The Saturday and the Sunday Lizzie passed in outward tranquillity, though doubtless her mind was greatly disturbed. She said nothing of what had passed between her and Major Mackintosh, explaining that his visit had been made solely with the object of informing her that Mr. Benjamin was to be sent home from Vienna, but that the diamonds were gone forever. She had, as she declared to herself, agreed with Major Mackintosh that she would not go to Mr. Camperdown till the Tuesday — justifying her delay by her solicitude in reference to Miss Roanoke’s marriage; and therefore these two days were her own. After them would come a totally altered phase of existence. All the world would know the history of the diamonds — cousin Frank, and Lord Fawn, and John Eustace, and Mrs. Carbuncle, and the Bobsborough people, and Lady Glencora, and that old vulturess, her aunt, the Countess of Linlithgow. It must come now — but she had two days in which she could be quiet and think of her position. She would, she thought, send one of her letters to Lord Fawn before she went to Mr. Camperdown — but which should she send? Or should she write a third explaining the whole matter in sweetly piteous feminine terms, and swearing that the only remaining feeling in her bosom was a devoted affection to the man who had now twice promised to be her husband?
In the mean time the preparations for the great marriage went on. Mrs. Carbuncle spent her time busily between Lucinda’s bedchamber and the banqueting hall in Albemarle street. In spite of pecuniary difficulties the trousseau was to be a wonder; and even Lizzie was astonished at the jewelry which that indefatigable woman had collected together for a preliminary show in Hertford Street. She had spent hours at Howell and James’s, and had made marvellous bargains there and elsewhere. Things were sent for selection, of which the greater portion were to be returned, but all were kept for the show. The same things which were shown to separate friends in Hertford Street as part of the trousseau on Friday and Saturday were carried over to Albemarle Street on the Sunday, so as to add to the quasi-public exhibition of presents on the Monday. The money expended had gone very far. The most had been made of a failing credit. Every particle of friendly generosity had been so manipulated as to add to the external magnificence. And Mrs. Carbuncle had done all this without any help from Lucinda, in the midst of most contemptuous indifference on Lucinda’s part. She could hardly be got to allow the milliners to fit the dresses to her body, and positively refused to thrust her feet into certain golden-heeled boots with brightly-bronzed toes which were a great feature among the raiment. Nobody knew it except Mrs. Carbuncle and the maid; even Lizzie Eustace did not know it; but once the bride absolutely ran amuck among the finery, scattering the laces here and there, pitching the glove-boxes under the bed, chucking the golden-heeled boots into the fire-place, and exhibiting quite a tempest of fury against one of the finest shows of petticoats ever arranged with a view to the admiration and envy of female friends. But all this Mrs. Carbuncle bore, and still persevered. The thing was so nearly done now that she could endure to persevere though the provocation to abandon it was so great. She had even ceased to find fault with her niece, but went on in silence counting the hours till the trouble should be taken off her own shoulders and placed on those of Sir Griffin. It was a great thing to her, almost more than she had expected, that neither Lucinda nor Sir Griffin should have positively declined the marriage. It was impossible that either should retreat from it now.
Luckily for Mrs. Carbuncle, Sir Griffin took delight in the show. He did this after a bearish fashion, putting his finger upon little flaws with an intelligence for which Mrs. Carbuncle had not hitherto given him credit. As to certain ornaments, he observed that the silver was plated and the gold ormolu. A “rope” of pearls he at once detected as being false, and after fingering certain lace he turned up his nose and shook his head. Then, on the Sunday, in Albemarle Street, he pointed out to Mrs. Carbuncle sundry articles which he had seen in the bedroom on the Saturday.
“But, my dear Sir Griffin, that’s of course,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Oh; that’s of course, is it?” said Sir Griffin turning up his nose again. “Where did that Delft bowl come from?”
“It is one of Mortlook’s finest Etruscan vases,” said Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Oh, I thought that Etruscan vases came from — from somewhere in Greece or Italy,” said Sir Griffin.
“I declare that you are shocking,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, struggling to maintain her good-humour.
He passed hours of the Sunday in Hertford Street, and Lord George also was there for some time. Lizzie, who could hardly devote her mind to the affairs of the wedding, remained alone in her own sitting-room during the greater part of the day; but she did show herself while Lord George was there.
“So I hear that Mackintosh has been here,” said Lord George.
“Yes, he was here.”
“And what did he say?” Lizzie did not like the way in which the man looked at her, feeling it to be not only unfriendly, but absolutely cruel. It seemed to imply that he knew that her secret was about to be divulged. And what was he to her now that he should be impertinent to her? What he knew, all the world would know before the end of the week. And that other man who knew it already, had been kind to her, had said nothing about perjury, but had explained to her that what she would have to bear would be trouble, and not imprisonment and loss of money. Lord George, to whom she had been so civil, for whom she had spent money, to whom she had almost offered herself and ail that she possessed — Lord George, whom she had selected as the first repository of her secret, had spoken no word to comfort her, but had made things look worse for her than they were. Why should she submit to be questioned by Lord George? In a day or two the secret which he knew would be no secret. “Never mind what he said, Lord George,” she replied.
“Has he found it all out?”
“You had better go and ask him yourself,” said Lizzie. “I am sick of the subject, and I mean to have done with it.”
Lord George laughed, and Lizzie hated him for his laugh.
“I declare,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, “that you two who were such friends are always snapping at each other now.”
“The fickleness is all on her ladyship’s part, not on mine,” said Lord George; whereupon Lady Eustace walked out of the room and was not seen again till dinner-time.
Soon afterwards Lucinda also endeavoured to escape, but to this Sir Griffin objected. Sir Griffin was in a very good humour, and bore himself like a prosperous bridegroom.
“Come, Luce,” he said, “get off your high horse for a little. To-morrow, you know, you must come down altogether.”
“So much the more reason for my remaining up today.”
“I’ll be shot if you shall,” said Sir Griffin. “Luce, sit in my lap, and give me a kiss.”
At this moment Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle were in the front drawing-room, and Lord George was telling her the true story as to the necklace. It must be explained on his behalf that in doing this he did not consider that he was betraying the trust reposed in him. “They know all about it in Scotland Yard,” he said; “I got it from Gager. They were bound to tell me as, up to this week past, every man in the police thought that I had been the master-mind among the thieves. When I think of it I hardly know whether to laugh or cry.”
“And she had them all the time?” exclaimed Mrs. Carbuncle.
“Yes; in this house! Did you ever hear of such a little cat? I could tell you more than that. She wanted me to take them and dispose of them.”
“No!”
“She did, though; and now see the way she treats me! Never mind. Don’t say a word to her about it till it comes out of itself. She’ll have to be arrested, no doubt.”
“Arrested!” Mrs. Carbuncle’s further exclamations were stopped by Lucinda’s struggles in the other room. She had declined to sit upon the bridegroom’s lap, but had acknowledged that she was bound to submit to be kissed. He had kissed her, and then had striven to drag her onto his knee. But she was strong, and had resisted violently, and, as he afterwards said, had struck him savagely.
“Of course I struck him,” said Lucinda.
“By ——, you shall pay for it,” said Sir Griffin. This took place in the presence of Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle, and yet they were to be married tomorrow.
“The idea of complaining that a girl hit you — and the girl who is to be your wife!” said Lord George, as they walked off together.
“I know what to complain of, and what not,” said Sir Griffin. “Are you going to let me have that money?”
“No, I am not,” said Lord George, “so there’s an end of that.” Nevertheless, they dined together at their club afterwards, and in the evening Sir Griffin was again in Hertford Street.
This happened on the Sunday, on which day none of the ladies had gone to church. Mr. Emilius well understood the cause of their absence, and felt nothing of a parson’s anger at it. He was to marry the couple on the Monday morning, and dined with the ladies on the Sunday. He was peculiarly gracious and smiling, and spoke of the Hymeneals as though they were even more than ordinarily joyful and happy in their promise. To Lizzie he was almost affectionate, and Mrs. Carbuncle he flattered to the top of her bent. The power of the man, in being sprightly under such a load of trouble as oppressed the household, was wonderful. He had to do with three women who were worldly, hard, and given entirely to evil things. Even as regarded the bride, who felt the horror of her position, so much must be, in truth, admitted. Though from day to day and hour to hour she would openly declare her hatred of the things around her, yet she went on. Since she had entered upon life she had known nothing but falsehood and scheming wickedness; and, though she rebelled against the consequences, she had not rebelled against the wickedness. Now, to this unfortunate young woman and her two companions, Mr. Emilius discoursed with an unctuous mixture of celestial and terrestrial glorification, which was proof, at any rate, of great ability on his part. He told them how a good wife was a crown, or rather a chaplet of ethereal roses to her husband, and how high rank and great station in the world made such a chaplet more beautiful and more valuable. His work in the vineyard, he said, had fallen lately among the wealthy and nobly born; and though he would not say that he was entitled to take glory on that account, still he gave thanks daily, in that he had been enabled to give his humble assistance towards the running of a godly life to those who, by their example, were enabled to have so wide an effect upon their poorer fellow-creatures. He knew well how difficult it was for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. They had the highest possible authority for that. But Scriptures never said that the camel, which, as he explained it, was simply a thread larger than ordinary thread, could not go through the needle’s eye. The camel which succeeded, in spite of the difficulties attending its exalted position, would be peculiarly blessed. And he went on to suggest that the three ladies before him, one of whom was about to enter upon a new phase of life tomorrow, under auspices peculiarly propitious, were, all of them, camels of this description. Sir Griffin, when he came in, received for a while the peculiar attention of Mr. Emilius. “I think, Sir Griffin,” he commenced, “that no period of a man’s life is so blessed, as that upon which you will enter tomorrow.” This he said in a whisper, but it was a whisper audible to the ladies.
“Well, yes; it’s all right, I dare say,” said Sir Griffin.
“Well, after all, what is life till a man has met and obtained the partner of his soul? It is a blank, and the blank becomes every day more and more intolerable to the miserable solitary.”
“I wonder you don’t get married yourself,” said Mrs. Carbuncle, who perceived that Sir Griffin was rather astray for an answer.
“Ah! if one could always be fortunate when one loved,” said Mr. Emilius, casting his eyes across to Lizzie Eustace. It was evident to them all that he did not wish to conceal his passion............