning cleverness, the idea of which hadn't itself a certain charm for Lizzie Eustace. She would have all the world at a loss. Mr. Camperdown could do nothing further to harass her and would have been so far overcome. She would be saved from the feeling of public defeat in the affair of the necklace, which would be very dreadful to her. Lord Fawn might probably be again at her feet and in all the fuss and rumor which such an affair would make in London, there would be nothing of which she need be ashamed. She liked the idea and she had grown to be very sick of the necklace. But what should she do with it? It was at this moment between her fingers beneath the pillow. If she were minded and she thought she was so minded to get rid of it altogether, the sea would be the place. Could she make up her mind absolutely to destroy so large a property, it would be best for her to have recourse to her own broad waves, as she called them even to herself. It was within the friendly depths of her own rock-girt ocean that she should find a grave for her great trouble. But now her back was to the sea and she could hardly insist on returning to portray without exciting a suspicion that might be fatal to her. And then, might it not be possible to get altogether quit of the diamonds and yet to retain the power of future possession? She knew that she was running into debt and that money would someday be much needed. Her acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin the jeweler was a fact often present to her mind. She might not be able to get 10,000 pounds from Mr. Benjamin, but if she could get eight or six or even five, how pleasant would it be? If she could put away the diamonds for three or four years, if she could so hide them that no human eyes could see them till she again produced them to the light, surely after so long an interval they might be made available. But where should be found such hiding place? She understood well how great was the peril while the necklace was in her own immediate keeping. Any accident might discover it. And if the slightest suspicion were aroused, the police would come to her with violence and discover it. But surely there must be some such hiding place if only she could think of it. Then her mind reverted to all the stories she had ever heard of mysterious villainies. There must be some way of accomplishing this thing. And if she could only bring her mind to work upon it exclusively, a hole dug deep into the ground would not that be the place? But then where should the hole be dug? In what spot should she trust the earth? If anywhere, it must be at Portray. But now she was going from Portray to London. It seemed to her to be certain that she could dig no hole in London that would be secret to herself. Nor could she trust herself during the hour or two that remained to her to find such a hole in Carlisle. What she wanted was a friend, someone that she could trust. But she had no such friend. She could not dare to give the jewels up to Lord George. So tempted would not any Corsair appropriate the treasure. And if, as might be possible, she were mistaken about him and he was no Corsair, then would he betray her to the police? She thought of all her dearest friends, Frank Graystock, Mrs. Carbunkle, Lucinda, Ms. McNulty, even if patients crab stick. But there was no friend whom she could trust. Whatever she did, she must do alone. She began to fear that the load of thought required would be more than she could bear. One thing, however, was certain to her. She could not now venture to tell them all that the necklace was in her possession and that the stolen box had been empty. Thinking of all this, she went to sleep, still holding the packet tight between her fingers. And in this position was awakened at about 10 by a knock on the door from her friend, Mrs. Carbunkle. Lizzie jumped out of bed and admitted her friend, admitting also patients crab stick. You had better get up now, dear, said Mrs. Carbunkle. We are all going to breakfast. Lizzie declared herself to be so fluttered that she must have her breakfast upstairs. No one was to wait for her. Crab stick would go down and fetch for her a cup of tea and just a morsel of something to eat. You can't be surprised that I shouldn't be quite myself, said Lizzie. Mrs. Carbunkle's surprise did not run at all in that direction. Both Mrs. Carbunkle and Lord George had been astonished to find how well she bore her loss. Lord George gave her credit for real bravery. Mrs. Carbunkle suggested in a whisper that perhaps she regarded the theft as an easy way out of a lawsuit. I suppose you know, George, that they would have got it from her. Then Lord George whistled and in another whisper declared that if the little adventure had been arranged by Lady Eustace herself with the view of getting the better of Mr. Camperdown, his respect for the lady would be very greatly raised. If, said Lord George, it turns out that she has had a couple of bravows in her pay, like an old Italian marquee, I shall think very highly of her indeed. This had occurred before Mrs. Carbunkle came up to Lizzie's room, but neither of them for a moment suspected that the necklace was still within the hotel. The box had been found and a portion of the fragments were brought into the room while the party was still at breakfast. Lizzie was not in the room, but the news was at once taken up to her by crab stick, together with a pheasant's wing and some buttered toast. In a recess beneath an archway running under the railroad, not distant from the hotel above 150 yards, the iron box had been found. It had been forced open, so said the Sergeant of Police, with tools of the finest steel, peculiarly made for such purpose. The Sergeant of Police was quite sure that this thing had been done by London men who were at the very top of their trade. It was manifest that nothing had been spared. Every motion of the party must have been known to them and probably one of the adventurers had traveled in the same train with them and the very doors of the bedroom in the hotel had been measured by the man who had cut out the bolt. The Sergeant of Police was almost lost in admiration, but the Superintendent of Police, whom Lord George saw more than once, was discreet and silent. To the Superintendent of Police, it was by no means sure that Lord George himself might not be fond of diamonds. Of a suspicion flying so delightfully high as this, he breathed no word to anyone, but simply suggested that he should like to retain the companionship of one of the party. If Lady Eustis could dispense with the services of the tall footman, the tall footman might be found useful at Carlisle. It was arranged, therefore, that the tall footman should remain and the tall footman did remain, though not with his own consent. The whole party, including Lady Eustis herself and patients' crab stick, were called upon to give their evidence to the Carlisle magistrates before they could proceed to London. This Lizzie did, having the necklace at that moment locked up in her desk at the inn. The diamonds were supposed to be worth 10,000 pounds. There was to be a lawsuit about them. She did not for a moment doubt that they were her property. She had been very careful about the diamonds because of the lawsuit. Fearing that Mr. Camperdown might rest them out of her possession, she had caused the iron box to be made. She had last seen the diamonds on the evening before her departure from Portray. She had then herself locked them up and she now produced the key. The lock was still so far uninjured that the key would turn in it. That was her evidence. Crab stick with a great deal of reticence supported her mistress. She had seen the diamonds no doubt but had not seen them often. She had seen them down at Portray but not forever so long. Crab stick had very little to say about them but the clever superintendent was by no means sure that Crab stick did not know more than she said. Mrs. Carbunkle and Lord George had also seen the diamonds at Portray. There was no doubt whatever as to the diamonds having been in the iron box. Nor was there, said Lord George, any doubt but that this special necklace had acquired so much public notice from the fact of the threatened lawsuit as might make it circumstances in value known to London thieves. The tall footman was not examined but was detained by the police under a remand given by the magistrates. Much information as to what had been done oozed out in spite of the precautions of the discrete superintendent. The wires had been put into operation in every direction and it had been discovered that one man whom nobody knew had left the downmail train at Annen and another at Dumfries. These men had taken tickets by the train leaving Carlisle between four and five a.m. and were supposed to have been the two thieves. It had been nearly seven before the theft had been discovered and by that time not only had the men reached the town's name but they had any time to make their way back again or further on into Scotland. At any rate for the present, all trace of them was lost. The surgeon of police did not doubt but that one of these men was making his way up to London with the necklace in his pocket. This was told to Lizzie by Lord George and though she was awestruck by the danger of her situation, she nevertheless did feel some satisfaction in remembering that she and only she held the key of the mystery. And then as to those poor thieves, what must have been their consternation when they found after all the labor and perils of the night that the box contained no diamonds, that the treasure was not there and that they were nevertheless bound to save themselves by flight and stratagem from the hands of the police. Lizzie, as she thought of this, almost pitted the poor thieves. What a consternation there would be among the camper downs and garnets, among the Mopuses and Benjamins when the news was heard in London. Lizzie almost enjoyed it and her mind went on making fresh schemes on the subject. A morbid desire of increasing the mystery took possession of her. She was quite sure that nobody knew her secret and that nobody as yet could even guess it. There was great danger, but there might be delight and even profit if she could safely dispose of the jewels before suspicion against herself should be aroused. She could understand that a rumor should get to the police that such a box had been empty even if the thieves were not taken. But such rumor would avail nothing if she could only dispose of the diamonds. As she first thought of all this, the only plan Hitherto suggested to herself would require her immediate return to Portray. If she were at Portray, she could find a spot in which she could bury the necklace, but she was obliged to allow herself now to be hurried up to London. When she got into the train, the little parcel was in her desk and the key of her desk was fastened around her neck. They had secured a compartment for themselves from Carlisle to London and of course filled four seats. As I'm alive, said Lord George, as soon as the train had left the station, that head policeman thinks that I'm the thief. Mrs. Carbunkle laughed. Lizzie protested that this was absurd. Lucinda declared that such a suspicion would be vastly amusing. It's a fact, continued Lord George. I can see it in the fellow's eye and I feel it has to be a compliment. They are so very cute that they've delighted suspicion. I remember when the altar plate was stolen from the bar district cathedral some years ago, a splendid idea occurred to one of the police that the bishop had taken it. Really, asked Lizzie. Oh yes, really, I don't doubt but that there is already a belief in some of their minds that you have stolen your own diamonds for the sake of getting the better of Mr. Camperdown. But what can I do with them if I had, asked Lizzie. Sell them, of course. There is always a market for such goods. But who would buy them? If you have been so clever, Lady Eustace, I'll find a purchaser for them. One would have to go a good distance to do it and there would be some expense. But the thing could be done. Vienna, I should think, would be about the place. Very well then, said Lizzie. You won't be surprised if I ask you to take the journey for me. Then they all laughed and were very much amused. It was quite agreed among them that Lizzie bore her loss very well. I shouldn't care the least for losing them, said Lizzie. Only that Florian gave them to me. They've been such a vexation to me that to be without them will be a comfort. Her desk had been brought into the carriage and was now used as a footstool in place of the box, which was gone. They arrived at Mrs. Carbunkle's house in Hertford Street, quite late, between 10 and 11. But a note had been sent from Lizzie to her cousin Frank's address from the Euston Square station by a commissioner. Indeed, two notes were sent. One to the House of Commons and the other to the Grosvenor Hotel. My necklace has been stolen. Come to me early tomorrow at Mrs. Carbunkle's house. Number, Hertford Street. And he did come before Lizzie was up. Crabstick brought her mistress word that Mr. Graystock was in the parlour soon after nine o'clock. Lizzie again hurried on her clothes so that she might see her cousin, taking care as she did so that though her toilet may betray haste, it should not be other than charming. And as she dressed, she endeavored to come to some conclusion. Would it not be best for her that she should tell everything to her cousin and throw herself upon his mercy, trusting to his ingenuity to extricate her from her difficulties? She had been thinking of her position almost through the entire night and had remembered that at Carlisle, she had committed perjury. She had sworn that the diamonds had been left by her in the box. And should they be found with her, it might be that they would put her in jail for stealing them. Little mercy could she expect from Mr. Camperdown should she fall into the gentleman's hands. But Frank, if she were even to yet tell him everything honestly, might possibly save her. What is this about the diamonds, he asked as soon as they saw her. She had flown almost into his arms as though carried there by the excitement of the moment. You don't really mean that they've been stolen. I do, Frank, on the journey. Yes, Frank, at the inn in Carlisle. Box and all? Then she told him the whole story, not the true story, but the story as it was believed by all the world. She found it to be impossible to tell him the true story. And the box was broken open and left in the street? Under an archway, said Lizzie. And what did the police think? I don't know what they think. Lord George says that they believe he's the thief. He knew of them, said Frank, as though he imagined that the suggestion was not altogether absurd. Oh yes, he knew of them. And what is to be done? I don't know, I've sent for you to tell me. Then Frank avert that information should be immediately given to Mr. Camperdown. He would himself call on Mr. Camperdown and would also see the head of the London police. He did not doubt, but that all the circumstances were already known in London at the police office. But it might be well that he should see the officer. He was acquainted with the gentleman and might perhaps learn something. Lizzie at once acceded and Frank went directly to Mr. Camperdown's offices. If I had lost 10,000 pounds in that way, said Mrs. Carbunkle, I think I should have broken my heart. Lizzie felt that her heart was bursting rather than being broken because the 10,000 pounds worth of diamonds was not really lost. End of chapter 45, The Use to Diamonds by Anthony Trollop, chapter 46, Lucy Morris in Brook Street. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bethany Simpson. Lucy Morris went to Lady Lindlithgau early in October and was still with Lady Lindlithgau when Lizzie Eustis returned to London in January. During these three months, she certainly had not been happy. In the first place, she had not once seen her lover. This had aroused no anger or suspicion in her bosom against him because the old countess had told her that she would have no lover come to the house and that above all, she would not allow a young man with whom she herself was connected to come in that guys to her companion. From all I hear, said Lady Lindlithgau, it's not at all likely to be a match and at any rate, it can't go on here. Lucy thought that she would be doing no more than standing up properly for her lover by asserting her conviction that it would be a match and she did assert it bravely but she made no petition for his presence and bore that trouble bravely. In the next place, Frank was not a satisfactory correspondent. He did write to her occasionally and he wrote also to the old countess immediately on his return to town from Bobsboro, a letter which was intended as an answer to that which she had written to Mrs. Graystock. What was said in that letter, Lucy never knew but she did know that Frank's few letters to herself were not full and hearty or not such thorough going love letters as lovers write to each other when they feel unlimited satisfaction in the work. She excused him telling herself that he was overworked, that with his double trade of legislator and lawyer, he could hardly be expected to write letters that men in respect of letter writing are not as women are and the like but still there grew in her heart a little weed of care which from week to week spread its noxious, heavy-scented leaves and robbed her of her joyousness to be loved by her lover and to feel that she was his, to have a lover of her own to whom she could thoroughly devote herself to be conscious that she was one of those happy women in the world who find a mate worthy of worship as well as love. This to her was so great a joy that even the sadness of her present position could not utterly depress her. From day to day she assured herself that she did not doubt and would not doubt that there was no cause for doubt that she would herself be base were she to admit any shadow of suspicion but yet his absence and the shortness of those little notes which came perhaps once a fortnight did tell upon her in opposition to her own convictions. Each note as it came was answered instantly but she would not write except when the notes came. She would not seem to reproach him by writing oftener than he wrote. When he had given her so much and she had nothing but her confidence to give in return would she stint him in that? There can be no love she said without confidence and it was the pride of her heart to love him. The circumstances of her present life were desperately weary to her. She could hardly understand why it was that Lady Linleth Gau should desire her presence. She was required to do nothing. She had no duties to perform and as it seemed to her was of no use to anyone. The Countess would not even allow her to be of ordinary service in the house. Lady Linleth Gau as she said to herself poked her own fires, carved her own meat, lit her own candles, opened and shut the doors for herself, wrote her own letters and did not even like to have books read to her. She simply chose to have someone sitting with her with whom she could speak and make little cross grain sarcastic and ill-natured remarks. There was no company at the house in Brook Street and when the Countess herself went out she went out alone. Even when she had a cab to go shopping or to make calls she rarely asked Lucy to go with her and was benevolent chiefly in this that if Lucy chose to walk around the square or as far as the park her ladyship's maid was allowed to accompany her for protection. Poor Lucy often told herself that such a life would be unbearable were it not for the supreme satisfaction she had in remembering her lover and then the arrangement had been made only for six months. She did not feel quite assured of her fate at the end of those six months but she believed that there would come to her a residence in a sort of outer garden into that sweet illicium in which she was to pass her life. The illicium would be Frank's house and the outer garden was the denary at Bobsboro. Twice during the three months Lady Fawn with two of the girls came to call upon her. On the first occasion she was unluckily out taking advantage of the protection of her ladyships maid in getting a little air. Lady Linlethgau had also been away and Lady Fawn had seen no one. Afterwards both Lucy and her ladyship were found at home and Lady Fawn was full of graciousness and affection. I dare say you've got something to say to each other said Lady Linlethgau and I'll go away. Pray don't let us disturb you said Lady Fawn. You'd only abuse me if I didn't said Lady Linlethgau. As soon as she was gone Lucy rushed into her friend's arms. It is so nice to see you again. Yes, my dear, isn't it? I did come before you know. You have been so good to me to see you again is like the violets and primroses. She was crouching close to Lady Fawn with her hand in that of her friend Lydia. I haven't a word to say against Lady Linlethgau but it is like winter here after Dear Richmond. Well, we think we're prettier at Richmond said Lady Fawn. There were such hundreds of things to do there said Lucy. After all, what a comfort it is to have things to do. Why did you come away said Lydia? Oh, I was obliged. You mustn't scold me now that you've come to see me. There were a hundred things to be said about Fawn Court and the children and a hundred more things about Lady Linlethgau and Bruton Street. Then at last Lady Fawn asked the one important question. And now my dear, what about Mr. Graystock? Oh, I don't know nothing particular Lady Fawn. It's just as it was and I am quite satisfied. You see him sometimes? No, never. I've not seen him since the last time he came down to Richmond. Lady Linlethgau doesn't allow followers. There was a pleasant little spark of laughter in Lucy's eye as she said this, which would have told to any bystander the whole story of the affection which existed between her and Lady Fawn. That's very ill-natured said Lydia. And he's a sort of cousin too said Lady Fawn. That's just the reason why said Lucy explaining. Of course, Lady Linlethgau thinks that her sister's nephew can do better than marry her companion. It's a matter of course she thinks so. What I'm most afraid of is that the Dean and Mrs. Graystock should think so too. No doubt the Dean and Mrs. Graystock would think so. Lady Fawn was very sure of that. Lady Fawn was one of the best women breathing, unselfish, motherly, affectionate, appreciative, and never happy unless she was doing good to somebody. It was her nature to be soft and kind and beneficent, but she knew very well that if she had a son, a second son, situated as was Frank Graystock, she would not wish him to marry a girl without a penny who was forced to earn her bread by being a governess. The sacrifice on Mr. Graystock's part would in her estimation be so great that she did not believe that it would be made. Woman-like, she regarded the man as being so much more important than the woman that she could not think that Frank Graystock would devote himself simply to such a one as Lucy Morris. Had Lady Fawn been asked which was the better creature of the two, her late governess or the rising barrister who had declared himself to be that governess's lover, she would have said that no man could be better than Lucy. She knew Lucy's worth and goodness so well that she was ready herself to do any act of friendship on behalf of one so sweet and excellent. For herself and her girls, Lucy was a companion and friend in every way satisfactory. But was it probable that a man of the world such as was Frank Graystock, a rising man, a member of parliament, one who as everybody knew was especially in want of money? Was it probable that such a man as this would make her his wife just because she was good and worthy and sweet-natured? No doubt the man had said that he would do so and Lady Fawn's fears betrayed on her ladyship's part a very bad opinion of men in general. It may seem to be a paradox to assert that such bad opinion sprang up from the high idea which she entertained of the importance of men in general, but it was so. She had but one son, and of all her children he was the least worthy, but he was more important to her than all her daughters. Between her own girls and Lucy, she hardly made any difference, but when her son had chosen to quarrel with Lucy, it had been necessary to send Lucy to eat her meals upstairs. She could not believe that Mr. Graystock should think so much of such a little girl as to marry her. Mr. Graystock would no doubt behave very badly in not doing so, but then men do so often behave very badly. And at the bottom of her heart, she almost thought that they might be excused for doing so. According to her view of things, a man out in the world had so many things to think of and was so very important that he could hardly be expected to act at all times with truth and sincerity. Lucy had suggested that the dean and Mrs. Graystock would dislike the marriage, and upon that hint Lady Fawn spoke. Nothing is settled, I suppose, as to where you are to go when the six months are over. Nothing is yet, Lady Fawn. They haven't asked you to go to Bobsboro. Lucy would have given the world not to blush as she answered, but she did blush. Nothing is fixed, Lady Fawn. Something should be fixed, Lucy. It should be settled by this time, shouldn't it, dear? What will you do without a home? If at the end of six months, Lady Linnleth Gow should say that she doesn't want you anymore. Lucy certainly did not look forward to a condition in which Lady Linnleth Gow should be the arbitrage of her destiny. The idea of staying with the Countess was almost as bad to her as that of finding herself altogether homeless. She was still blushing, feeling herself to be hot and embarrassed, but Lady Fawn sat waiting for an answer. To Lucy, there was only one answer possible. I will ask Mr. Graystock what I'm to do. Lady Fawn shook her head. You don't believe in Mr. Graystock, Lady Fawn, but I do. My darling girl, said her ladyship, making the special speech for the sake of making which she had traveled up from Richmond. It is not exactly a question of belief, but one of common prudence. No girl should allow herself to depend on a man before she is married to him. By doing so, she will be apt to lose even his respect. I didn't mean for money, said Lucy, hotter than ever with her eyes full of tears. She should not be in any respect at his disposal till he has bound himself to her at the altar. You may believe me, Lucy, when I tell you so. It's only because I love you so that I say so. I know that, Lady Fawn. When your time here is over, just put up your things and come back to Richmond. You need fear nothing with us. Frederick quite liked your way of parting with him at last, and all that little affair is forgotten. At Fawn court, you'll be safe, and you shall be happy too, if we can make you happy. It's the proper place for you. Of course you'll come, said Diana Fawn. You'll be the worst little thing in the world if you don't, said Lydia. We don't know what to do without you, do we, Mama? Lucy will please us all by coming back to her old home, said Lady Fawn. The tears were now streaming down Lucy's face so that she was hardly able to say a word and answered all this kindness, and she did not know what to say. Were she to accept the offer made to her and acknowledge that she could do nothing better than creep back under her old friend's wing? Would she not thereby be showing that she doubted her lover? And yet she could not go to the dean's house unless the dean and his wife were pleased to take her. And suspecting as she did that they would not be pleased, would it become her to throw upon her lover the burden of finding her a home with people who did not want her? Had she been welcome at Bobsboro, Mrs. Graystock would surely have told her before this. You needn't say a word, my dear, said Lady Fawn. You'll come, and there's none of it. But you don't want me anymore, said Lucy, from amidst her sobs. That's just all you know about it, said Lydia. We do want you, more than anything. I wonder whether I may come in now, said Lady Linleth Gow entering the room, as it was the Countess's own drawing room, as it was now midwinter, and as the fire in the dining room had been allowed, as was usual, to sink almost to two hot coals, the request was not unreasonable. Lady Fawn was profuse in her thanks, and immediately began to account for Lucy's tears, pleading their dear friendship in their long absence, and poor Lucy's emotional state of mind. Then she took her leave, and Lucy, as soon as she had been kissed by her friends outside the drawing room door, took herself to her bedroom and finished her tears in the cold. Have you heard the news, said Lady Linleth Gow to her companion, about a month after this? Lady Linleth Gow had been out and asked the question immediately on her return. Lucy, of course, had heard no news. Lizzie Eustace has just come back to London, and has had all her jewels stolen on the road. The diamonds asked Lucy with a maze. Yes, the Eustace diamonds, and they didn't belong to her any more than they did to you. They've been taken anyway, and from what I hear, I shouldn't be at all surprised if she had arranged the whole matter herself. Arranged that they should be stolen? Just that, my dear. It would be the very thing for Lizzie Eustace to do. She's clever enough for anything. But Lady Linleth Gow, I know all about that. Of course, it would be very wicked. And if it were found out, she'd be put in the dock and tried for her life. It's just what I expect she'll come to some of these days. She has gone and got up a friendship with some disreputable people and was traveling with them. There was a man who calls himself Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. I know him and can remember when he was an errand boy to a disreputable lawyer at Aberdeen. This assertion was a falsehood on the part of the countess. Lord George had never been an errand boy, and the Aberdeen lawyer, as provincial scotch lawyers go, had been by no means disreputable. I'm told that the police think that he has got them. How very dreadful. Yes, it's dreadful enough. At any rate, men got into Lizzie's room at night and took away the iron box and diamonds and all. It may be she was asleep at the time, but she's one of those who pretty nearly always sleep with one eye open. She can't be so bad as that, Lady Linleth Gow. Perhaps not, we'll see. They had just begun a lawsuit about the diamonds to get them back, and then all at once they're stolen. It looks what the men call fishy. I'm told that all the police in London are up about it. On the very next day, who should come to Brook Street, but Lizzie used us herself. She and her aunt had quarreled, and they hated each other, but the old woman had called upon Lizzie, advising her as the reader will perhaps remember to give up the diamonds, and now Lizzie returned the visit. So you're here, installed in poor McNulty's place, began Lizzie to her old friend, the countess at the moment being out of the room. I'm staying with your aunt for a few months as her companion. Is it true, Lizzie, that all your diamonds have been stolen? Lizzie gave an account of the robbery, true in every respect, except in regard to the contents of the box. Poor Lizzie had been wronged in the matter by the countess, for the robbery had been quite genuine. The man had opened her room and taken her box, and she had slept through it all. And then the broken box had been found and was in the hands of the police, and was evidence of the fact. People seemed to think it possible, said Lizzie, that Mr. Campart on the lawyer arranged it all. As this suggestion was being made, Lady Linleth Gow came in, and then Lizzie repeated the whole story of the robbery. Though the aunt and niece were open and declared enemies, the present circumstances were so peculiar and full of interest that conversation for a time almost amicable took place between them. As the diamonds were so valuable, I thought it right, Aunt Susanna, to come and tell you myself. It's very good of you, but I'd heard it already. I was telling Miss Morris yesterday what very odd things there are being said about it. Weren't you very much frightened, asked Lizzie? You see my child, I knew nothing until it was all over. The man cut a bit out of the door in the most beautiful way without my ever hearing the least sound of the saw. And you sleep so light, said the countess. They say that perhaps something was put into the wine at dinner to make me sleep. Ah, ejaculated the countess, who did not for a moment give up her own erroneous suspicion. Very likely. And they do say these people can do things without making the slightest tittle of noise. At any rate, the box was gone. And the diamonds, asked Lucy. Oh yes, of course. And now there's such a fuss about it, the police keep on coming to me almost every day. And what do the police think? Asked Lady Lumethgau. I'm told that they have their suspicions. No doubt they have their suspicions, said Lizzie. You traveled up with friends, I suppose? Oh yes, with Lord George DeBruce Carruthers and with Mrs. Carbunkle, who is my particular friend and with Lucinda Roanoke, who was just going to be married to Sir Griffin Tuit. We were quite a large party. And McNulty? No, I left Miss McNulty at Portray with my darling. They thought he had better remain a little longer in Scotland. Ah yes, perhaps Lord George DeBruce Carruthers does not care for babies. I can easily believe that. I wish McNulty had been with you. Why do you wish that? Said Lizzie, who was already beginning to feel that the Countess intended as usual to make herself disagreeable. She's a stupid, dull, pig-headed creature, but one can believe what she says. And don't you believe what I say? Demanded Lizzie. It's all true, no doubt that the diamonds are gone. Indeed it is. But I don't know much about Lord George DeBruce Carruthers. He's the brother of a marquee, anyway, said Lizzie, who thought that she might thus best answer the mother of a Scotch Earl. I remember when he was playing George Carruthers, running about the streets of Aberdeen and it was well with him when his shoes weren't broken at the toes and down at the heel. He earned his bread then, such as it was. Nobody knows how he gets it now. Why does he call himself DeBruce, I wonder? Because his godfathers and godmothers gave him that name when he was made a child of Christ and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven, said Lizzie, ever so pertly. I don't believe a bit of it. I wasn't there to see it, Aunt Susanna, and therefore I can't swear to it. That's his name in all the peerages and I suppose they ought to know. And what does Lord George DeBruce say about the diamonds? Now it had come to pass that Lady Eustace herself did not feel altogether sure that Lord George had not had a hand in this robbery. It would have been a trick worthy of a genuine corsair to arrange and carry out such a scheme for the appropriation of so rich a spoil. A watch or a brooch would, of course, be beneath the notice of a good genuine corsair, of a corsair who was written down in the peerage as a marquee's brother. But diamonds worth 10,000 pounds are not to be had every day. A corsair must live, and if not by plunder, riches that, how then? If Lord George had concocted this little scheme, he would naturally be ignorant of the true event of the robbery till he should meet the humble executors of his design. And would, as Lizzie thought, have remained aware of the truth till his arrival in London, that he had been ignorant of the truth during the journey was evident to her. But they had now been three days in London, during which she had seen him once. At that interview, he had been sullen and almost cross, and had said next to nothing about the robbery. He made one remark about it. I've told the chief man here, he said, that I shall be ready to give any evidence in my power when called upon. Till then, I shall take no further steps in the matter. I've been asked questions that should not have been asked. In saying this, he had used a tone which prevented further conversation on the subject. But Lizzie, as she thought of it all, remembered his jocular remark made in the railway carriage as to the suspicion which had already been expressed on the matter in regard to himself. If he had been the perpetrator and then found that he had only stolen the box, how wonderful would be the mystery. He hasn't got anything to say, replied Lizzie, to the question of the countess. And who is your Mrs. Carbunkle? asked the old woman. A particular friend of mine, which whom I'm staying at present. You don't go about a great deal, Aunt Linlith Gao, but surely you must have met Mrs. Carbunkle. I'm an ignorant old woman, no doubt. My dear, I'm not at all surprised you are losing the diamonds. The pity is they weren't your own. They were my own. The loss will fall on you, no doubt, because the useless people will make you pay for them. You'll have to give up half your jointer for your life. That's what it will come to. To think of your traveling about with those things in a box. They were my own and I had a right to do with them what I liked. No one accuses you of taking them. That's quite true, nobody will accuse me. I suppose Lord George has left England for the benefit of his health. It would not at all surprise me if I were to hear that Mrs. Carbunkle had followed him, not in the least. You're just like yourself, Aunt Susanna, said Lizzie, getting up and taking her leave. Goodbye, Lucy. I hope you're happy and comfortable here. Do you ever see a certain friend of ours now? If you mean Mr. Greystock, I haven't seen him since I left Vaughn Court, said Lucy, with dignity. When Lizzie was gone, Lady Linlethgau spoke her mind freely about her niece. Lizzie Eustace won't come to any good. When I heard that she was engaged to that prig, Lord Vaughn, I had some hopes that she might be kept out of harm. That's all over, of course. When he heard about the necklace, he wasn't going to put his neck into that scrape. But now she's getting among such a set that nothing can save her. She is taken to hunting and rides about the country like a mad woman. A great many ladies hunt, said Lucy. And she's got hold of this Lord George and of that horrid American woman that nobody knows anything about. They've got the diamonds between them, I don't doubt. I'll bet you sixpence that the police find out all about it and that there's some terrible scandal. The diamonds were no more hers than they were mine and she'll be made to pay for them. The necklace, the meanwhile, was still locked up in Lizzie's desk with a patent Brahma key in Mrs. Carbunkle's house and was a terrible trouble to our unhappy friend. End of chapter 46. Chapter 47 of the Eustace Diamonds. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Eustace Diamonds by Antony Trollop. Chapter 47. Matching Priory. Before the end of January, everybody in London had heard of the Great Robbery at Carlisle and most people had heard also that there was something very peculiar in the matter, something more than a robbery. Various rumors were afloat. It had become widely known that the diamonds were to be the subject of litigation between the young widow and the trustees of the Eustace estate, and it was known also that Lord Fawn had engaged himself to marry the widow and had then retreated from his engagement simply on account of this litigation. There were strong parties formed in the matter whom we may call Lizzieites and anti-Lizzieites. The Lizzieites were of opinion that poor Lady Eustace was being very ill-treated, that the diamonds did probably belong to her, and that Lord Fawn at any rate clearly ought to be her own. It was worthy of remark that these Lizzieites were all of them conservatives. Frank Greystock had probably set the party on foot, and it was natural that political opponents should believe that a noble young undersecretary of state on the liberal side, such as Lord Fawn, had misbehaved himself. When the matter at last became of such importance as to demand leading articles in the newspapers, those journals which had devoted themselves to upholding the conservative politicians of the day were very heavy indeed upon Lord Fawn. The whole force of the government, however, was anti-Lizzieite, and as the controversy advanced, every good liberal became aware that there was nothing so wicked, so rapacious, so bold, or so cunning, but that Lady Eustace might have done it, or caused it to be done, without delay, without difficulty, and without scruple. Lady Glencora Palliser for a while endeavored to defend Lizzie in liberal circles, from generosity rather than from any real belief, and instigated, perhaps, by a feeling that any woman in society who was capable of doing anything extraordinary ought to be defended. But even Lady Glencora was forced to abandon her generosity, and to confess, on behalf of her party, that Lizzie Eustace was a very wicked young woman indeed. All this, no doubt, grew out of the diamonds and chiefly arose from the robbery, but there had been enough of notoriety attached to Lizzie before the affair at Carlisle, to make people fancy that they had understood her character long before that. The party assembled at matching Priory, a country house belonging to Mr. Palliser, in which Lady Glencora took much delight, was not large because Mr. Palliser's uncle, the Duke of Omnium, who was with them, was now a very old man, and one who did not like very large gatherings of people. Lord and Lady Chiltern were there, that Lord Chiltern, who had been known so long and so well in the hunting counties of England, and that Lady Chiltern, who had been so popular in London as the beautiful violet effingham, and Mr. and Mrs. Gray were there, very particular friends of Mr. Palliser's. Mr. Gray was now sitting for the Burra of Silverbridge, in which the Duke of Omnium was still presumed to have a controlling influence, in spite of all reform bills. And Mrs. Gray was in some distant way connected with Lady Glencora, and Madam Max Gussler was there, a lady whose society was still much affected by the old Duke, and Mr. and Mrs. Bontein, who had been brought there, not perhaps altogether because they were greatly loved, but in order that the gentleman's services might be made available by Mr. Palliser, in reference to some great reform about to be introduced in monetary matters. Mr. Palliser, who was now Chancellor of the Exchequer, was intending to alter the value of the penny, unless the work should be too much for him, and he should die before he had accomplished the self-imposed task. The future penny was to be made under his auspices, to contain five farthings, and the shilling ten pennies. It was thought that if this could be accomplished, the arithmetic of the whole world would be so simplified, that henceforward the name of Palliser would be blessed, by all schoolboys, clerks, shopkeepers, and financiers. But the difficulties were so great, that Mr. Palliser's hair was already gray from toil, and his shoulders bent by the birthing imposed upon them. Mr. Bonteen, with two private secretaries from the treasury, was now at matching to assist Mr. Palliser, and it was thought that both Mr. and Mrs. Bonteen were near to madness under the pressure of the five farthing penny. Mr. Bonteen had remarked to many of his political friends that those two extra farthings that could not be made to go into the shilling, would put him into his cold grave before the world would know what he had done, or had rewarded him for it with a handle to his name and a pension. Lord Fawn was also at matching, a suggestion having been made to Lady Glencora by some leading liberals, that he should be supported in his difficulties by her hospitality. The mind of Mr. Palliser himself was too deeply engaged to admit of its being interested in the great necklace affair. But of all the others assembled, there was not one who did not listen anxiously for news on the subject. As regarded the old Duke, it had been found to be quite a godsend, and from post to post, as the facts reached matching, they were communicated to him. And indeed there were some there who would not wait for the post, but had the news about poor Lizzie's diamonds down by the wires. The matter was of the greatest moment to Lord Fawn, and Lady Glencora was, perhaps, justified on his behalf in demanding a preference for her affairs over the messages which were continually passing between matching and the treasury respecting those two ill-conditioned farthings. Duke, she said, entering rather abruptly the small, warm, luxurious room in which her husband's uncle was passing his morning. Duke, they say now that after all the diamonds were not in the box when it was taken out of the room at Carlisle. The Duke was reclining in an easy chair, with his head leaning forward on his breast, and Madame Gussler was reading to him. It was now three o'clock, and the old man had been brought down to this room after his breakfast. Madame Gussler was reading the last famous new novel, and the Duke was dozing. That probably was the fault neither of the reader nor of the novelist, as the Duke was won't to doze in these days. But Lady Glencora's tidings awakened him completely. She had the telegram in her hand, so that he could perceive that the very latest news was brought to him. The diamonds not in the box, he said, pushing his head a little more forward in his eagerness, and sitting with the extended fingers of his two hands touching each other. Barrington Earle says that Major Macintosh is almost sure the diamonds were not there. Major Macintosh was an officer very high in the police force, whom everybody trusted implicitly, and as to whom the outward world believed that he could discover the perpetrators of any iniquity, if he would only take the trouble to look into it. Such was the pressing nature of his duties, that he found himself compelled, in one way or another, to give up about sixteen hours a day to them. But the outer world accused him of idleness. There was nothing he couldn't find out. Only he would not give himself the trouble to find out all the things that happened. Two or three newspapers had already been very hard upon him in regard to the Eustace diamonds. Such a mystery as that, they said, he ought to have unraveled long ago. That he had not unraveled it yet was quite certain. The diamonds not in the box, said the Duke. Then she must have known it, said Madame Gersler. That doesn't quite follow, Madame Max, said Lady Glencora. But why shouldn't the diamonds have been in the box? Asked the Duke. As this was the first intimation given to Lady Glencora of any suspicion that the diamonds had not been taken with the box, and as this had been received by Telegraph, she could not answer the Duke's question with any clear exposition of her own. She put up her hands and shook her head. What does Plantagenet think about it? Asked the Duke. Plantagenet Palacere was the full name of the Duke's nephew and heir. The Duke's mind was evidently much disturbed. He doesn't think that either the box or the diamonds were ever worth five farthings, said Lady Glencora. The diamonds not in the box, repeated the Duke. Madame Max, do you believe that the diamonds were not in the box? Madame Gersler shrugged her shoulders and made no answer, but the shrugging of her shoulders was quite satisfactory to the Duke, who always thought that Madame Gersler did everything better than anybody else. Lady Glencora stayed with her uncle for the best part of an hour, and every word spoken was devoted to Lizzie and her necklace. But as this new idea had been broached, and as they had no other information than that conveyed in the telegram, very little light could be thrown upon it. But on the next morning there came a letter from Barrington Earl to Lady Glencora, which told so much, and hinted so much more, that it will be well to give it to the reader. Travelers, 29 January, 1860 blank. My dear Lady Glencora. I hope you got my telegram yesterday. I had just seen Macintosh. On whose behalf, however, I must say that he told me as little as he possibly could. It is leaking out, however, on every side, that the police believe that when the box was taken out of the room at Carlisle, the diamonds were not in it. As far as I can learn, they ground this suspicion on the fact that they cannot trace the stones. They say that if such a lot of diamonds had been through the thieves market in London, they would have left some track behind them. As far as I can judge, Macintosh thinks that Lord George has them, but that her ladyship gave them to him, and that this little game of the robbery at Carlisle was planned to put John Eustis and the lawyers off the scent. If it should turn out that the box was opened before it left Portray, that the door of her ladyship's room was cut by her ladyship's self, or by his lordship with her ladyship's aid, and that the fragments of the box were carried out of the hotel by his lordship in person, it will altogether have been so delightful a plot that all concerned in it ought to be canonized, or at least allowed to keep their plunder. One of the old detectives told me that the opening of the box under the arch of the railway in an exposed place could hardly have been executed so neatly as was done, that no thief so situated would have given the time necessary to it, and that if there had been thieves at all at work, they would have been traced. Against this there is the certain fact, as I have heard from various men engaged in the inquiry, that certain persons among the community of thieves are very much at loggerheads with each other. The hire or creative department in thiefdom, accusing the lower or mechanical department of gross treachery in having appropriated to its own sole profit plunder for the taking of which it had undertaken to receive a certain stipulated price. But then it may be the case that his lordship and her ladyship have set such a rumor abroad for the sake of putting the police off the scent. Upon the whole the little mystery is quite delightful and has put the ballot and poor Mr. Palacer's five farthinged penny quite out of joint. Nobody now cares for anything except the Eustace Diamonds. Lord George, I am told, has offered to fight everybody or anybody beginning with Lord Fawn and ending with Major Macintosh. Should he be innocent, which, of course, is possible, the thing must be annoying. I should not at all wonder myself, if it should turn out, that her ladyship left them in Scotland. The place there, however, has been searched, in compliance with an order from the police and by her ladyship's consent. Don't let Mr. Palacer quite kill himself. I hope the Bontein plan answers. I never knew a man who could find more farthings in a shilling than Mr. Bontein. Remember me very kindly to the Duke and pray enable poor Fawn to keep up his spirits. If he likes to arrange a meeting with Lord George, I shall be only too happy to be his friend. You remember our last duel. Chiltern is with you and can put Fawn up to the proper way of getting over to Flanders and of returning, should he chance to escape. Yours always, most faithfully, Barrington Earl. Of course, I'll keep you posted in everything respecting the necklace till you come to town yourself. The whole of this letter, Lady Glencora, read to the Duke, to Lady Chiltern, and to Madame Grisler, and the principal contents of it, she repeated to the entire company. It was certainly the general belief at matching that Lord George had the diamonds in his possession, either with or without the assistance of their late, fair possessor. The Duke was struck with awe when he thought of all the circumstances. The brother of a Marquis, 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'd 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 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 to-it marriage is to come off after all, said Mrs. Bonteen. I've a letter from dear Mrs. Rudder 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, I shan't think of having them out. I should always feel that I was being inspected. Unless they unravel the mystery, said Madame Grisler. 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. Palacere. 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 bans. These last words were only whispered to her next neighbor, 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 their 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 Earl in his letter to Lady Glencora. Lord George had told the applicant, very roughly, that nobody should touch any article belonging to him without a search warrant. If any magistrate would dare to give such a warrant, let him do it. I'm told that Lord George acts the indignant madman uncommonly well, said Barrington Earl 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. Graystock. Barrington Earl 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 Earl's last letter to Lady Glencora. Mr. Palacere 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. Gray 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. Madam Gussler 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 Madam Gussler. 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. Carbunkle and Miss Roanoke. But then you know if I were to lose my diamonds, people would suspect me just the same, or perhaps plantagen it. 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. Gray, 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. Rudder. The two at marriage had been certainly broken off. Sir Griffin had been very violent, misbehaving himself grossly in Mrs. Carbunkle's house, and Miss Roanoke had declared that under no circumstances would she ever speak to him again. It was Mrs. Rudder'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. Rudder, 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 Gersler in the recesses of his Grace's private room, for the Duke was now in firm, 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 eustis diamonds to everyone 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 Children, we shall hear tomorrow morning something more about it. Poor dear Duke, said Lady Children to her husband. Doting old idiot, he replied. End of Chapter 47 Recording by Laura Koskonen. Chapter 48 of the Eustis Diamonds. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. The Eustis Diamonds by Antoni Trollop. Chapter 48, Lizzie's Condition. When such a man as Barrington Earl undertakes to send information to such a correspondent as Lady Glencora in reference to such a matter as Lady Eustis's Diamonds, he is bound to be full rather than accurate. We may say indeed that perfect accuracy would be detrimental rather than otherwise and would tend to disperse that feeling of mystery which is so gratifying. No suggestion had in truth been made to Lord George de Bruce Carruthers as to the searching of his lordship's boxes and desks. That very imminent detective officer, Mr. Bunfit, had, however, called upon Lord George more than once and Lord George had declared very plainly that he did not like it. If you'll have the kindness to explain to me what it is you want, I'll be much obliged to you, Lord George had said to Mr. Bunfit. 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, aren'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 Ms. Shure's, Harter and Benjamin, the jewelers, on the morning after his arrival in town. No one from the police had as yet seen either Harter or Benjamin in connection with this robbery, but it may not be too much to say that the argous eyes of Major McIntosh were upon Ms. Shure's 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 McIntosh and his mermidans 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 recut. But it was known that Lord George had been at the house of Ms. Shure's, Harter and Benjamin 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 McIntosh that the necklace had in truth been transferred to the Jews on that morning. That there was nothing too hot or too heavy for Ms. Shure's, 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. Earl's information, though certainly defective in regard to Lord George DeBruce 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 and Mrs. Carbuckle's house on Tuesday, the 30th of January. 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 referenced 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 Eustis 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 McNulty and to the delight of Andy Galrin. 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 Eustis and Mrs. Carbunkle were at the time sitting together, and Mrs. Carbunkle 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 of 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 thing set of him, suggested that the search should be confined to the rooms used exclusively by Lady Eustis, Mrs. Carbunkle absolutely changed her views and recommended that he should be allowed to have his way. At that moment the condition of poor Lizzie Eustis 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. Wither 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. Carbunkle or to Frank Greystock? She thought she could have borne it all if only someone 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 what 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. Carbunkle. 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. Carbunkle would sympathize with her in that feeling which had prevented her from speaking the truth when first the fact that the robbery was made known to herself in her own bedroom. Mrs. Carbunkle was a lady who told many lies, as Lizzie knew well, 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. Carbunkle 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 birthing had to be borne, increasing every hour in wait, 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 20 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 hard 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 favorite 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 favorite brooch of her own, in order that she might have an excuse for calling at the jewels. 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 friends so fast and true as to justify such confidence. She was ill with anxiety, and worse than that, Mrs. Carbunkle 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. Carbunkle at present had been gracious enough to admit so much as that. But might it not be probable that Mrs. Carbunkle would come to suspect that she did not know the whole secret? Mrs. Carbunkle 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. Carbunkle, having secured her own privacy, expressed her opinion that Mr. Bunfit should be allowed to do as he desired. End of chapter 48, recording by Leanne Howlett.