The Eustace Diamonds | Page 8

was
accepted, and the two ladies went to Scotland together.
During those three months the widow still bided her time. Of her future
ideas of life she said not a word to her companion. Of her infant she
said very little. She would talk of books, choosing such books as her
cousin did not read; and she would interlard her conversation with
much Italian, because her cousin did not know the language. There was
a carriage kept by the widow, and they had themselves driven out

together. Of real companionship there was none. Lizzie was biding her
time, and at the end of the three months Miss Greystock thankfully, and,
indeed, of necessity, returned to Bobsborough. "I've done no good," she
said to her mother, "and have been very uncomfortable." "My dear,"
said her mother, "we have disposed of three months out of a two years'
period of danger. In two years from Sir Florian's death she will be
married again."
When this was said Lizzie had been a widow nearly a year, and had
bided her time upon the whole discreetly. Some foolish letters she had
written, chiefly to the lawyer about her money and property; and some
foolish things she had said, as when she told Ellinor Greystock that the
Portray property was her own forever, to do what she liked with it. The
sum of money left to her by her husband had by that time been paid
into her own hands, and she had opened a banker's account. The
revenues from the Scotch estate, some £4,000 a year, were clearly her
own for life. The family diamond necklace was still in her possession,
and no answer had been given by her to a postscript to a lawyer's letter
in which a little advice had been given respecting it. At the end of
another year, when she had just reached the age of twenty-two, and had
completed her second year of widowhood, she was still Lady Eustace,
thus contradicting the prophecy made by the dean's wife. It was then
spring, and she had a house of her own in London. She had broken
openly with Lady Linlithgow. She had opposed, though not absolutely
refused, all overtures of brotherly care from John Eustace. She had
declined a further invitation, both for herself and for her child, to the
palace. And she had positively asserted her intention of keeping the
diamonds. Her late husband, she said, had given the diamonds to her.
As they were supposed to be worth £10,000, and were really family
diamonds, the matter was felt by all concerned to be one of much
importance. And she was oppressed by a heavy load of ignorance,
which became serious from the isolation of her position. She had
learned to draw cheques, but she had no other correct notion as to
business. She knew nothing as to spending money, saving it, or
investing it. Though she was clever, sharp, and greedy, she had no idea
what her money would do, and what it would not; and there was no one
whom she would trust to tell her. She had a young cousin, a barrister, a

son of the dean's, whom she perhaps liked better than any other of her
relations, but she declined advice even from her friend the barrister.
She would have no dealings on her own behalf with the old family
solicitor of the Eustaces, the gentleman who had now applied very
formally for the restitution of the diamonds, but had appointed other
solicitors to act for her. Messrs. Mowbray & Mopus were of opinion
that as the diamonds had been given into her hands by her husband
without any terms as to their surrender, no one could claim them. Of
the manner in which the diamonds had been placed in her hands no one
knew more than she chose to tell.
But when she started with her house in town--a modest little house in
Mount Street, near the park--just two years after her husband's death,
she had a large circle of acquaintances. The Eustace people, and the
Greystock people, and even the Linlithgow people, did not entirely turn
their backs upon her. The countess, indeed, was very venomous, as she
well might be; but then the countess was known for her venom. The
dean and his family were still anxious that she should be encouraged to
discreet living, and, though they feared many things, thought that they
had no ground for open complaint. The Eustace people were forbearing,
and hoped the best. "D--- the necklace," John Eustace had said, and the
bishop unfortunately had heard him say it! "John," said the prelate,
"whatever is to become of the bauble you might express your opinion
in more sensible language." "I beg your lordship's pardon," said John,
"I only