Vanity Fair (42 page)

"I must and will go," Amelia cried with the greatest spirit; and
George, applauding her resolution, patted her under the chin, and
asked all the persons present if they ever saw such a termagant of a
wife, and agreed that the lady should bear him company. "We'll have
Mrs. O'Dowd to chaperon you," he said. What cared she so long as
her husband was near her? Thus somehow the bitterness of a parting
was juggled away. Though war and danger were in store, war and
danger might not befall for months to come. There was a respite at
any rate, which made the timid little Amelia almost as happy as a
full reprieve would have done, and which even Dobbin owned in his
heart was very welcome. For, to be permitted to see her was now the
greatest privilege and hope of his life, and he thought with himself
secretly how he would watch and protect her. I wouldn't have let
her go if I had been married to her, he thought. But George was the
master, and his friend did not think fit to remonstrate.

Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Rebecca at length carried
Amelia off from the dinner-table where so much business of
importance had been discussed, and left the gentlemen in a highly
exhilarated state, drinking and talking very gaily.

In the course of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note from
his wife, which, although he crumpled it up and burnt it instantly
in the candle, we had the good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder.
"Great news," she wrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the money from
Cupid tonight, as he'll be off to-morrow most likely. Mind this.—
R." So when the little company was about adjourning to coffee in the
women's apartment, Rawdon touched Osborne on the elbow, and said
gracefully, "I say, Osborne, my boy, if quite convenient, I'll
trouble you for that 'ere small trifle." It was not quite
convenient, but nevertheless George gave him a considerable present
instalment in bank-notes from his pocket-book, and a bill on his
agents at a week's date, for the remaining sum.

This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and Dobbin, held a council of
war over their cigars, and agreed that a general move should be made
for London in Jos's open carriage the next day. Jos, I think, would
have preferred staying until Rawdon Crawley quitted Brighton, but
Dobbin and George overruled him, and he agreed to carry the party to
town, and ordered four horses, as became his dignity. With these
they set off in state, after breakfast, the next day. Amelia had
risen very early in the morning, and packed her little trunks with
the greatest alacrity, while Osborne lay in bed deploring that she
had not a maid to help her. She was only too glad, however, to
perform this office for herself. A dim uneasy sentiment about
Rebecca filled her mind already; and although they kissed each other
most tenderly at parting, yet we know what jealousy is; and Mrs.
Amelia possessed that among other virtues of her sex.

Besides these characters who are coming and going away, we must
remember that there were some other old friends of ours at Brighton;
Miss Crawley, namely, and the suite in attendance upon her. Now,
although Rebecca and her husband were but at a few stones' throw of
the lodgings which the invalid Miss Crawley occupied, the old lady's
door remained as pitilessly closed to them as it had been heretofore
in London. As long as she remained by the side of her sister-in-
law, Mrs. Bute Crawley took care that her beloved Matilda should not
be agitated by a meeting with her nephew. When the spinster took
her drive, the faithful Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carriage.
When Miss Crawley took the air in a chair, Mrs. Bute marched on one
side of the vehicle, whilst honest Briggs occupied the other wing.
And if they met Rawdon and his wife by chance—although the former
constantly and obsequiously took off his hat, the Miss-Crawley party
passed him by with such a frigid and killing indifference, that
Rawdon began to despair.

"We might as well be in London as here," Captain Rawdon often said,
with a downcast air.

"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a spunging-house in
Chancery Lane," his wife answered, who was of a more cheerful
temperament. "Think of those two aides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the
sheriff's-officer, who watched our lodging for a week. Our friends
here are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are better
companions than Mr. Moses's men, Rawdon, my love."

"I wonder the writs haven't followed me down here," Rawdon
continued, still desponding.

"When they do, we'll find means to give them the slip," said
dauntless little Becky, and further pointed out to her husband the
great comfort and advantage of meeting Jos and Osborne, whose
acquaintance had brought to Rawdon Crawley a most timely little
supply of ready money.

"It will hardly be enough to pay the inn bill," grumbled the
Guardsman.

"Why need we pay it?" said the lady, who had an answer for
everything.

Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling acquaintance
with the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley's servants' hall, and was
instructed to treat the coachman to drink whenever they met, old
Miss Crawley's movements were pretty well known by our young couple;
and Rebecca luckily bethought herself of being unwell, and of
calling in the same apothecary who was in attendance upon the
spinster, so that their information was on the whole tolerably
complete. Nor was Miss Briggs, although forced to adopt a hostile
attitude, secretly inimical to Rawdon and his wife. She was
naturally of a kindly and forgiving disposition. Now that the cause
of jealousy was removed, her dislike for Rebecca disappeared also,
and she remembered the latter's invariable good words and good
humour. And, indeed, she and Mrs. Firkin, the lady's-maid, and the
whole of Miss Crawley's household, groaned under the tyranny of the
triumphant Mrs. Bute.

As often will be the case, that good but imperious woman pushed her
advantages too far, and her successes quite unmercifully. She had
in the course of a few weeks brought the invalid to such a state of
helpless docility, that the poor soul yielded herself entirely to
her sister's orders, and did not even dare to complain of her
slavery to Briggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the glasses of
wine which Miss Crawley was daily allowed to take, with irresistible
accuracy, greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and the butler, who
found themselves deprived of control over even the sherry-bottle.
She apportioned the sweetbreads, jellies, chickens; their quantity
and order. Night and noon and morning she brought the abominable
drinks ordained by the Doctor, and made her patient swallow them
with so affecting an obedience that Firkin said "my poor Missus du
take her physic like a lamb." She prescribed the drive in the
carriage or the ride in the chair, and, in a word, ground down the
old lady in her convalescence in such a way as only belongs to your
proper-managing, motherly moral woman. If ever the patient faintly
resisted, and pleaded for a little bit more dinner or a little drop
less medicine, the nurse threatened her with instantaneous death,
when Miss Crawley instantly gave in. "She's no spirit left in her,"
Firkin remarked to Briggs; "she ain't ave called me a fool these
three weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made up her mind to dismiss the
aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls the large confidential man,
and Briggs herself, and to send for her daughters from the Rectory,
previous to removing the dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawley,
when an odious accident happened which called her away from duties
so pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley, her husband, riding home
one night, fell with his horse and broke his collar-bone. Fever and
inflammatory symptoms set in, and Mrs. Bute was forced to leave
Sussex for Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restored, she
promised to return to her dearest friend, and departed, leaving the
strongest injunctions with the household regarding their behaviour
to their mistress; and as soon as she got into the Southampton
coach, there was such a jubilee and sense of relief in all Miss
Crawley's house, as the company of persons assembled there had not
experienced for many a week before. That very day Miss Crawley left
off her afternoon dose of medicine: that afternoon Bowls opened an
independent bottle of sherry for himself and Mrs. Firkin: that
night Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet
instead of one of Porteus's sermons. It was as in the old nursery-
story, when the stick forgot to beat the dog, and the whole course
of events underwent a peaceful and happy revolution.

At a very early hour in the morning, twice or thrice a week, Miss
Briggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machine, and disport in
the water in a flannel gown and an oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have
seen, was aware of this circumstance, and though she did not attempt
to storm Briggs as she had threatened, and actually dive into that
lady's presence and surprise her under the sacredness of the awning,
Mrs. Rawdon determined to attack Briggs as she came away from her
bath, refreshed and invigorated by her dip, and likely to be in good
humour.

So getting up very early the next morning, Becky brought the
telescope in their sitting-room, which faced the sea, to bear upon
the bathing-machines on the beach; saw Briggs arrive, enter her box;
and put out to sea; and was on the shore just as the nymph of whom
she came in quest stepped out of the little caravan on to the
shingles. It was a pretty picture: the beach; the bathing-women's
faces; the long line of rocks and building were blushing and bright
in the sunshine. Rebecca wore a kind, tender smile on her face, and
was holding out her pretty white hand as Briggs emerged from the
box. What could Briggs do but accept the salutation?

"Miss Sh—Mrs. Crawley," she said.

Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart, and with a
sudden impulse, flinging her arms round Briggs, kissed her
affectionately. "Dear, dear friend!" she said, with a touch of such
natural feeling, that Miss Briggs of course at once began to melt,
and even the bathing-woman was mollified.

Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long, intimate,
and delightful conversation. Everything that had passed since the
morning of Becky's sudden departure from Miss Crawley's house in
Park Lane up to the present day, and Mrs. Bute's happy retreat, was
discussed and described by Briggs. All Miss Crawley's symptoms, and
the particulars of her illness and medical treatment, were narrated
by the confidante with that fulness and accuracy which women delight
in. About their complaints and their doctors do ladies ever tire of
talking to each other? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did
Rebecca weary of listening. She was thankful, truly thankful, that
the dear kind Briggs, that the faithful, the invaluable Firkin, had
been permitted to remain with their benefactress through her
illness. Heaven bless her! though she, Rebecca, had seemed to act
undutifully towards Miss Crawley; yet was not her fault a natural
and excusable one? Could she help giving her hand to the man who had
won her heart? Briggs, the sentimental, could only turn up her eyes
to heaven at this appeal, and heave a sympathetic sigh, and think
that she, too, had given away her affections long years ago, and own
that Rebecca was no very great criminal.

"Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friendless orphan? No,
though she has cast me off," the latter said, "I shall never cease
to love her, and I would devote my life to her service. As my own
benefactress, as my beloved Rawdon's adored relative, I love and
admire Miss Crawley, dear Miss Briggs, beyond any woman in the
world, and next to her I love all those who are faithful to her. I
would never have treated Miss Crawley's faithful friends as that
odious designing Mrs. Bute has done. Rawdon, who was all heart,"
Rebecca continued, "although his outward manners might seem rough
and careless, had said a hundred times, with tears in his eyes, that
he blessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty two such admirable
nurses as her attached Firkin and her admirable Miss Briggs. Should
the machinations of the horrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much
feared they would, in banishing everybody that Miss Crawley loved
from her side, and leaving that poor lady a victim to those harpies
at the Rectory, Rebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) to remember that
her own home, humble as it was, was always open to receive Briggs.
Dear friend," she exclaimed, in a transport of enthusiasm, "some
hearts can never forget benefits; all women are not Bute Crawleys!
Though why should I complain of her," Rebecca added; "though I have
been her tool and the victim to her arts, do I not owe my dearest
Rawdon to her?" And Rebecca unfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's
conduct at Queen's Crawley, which, though unintelligible to her
then, was clearly enough explained by the events now—now that the
attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute had encouraged by a
thousand artifices—now that two innocent people had fallen into the
snares which she had laid for them, and loved and married and been
ruined through her schemes.

It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems as clearly as
possible. Mrs. Bute had made the match between Rawdon and Rebecca.
Yet, though the latter was a perfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggs
could not disguise from her friend her fear that Miss Crawley's
affections were hopelessly estranged from Rebecca, and that the old
lady would never forgive her nephew for making so imprudent a
marriage.

On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, and still kept up a good
heart. If Miss Crawley did not forgive them at present, she might
at least relent on a future day. Even now, there was only that
puling, sickly Pitt Crawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and
should anything happen to the former, all would be well. At all
events, to have Mrs. Bute's designs exposed, and herself well
abused, was a satisfaction, and might be advantageous to Rawdon's
interest; and Rebecca, after an hour's chat with her recovered
friend, left her with the most tender demonstrations of regard, and
quite assured that the conversation they had had together would be
reported to Miss Crawley before many hours were over.