Vanity Fair (91 page)

"What an accomplished little devil it is!" thought he. "What a
splendid actress and manager! She had almost got a second supply
out of me the other day; with her coaxing ways. She beats all the
women I have ever seen in the course of all my well-spent life.
They are babies compared to her. I am a greenhorn myself, and a
fool in her hands—an old fool. She is unsurpassable in lies." His
lordship's admiration for Becky rose immeasurably at this proof of
her cleverness. Getting the money was nothing—but getting double
the sum she wanted, and paying nobody—it was a magnificent stroke.
And Crawley, my lord thought—Crawley is not such a fool as he looks
and seems. He has managed the matter cleverly enough on his side.
Nobody would ever have supposed from his face and demeanour that he
knew anything about this money business; and yet he put her up to
it, and has spent the money, no doubt. In this opinion my lord, we
know, was mistaken, but it influenced a good deal his behaviour
towards Colonel Crawley, whom he began to treat with even less than
that semblance of respect which he had formerly shown towards that
gentleman. It never entered into the head of Mrs. Crawley's patron
that the little lady might be making a purse for herself; and,
perhaps, if the truth must be told, he judged of Colonel Crawley by
his experience of other husbands, whom he had known in the course of
the long and well-spent life which had made him acquainted with a
great deal of the weakness of mankind. My lord had bought so many
men during his life that he was surely to be pardoned for supposing
that he had found the price of this one.

He taxed Becky upon the point on the very first occasion when he met
her alone, and he complimented her, good-humouredly, on her
cleverness in getting more than the money which she required. Becky
was only a little taken aback. It was not the habit of this dear
creature to tell falsehoods, except when necessity compelled, but in
these great emergencies it was her practice to lie very freely; and
in an instant she was ready with another neat plausible
circumstantial story which she administered to her patron. The
previous statement which she had made to him was a falsehood—a
wicked falsehood—she owned it. But who had made her tell it? "Ah,
my Lord," she said, "you don't know all I have to suffer and bear in
silence; you see me gay and happy before you—you little know what I
have to endure when there is no protector near me. It was my
husband, by threats and the most savage treatment, forced me to ask
for that sum about which I deceived you. It was he who, foreseeing
that questions might be asked regarding the disposal of the money,
forced me to account for it as I did. He took the money. He told
me he had paid Miss Briggs; I did not want, I did not dare to doubt
him. Pardon the wrong which a desperate man is forced to commit, and
pity a miserable, miserable woman." She burst into tears as she
spoke. Persecuted virtue never looked more bewitchingly wretched.

They had a long conversation, driving round and round the Regent's
Park in Mrs. Crawley's carriage together, a conversation of which it
is not necessary to repeat the details, but the upshot of it was
that, when Becky came home, she flew to her dear Briggs with a
smiling face and announced that she had some very good news for her.
Lord Steyne had acted in the noblest and most generous manner. He
was always thinking how and when he could do good. Now that little
Rawdon was gone to school, a dear companion and friend was no longer
necessary to her. She was grieved beyond measure to part with
Briggs, but her means required that she should practise every
retrenchment, and her sorrow was mitigated by the idea that her dear
Briggs would be far better provided for by her generous patron than
in her humble home. Mrs. Pilkington, the housekeeper at Gauntly
Hall, was growing exceedingly old, feeble, and rheumatic: she was
not equal to the work of superintending that vast mansion, and must
be on the look out for a successor. It was a splendid position.
The family did not go to Gauntly once in two years. At other times
the housekeeper was the mistress of the magnificent mansion—had
four covers daily for her table; was visited by the clergy and the
most respectable people of the county—was the lady of Gauntly, in
fact; and the two last housekeepers before Mrs. Pilkington had
married rectors of Gauntly—but Mrs. P. could not, being the aunt
of the present Rector. The place was not to be hers yet, but she
might go down on a visit to Mrs. Pilkington and see whether she
would like to succeed her.

What words can paint the ecstatic gratitude of Briggs! All she
stipulated for was that little Rawdon should be allowed to come down
and see her at the Hall. Becky promised this—anything. She ran up
to her husband when he came home and told him the joyful news.
Rawdon was glad, deuced glad; the weight was off his conscience
about poor Briggs's money. She was provided for, at any rate, but—
but his mind was disquiet. He did not seem to be all right,
somehow. He told little Southdown what Lord Steyne had done, and
the young man eyed Crawley with an air which surprised the latter.

He told Lady Jane of this second proof of Steyne's bounty, and she,
too, looked odd and alarmed; so did Sir Pitt. "She is too clever
and—and gay to be allowed to go from party to party without a
companion," both said. "You must go with her, Rawdon, wherever she
goes, and you must have somebody with her—one of the girls from
Queen's Crawley, perhaps, though they were rather giddy guardians
for her."

Somebody Becky should have. But in the meantime it was clear that
honest Briggs must not lose her chance of settlement for life, and
so she and her bags were packed, and she set off on her journey.
And so two of Rawdon's out-sentinels were in the hands of the enemy.

Sir Pitt went and expostulated with his sister-in-law upon the
subject of the dismissal of Briggs and other matters of delicate
family interest. In vain she pointed out to him how necessary was
the protection of Lord Steyne for her poor husband; how cruel it
would be on their part to deprive Briggs of the position offered to
her. Cajolements, coaxings, smiles, tears could not satisfy Sir
Pitt, and he had something very like a quarrel with his once admired
Becky. He spoke of the honour of the family, the unsullied
reputation of the Crawleys; expressed himself in indignant tones
about her receiving those young Frenchmen—those wild young men of
fashion, my Lord Steyne himself, whose carriage was always at her
door, who passed hours daily in her company, and whose constant
presence made the world talk about her. As the head of the house he
implored her to be more prudent. Society was already speaking
lightly of her. Lord Steyne, though a nobleman of the greatest
station and talents, was a man whose attentions would compromise any
woman; he besought, he implored, he commanded his sister-in-law to
be watchful in her intercourse with that nobleman.

Becky promised anything and everything Pitt wanted; but Lord Steyne
came to her house as often as ever, and Sir Pitt's anger increased.
I wonder was Lady Jane angry or pleased that her husband at last
found fault with his favourite Rebecca? Lord Steyne's visits
continuing, his own ceased, and his wife was for refusing all
further intercourse with that nobleman and declining the invitation
to the charade-night which the marchioness sent to her; but Sir Pitt
thought it was necessary to accept it, as his Royal Highness would
be there.

Although he went to the party in question, Sir Pitt quitted it very
early, and his wife, too, was very glad to come away. Becky hardly
so much as spoke to him or noticed her sister-in-law. Pitt Crawley
declared her behaviour was monstrously indecorous, reprobated in
strong terms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressing as highly
unbecoming a British female, and after the charades were over, took
his brother Rawdon severely to task for appearing himself and
allowing his wife to join in such improper exhibitions.

Rawdon said she should not join in any more such amusements—but
indeed, and perhaps from hints from his elder brother and sister, he
had already become a very watchful and exemplary domestic character.
He left off his clubs and billiards. He never left home. He took
Becky out to drive; he went laboriously with her to all her parties.
Whenever my Lord Steyne called, he was sure to find the Colonel.
And when Becky proposed to go out without her husband, or received
invitations for herself, he peremptorily ordered her to refuse them:
and there was that in the gentleman's manner which enforced
obedience. Little Becky, to do her justice, was charmed with
Rawdon's gallantry. If he was surly, she never was. Whether friends
were present or absent, she had always a kind smile for him and was
attentive to his pleasure and comfort. It was the early days of
their marriage over again: the same good humour, prevenances,
merriment, and artless confidence and regard. "How much pleasanter
it is," she would say, "to have you by my side in the carriage than
that foolish old Briggs! Let us always go on so, dear Rawdon. How
nice it would be, and how happy we should always be, if we had but
the money!" He fell asleep after dinner in his chair; he did not see
the face opposite to him, haggard, weary, and terrible; it lighted
up with fresh candid smiles when he woke. It kissed him gaily. He
wondered that he had ever had suspicions. No, he never had
suspicions; all those dumb doubts and surly misgivings which had
been gathering on his mind were mere idle jealousies. She was fond
of him; she always had been. As for her shining in society, it was
no fault of hers; she was formed to shine there. Was there any woman
who could talk, or sing, or do anything like her? If she would but
like the boy! Rawdon thought. But the mother and son never could be
brought together.

And it was while Rawdon's mind was agitated with these doubts and
perplexities that the incident occurred which was mentioned in the
last chapter, and the unfortunate Colonel found himself a prisoner
away from home.

A Rescue and a Catastrophe

Friend Rawdon drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor
Street, and was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality.
Morning was breaking over the cheerful house-tops of Chancery Lane
as the rattling cab woke up the echoes there. A little pink-eyed
Jew-boy, with a head as ruddy as the rising morn, let the party into
the house, and Rawdon was welcomed to the ground-floor apartments by
Mr. Moss, his travelling companion and host, who cheerfully asked
him if he would like a glass of something warm after his drive.

The Colonel was not so depressed as some mortals would be, who,
quitting a palace and a placens uxor, find themselves barred into a
spunging-house; for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger
at Mr. Moss's establishment once or twice before. We have not
thought it necessary in the previous course of this narrative to
mention these trivial little domestic incidents: but the reader may
be assured that they can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man
who lives on nothing a year.

Upon his first visit to Mr. Moss, the Colonel, then a bachelor, had
been liberated by the generosity of his aunt; on the second mishap,
little Becky, with the greatest spirit and kindness, had borrowed a
sum of money from Lord Southdown and had coaxed her husband's
creditor (who was her shawl, velvet-gown, lace pocket-handkerchief,
trinket, and gim-crack purveyor, indeed) to take a portion of the
sum claimed and Rawdon's promissory note for the remainder: so on
both these occasions the capture and release had been conducted with
the utmost gallantry on all sides, and Moss and the Colonel were
therefore on the very best of terms.

"You'll find your old bed, Colonel, and everything comfortable,"
that gentleman said, "as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure
its kep aired, and by the best of company, too. It was slep in the
night afore last by the Honorable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth
Dragoons, whose Mar took him out, after a fortnight, jest to punish
him, she said. But, Law bless you, I promise you, he punished my
champagne, and had a party ere every night—reglar tip-top swells,
down from the clubs and the West End—Capting Ragg, the Honorable
Deuceace, who lives in the Temple, and some fellers as knows a good
glass of wine, I warrant you. I've got a Doctor of Diwinity
upstairs, five gents in the coffee-room, and Mrs. Moss has a tably-
dy-hoty at half-past five, and a little cards or music afterwards,
when we shall be most happy to see you."

"I'll ring when I want anything," said Rawdon and went quietly to
his bedroom. He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be
disturbed by any little shocks of fate. A weaker man would have
sent off a letter to his wife on the instant of his capture. "But
what is the use of disturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon.
"She won't know whether I am in my room or not. It will be time
enough to write to her when she has had her sleep out, and I have
had mine. It's only a hundred-and-seventy, and the deuce is in it
if we can't raise that." And so, thinking about little Rawdon (whom
he would not have know that he was in such a queer place), the
Colonel turned into the bed lately occupied by Captain Famish and
fell asleep. It was ten o'clock when he woke up, and the ruddy-
headed youth brought him, with conscious pride, a fine silver
dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operation of shaving.
Indeed Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, was splendid
throughout. There were dirty trays, and wine-coolers en permanence
on the sideboard, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingy yellow satin
hangings to the barred windows which looked into Cursitor Street—
vast and dirty gilt picture frames surrounding pieces sporting and
sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters—and fetched
the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in the course of
which they were sold and bought over and over again. The Colonel's
breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeous plated
ware. Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl-papers, appeared with the
teapot, and, smiling, asked the Colonel how he had slep? And she
brought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great
people who had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night
before. It contained a brilliant account of the festivities and of
the beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable
personifications.