Lady Eustace did not intend to take as much time in answering Loyd Fawn’s letter as he had taken in writing it; but even she found that the subject was one which demanded a good deal of thought. Mrs. Carbuncle had very freely recommended her to take the man, supporting her advice by arguments which Lizzie felt to be valid; but then Mrs. Carbuncle did not know all the circumstances. Mrs. Carbuncle had not actually seen his lordship’s letter; and though the great part of the letter, the formal repetition, namely, of the writer’s offer of marriage, had been truly told to her, still, as the reader will have perceived, she had been kept in the dark as to some of the details. Lizzie did sit at her desk with the object of putting a few words together in order that she might see how they looked, and she found that there was a difficulty.
“MY DEAR LORD FAWN: As we have been engaged to marry each other, and as all our friends have been told, I think that the thing had better go on.”
That, after various attempts, was, she thought, the best letter that she could send — if she should make up her mind to be Lady Fawn. But, on the morning of the 30th of March she had not sent her letter. She had told herself that she would take two days to think of her reply, and on the Friday morning the few words she had prepared were still lying in her desk.
What was she to get by marrying a man she absolutely disliked? That he also absolutely disliked her was not a matter much in her thoughts. The man would not ill-treat her because he disliked her; or it might perhaps be juster to say that the ill-treatment which she might fairly anticipate would not be of a nature which would much affect her comfort grievously. He would not beat her, nor rob her, nor lock her up, nor starve her. He would either neglect her or preach sermons to her. For the first she could console herself by the attention of others; and should he preach, perhaps she could preach too — as sharply if not as lengthily as his lordship. At any rate she was not afraid of him. But what would she gain? It is very well to have a rock, as Mrs. Carbuncle had said, but a rock is not everything. She did not know whether she cared much for living upon a rock. Even stability may be purchased at too high a price. There was not a grain of poetry in the whole composition of Lord Fawn, and poetry was what her very soul craved — poetry, together with houses, champagne, jewels, and admiration. Her income was still her own, and she did not quite see that the rock was so absolutely necessary to her. Then she wrote another note to Lord Fawn, a specimen of a note, so that she might have the opportunity of comparing the two. This note took her much longer than the one first written.
“MY LORD: I do not know how to acknowledge with sufficient humility the condescension and great kindness of your lordship’s letter. But perhaps its manly generosity is more conspicuous than either. The truth is, my lord, you want to escape from your engagement, but are too much afraid of the consequences to dare to do so by any act of your own. Therefore you throw it upon me. You are quite successful. I don’t think you ever read poetry, but perhaps you may understand the two following lines:
“‘I am constrained to say your lordship’s scullion
Should sooner be my husband than yourself.’
“I see through you, and despise you thoroughly.
“E. EUSTACE.”
She was comparing the two answers together, very much in doubt as to which should be sent, when there came a message to her by a man whom she knew to be a policeman, though he did not announce himself as such, and was dressed in plain clothes. Major Mackintosh sent his compliments to her, and would wait, upon her that afternoon at three o’clock, if she would have the kindness to receive him. At the first moment of seeing the man she felt that after all the rock was what she wanted. Mrs. Carbuncle was right. She had had troubles and might have more, and the rock was the thing. But then the more certainly did she become convinced of this by the presence of the major’s messenger, the more clearly did she see the difficulty of attaining the security which the rock offered. If this public exposure should fall upon her, Lord Fawn’s renewed offer, as she knew well, would stand for nothing. If once it were known that she had kept the necklace — her own necklace — under her pillow at Carlisle, he would want no further justification in repudiating her, were it for the tenth time. She was very uncivil to the messenger, and the more so because she found that the man bore her rudeness without turning upon her and rending her. When she declared that the police had behaved very badly, and that Major Mackintosh was inexcusable in troubling her again, and that she had ceased to care twopence about the necklace, the man made no remonstrance to her petulance. He owned that the trouble was very great, and the police very inefficient. He almost owned that the major was inexcusable. He did not care what he owned so that he achieved his object. But when Lizzie said that she could not see Major Mackintosh at three, and objected equally to two, four, or five; then the courteous messenger from Scotland Yard did say a word to make her understand that there must be a meeting — and he hinted also that the major was doing a most unusually good-natured thing in coming to Hertford Street. Of course Lizzie made the appointment. If the major chose to come, she would be at home at three.
As soon as the policeman was gone she sat alone, with a manner very much changed from that which she had worn since the arrival of Lord Fawn’s letter; with a fresh weight of care upon her, greater perhaps than she had ever hitherto borne. She had had bad moments — when, for instance, she had been taken before the magistrates at Carlisle, when she found the police in her house on her return from the theatre, and when Lord George had forced her secret from her. But at each of these periods hope had come renewed before despair had crushed her. Now it seemed to her that the thing was done and that the game was over. This chief man of the London police no doubt knew the whole story. If she could only already have climbed upon some rock, so that there might be a man bound to defend her — a man at any rate bound to put himself forward on her behalf and do whatever might be done in her defence — she might have endured it!
What would she do now, at this minute? She looked at her watch and found that it was already past one. Mrs. Carbuncle, as she knew, was closeted up-stairs with Lucinda, whose wedding was fixed for the following Monday. It was now Friday. Were she to call upon Mrs. Carbuncle for aid no aid would be forthcoming unless she were to tell the whole truth. She almost thought that she would do so. But then, how great would have been her indiscretion if, after all, when the major should come, she should discover that he did not know the truth himself! That Mrs. Carbuncle would keep her secret she did not for a moment think. She longed for the comfort of some friend’s counsel, but she found at last that she could not purchase it by telling everything to a woman.
Might it not be possible that she should still run away? She did not know much of the law, but she thought that they could not punish her for breaking an appointment even with a man so high in authority as Major Mackintosh. She could leave a note saying that pressing business called her out. But whither should she go? She thought of taking a cab to the House of Commons, finding her cousin, and telling him everything. It would be so much better that he should see the major. But then again it might be that she should be mistaken as to the amount of the major’s information. After a while she almost determined to fly off at once to Scotland, leaving word that she was obliged to go instantly to her child. But there was no direct train to Scotland before eight or nine in the evening, and during the intervening hours the police would have ample time to find her. What, indeed, could she do with herself during these intervening hours? Ah, if she had but a rock now, so that she need not be dependent altogether on the exercise of her own intellect!
Gradually the minutes passed by, and she became aware that she must face the major. Well! What had she done? She had stolen nothing. She had taken no person’s property. She had, indeed, been wickedly robbed, and the police had done nothing to get back for her her property, as they were bound to have done. She would take care to tell the major what she thought about the negligence of the police. The major should not have the talk all to himself.
If it had not been for one word with which Lord George had stunned her ears, she could still have borne it well. She had told a lie; perhaps two or three lies. She knew that she had lied. But then people lie every day. She would not have minded it much if she were simply to be called a liar. But he had told her that she would be accused of perjury. There was something frightful to her in the name. And there were she knew not what dreadful penalties attached to it. Lord George had told her that she might be put in prison — whether he had said for years or for months she had forgotten. And she thought she had heard of people’s property being confiscated to the Crown when they had been made out to be guilty of certain great offences. Oh, how she wished that she had a rock!
When three o’clock came she had not started for Scotland or elsewhere, and at last she received the major. Could she have thoroughly trusted the servant she would have denied herself at the last moment, but she feared that she might be betrayed, and she thought that her position would be rendered even worse than it was at present by a futile attempt. She was sitting alone, pale, haggard, trembling, when Major Mackintosh was shown into her room. It may be as well explained at once, at t............