Vanity Fair (23 page)

"By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, "too bad, by Jove! I do
believe the woman wants the poor girl to be ruined, in order that
she shouldn't come into the family as Lady Crawley."

When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about his father's
attachment in his graceful way. She flung up her head scornfully,
looked him full in the face, and said,

"Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, and others too. You
don't think I am afraid of him, Captain Crawley? You don't suppose
I can't defend my own honour," said the little woman, looking as
stately as a queen.

"Oh, ah, why—give you fair warning—look out, you know—that's
all," said the mustachio-twiddler.

"You hint at something not honourable, then?" said she, flashing
out.

"O Gad—really—Miss Rebecca," the heavy dragoon interposed.

"Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect, because I am poor
and friendless, and because rich people have none? Do you think,
because I am a governess, I have not as much sense, and feeling, and
good breeding as you gentlefolks in Hampshire? I'm a Montmorency. Do
you suppose a Montmorency is not as good as a Crawley?"

When Miss Sharp was agitated, and alluded to her maternal relatives,
she spoke with ever so slight a foreign accent, which gave a great
charm to her clear ringing voice. "No," she continued, kindling as
she spoke to the Captain; "I can endure poverty, but not shame—
neglect, but not insult; and insult from—from you."

Her feelings gave way, and she burst into tears.

"Hang it, Miss Sharp—Rebecca—by Jove—upon my soul, I wouldn't for
a thousand pounds. Stop, Rebecca!"

She was gone. She drove out with Miss Crawley that day. It was
before the latter's illness. At dinner she was unusually brilliant
and lively; but she would take no notice of the hints, or the nods,
or the clumsy expostulations of the humiliated, infatuated
guardsman. Skirmishes of this sort passed perpetually during the
little campaign—tedious to relate, and similar in result. The
Crawley heavy cavalry was maddened by defeat, and routed every day.

If the Baronet of Queen's Crawley had not had the fear of losing his
sister's legacy before his eyes, he never would have permitted his
dear girls to lose the educational blessings which their invaluable
governess was conferring upon them. The old house at home seemed a
desert without her, so useful and pleasant had Rebecca made herself
there. Sir Pitt's letters were not copied and corrected; his books
not made up; his household business and manifold schemes neglected,
now that his little secretary was away. And it was easy to see how
necessary such an amanuensis was to him, by the tenor and spelling
of the numerous letters which he sent to her, entreating her and
commanding her to return. Almost every day brought a frank from the
Baronet, enclosing the most urgent prayers to Becky for her return,
or conveying pathetic statements to Miss Crawley, regarding the
neglected state of his daughters' education; of which documents Miss
Crawley took very little heed.

Miss Briggs was not formally dismissed, but her place as companion
was a sinecure and a derision; and her company was the fat spaniel
in the drawing-room, or occasionally the discontented Firkin in the
housekeeper's closet. Nor though the old lady would by no means
hear of Rebecca's departure, was the latter regularly installed in
office in Park Lane. Like many wealthy people, it was Miss
Crawley's habit to accept as much service as she could get from her
inferiors; and good-naturedly to take leave of them when she no
longer found them useful. Gratitude among certain rich folks is
scarcely natural or to be thought of. They take needy people's
services as their due. Nor have you, O poor parasite and humble
hanger-on, much reason to complain! Your friendship for Dives is
about as sincere as the return which it usually gets. It is money
you love, and not the man; and were Croesus and his footman to
change places you know, you poor rogue, who would have the benefit
of your allegiance.

And I am not sure that, in spite of Rebecca's simplicity and
activity, and gentleness and untiring good humour, the shrewd old
London lady, upon whom these treasures of friendship were lavished,
had not a lurking suspicion all the while of her affectionate nurse
and friend. It must have often crossed Miss Crawley's mind that
nobody does anything for nothing. If she measured her own feeling
towards the world, she must have been pretty well able to gauge
those of the world towards herself; and perhaps she reflected that
it is the ordinary lot of people to have no friends if they
themselves care for nobody.

Well, meanwhile Becky was the greatest comfort and convenience to
her, and she gave her a couple of new gowns, and an old necklace and
shawl, and showed her friendship by abusing all her intimate
acquaintances to her new confidante (than which there can't be a
more touching proof of regard), and meditated vaguely some great
future benefit—to marry her perhaps to Clump, the apothecary, or to
settle her in some advantageous way of life; or at any rate, to send
her back to Queen's Crawley when she had done with her, and the full
London season had begun.

When Miss Crawley was convalescent and descended to the drawing-
room, Becky sang to her, and otherwise amused her; when she was well
enough to drive out, Becky accompanied her. And amongst the drives
which they took, whither, of all places in the world, did Miss
Crawley's admirable good-nature and friendship actually induce her
to penetrate, but to Russell Square, Bloomsbury, and the house of
John Sedley, Esquire.

Ere that event, many notes had passed, as may be imagined, between
the two dear friends. During the months of Rebecca's stay in
Hampshire, the eternal friendship had (must it be owned?) suffered
considerable diminution, and grown so decrepit and feeble with old
age as to threaten demise altogether. The fact is, both girls had
their own real affairs to think of: Rebecca her advance with her
employers—Amelia her own absorbing topic. When the two girls met,
and flew into each other's arms with that impetuosity which
distinguishes the behaviour of young ladies towards each other,
Rebecca performed her part of the embrace with the most perfect
briskness and energy. Poor little Amelia blushed as she kissed her
friend, and thought she had been guilty of something very like
coldness towards her.

Their first interview was but a very short one. Amelia was just
ready to go out for a walk. Miss Crawley was waiting in her
carriage below, her people wondering at the locality in which they
found themselves, and gazing upon honest Sambo, the black footman of
Bloomsbury, as one of the queer natives of the place. But when
Amelia came down with her kind smiling looks (Rebecca must introduce
her to her friend, Miss Crawley was longing to see her, and was too
ill to leave her carriage)—when, I say, Amelia came down, the Park
Lane shoulder-knot aristocracy wondered more and more that such a
thing could come out of Bloomsbury; and Miss Crawley was fairly
captivated by the sweet blushing face of the young lady who came
forward so timidly and so gracefully to pay her respects to the
protector of her friend.

"What a complexion, my dear! What a sweet voice!" Miss Crawley said,
as they drove away westward after the little interview. "My dear
Sharp, your young friend is charming. Send for her to Park Lane, do
you hear?" Miss Crawley had a good taste. She liked natural
manners—a little timidity only set them off. She liked pretty
faces near her; as she liked pretty pictures and nice china. She
talked of Amelia with rapture half a dozen times that day. She
mentioned her to Rawdon Crawley, who came dutifully to partake of
his aunt's chicken.

Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated that Amelia was engaged
to be married—to a Lieutenant Osborne—a very old flame.

"Is he a man in a line-regiment?" Captain Crawley asked, remembering
after an effort, as became a guardsman, the number of the regiment,
the —th.

Rebecca thought that was the regiment. "The Captain's name," she
said, "was Captain Dobbin."

"A lanky gawky fellow," said Crawley, "tumbles over everybody. I
know him; and Osborne's a goodish-looking fellow, with large black
whiskers?"

"Enormous," Miss Rebecca Sharp said, "and enormously proud of them,
I assure you."

Captain Rawdon Crawley burst into a horse-laugh by way of reply; and
being pressed by the ladies to explain, did so when the explosion of
hilarity was over. "He fancies he can play at billiards," said he.
"I won two hundred of him at the Cocoa-Tree. HE play, the young
flat! He'd have played for anything that day, but his friend
Captain Dobbin carried him off, hang him!"

"Rawdon, Rawdon, don't be so wicked," Miss Crawley remarked, highly
pleased.

"Why, ma'am, of all the young fellows I've seen out of the line, I
think this fellow's the greenest. Tarquin and Deuceace get what
money they like out of him. He'd go to the deuce to be seen with a
lord. He pays their dinners at Greenwich, and they invite the
company."

"And very pretty company too, I dare say."

"Quite right, Miss Sharp. Right, as usual, Miss Sharp. Uncommon
pretty company—haw, haw!" and the Captain laughed more and more,
thinking he had made a good joke.

"Rawdon, don't be naughty!" his aunt exclaimed.

"Well, his father's a City man—immensely rich, they say. Hang
those City fellows, they must bleed; and I've not done with him yet,
I can tell you. Haw, haw!"

"Fie, Captain Crawley; I shall warn Amelia. A gambling husband!"

"Horrid, ain't he, hey?" the Captain said with great solemnity; and
then added, a sudden thought having struck him: "Gad, I say, ma'am,
we'll have him here."

"Is he a presentable sort of a person?" the aunt inquired.

"Presentable?—oh, very well. You wouldn't see any difference,"
Captain Crawley answered. "Do let's have him, when you begin to see
a few people; and his whatdyecallem—his inamorato—eh, Miss Sharp;
that's what you call it—comes. Gad, I'll write him a note, and
have him; and I'll try if he can play piquet as well as billiards.
Where does he live, Miss Sharp?"

Miss Sharp told Crawley the Lieutenant's town address; and a few
days after this conversation, Lieutenant Osborne received a letter,
in Captain Rawdon's schoolboy hand, and enclosing a note of
invitation from Miss Crawley.

Rebecca despatched also an invitation to her darling Amelia, who,
you may be sure, was ready enough to accept it when she heard that
George was to be of the party. It was arranged that Amelia was to
spend the morning with the ladies of Park Lane, where all were very
kind to her. Rebecca patronised her with calm superiority: she was
so much the cleverer of the two, and her friend so gentle and
unassuming, that she always yielded when anybody chose to command,
and so took Rebecca's orders with perfect meekness and good humour.
Miss Crawley's graciousness was also remarkable. She continued her
raptures about little Amelia, talked about her before her face as if
she were a doll, or a servant, or a picture, and admired her with
the most benevolent wonder possible. I admire that admiration which
the genteel world sometimes extends to the commonalty. There is no
more agreeable object in life than to see Mayfair folks
condescending. Miss Crawley's prodigious benevolence rather
fatigued poor little Amelia, and I am not sure that of the three
ladies in Park Lane she did not find honest Miss Briggs the most
agreeable. She sympathised with Briggs as with all neglected or
gentle people: she wasn't what you call a woman of spirit.

George came to dinner—a repast en garcon with Captain Crawley.

The great family coach of the Osbornes transported him to Park Lane
from Russell Square; where the young ladies, who were not themselves
invited, and professed the greatest indifference at that slight,
nevertheless looked at Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the baronetage;
and learned everything which that work had to teach about the
Crawley family and their pedigree, and the Binkies, their relatives,
&c., &c. Rawdon Crawley received George Osborne with great
frankness and graciousness: praised his play at billiards: asked him
when he would have his revenge: was interested about Osborne's
regiment: and would have proposed piquet to him that very evening,
but Miss Crawley absolutely forbade any gambling in her house; so
that the young Lieutenant's purse was not lightened by his gallant
patron, for that day at least. However, they made an engagement for
the next, somewhere: to look at a horse that Crawley had to sell,
and to try him in the Park; and to dine together, and to pass the
evening with some jolly fellows. "That is, if you're not on duty to
that pretty Miss Sedley," Crawley said, with a knowing wink.
"Monstrous nice girl, 'pon my honour, though, Osborne," he was good
enough to add. "Lots of tin, I suppose, eh?"

Osborne wasn't on duty; he would join Crawley with pleasure: and the
latter, when they met the next day, praised his new friend's
horsemanship—as he might with perfect honesty—and introduced him
to three or four young men of the first fashion, whose acquaintance
immensely elated the simple young officer.

"How's little Miss Sharp, by-the-bye?" Osborne inquired of his
friend over their wine, with a dandified air. "Good-natured little
girl that. Does she suit you well at Queen's Crawley? Miss Sedley
liked her a good deal last year."

Captain Crawley looked savagely at the Lieutenant out of his little
blue eyes, and watched him when he went up to resume his
acquaintance with the fair governess. Her conduct must have
relieved Crawley if there was any jealousy in the bosom of that
life-guardsman.

When the young men went upstairs, and after Osborne's introduction
to Miss Crawley, he walked up to Rebecca with a patronising, easy
swagger. He was going to be kind to her and protect her. He would
even shake hands with her, as a friend of Amelia's; and saying, "Ah,
Miss Sharp! how-dy-doo?" held out his left hand towards her,
expecting that she would be quite confounded at the honour.