and crowned the pleasantry by proposing to back
himself against his cousin Pitt Crawley, either with or without
the gloves. "And that's a fair offer, my buck," he said,
with a loud laugh, slapping Pitt on the shoulder, "and
my father told me to make it too, and he'll go halves
in the bet, ha, ha!" So saying, the engaging youth nodded
knowingly at poor Miss Briggs, and pointed his thumb
over his shoulder at Pitt Crawley in a jocular and
exulting manner.
Pitt was not pleased altogether perhaps, but still not
unhappy in the main. Poor Jim had his laugh out: and
staggered across the room with his aunt's candle, when
the old lady moved to retire, and offered to salute her
with the blandest tipsy smile: and he took his own leave
and went upstairs to his bedroom perfectly satisfied with
himself, and with a pleased notion that his aunt's money
would be left to him in preference to his father and all
the rest of the family.
Once up in the bedroom, one would have thought he
could not make matters worse; and yet this unlucky boy
did. The moon was shining very pleasantly out on the
sea, and Jim, attracted to the window by the romantic
appearance of the ocean and the heavens, thought he
would further enjoy them while smoking. Nobody would
smell the tobacco, he thought, if he cunningly opened
the window and kept his head and pipe in the fresh air.
This he did: but being in an excited state, poor Jim
had forgotten that his door was open all this time, so
that the breeze blowing inwards and a fine thorough
draught being established, the clouds of tobacco were
carried downstairs, and arrived with quite undiminished
fragrance to Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs.
The pipe of tobacco finished the business: and the
Bute-Crawleys never knew how many thousand pounds
it cost them. Firkin rushed downstairs to Bowls who
was reading out the "Fire and the Frying Pan" to his
aide-de-camp in a loud and ghostly voice. The dreadful
secret was told to him by Firkin with so frightened a look,
that for the first moment Mr. Bowls and his young man
thought that robbers were in the house, the legs of whom
had probably been discovered by the woman under Miss
Crawley's bed. When made aware of the fact, however
--to rush upstairs at three steps at a time to enter
the unconscious James's apartment, calling out, "Mr.
James," in a voice stifled with alarm, and to cry, "For
Gawd's sake, sir, stop that 'ere pipe," was the work of
a minute with Mr. Bowls. "O, Mr. James, what 'AVE you
done!" he said in a voice of the deepest pathos, as he
threw the implement out of the window. "What 'ave you
done, sir! Missis can't abide 'em."
"Missis needn't smoke," said James with a frantic
misplaced laugh, and thought the whole matter an excellent
joke. But his feelings were very different in the morning,
when Mr. Bowls's young man, who operated upon Mr.
James's boots, and brought him his hot water to shave
that beard which he was so anxiously expecting, handed
a note in to Mr. James in bed, in the handwriting of
Miss Briggs.
"Dear sir," it said, "Miss Crawley has passed an
exceedingly disturbed night, owing to the shocking manner
in which the house has been polluted by tobacco; Miss
Crawley bids me say she regrets that she is too unwell
to see you before you go--and above all that she ever
induced you to remove from the ale-house, where she is
sure you will be much more comfortable during the rest
of your stay at Brighton."
And herewith honest James's career as a candidate for
his aunt's favour ended. He had in fact, and without
knowing it, done what he menaced to do. He had fought
his cousin Pitt with the gloves.
Where meanwhile was he who had been once first
favourite for this race for money? Becky and Rawdon,
as we have seen, were come together after Waterloo,
and were passing the winter of 1815 at Paris in great
splendour and gaiety. Rebecca was a good economist,
and the price poor Jos Sedley had paid for her two
horses was in itself sufficient to keep their little
establishment afloat for a year, at the least; there was no
occasion to turn into money "my pistols, the same which
I shot Captain Marker," or the gold dressing-case, or
the cloak lined with sable. Becky had it made into a
pelisse for herself, in which she rode in the Bois de
Boulogne to the admiration of all: and you should have
seen the scene between her and her delighted husband,
whom she rejoined after the army had entered Cambray,
and when she unsewed herself, and let out of her dress
all those watches, knick-knacks, bank-notes, cheques, and
valuables, which she had secreted in the wadding, previous
to her meditated flight from Brussels! Tufto was charmed,
and Rawdon roared with delighted laughter, and swore
that she was better than any play he ever saw, by Jove.
And the way in which she jockeyed Jos, and which
she described with infinite fun, carried up his delight to
a pitch of quite insane enthusiasm. He believed in his
wife as much as the French soldiers in Napoleon.
Her success in Paris was remarkable. All the French
ladies voted her charming. She spoke their language
admirably. She adopted at once their grace, their liveliness,
their manner. Her husband was stupid certainly--all
English are stupid--and, besides, a dull husband at Paris is
always a point in a lady's favour. He was the heir of the
rich and spirituelle Miss Crawley, whose house had been
open to so many of the French noblesse during the
emigration. They received the colonel's wife in their own
hotels--"Why," wrote a great lady to Miss Crawley, who
had bought her lace and trinkets at the Duchess's own
price, and given her many a dinner during the pinching
times after the Revolution--"Why does not our dear Miss
come to her nephew and niece, and her attached friends
in Paris? All the world raffoles of the charming Mistress
and her espiegle beauty. Yes, we see in her the grace,
the charm, the wit of our dear friend Miss Crawley!
The King took notice of her yesterday at the Tuileries,
and we are all jealous of the attention which Monsieur
pays her. If you could have seen the spite of a certain
stupid Miladi Bareacres (whose eagle-beak and toque
and feat,hers may be seen peering over the heads of all
assemblies) when Madame, the Duchess of Angouleme,
the august daughter and companion of kings, desired
especially to be presented to Mrs. Crawley, as your dear
daughter and protegee, and thanked her in the name
of France, for all your benevolence towards our
unfortunates during their exile! She is of all the societies,
of all the balls--of the balls--yes--of the dances, no;
and yet how interesting and pretty this fair creature looks
surrounded by the homage of the men, and so soon to
be a mother! To hear her speak of you, her protectress,
her mother, would bring tears to the eyes of ogres. How
she loves you! how we all love our admirable, our
respectable Miss Crawley!"
It is to be feared that this letter of the Parisian great
lady did not by any means advance Mrs. Becky's interest
with her admirable, her respectable, relative. On the
contrary, the fury of the old spinster was beyond bounds,
when she found what was Rebecca's situation, and how
audaciously she had made use of Miss Crawley's name,
to get an entree into Parisian society. Too much shaken
in mind and body to compose a letter in the French
language in reply to that of her correspondent, she
dictated to Briggs a furious answer in her own native tongue,
repudiating Mrs. Rawdon Crawley altogether, and warning
the public to beware of her as a most artful and
dangerous person. But as Madame the Duchess of X--
had only been twenty years in England, she did not
understand a single word of the language, and contented
herself by informing Mrs. Rawdon Crawley at their next
meeting, that she had received a charming letter from
that chere Mees, and that it was full of benevolent
things for Mrs. Crawley, who began seriously to have
hopes that the spinster would relent.
Meanwhile, she was the gayest and most admired of
Englishwomen: and had a little European congress on her
reception-night. Prussians and Cossacks, Spanish and
English--all the world was at Paris during this famous
winter: to have seen the stars and cordons in Rebecca's
humble saloon would have made all Baker Street pale
with envy. Famous warriors rode by her carriage in
the Bois, or crowded her modest little box at the Opera.
Rawdon was in the highest spirits. There were no duns
in Paris as yet: there were parties every day at Very's
or Beauvilliers'; play was plentiful and his luck good.
Tufto perhaps was sulky. Mrs. Tufto had come over to
Paris at her own invitation, and besides this
contretemps, there were a score of generals now round
Becky's chair, and she might take her choice of a dozen
bouquets when she went to the play. Lady Bareacres
and the chiefs of the English society, stupid and
irreproachable females, writhed with anguish at the
success of the little upstart Becky, whose poisoned jokes
quivered and rankled in their chaste breasts. But she
had all the men on her side. She fought the women
with indomitable courage, and they could not talk
scandal in any tongue but their own.
So in fetes, pleasures, and prosperity, the winter of
1815-16 passed away with Mrs. Rawdon Crawley,
who accommodated herself to polite life as if her
ancestors had been people of fashion for centuries past--
and who from her wit, talent, and energy, indeed merited
a place of honour in Vanity Fair. In the early spring of
1816, Galignani's Journal contained the following
announcement in an interesting corner of the paper: "On
the 26th of March--the Lady of Lieutenant-Colonel
Crawley, of the Life Guards Green--of a son and heir."
This event was copied into the London papers, out of
which Miss Briggs read the statement to Miss Crawley,
at breakfast, at Brighton. The intelligence, expected as
it might have been, caused a crisis in the affairs of
the Crawley family. The spinster's rage rose to its height,
and sending instantly for Pitt, her nephew, and for the
Lady Southdown, from Brunswick Square, she requested
an immediate celebration of the marriage which had been
so long pending between the two families. And she
announced that it was her intention to allow the young
couple a thousand a year during her lifetime, at the
expiration of which the bulk of her property would be
settled upon her nephew and her dear niece, Lady Jane
Crawley. Waxy came down to ratify the deeds--Lord
Southdown gave away his sister--she was married by a
Bishop, and not by the Rev. Bartholomew Irons--to the
disappointment of the irregular prelate.
When they were married, Pitt would have liked to
take a hymeneal tour with his bride, as became people
of their condition. But the affection of the old lady
towards Lady Jane had grown so strong, that she fairly
owned she could not part with her favourite. Pitt and
his wife came therefore and lived with Miss Crawley:
and (greatly to the annoyance of poor Pitt, who
conceived himself a most injured character--being subject
to the humours of his aunt on one side, and of his
mother-in-law on the other) Lady Southdown, from her
neighbouring house, reigned over the whole family--
Pitt, Lady Jane, Miss Crawley, Briggs, Bowls, Firkin, and
all. She pitilessly dosed them with her tracts and her
medicine, she dismissed Creamer, she installed Rodgers,
and soon stripped Miss Crawley of even the semblance
of authority. The poor soul grew so timid that she
actually left off bullying Briggs any more, and clung to
her niece, more fond and terrified every day. Peace to
thee, kind and selfish, vain and generous old heathen!--
We shall see thee no more. Let us hope that Lady Jane
supported her kindly, and led her with gentle hand out
of the busy struggle of Vanity Fair.
CHAPTER XXXV
Widow and Mother
The news of the great fights of Quatre Bras and Waterloo
reached England at the same time. The Gazette first
published the result of the two battles; at which glorious
intelligence all England thrilled with triumph and fear.
Particulars then followed; and after the announcement of
the victories came the list of the wounded and the slain.
Who can tell the dread with which that catalogue was
opened and read! Fancy, at every village and homestead
almost through the three kingdoms, the great news
coming of the battles in Flanders, and the feelings of
exultation and gratitude, bereavement and sickening dismay,
when the lists of the regimental losses were gone through,
and it became known whether the dear friend and relative
had escaped or fallen. Anybody who will take the trouble
of looking back to a file of the newspapers of the
time, must, even now, feel at second-hand this breathless
pause of expectation. The lists of casualties are carried
on from day to day: you stop in the midst as in a story
which is to be continued in our next. Think what the
feelings must have been as those papers followed each
other fresh from the press; and if such an interest could
be felt in our country, and about a battle where but
twenty thousand of our people were engaged, think of
the condition of Europe for twenty years before, where
people were fighting, not by thousands, but by millions;
each one of whom as he struck his enemy wounded
horribly some other innocent heart far away.
The news which that famous Gazette brought to the
Osbornes gave a dreadful shock to the family and its chief.
The girls indulged unrestrained in their grief. The
gloom-stricken old father was still more borne down by his fate
