men at their club at the public-house to-night. Jeames
will tell Chawles his notions about you over their pipes
and pewter beer-pots. Some people ought to have mutes
for servants in Vanity Fair--mutes who could not write.
If you are guilty, tremble. That fellow behind your chair
may be a Janissary with a bow-string in his plush breeches
pocket. If you are not guilty, have a care of
appearances, which are as ruinous as guilt.
"Was Rebecca guilty or not?" the Vehmgericht of tho
servants' hall had pronounced against her.
And, I shame to say, she would not have got credit
had they not believed her to be guilty. It was the sight of
the Marquis of Steyne's carriage-lamps at her door,
contemplated by Raggles, burning in the blackness of
midnight, "that kep him up," as he afterwards said, that
even more than Rebecca's arts and coaxings.
And so--guiltless very likely--she was writhing and
pushing onward towards what they call "a position in
society," and the servants were pointing at her as lost
and ruined. So you see Molly, the housemaid, of a morning,
watching a spider in the doorpost lay his thread and
laboriously crawl up it, until, tired of the sport, she
raises her broom and sweeps away the thread and the
artificer.
A day or two before Christmas, Becky, her husband
and her son made ready and went to pass the holidays
at the seat of their ancestors at Queen's Crawley. Becky
would have liked to leave the little brat behind, and
would have done so but for Lady Jane's urgent invitations
to the youngster, and the symptoms of revolt and
discontent which Rawdon manifested at her neglect of her
son. "He's the finest boy in England," the father said in a
tone of reproach to her, "and you don't seem to care for
him, Becky, as much as you do for your spaniel. He
shan't bother you much; at home he will be away from
you in the nursery, and he shall go outside on the coach
with me."
"Where you go yourself because you want to smoke
those filthy cigars," replied Mrs. Rawdon.
"I remember when you liked 'em though," answered the
husband.
Becky laughed; she was almost always good-humoured.
"That was when I was on my promotion, Goosey," she
said. "Take Rawdon outside with you and give him a cigar
too if you like."
Rawdon did not warm his little son for the winter's
journey in this way, but he and Briggs wrapped up the
child in shawls and comforters, and he was hoisted
respectfully onto the roof of the coach in the.dark morning,
under the lamps of the White Horse Cellar; and with
no small delight he watched the dawn rise and made
his first journey to the place which his father still called
home. It was a journey of infinite pleasure to the boy, to
whom the incidents of the road afforded endless interest,
his father answering to him all questions connected with it
and telling him who lived in the great white house to the
right, and whom the park belonged to. His mother, inside
the vehicle, with her maid and her furs, her wrappers, and
her scent bottles, made such a to-do that you would have
thought she never had been in a stage-coach before--
much less, that she had been turned out of this very one
to make room for a paying passenger on a certain
journey performed some half-score years ago.
It was dark again when little Rawdon was wakened up
to enter his uncle's carriage at Mudbury, and he sat and
looked out of it wondering as the great iron gates flew
open, and at the white trunks of the limes as they swept
by, until they stopped, at length, before the light windows
of the Hall, which were blazing and comfortable with
Christmas welcome. The hall-door was flung open--a big
fire was burning in the great old fire-place--a carpet was
down over the chequered black flags--"It's the old Turkey
one that used to be in the Ladies' Gallery," thought
Rebecca, and the next instant was kissing Lady Jane.
She and Sir Pitt performed the same salute with great
gravity; but Rawdon, having been smoking, hung back
rather from his sister-in-law, whose two children came
up to their cousin; and, while Matilda held out her hand
and kissed him, Pitt Binkie Southdown, the son and heir,
stood aloof rather and examined him as a little dog does
a big dog.
Then the kind hostess conducted her guests to the snug
apartments blazing with cheerful fires. Then the young
ladies came and knocked at Mrs. Rawdon's door, under
the pretence that they were desirous to be useful, but in
reality to have the pleasure of inspecting the contents of
her band and bonnet-boxes, and her dresses which, though
black, were of the newest London fashion. And they told
her how much the Hall was changed for the better, and
how old Lady Southdown was gone, and how Pitt was
taking his station in the county, as became a Crawley in
fact. Then the great dinner-bell having rung, the family
assembled at dinner, at which meal Rawdon Junior was
placed by his aunt, the good-natured lady of the house,
Sir Pitt being uncommonly attentive to his sister-in-law at
his own right hand.
Little Rawdon exhibited a fine appetite and showed a
gentlemanlike behaviour.
"I like to dine here," he said to his aunt when he had
completed his meal, at the conclusion of which, and
after a decent grace by Sir Pitt, the younger son and
heir was introduced, and was perched on a high chair
by the Baronet's side, while the daughter took possession
of the place and the little wine-glass prepared for her
near her mother. "I like to dine here," said Rawdon Minor,
looking up at his relation's kind face.
"Why?" said the good Lady Jane.
"I dine in the kitchen when I am at home," replied
Rawdon Minor, "or else with Briggs." But Becky was so
engaged with the Baronet, her host, pouring out a flood of
compliments and delights and raptures, and admiring
young Pitt Binkie, whom she declared to be the most
beautiful, intelligent, noble-looking little creature, and so
like his father, that she did not hear the remarks of her
own flesh and blood at the other end of the broad
shining table.
As a guest, and it being the first night of his arrival,
Rawdon the Second was allowed to sit up until the hour
when tea being over, and a great gilt book being laid on
the table before Sir Pitt, all the domestics of the family
streamed in, and Sir Pitt read prayers. It was the first
time the poor little boy had ever witnessed or heard of
such a ceremonial.
The house had been much improved even since the
Baronet's brief reign, and was pronounced by Becky to be
perfect, charming, delightful, when she surveyed it in
his company. As for little Rawdon, who examined it with
the children for his guides, it seemed to him a perfect
palace of enchantment and wonder. There were long
galleries, and ancient state bedrooms, there were
pictures and old China, and armour. There were the rooms
in which Grandpapa died, and by which the children
walked with terrified looks. "Who was Grandpapa?" he
asked; and they told him how he used to be very old, and
used to be wheeled about in a garden-chair, and they
showed him the garden-chair one day rotting in the
out-house in which it had lain since the old gentleman had
been wheeled away yonder to the church, of which the
spire was glittering over the park elms.
The brothers had good occupation for several mornings
in examining the improvements which had been effected
by Sir Pitt's genius and economy. And as they walked
or rode, and looked at them, they could talk without
too much boring each other. And Pitt took care to tell
Rawdon what a heavy outlay of money these improvements
had occasioned, and that a man of landed and funded
property was often very hard pressed for twenty pounds.
"There is that new lodge-gate," said Pitt, pointing to
it humbly with the bamboo cane, "I can no more pay for it
before the dividends in January than I can fly."
"I can lend you, Pitt, till then," Rawdon answered rather
ruefully; and they went in and looked at the restored lodge,
where the family arms were just new scraped in stone,
and where old Mrs. Lock, for the first time these many
long years, had tight doors, sound roofs, and whole
windows.
CHAPTER XLV
Between Hampshire and London
Sir Pitt Crawley had done more than repair fences and
restore dilapidated lodges on the Queen's Crawley estate.
Like a wise man he had set to work to rebuild the
injured popularity of his house and stop up the gaps and
ruins in which his name had been left by his disreputable
and thriftless old predecessor. He was elected for the
borough speedily after his father's demise; a magistrate,
a member of parliament, a county magnate and representative
of an ancient family, he made it his duty to show
himself before the Hampshire public, subscribed
handsomely to the county charities, called assiduously upon
all the county folk, and laid himself out in a word to take
that position in Hampshire, and in the Empire afterwards,
to which he thought his prodigious talents justly
entitled him. Lady Jane was instructed to be friendly with
the Fuddlestones, and the Wapshots, and the other
famous baronets, their neighbours. Their carriages might
frequently be seen in the Queen's Crawley avenue now;
they dined pretty frequently at the Hall (where the cookery
was so good that it was clear Lady Jane very seldom
had a hand in it), and in return Pitt and his wife most
energetically dined out in all sorts of weather and at all
sorts of distances. For though Pitt did not care for joviality,
being a frigid man of poor hearth and appetite, yet he
considered that to be hospitable and condescending
was quite incumbent on-his station, and every time that
he got a headache from too long an after-dinner sitting,
he felt that he was a martyr to duty. He talked about
crops, corn-laws, politics, with the best country gentlemen.
He (who had been formerly inclined to be a sad
free-thinker on these points) entered into poaching and
game preserving with ardour. He didn't hunt; he wasn't
a hunting man; he was a man of books and peaceful
habits; but he thought that the breed of horses must be
kept up in the country, and that the breed of foxes must
therefore be looked to, and for his part, if his friend,
Sir Huddlestone Fuddlestone, liked to draw his country
and meet as of old the F. hounds used to do at Queen's
Crawley, he should be happy to see him there, and the
gentlemen of the Fuddlestone hunt. And to Lady Southdown's
dismay too he became more orthodox in his tendencies
every day; gave up preaching in public and attending
meeting-houses; went stoutly to church; called
on the Bishop and all the Clergy at Winchester; and made
no objection when the Venerable Archdeacon Trumper
asked for a game of whist. What pangs must have been
those of Lady Southdown, and what an utter castaway she
must have thought her son-in-law for permitting such
a godless diversion! And when, on the return of the family
from an oratorio at Winchester, the Baronet announced
to the young ladies that he should next year very
probably take them to the "county balls," they worshipped
him for his kindness. Lady Jane was only too obedient, and
perhaps glad herself to go. The Dowager wrote off the
direst descriptions of her daughter's worldly behaviour to
the authoress of the Washerwoman of Finchley Common
at the Cape; and her house in Brighton being about this
time unoccupied, returned to that watering-place, her
absence being not very much deplored by her children.
We may suppose, too, that Rebecca, on paying a second
visit to Queen's Crawley, did not feel particularly grieved
at the absence of the lady of the medicine chest; though
she wrote a Christmas letter to her Ladyship, in which she
respectfully recalled herself to Lady Southdown's
recollection, spoke with gratitude of the delight which her
Ladyship's conversation had given her on the former
visit, dilated on the kindness with which her Ladyship had
treated her in sickness, and declared that everything at
Queen's Crawley reminded her of her absent friend.
A great part of the altered demeanour and popularity
of Sir Pitt Crawley might have been traced to the counsels
of that astute little lady of Curzon Street. "You remain a
Baronet--you consent to be a mere country gentleman,"
she said to him, while he had been her guest in London.
"No, Sir Pitt Crawley, I know you better. I know your
talents and your ambition. You fancy you hide them
both, but you can conceal neither from me. I showed
Lord Steyne your pamphlet on malt. He was familiar
with it, and said it was in the opinion of the whole Cabinet
the most masterly thing that had appeared on the subject.
The Ministry has its eye upon you, and I know what you
want. You want to distinguish yourself in Parliament;
every one says you are the finest speaker in England
(for your speeches at Oxford are still remembered). You
want to be Member for the County, where, with your own
vote and your borough at your back, you can command
anything. And you want to be Baron Crawley of Queen's
Crawley, and will be before you die. I saw it all. I could
read your heart, Sir Pitt. If I had a husband who
possessed your intellect as he does your name, I sometimes
think I should not be unworthy of him--but--but I am
your kinswoman now," she added with a laugh. "Poor
little penniless, I have got a little interest--and who
knows, perhaps the mouse may be able to aid the lion."
Pitt Crawley was amazed and enraptured with her
speech. "How that woman comprehends me!" he said.
"I never could get Jane to read three pages of the malt
