Vanity Fair
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.
CHAPTER LIII
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