wear the Court suit with advantage: it was only your men
of ancient race whom the culotte courte became. Pitt
looked down with complacency at his legs, which had not,
in truth, much more symmetry or swell than the lean
Court sword which dangled by his side--looked down
at his legs, and thought in his heart that he was killing.
When he was gone, Mrs. Becky made a caricature
of his figure, which she showed to Lord Steyne when he
arrived. His lordship carried off the sketch, delighted
with the accuracy of the resemblance. He had done Sir
Pitt Crawley the honour to meet him at Mrs. Becky's
house and had been most gracious to the new Baronet
and member. Pitt was struck too by the deference with
which the great Peer treated his sister-in-law, by her ease
and sprightliness in the conversation, and by the delight
with which the other men of the party listened to her talk.
Lord Steyne made no doubt but that the Baronet had
only commenced his career in public life, and expected
rather anxiously to hear him as an orator; as they were
neighbours (for Great Gaunt Street leads into Gaunt
Square, whereof Gaunt House, as everybody knows, forms
one side) my lord hoped that as soon as Lady Steyne
arrived in London she would have the honour of making
the acquaintance of Lady Crawley. He left a card upon
his neighbour in the course of a day or two, having never
thought fit to notice his predecessor, though they had
lived near each other for near a century past.
In the midst of these intrigues and fine parties and
wise and brilliant personages Rawdon felt himself more
and more isolated every day. He was allowed to go to
the club more; to dine abroad with bachelor friends;
to come and go when he liked, without any questions
being asked. And he and Rawdon the younger many a
time would walk to Gaunt Street and sit with the lady
and the children there while Sir Pitt was closeted with
Rebecca, on his way to the House, or on his return
from it.
The ex-Colonel would sit for hours in his brother's
house very silent, and thinking and doing as little as
possible. He was glad to be employed of an errand; to
go and make inquiries about a horse or a servant, or to
carve the roast mutton for the dinner of the children.
He was beat and cowed into laziness and submission.
Delilah had imprisoned him and cut his hair off, too. The
bold and reckless young blood of ten-years back was
subjugated and was turned into a torpid, submissive,
middle-aged, stout gentleman.
And poor Lady Jane was aware that Rebecca had
captivated her husband, although she and Mrs. Rawdon
my-deared and my-loved each other every day they met.
CHAPTER XLVI
Struggles and Trials
Our friends at Brompton were meanwhile passing their
Christmas after their fashion and in a manner by no
means too cheerful.
Out of the hundred pounds a year, which was about
the amount of her income, the Widow Osborne had been
in the habit of giving up nearly three-fourths to her
father and mother, for the expenses of herself and her
little boy. With #120 more, supplied by Jos, this family
of four people, attended by a single Irish servant who
also did for Clapp and his wife, might manage to live
in decent comfort through the year, and hold up their
heads yet, and be able to give a friend a dish of tea still,
after the storms and disappointments of their early life.
Sedley still maintained his ascendency over the family of
Mr. Clapp, his ex-clerk. Clapp remembered the time
when, sitting on the edge of the chair, he tossed off a
bumper to the health of "Mrs. S--, Miss Emmy, and
Mr. Joseph in India," at the merchant's rich table in
Russell Square. Time magnified the splendour of those
recollections in the honest clerk's bosom. Whenever he came
up from the kitchen-parlour to the drawing-room and
partook of tea or gin-and-water with Mr. Sedley, he
would say, "This was not what you was accustomed to
once, sir," and as gravely and reverentially drink the
health of the ladies as he had done in the days of their
utmost prosperity. He thought Miss 'Melia's playing the
divinest music ever performed, and her the finest lady.
He never would sit down before Sedley at the club even,
nor would he have that gentleman's character abused by
any member of the society. He had seen the first men in
London shaking hands with Mr. S--; he said, "He'd
known him in times when Rothschild might be seen on
'Change with him any day, and he owed him personally
everythink."
Clapp, with the best of characters and handwritings,
had been able very soon after his master's disaster to find
other employment for himself. "Such a little fish as me
can swim in any bucket," he used to remark, and a
member of the house from which old Sedley had seceded was
very glad to make use of Mr. Clapp's services and to
reward them with a comfortable salary. In fine, all Sedley's
wealthy friends had dropped off one by one, and this
poor ex-dependent still remained faithfully attached to
him.
Out of the small residue of her income which Amelia
kept back for herself, the widow had need of all the
thrift and care possible in order to enable her to keep
her darling boy dressed in such a manner as became
George Osborne's son, and to defray the expenses of the
little school to which, after much misgiving and
reluctance and many secret pangs and fears on her own
part, she had been induced to send the lad. She had sat up
of nights conning lessons and spelling over crabbed
grammars and geography books in order to teach them to
Georgy. She had worked even at the Latin accidence,
fondly hoping that she might be capable of instructing
him in that language. To part with him all day, to send
him out to the mercy of a schoolmaster's cane and his
schoolfellows' roughness, was almost like weaning him
over again to that weak mother, so tremulous and full of
sensibility. He, for his part, rushed off to the school with
the utmost happiness. He was longing for the change.
That childish gladness wounded his mother, who was
herself so grieved to part with him. She would rather have
had him more sorry, she thought, and then was deeply
repentant within herself for daring to be so selfish as to
wish her own son to be unhappy.
Georgy made great progress in the school, which was
kept by a friend of his mother's constant admirer, the
Rev. Mr. Binny. He brought home numberless prizes and
testimonials of ability. He told his mother countless stories
every night about his school-companions: and what a
fine fellow Lyons was, and what a sneak Sniffin was, and
how Steel's father actually supplied the meat for the
establishment, whereas Golding's mother came in a
carriage to fetch him every Saturday, and how Neat had
straps to his trowsers--might he have straps?--and how
Bull Major was so strong (though only in Eutropius) that
it was believed he could lick the Usher, Mr. Ward,
himself. So Amelia learned to know every one of the boys
in that school as well as Georgy himself, and of nights
she used to help him in his exercises and puzzle her little
head over his lessons as eagerly as if she was herself
going in the morning into the presence of the master.
Once, after a certain combat with Master Smith, George
came home to his mother with a black eye, and bragged
prodigiously to his parent and his delighted old
grandfather about his valour in the fight, in which, if the
truth was known he did not behave with particular heroism,
and in which he decidedly had the worst. But Amelia
has never forgiven that Smith to this day, though he is
now a peaceful apothecary near Leicester Square.
In these quiet labours and harmless cares the gentle
widow's life was passing away, a silver hair or two marking
the progress of time on her head and a line deepening
ever so little on her fair forehead. She used to smile at
these marks of time. "What matters it," she asked, "For
an old woman like me?" All she hoped for was to live to
see her son great, famous, and glorious, as he deserved
to be. She kept his copy-books, his drawings, and
compositions, and showed them about in her little circle as
if they were miracles of genius. She confided some of
these specimens to Miss Dobbin, to show them to Miss
Osborne, George's aunt, to show them to Mr. Osborne
himself--to make that old man repent of his cruelty and
ill feeling towards him who was gone. All her husband's
faults and foibles she had buried in the grave with him:
she only remembered the lover, who had married her at
all sacrifices, the noble husband, so brave and beautiful,
in whose arms she had hung on the morning when he had
gone away to fight, and die gloriously for his king. From
heaven the hero must be smiling down upon that paragon
of a boy whom he had left to comfort and console her.
We have seen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr.
Osborne), in his easy chair in Russell Square, daily grew
more violent and moody, and how his daughter, with her
fine carriage, and her fine horses, and her name on half
the public charity-lists of the town, was a lonely, miserable,
persecuted old maid. She thought again and again
of the beautiful little boy, her brother's son, whom she
had seen. She longed to be allowed to drive in the fine
carriage to the house in which he lived, and she used
to look out day after day as she took her solitary drive
in the park, in hopes that she might see him. Her sister,
the banker's lady, occasionally condescended to pay her
old home and companion a visit in Russell Square. She
brought a couple of sickly children attended by a prim
nurse, and in a faint genteel giggling tone cackled to her
sister about her fine acquaintance, and how her little
Frederick was the image of Lord Claud Lollypop and
her sweet Maria had been noticed by the Baroness as they
were driving in their donkey-chaise at Roehampton. She
urged her to make her papa do something for the darlings.
Frederick she had determined should go into the Guards;
and if they made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullock
was positively ruining and pinching himself to death to
buy land), how was the darling girl to be provided for?
"I expect YOU, dear," Mrs. Bullock would say, "for of
course my share of our Papa's property must go to the
head of the house, you know. Dear Rhoda McMull will
disengage the whole of the Castletoddy property as soon
as poor dear Lord Castletoddy dies, who is quite
epileptic; and little Macduff McMull will be Viscount
Castletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane have
settled their fortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy. My
darling Frederick must positively be an eldest son; and--
and do ask Papa to bring us back his account in
Lombard Street, will you, dear? It doesn't look well, his going
to Stumpy and Rowdy's." After which kind of speeches,
in which fashion and the main chance were blended
together, and after a kiss, which was like the contact of an
oyster--Mrs. Frederick Bullock would gather her
starched nurslings and simper back into her carriage.
Every visit which this leader of ton paid to her family
was more unlucky for her. Her father paid more money
into Stumpy and Rowdy's. Her patronage became more
and more insufferable. The poor widow in the little
cottage at Brompton, guarding her treasure there, little
knew how eagerly some people coveted it.
On that night when Jane Osborne had told her father
that she had seen his grandson, the old man had made
her no reply, but he had shown no anger--and had bade
her good-night on going himself to his room in rather a
kindly voice. And he must have meditated on what she
said and have made some inquiries of the Dobbin family
regarding her visit, for a fortnight after it took place, he
asked her where was her little French watch and chain
she used to wear?
"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great
fright.
"Go and order another like it, or a better if you can
get it," said the old gentleman and lapsed again into
silence.
Of late the Misses Dobbin more than once repeated
their entreaties to Amelia, to allow George to visit them.
His aunt had shown her inclination; perhaps his
grandfather himself, they hinted, might be disposed to be
reconciled to him. Surely, Amelia could not refuse such
advantageous chances for the boy. Nor could she, but
she acceded to their overtures with a very heavy and
suspicious heart, was always uneasy during the child's
absence from her, and welcomed him back as if he was
rescued out of some danger. He brought back money and
toys, at which the widow looked with alarm and jealousy;
she asked him always if he had seen any gentleman--
"Only old Sir William, who drove him about in the four-
wheeled chaise, and Mr. Dobbin, who arrived on the
beautiful bay horse in the afternoon--in the green coat
and pink neck-cloth, with the gold-headed whip, who
promised to show him the Tower of London and take
him out with the Surrey hounds." At last, he said, "There
was an old gentleman, with thick eyebrows, and a broad
hat, and large chain and seals." He came one day as the
coachman was lunging Georgy round the lawn on the
gray pony. "He looked at me very much. He shook very
much. I said 'My name is Norval' after dinner. My aunt
began to cry. She is always crying." Such was George's
report on that night.
Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his
grandfather; and looked out feverishly for a proposal
which she was sure would follow, and which came, in fact,
in a few days afterwards. Mr. Osborne formally offered to
take the boy and make him heir to the fortune which he
had intended that his father should inherit. He would
