Vanity Fair (54 page)

"Cut in pieces," said the hussar—upon which Pauline cried out, "O
my mistress, ma bonne petite dame," went off fairly into hysterics,
and filled the house with her screams.

Wild with terror, Mr. Sedley knew not how or where to seek for
safety. He rushed from the kitchen back to the sitting-room, and
cast an appealing look at Amelia's door, which Mrs. O'Dowd had
closed and locked in his face; but he remembered how scornfully the
latter had received him, and after pausing and listening for a brief
space at the door, he left it, and resolved to go into the street,
for the first time that day. So, seizing a candle, he looked about
for his gold-laced cap, and found it lying in its usual place, on a
console-table, in the anteroom, placed before a mirror at which Jos
used to coquet, always giving his side-locks a twirl, and his cap
the proper cock over his eye, before he went forth to make
appearance in public. Such is the force of habit, that even in the
midst of his terror he began mechanically to twiddle with his hair,
and arrange the cock of his hat. Then he looked amazed at the pale
face in the glass before him, and especially at his mustachios,
which had attained a rich growth in the course of near seven weeks,
since they had come into the world. They WILL mistake me for a
military man, thought he, remembering Isidor's warning as to the
massacre with which all the defeated British army was threatened;
and staggering back to his bedchamber, he began wildly pulling the
bell which summoned his valet.

Isidor answered that summons. Jos had sunk in a chair—he had torn
off his neckcloths, and turned down his collars, and was sitting
with both his hands lifted to his throat.

"Coupez-moi, Isidor," shouted he; "vite! Coupez-moi!"

Isidor thought for a moment he had gone mad, and that he wished his
valet to cut his throat.

"Les moustaches," gasped Joe; "les moustaches—coupy, rasy, vite!"—
his French was of this sort—voluble, as we have said, but not
remarkable for grammar.

Isidor swept off the mustachios in no time with the razor, and heard
with inexpressible delight his master's orders that he should fetch
a hat and a plain coat. "Ne porty ploo—habit militair—bonn—bonny
a voo, prenny dehors"—were Jos's words—the coat and cap were at
last his property.

This gift being made, Jos selected a plain black coat and waistcoat
from his stock, and put on a large white neckcloth, and a plain
beaver. If he could have got a shovel hat he would have worn it.
As it was, you would have fancied he was a flourishing, large parson
of the Church of England.

"Venny maintenong," he continued, "sweevy—ally—party—dong la
roo." And so having said, he plunged swiftly down the stairs of the
house, and passed into the street.

Although Regulus had vowed that he was the only man of his regiment
or of the allied army, almost, who had escaped being cut to pieces
by Ney, it appeared that his statement was incorrect, and that a
good number more of the supposed victims had survived the massacre.
Many scores of Regulus's comrades had found their way back to
Brussels, and all agreeing that they had run away—filled the whole
town with an idea of the defeat of the allies. The arrival of the
French was expected hourly; the panic continued, and preparations
for flight went on everywhere. No horses! thought Jos, in terror.
He made Isidor inquire of scores of persons, whether they had any to
lend or sell, and his heart sank within him, at the negative answers
returned everywhere. Should he take the journey on foot? Even fear
could not render that ponderous body so active.

Almost all the hotels occupied by the English in Brussels face the
Parc, and Jos wandered irresolutely about in this quarter, with
crowds of other people, oppressed as he was by fear and curiosity.
Some families he saw more happy than himself, having discovered a
team of horses, and rattling through the streets in retreat; others
again there were whose case was like his own, and who could not for
any bribes or entreaties procure the necessary means of flight.
Amongst these would-be fugitives, Jos remarked the Lady Bareacres
and her daughter, who sate in their carriage in the porte-cochere of
their hotel, all their imperials packed, and the only drawback to
whose flight was the same want of motive power which kept Jos
stationary.

Rebecca Crawley occupied apartments in this hotel; and had before
this period had sundry hostile meetings with the ladies of the
Bareacres family. My Lady Bareacres cut Mrs. Crawley on the stairs
when they met by chance; and in all places where the latter's name
was mentioned, spoke perseveringly ill of her neighbour. The
Countess was shocked at the familiarity of General Tufto with the
aide-de-camp's wife. The Lady Blanche avoided her as if she had
been an infectious disease. Only the Earl himself kept up a sly
occasional acquaintance with her, when out of the jurisdiction of
his ladies.

Rebecca had her revenge now upon these insolent enemies. If became
known in the hotel that Captain Crawley's horses had been left
behind, and when the panic began, Lady Bareacres condescended to
send her maid to the Captain's wife with her Ladyship's compliments,
and a desire to know the price of Mrs. Crawley's horses. Mrs.
Crawley returned a note with her compliments, and an intimation that
it was not her custom to transact bargains with ladies' maids.

This curt reply brought the Earl in person to Becky's apartment; but
he could get no more success than the first ambassador. "Send a
lady's maid to ME!" Mrs. Crawley cried in great anger; "why didn't
my Lady Bareacres tell me to go and saddle the horses! Is it her
Ladyship that wants to escape, or her Ladyship's femme de chambre?"
And this was all the answer that the Earl bore back to his Countess.

What will not necessity do? The Countess herself actually came to
wait upon Mrs. Crawley on the failure of her second envoy. She
entreated her to name her own price; she even offered to invite
Becky to Bareacres House, if the latter would but give her the means
of returning to that residence. Mrs. Crawley sneered at her.

"I don't want to be waited on by bailiffs in livery," she said; "you
will never get back though most probably—at least not you and your
diamonds together. The French will have those They will be here in
two hours, and I shall be half way to Ghent by that time. I would
not sell you my horses, no, not for the two largest diamonds that
your Ladyship wore at the ball." Lady Bareacres trembled with rage
and terror. The diamonds were sewed into her habit, and secreted in
my Lord's padding and boots. "Woman, the diamonds are at the
banker's, and I WILL have the horses," she said. Rebecca laughed in
her face. The infuriate Countess went below, and sate in her
carriage; her maid, her courier, and her husband were sent once more
through the town, each to look for cattle; and woe betide those who
came last! Her Ladyship was resolved on departing the very instant
the horses arrived from any quarter—with her husband or without
him.

Rebecca had the pleasure of seeing her Ladyship in the horseless
carriage, and keeping her eyes fixed upon her, and bewailing, in the
loudest tone of voice, the Countess's perplexities. "Not to be able
to get horses!" she said, "and to have all those diamonds sewed into
the carriage cushions! What a prize it will be for the French when
they come!—the carriage and the diamonds, I mean; not the lady!"
She gave this information to the landlord, to the servants, to the
guests, and the innumerable stragglers about the courtyard. Lady
Bareacres could have shot her from the carriage window.

It was while enjoying the humiliation of her enemy that Rebecca
caught sight of Jos, who made towards her directly he perceived her.

That altered, frightened, fat face, told his secret well enough. He
too wanted to fly, and was on the look-out for the means of escape.
"HE shall buy my horses," thought Rebecca, "and I'll ride the mare."

Jos walked up to his friend, and put the question for the hundredth
time during the past hour, "Did she know where horses were to be
had?"

"What, YOU fly?" said Rebecca, with a laugh. "I thought you were
the champion of all the ladies, Mr. Sedley."

"I—I'm not a military man," gasped he.

"And Amelia?—Who is to protect that poor little sister of yours?"
asked Rebecca. "You surely would not desert her?"

"What good can I do her, suppose—suppose the enemy arrive?" Jos
answered. "They'll spare the women; but my man tells me that they
have taken an oath to give no quarter to the men—the dastardly
cowards."

"Horrid!" cried Rebecca, enjoying his perplexity.

"Besides, I don't want to desert her," cried the brother. "She
SHAN'T be deserted. There is a seat for her in my carriage, and one
for you, dear Mrs. Crawley, if you will come; and if we can get
horses—" sighed he—

"I have two to sell," the lady said. Jos could have flung himself
into her arms at the news. "Get the carriage, Isidor," he cried;
"we've found them—we have found them."

My horses never were in harness," added the lady. "Bullfinch would
kick the carriage to pieces, if you put him in the traces."

"But he is quiet to ride?" asked the civilian.

"As quiet as a lamb, and as fast as a hare," answered Rebecca.

"Do you think he is up to my weight?" Jos said. He was already on
his back, in imagination, without ever so much as a thought for poor
Amelia. What person who loved a horse-speculation could resist such
a temptation?

In reply, Rebecca asked him to come into her room, whither he
followed her quite breathless to conclude the bargain. Jos seldom
spent a half-hour in his life which cost him so much money.
Rebecca, measuring the value of the goods which she had for sale by
Jos's eagerness to purchase, as well as by the scarcity of the
article, put upon her horses a price so prodigious as to make even
the civilian draw back. "She would sell both or neither," she said,
resolutely. Rawdon had ordered her not to part with them for a
price less than that which she specified. Lord Bareacres below would
give her the same money—and with all her love and regard for the
Sedley family, her dear Mr. Joseph must conceive that poor people
must live—nobody, in a word, could be more affectionate, but more
firm about the matter of business.

Jos ended by agreeing, as might be supposed of him. The sum he had
to give her was so large that he was obliged to ask for time; so
large as to be a little fortune to Rebecca, who rapidly calculated
that with this sum, and the sale of the residue of Rawdon's effects,
and her pension as a widow should he fall, she would now be
absolutely independent of the world, and might look her weeds
steadily in the face.

Once or twice in the day she certainly had herself thought about
flying. But her reason gave her better counsel. "Suppose the
French do come," thought Becky, "what can they do to a poor
officer's widow? Bah! the times of sacks and sieges are over. We
shall be let to go home quietly, or I may live pleasantly abroad
with a snug little income."

Meanwhile Jos and Isidor went off to the stables to inspect the
newly purchased cattle. Jos bade his man saddle the horses at once.
He would ride away that very night, that very hour. And he left the
valet busy in getting the horses ready, and went homewards himself
to prepare for his departure. It must be secret. He would go to
his chamber by the back entrance. He did not care to face Mrs.
O'Dowd and Amelia, and own to them that he was about to run.

By the time Jos's bargain with Rebecca was completed, and his horses
had been visited and examined, it was almost morning once more. But
though midnight was long passed, there was no rest for the city; the
people were up, the lights in the houses flamed, crowds were still
about the doors, and the streets were busy. Rumours of various
natures went still from mouth to mouth: one report averred that the
Prussians had been utterly defeated; another that it was the English
who had been attacked and conquered: a third that the latter had
held their ground. This last rumour gradually got strength. No
Frenchmen had made their appearance. Stragglers had come in from
the army bringing reports more and more favourable: at last an
aide-de-camp actually reached Brussels with despatches for the
Commandant of the place, who placarded presently through the town an
official announcement of the success of the allies at Quatre Bras,
and the entire repulse of the French under Ney after a six hours'
battle. The aide-de-camp must have arrived sometime while Jos and
Rebecca were making their bargain together, or the latter was
inspecting his purchase. When he reached his own hotel, he found a
score of its numerous inhabitants on the threshold discoursing of
the news; there was no doubt as to its truth. And he went up to
communicate it to the ladies under his charge. He did not think it
was necessary to tell them how he had intended to take leave of
them, how he had bought horses, and what a price he had paid for
them.

But success or defeat was a minor matter to them, who had only
thought for the safety of those they loved. Amelia, at the news of
the victory, became still more agitated even than before. She was
for going that moment to the army. She besought her brother with
tears to conduct her thither. Her doubts and terrors reached their
paroxysm; and the poor girl, who for many hours had been plunged
into stupor, raved and ran hither and thither in hysteric insanity—
a piteous sight. No man writhing in pain on the hard-fought field
fifteen miles off, where lay, after their struggles, so many of the
brave—no man suffered more keenly than this poor harmless victim of
the war. Jos could not bear the sight of her pain. He left his
sister in the charge of her stouter female companion, and descended
once more to the threshold of the hotel, where everybody still
lingered, and talked, and waited for more news.