Vanity Fair (120 page)

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's name was never mentioned by either family.
There were reasons why all should be silent regarding her. For
wherever Mr. Joseph Sedley went, she travelled likewise, and that
infatuated man seemed to be entirely her slave. The Colonel's
lawyers informed him that his brother-in-law had effected a heavy
insurance upon his life, whence it was probable that he had been
raising money to discharge debts. He procured prolonged leave of
absence from the East India House, and indeed, his infirmities were
daily increasing.

On hearing the news about the insurance, Amelia, in a good deal of
alarm, entreated her husband to go to Brussels, where Jos then was,
and inquire into the state of his affairs. The Colonel quitted home
with reluctance (for he was deeply immersed in his History of the
Punjaub which still occupies him, and much alarmed about his little
daughter, whom he idolizes, and who was just recovering from the
chicken-pox) and went to Brussels and found Jos living at one of the
enormous hotels in that city. Mrs. Crawley, who had her carriage,
gave entertainments, and lived in a very genteel manner, occupied
another suite of apartments in the same hotel.

The Colonel, of course, did not desire to see that lady, or even
think proper to notify his arrival at Brussels, except privately to
Jos by a message through his valet. Jos begged the Colonel to come
and see him that night, when Mrs. Crawley would be at a soiree, and
when they could meet alone. He found his brother-in-law in a
condition of pitiable infirmity—and dreadfully afraid of Rebecca,
though eager in his praises of her. She tended him through a series
of unheard-of illnesses with a fidelity most admirable. She had
been a daughter to him. "But—but—oh, for God's sake, do come and
live near me, and—and—see me sometimes," whimpered out the
unfortunate man.

The Colonel's brow darkened at this. "We can't, Jos," he said.
"Considering the circumstances, Amelia can't visit you."

"I swear to you—I swear to you on the Bible," gasped out Joseph,
wanting to kiss the book, "that she is as innocent as a child, as
spotless as your own wife."

"It may be so," said the Colonel gloomily, "but Emmy can't come to
you. Be a man, Jos: break off this disreputable connection. Come
home to your family. We hear your affairs are involved."

"Involved!" cried Jos. "Who has told such calumnies? All my money
is placed out most advantageously. Mrs. Crawley—that is—I mean—
it is laid out to the best interest."

"You are not in debt, then? Why did you insure your life?"

"I thought—a little present to her—in case anything happened; and
you know my health is so delicate—common gratitude you know—and I
intend to leave all my money to you—and I can spare it out of my
income, indeed I can," cried out William's weak brother-in-law.

The Colonel besought Jos to fly at once—to go back to India,
whither Mrs. Crawley could not follow him; to do anything to break
off a connection which might have the most fatal consequences to
him.

Jos clasped his hands and cried, "He would go back to India. He
would do anything, only he must have time: they mustn't say anything
to Mrs. Crawley—she'd—she'd kill me if she knew it. You don't
know what a terrible woman she is," the poor wretch said.

"Then, why not come away with me?" said Dobbin in reply; but Jos had
not the courage. "He would see Dobbin again in the morning; he must
on no account say that he had been there. He must go now. Becky
might come in." And Dobbin quitted him, full of forebodings.

He never saw Jos more. Three months afterwards Joseph Sedley died
at Aix-la-Chapelle. It was found that all his property had been
muddled away in speculations, and was represented by valueless
shares in different bubble companies. All his available assets were
the two thousand pounds for which his life was insured, and which
were left equally between his beloved "sister Amelia, wife of, &c.,
and his friend and invaluable attendant during sickness, Rebecca,
wife of Lieutenant-Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B.," who was appointed
administratrix.

The solicitor of the insurance company swore it was the blackest
case that ever had come before him, talked of sending a commission
to Aix to examine into the death, and the Company refused payment of
the policy. But Mrs., or Lady Crawley, as she styled herself, came
to town at once (attended with her solicitors, Messrs. Burke,
Thurtell, and Hayes, of Thavies Inn) and dared the Company to refuse
the payment. They invited examination, they declared that she was
the object of an infamous conspiracy, which had been pursuing her
all through life, and triumphed finally. The money was paid, and
her character established, but Colonel Dobbin sent back his share of
the legacy to the insurance office and rigidly declined to hold any
communication with Rebecca.

She never was Lady Crawley, though she continued so to call herself.
His Excellency Colonel Rawdon Crawley died of yellow fever at
Coventry Island, most deeply beloved and deplored, and six weeks
before the demise of his brother, Sir Pitt. The estate consequently
devolved upon the present Sir Rawdon Crawley, Bart.

He, too, has declined to see his mother, to whom he makes a liberal
allowance, and who, besides, appears to be very wealthy. The
Baronet lives entirely at Queen's Crawley, with Lady Jane and her
daughter, whilst Rebecca, Lady Crawley, chiefly hangs about Bath and
Cheltenham, where a very strong party of excellent people consider
her to be a most injured woman. She has her enemies. Who has not?
Her life is her answer to them. She busies herself in works of
piety. She goes to church, and never without a footman. Her name
is in all the Charity Lists. The destitute orange-girl, the
neglected washerwoman, the distressed muffin-man find in her a fast
and generous friend. She is always having stalls at Fancy Fairs for
the benefit of these hapless beings. Emmy, her children, and the
Colonel, coming to London some time back, found themselves suddenly
before her at one of these fairs. She cast down her eyes demurely
and smiled as they started away from her; Emmy scurrying off on the
arm of George (now grown a dashing young gentleman) and the Colonel
seizing up his little Janey, of whom he is fonder than of anything
in the world—fonder even than of his History of the Punjaub.

"Fonder than he is of me," Emmy thinks with a sigh But he never said
a word to Amelia that was not kind and gentle, or thought of a want
of hers that he did not try to gratify.

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! which of us is happy in this world? Which
of us has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?—come, children,
let us shut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.