This, as he was about to meet a lord, Captain Macmurdo performed with particular care. He waxed his moustachios into a state of brilliant polish, and put on a tight cravat and a trim buff waistcoat: so that all the young officers in the mess-room, whither Crawley had preceded his friend, complimented Mac on his appearance at breakfast, and asked if he was going to be married that Sunday?
CHAPTER LV
In Which the Same Subject Is Pursued
Becky did not rally from the state of stupor and confusion in which the events of the previous night had plunged her intrepid spirit, until the bells of the Curzon Street chapels were ringing for afternoon service, and rising from her bed she began to ply her own bell, in order to summon the French maid who had left her some hours before.
Mrs. Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; and though, on the last occasion, she rang with such vehemence as to pull down the bell-rope, Mademoiselle Fifine did not make her appearance,—no, not though her mistress, in a great pet, and with the bell-rope in her hand, came out to the landing-place with her hair over her shoulders, and screamed out repeatedly for her attendant.
The truth is, she had quitted the premises for many hours, and upon that permission which is called French leaveqw among us. After picking up the trinkets in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle had ascended to her own apartments, packed and corded her own boxes there, tripped out and called a cab for herself, brought down her trunks with her own hand, and without ever so much as asking the aid of any of the other servants, who would probably have refused it, as they hated her cordially, and without wishing any one of them good-bye, had made her exit from Curzon Street.
The game, in her opinion, was over in that little domestic establishment. Fifine went off in a cab, as we have known more exalted persons of her nation to do under similar circumstances:qx but, more provident or lucky than these, she secured not only her own property, but some of her mistress‘s (if indeed that lady could be said to have any property at all)—and not only carried off the trinkets before alluded to, and some favourite dresses on which she had long kept her eye, but four richly gilt Louis Quatorze candlesticks, six gilt Albums, Keepsakes, and Books of Beauty, a gold enamelled snuff-box which had once belonged to Madame du Barri,qy and the sweetest little inkstand and mother-of-pearl blotting-book, which Becky used when she composed her charming little pink notes, had vanished from the premises in Curzon Street together with Mademoiselle Fifine, and all the silver laid on the table for the little festinqz which Rawdon interrupted. The plated ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrous probably, for which reason, no doubt, she also left the fire-irons, the chimney-glasses, and the rosewood cottage piano.
A lady very like her subsequently kept a milliner‘s shop in the Rue du Helder at Paris, where she lived with great credit and enjoyed the patronage of my Lord Steyne. This person always spoke of England as of the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young pupils that she had been affreusement voléra by natives of that island. It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which induced the Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe. May she flourish as she deserves,—she appears no more in our quarter of Vanity Fair.
Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the impudence of those servants who would not answer her summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her morning robe round her, and descended majestically to the drawing-room, whence the noise proceeded.
The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom she was administering maraschino. The page with the sugar-loaf buttons, who carried about Becky‘s pink notes, and jumped about her little carriage with such alacrity, was now engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish; the footman was talking to Raggles, who had a face full of perplexity and woe—and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had been screaming a half-dozen of times a few feet off, not one of her attendants had obeyed her call. ‘Have a little drop, do‘ee now, Mrs. Raggles,‘ the cook was saying as Becky entered, the white cashmere dressing-gown flouncing around her.
‘Simpson! Trotter!‘ the mistress of the house cried in great wrath. ‘How dare you stay here when you heard me call? How dare you sit down in my presence? Where‘s my maid?‘ The page withdrew his fingers from his mouth with a momentary terror: but the cook took off a glass of maraschino, of which Mrs. Raggles had had enough, staring at Becky over the little gilt glass as she drained its contents. The liquor appeared to give the odious rebel courage.
‘Your sofy, indeed!‘ Mrs. Cook said. ‘I‘m a-settin‘ on Mrs. Raggles‘s sofy. Don‘t you stir, Mrs. Raggles, mum. I‘m a-settin‘ on Mr. and Mrs. Raggles‘s sofy, which they bought with honest money, and very dear it cost ‘em, too. And I‘m thinkin‘ if I set here until I‘m paid my wages, I shall set a precious long time, Mrs. Raggles; and set I will, too—ha! ha!‘ and with this she filled herself another glass of the liquor, and drank it with a more hideously satirical air.
‘Trotter! Simpson! turn that drunken wretch out,‘ screamed Mrs. Crawley.
‘I shawn‘t,‘ said Trotter the footman; ‘turn out your-self. Pay our selleries, and turn me out too. We‘ll go fast enough.‘
‘Are you all here to insult me?‘ cried Becky, in a fury; ‘when Colonel Crawley comes home I‘ll—‘
At this the servants burst into a hoarse haw-haw, in which, however, Raggles, who still kept a most melancholy countenance, did not join. ‘He ain‘t a-coming back,‘ Mr. Trotter resumed. ‘He sent for his things, and I wouldn‘ let ‘em go, although Mr. Raggles would: and I don‘t b‘lieve he‘s no more a colonel than I am. He‘s hoff: and I suppose you‘re a-goin‘ after him. You‘re no better than swindlers, both on you. Don‘t be a-bullyin‘ me. I won‘t stand it. Pay us our selleries, I say. Pay us our selleries.‘ It was evident, from Mr. Trotter‘s flushed countenance and defective intonation, that he, too, had had recourse to vinous stimulus.
‘Mr. Raggles,‘ said Becky, in a passion of vexation, ‘you will not surely let me be insulted by that drunken man?‘ ‘Hold your noise. Trotter; do now,‘ said Simpson the page. He was affected by his mistress‘s deplorable situation, and succeeded in preventing an outrageous denial of the epithet ‘drunken‘ on the footman‘s part.
‘Oh, mam,‘ said Raggles, ‘I never thought to live to see this year day. I‘ve known the Crawley family ever since I was born. I lived butler with Miss Crawley for thirty years; and I little thought one of that family was a-goin‘ to ruing me—yes, ruing me‘—said the poor fellow with tears in his eyes. ‘Har you a-goin‘ to pay me? You‘ve lived in this ‘ouse four year. You‘ve ‘ad my substance: my plate and linning. You ho me a milk and butter bill of two ‘undred pound, you must ‘ave noo laid heggs for your hom- lets, and cream for your spanil dog.‘
‘She didn‘t care what her own flesh and blood had,‘ interposed the cook. ‘Many‘s the time, he‘d have starved but for me.‘
‘He‘s a charaty boy now, cooky,‘ said Mr. Trotter, with a drunken ‘ha! ha!‘—and honest Raggles continued, in a lamentable tone, an enumeration of his griefs. All he said was true. Becky and her husband had ruined him. He had bills coming due next week and no means to meet them. He would be sold up and turned out of his shop and his house, because he had trusted to the Crawley family. His tears and lamentations made Becky more peevish than ever.
‘You all seem to be against me,‘ she said, bitterly. ‘What do you want? I can‘t pay you on Sunday. Come back to-morrow and I‘ll pay you everything. I thought Colonel Crawley had settled with you. He will to-morrow. I declare to you upon my honour that he left home this morning with fifteen hundred pounds in his pocket-book. He has left me nothing. Apply to him. Give me a bonnet and shawl and let me go out and find him. There was a difference between us this morning. You all seem to know it. I promise you upon my word that you shall all be paid. He has got a good appointment. Let me go out and find him.‘
This audacious statement caused Raggles and the other personages prese
nt to look at one another with a wild surprise, and with it Rebecca left them. She went upstairs and dressed herself this time without the aid of her French maid. She went into Rawdon‘s room, and there saw that a trunk and bag were packed ready for removal with a pencil direction that they should be given when called for; then she went into the Frenchwoman‘s garret; everything was clean, and all the drawers emptied there. She bethought herself of the trinkets which had been left on the ground, and felt certain that the woman had fled. ‘Good Heavens! was ever such ill luck as mine?‘ she said; ‘to be so near, and to lose all. Is it all too late? No; there was one chance more.‘
She dressed herself, and went away unmolested this time, but alone. It was four o‘clock. She went swiftly down the streets (she had no money to pay for a carriage), and never stopped until she came to Sir Pitt Crawley‘s door, in Great Gaunt Street. Where was Lady Jane Crawley? She was at church. Becky was not sorry. Sir Pitt was in his study, and had given orders not to be disturbed—she must see him—she slipped by the sentinel in livery at once, and was in Sir Pitt‘s room before the astonished baronet had even laid down the paper.
He turned red and started back from her with a look of great alarm and horror.
‘Do not look so,‘ she said. ‘I am not guilty, Pitt, dear Pitt; you were my friend once. Before God, I am not guilty. I seem so. Everything is against me. And oh! at such a moment! just when all my hopes were about to be realized: just when happiness was in store for us.‘
‘Is this true, what I see in the paper, then?‘ Sir Pitt said—a paragraph in which had greatly surprised him.
‘It is true. Lord Steyne told me on Friday night, the night of that fatal ball. He has been promised an appointment any time these six months. Mr. Martyr, the Colonial Secretary, told him yesterday that it was made out. That unlucky arrest ensued; that horrible meeting. I was only guilty of too much devotedness to Rawdon‘s service. I have received Lord Steyne alone a hundred times before. I confess I had money of which Rawdon knew nothing. Don‘t you know how careless he is of it, and could I dare to confide it to him?‘ And so she went on with a perfectly connected story, which she poured into the ears of her perplexed kinsman.
It was to the following effect. Becky owned, and with perfect frankness, but deep contrition, that having remarked Lord Steyne‘s partiality for her (at the mention of which Pitt blushed), and being secure of her own virtue, she had determined to turn the great peer‘s attachment to the advantage of herself and her family. ‘I looked for a peerage for you, Pitt,‘ she said (the brother-in-law again turned red). ‘We have talked about it. Your genius and Lord Steyne‘s interest made it more than probable, had not this dreadful calamity come to put an end to all our hopes. But, first, I own that it was my object to rescue my dear husband,—him whom I love in spite of all his ill usage and suspicions of me,—to remove him from the poverty and ruin which was impending over us. I saw Lord Steyne‘s partiality for me,‘ she said, casting down her eyes. ‘I own that I did everything in my power to make myself pleasing to him, and as far as an honest woman may, to secure his—his esteem. It was only on Friday morning that the news arrived of the death of the governor of Coventry Island, and my lord instantly secured the appointment for my dear husband. It was intended as a surprise for him,—he was to see it in the papers to-day. Even after that horrid arrest took place (the expenses of which Lord Steyne generously said he would settle, so that I was in a manner prevented from coming to my husband‘s assistance), my lord was laughing with me, and saying that my dearest Rawdon would be consoled when he read of his appointment in the paper, in that shocking spun—bailiff‘s house. And then—then he came home. His suspicions were excited,—the dreadful scene took place between my lord and my cruel, cruel Rawdon,—and, oh, my God, what will happen next? Pitt, dear Pitt! pity me, and reconcile us!‘ And as she spoke she flung herself down on her knees, and bursting into tears, seized hold of Pitt‘s hand, which she kissed passionately.
It was in this very attitude that Lady Jane, who, returning from church, ran to her husband‘s room directly she heard Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was closeted there, found the baronet and his sister-in-law.
‘I am surprised that woman has the audacity to enter this house,‘ Lady Jane said, trembling in every limb, and turning quite pale. (Her ladyship had sent out her maid directly after breakfast, who had communicated with Raggles and Rawdon Crawley‘s household, who had told her all, and a great deal more than they knew, of that story, and many others besides). ‘How dare Mrs. Crawley to enter the house of—of an honest family?‘
Sir Pitt started back, amazed at his wife‘s display of vigour. Becky still kept her kneeling posture, and clung to Sir Pitt‘s hand.
‘Tell her that she does not know all. Tell her that I am innocent, dear Pitt,‘ she whimpered out.
‘Upon my word, my love, I think you do Mrs. Crawley injustice,‘ Sir Pitt said; at which speech Rebecca was vastly relieved. ‘Indeed I believe her to be—‘
‘To be what?‘ cried out Lady Jane, her clear voice thrilling, and her heart beating violently as she spoke. ‘To be a wicked woman—a heartless mother, a false wife? She never loved her dear little boy, who used to fly here and tell me of her cruelty to him. She never came into a family but she strove to bring misery with her, and to weaken the most sacred affections with her wicked flattery and falsehoods. She has deceived her husband, as she has deceived everybody; her soul is black with vanity, worldliness, and all sorts of crime. I tremble when I touch her. I keep my children out of her sight. I—‘
‘Lady Jane!‘ cried Sir Pitt, starting up, ‘this is really language—‘
‘I have been a true and faithful wife to you, Sir Pitt,‘ Lady Jane continued, intrepidly; ‘I have kept my marriage vow as I made it to God, and have been obedient and gentle as a wife should. But righteous obedience has its limits, and I declare that I will not bear that—that woman again under my roof: if she enters it, I and my children will leave it. She is not worthy to sit down with Christian people. You—you must choose, sir, between her and me;‘ and with this my lady swept out of the room, fluttering with her own audacity, and leaving Rebecca and Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it.
As for Becky, she was not hurt; nay, she was pleased. ‘It was the diamond clasp you gave me,‘ she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her hand; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper story) the baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation.
Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much difficulty to partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves. Then they had a conversation befitting the day and their time of life: about the next pigeon-match rb at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and Osbaldiston; about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr; and about the fight between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a cross.rc Young Tandyman, a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring to get up a pair of moustachios, had seen the fight, and spoke in the most scientific manner about the battle, and the condition of the men. It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag, and passed the whole of the previous night with him. Had there not been foul play he must have won it. All the old files of the Ring were in it: and Tandyman wouldn‘t pay; no, dammy, he wouldn‘t pay. It was but a year since the young cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb‘s parlour, had a still lingering liking for toffy, and used to be birched at Eton.
So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps,rduntil Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversation. He did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to their boyhood; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the full as choice as any the youngest rake present had to tell;—nor did his own
grey hairs, nor their smooth faces detain him. Old Mac was famous for his good stories. He was not exactly a lady‘s man; that is, men asked him to dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers. There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his; but he was quite contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good nature, simplicity, and modesty of demeanour.
By the time Mac had finished a copious breakfast, most of the others had concluded their meal. Young Lord Varinas was smoking an immense meerschaum pipe, while Captain Hugues was employed with a cigar: that violent little devil Tandyman, with his little bull-terrier between his legs, was tossing for shillings with all his might (that fellow was always at some game or other) against Captain Deuceace; and Mac and Rawdon walked off to the club, neither, of course, having given any hint of the business which was occupying their minds. Both, on the other hand, had joined pretty gaily in the conversation; as, why should they interrupt it? Feasting, drinking, ribaldry, laughter, go on alongside of all sorts of other occupations in Vanity Fair,—the crowds were pouring out of church as Rawdon and his friend passed down St. James‘s Street and entered into their club.
The old bucks and habitués, who ordinarily stand gaping and grinning out of the great front window of the club, had not arrived at their posts as yet,—the newspaper-room was almost empty. One man was present whom Rawdon did not know; another to whom he owed a little score for whist, and whom, in consequence, be did not care to meet; a third was reading the Royalist (a periodical famous for its scandal and its attachment to Church and King) Sunday paper at the table, and, looking up at Crawley with some interest, said, ‘Crawley, I congratulate you.‘
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