Vanity Fair (83 page)

And the diamonds—"Where the doose did you get the diamonds, Becky?"
said her husband, admiring some jewels which he had never seen
before and which sparkled in her ears and on her neck with
brilliance and profusion.

Becky blushed a little and looked at him hard for a moment. Pitt
Crawley blushed a little too, and looked out of window. The fact
is, he had given her a very small portion of the brilliants; a
pretty diamond clasp, which confined a pearl necklace which she
wore—and the Baronet had omitted to mention the circumstance to his
lady.

Becky looked at her husband, and then at Sir Pitt, with an air of
saucy triumph—as much as to say, "Shall I betray you?"

"Guess!" she said to her husband. "Why, you silly man," she
continued, "where do you suppose I got them?—all except the little
clasp, which a dear friend of mine gave me long ago. I hired them,
to be sure. I hired them at Mr. Polonius's, in Coventry Street.
You don't suppose that all the diamonds which go to Court belong to
the wearers; like those beautiful stones which Lady Jane has, and
which are much handsomer than any which I have, I am certain."

"They are family jewels," said Sir Pitt, again looking uneasy. And
in this family conversation the carriage rolled down the street,
until its cargo was finally discharged at the gates of the palace
where the Sovereign was sitting in state.

The diamonds, which had created Rawdon's admiration, never went back
to Mr. Polonius, of Coventry Street, and that gentleman never
applied for their restoration, but they retired into a little
private repository, in an old desk, which Amelia Sedley had given
her years and years ago, and in which Becky kept a number of useful
and, perhaps, valuable things, about which her husband knew nothing.
To know nothing, or little, is in the nature of some husbands. To
hide, in the nature of how many women? Oh, ladies! how many of you
have surreptitious milliners' bills? How many of you have gowns and
bracelets which you daren't show, or which you wear trembling?—
trembling, and coaxing with smiles the husband by your side, who
does not know the new velvet gown from the old one, or the new
bracelet from last year's, or has any notion that the ragged-looking
yellow lace scarf cost forty guineas and that Madame Bobinot is
writing dunning letters every week for the money!

Thus Rawdon knew nothing about the brilliant diamond ear-rings, or
the superb brilliant ornament which decorated the fair bosom of his
lady; but Lord Steyne, who was in his place at Court, as Lord of the
Powder Closet, and one of the great dignitaries and illustrious
defences of the throne of England, and came up with all his stars,
garters, collars, and cordons, and paid particular attention to the
little woman, knew whence the jewels came and who paid for them.

As he bowed over her he smiled, and quoted the hackneyed and
beautiful lines from The Rape of the Lock about Belinda's diamonds,
"which Jews might kiss and infidels adore."

"But I hope your lordship is orthodox," said the little lady with a
toss of her head. And many ladies round about whispered and talked,
and many gentlemen nodded and whispered, as they saw what marked
attention the great nobleman was paying to the little adventuress.

What were the circumstances of the interview between Rebecca
Crawley, nee Sharp, and her Imperial Master, it does not become such
a feeble and inexperienced pen as mine to attempt to relate. The
dazzled eyes close before that Magnificent Idea. Loyal respect and
decency tell even the imagination not to look too keenly and
audaciously about the sacred audience-chamber, but to back away
rapidly, silently, and respectfully, making profound bows out of the
August Presence.

This may be said, that in all London there was no more loyal heart
than Becky's after this interview. The name of her king was always
on her lips, and he was proclaimed by her to be the most charming of
men. She went to Colnaghi's and ordered the finest portrait of him
that art had produced, and credit could supply. She chose that
famous one in which the best of monarchs is represented in a frock-
coat with a fur collar, and breeches and silk stockings, simpering
on a sofa from under his curly brown wig. She had him painted in a
brooch and wore it—indeed she amused and somewhat pestered her
acquaintance with her perpetual talk about his urbanity and beauty.
Who knows! Perhaps the little woman thought she might play the part
of a Maintenon or a Pompadour.

But the finest sport of all after her presentation was to hear her
talk virtuously. She had a few female acquaintances, not, it must
be owned, of the very highest reputation in Vanity Fair. But being
made an honest woman of, so to speak, Becky would not consort any
longer with these dubious ones, and cut Lady Crackenbury when the
latter nodded to her from her opera-box, and gave Mrs. Washington
White the go-by in the Ring. "One must, my dear, show one is
somebody," she said. "One mustn't be seen with doubtful people. I
pity Lady Crackenbury from my heart, and Mrs. Washington White may
be a very good-natured person. YOU may go and dine with them, as
you like your rubber. But I mustn't, and won't; and you will have
the goodness to tell Smith to say I am not at home when either of
them calls."

The particulars of Becky's costume were in the newspapers—feathers,
lappets, superb diamonds, and all the rest. Lady Crackenbury read
the paragraph in bitterness of spirit and discoursed to her
followers about the airs which that woman was giving herself. Mrs.
Bute Crawley and her young ladies in the country had a copy of the
Morning Post from town, and gave a vent to their honest indignation.
"If you had been sandy-haired, green-eyed, and a French rope-
dancer's daughter," Mrs. Bute said to her eldest girl (who, on the
contrary, was a very swarthy, short, and snub-nosed young lady),
"You might have had superb diamonds forsooth, and have been
presented at Court by your cousin, the Lady Jane. But you're only a
gentlewoman, my poor dear child. You have only some of the best
blood in England in your veins, and good principles and piety for
your portion. I, myself, the wife of a Baronet's younger brother,
too, never thought of such a thing as going to Court—nor would
other people, if good Queen Charlotte had been alive." In this way
the worthy Rectoress consoled herself, and her daughters sighed and
sat over the Peerage all night.

A few days after the famous presentation, another great and
exceeding honour was vouchsafed to the virtuous Becky. Lady
Steyne's carriage drove up to Mr. Rawdon Crawley's door, and the
footman, instead of driving down the front of the house, as by his
tremendous knocking he appeared to be inclined to do, relented and
only delivered in a couple of cards, on which were engraven the
names of the Marchioness of Steyne and the Countess of Gaunt. If
these bits of pasteboard had been beautiful pictures, or had had a
hundred yards of Malines lace rolled round them, worth twice the
number of guineas, Becky could not have regarded them with more
pleasure. You may be sure they occupied a conspicuous place in the
china bowl on the drawing-room table, where Becky kept the cards of
her visitors. Lord! lord! how poor Mrs. Washington White's card and
Lady Crackenbury's card—which our little friend had been glad
enough to get a few months back, and of which the silly little
creature was rather proud once—Lord! lord! I say, how soon at the
appearance of these grand court cards, did those poor little
neglected deuces sink down to the bottom of the pack. Steyne!
Bareacres, Johnes of Helvellyn! and Caerylon of Camelot! we may be
sure that Becky and Briggs looked out those august names in the
Peerage, and followed the noble races up through all the
ramifications of the family tree.

My Lord Steyne coming to call a couple of hours afterwards, and
looking about him, and observing everything as was his wont, found
his ladies' cards already ranged as the trumps of Becky's hand, and
grinned, as this old cynic always did at any naive display of human
weakness. Becky came down to him presently; whenever the dear girl
expected his lordship, her toilette was prepared, her hair in
perfect order, her mouchoirs, aprons, scarfs, little morocco
slippers, and other female gimcracks arranged, and she seated in
some artless and agreeable posture ready to receive him—whenever
she was surprised, of course, she had to fly to her apartment to
take a rapid survey of matters in the glass, and to trip down again
to wait upon the great peer.

She found him grinning over the bowl. She was discovered, and she
blushed a little. "Thank you, Monseigneur," she said. "You see
your ladies have been here. How good of you! I couldn't come
before—I was in the kitchen making a pudding."

"I know you were, I saw you through the area-railings as I drove
up," replied the old gentleman.

"You see everything," she replied.

"A few things, but not that, my pretty lady," he said good-
naturedly. "You silly little fibster! I heard you in the room
overhead, where I have no doubt you were putting a little rouge on—
you must give some of yours to my Lady Gaunt, whose complexion is
quite preposterous—and I heard the bedroom door open, and then you
came downstairs."

"Is it a crime to try and look my best when YOU come here?" answered
Mrs. Rawdon plaintively, and she rubbed her cheek with her
handkerchief as if to show there was no rouge at all, only genuine
blushes and modesty in her case. About this who can tell? I know
there is some rouge that won't come off on a pocket-handkerchief,
and some so good that even tears will not disturb it.

"Well," said the old gentleman, twiddling round his wife's card,
"you are bent on becoming a fine lady. You pester my poor old life
out to get you into the world. You won't be able to hold your own
there, you silly little fool. You've got no money."

"You will get us a place," interposed Becky, "as quick as possible."

"You've got no money, and you want to compete with those who have.
You poor little earthenware pipkin, you want to swim down the stream
along with the great copper kettles. All women are alike.
Everybody is striving for what is not worth the having! Gad! I
dined with the King yesterday, and we had neck of mutton and
turnips. A dinner of herbs is better than a stalled ox very often.
You will go to Gaunt House. You give an old fellow no rest until
you get there. It's not half so nice as here. You'll be bored
there. I am. My wife is as gay as Lady Macbeth, and my daughters
as cheerful as Regan and Goneril. I daren't sleep in what they call
my bedroom. The bed is like the baldaquin of St. Peter's, and the
pictures frighten me. I have a little brass bed in a dressing-room,
and a little hair mattress like an anchorite. I am an anchorite.
Ho! ho! You'll be asked to dinner next week. And gare aux femmes,
look out and hold your own! How the women will bully you!" This was
a very long speech for a man of few words like my Lord Steyne; nor
was it the first which he uttered for Becky's benefit on that day.

Briggs looked up from the work-table at which she was seated in the
farther room and gave a deep sigh as she heard the great Marquis
speak so lightly of her sex.

"If you don't turn off that abominable sheep-dog," said Lord Steyne,
with a savage look over his shoulder at her, "I will have her
poisoned."

"I always give my dog dinner from my own plate," said Rebecca,
laughing mischievously; and having enjoyed for some time the
discomfiture of my lord, who hated poor Briggs for interrupting his
tete-a-tete with the fair Colonel's wife, Mrs. Rawdon at length had
pity upon her admirer, and calling to Briggs, praised the fineness
of the weather to her and bade her to take out the child for a walk.

"I can't send her away," Becky said presently, after a pause, and in
a very sad voice. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, and she
turned away her head.

"You owe her her wages, I suppose?" said the Peer.

"Worse than that," said Becky, still casting down her eyes; "I have
ruined her."

"Ruined her? Then why don't you turn her out?" the gentleman asked.

"Men do that," Becky answered bitterly. "Women are not so bad as
you. Last year, when we were reduced to our last guinea, she gave
us everything. She shall never leave me, until we are ruined
utterly ourselves, which does not seem far off, or until I can pay
her the utmost farthing."

"—— it, how much is it?" said the Peer with an oath. And Becky,
reflecting on the largeness of his means, mentioned not only the sum
which she had borrowed from Miss Briggs, but one of nearly double
the amount.

This caused the Lord Steyne to break out in another brief and
energetic expression of anger, at which Rebecca held down her head
the more and cried bitterly. "I could not help it. It was my only
chance. I dare not tell my husband. He would kill me if I told him
what I have done. I have kept it a secret from everybody but you—
and you forced it from me. Ah, what shall I do, Lord Steyne? for I
am very, very unhappy!"

Lord Steyne made no reply except by beating the devil's tattoo and
biting his nails. At last he clapped his hat on his head and flung
out of the room. Rebecca did not rise from her attitude of misery
until the door slammed upon him and his carriage whirled away. Then
she rose up with the queerest expression of victorious mischief
glittering in her green eyes. She burst out laughing once or twice
to herself, as she sat at work, and sitting down to the piano, she
rattled away a triumphant voluntary on the keys, which made the
people pause under her window to listen to her brilliant music.

That night, there came two notes from Gaunt House for the little
woman, the one containing a card of invitation from Lord and Lady
Steyne to a dinner at Gaunt House next Friday, while the other
enclosed a slip of gray paper bearing Lord Steyne's signature and
the address of Messrs. Jones, Brown, and Robinson, Lombard Street.