man," she continued, "where do you suppose I got them?
--all except the little clasp, which a dear friend of mine
gave me long ago. I hired them, to be sure. I hired them
at Mr. Polonius's, in Coventry Street. You don't suppose
that all the diamonds which go to Court belong to the
wearers; like those beautiful stones which Lady Jane has,
and which are much handsomer than any which I have,
I am certain."
"They are family jewels," said Sir Pitt, again looking
uneasy. And in this family conversation the carriage
rolled down the street, until its cargo was finally
discharged at the gates of the palace where the Sovereign
was sitting in state.
The diamonds, which had created Rawdon's admiration,
never went back to Mr. Polonius, of Coventry Street, and
that gentleman never applied for their restoration, but
they retired into a little private repository, in an old desk,
which Amelia Sedley had given her years and years ago,
and in which Becky kept a number of useful and,
perhaps, valuable things, about which her husband
knew nothing. To know nothing, or little, is in the
nature of some husbands. To hide, in the nature of how
many women? Oh, ladies! how many of you have
surreptitious milliners' bills? How many of you have gowns
and bracelets which you daren't show, or which you wear
trembling?--trembling, and coaxing with smiles the
husband by your side, who does not know the new velvet
gown from the old one, or the new bracelet from last
year's, or has any notion that the ragged-looking yellow
lace scarf cost forty guineas and that Madame Bobinot is
writing dunning letters every week for the money!
Thus Rawdon knew nothing about the brilliant diamond
ear-rings, or the superb brilliant ornament which
decorated the fair bosom of his lady; but Lord Steyne,
who was in his place at Court, as Lord of the Powder
Closet, and one of the great dignitaries and illustrious
defences of the throne of England, and came up with all
his stars, garters, collars, and cordons, and paid particular
attention to the little woman, knew whence the jewels
came and who paid for them.
As he bowed over her he smiled, and quoted the
hackneyed and beautiful lines from The Rape of the Lock
about Belinda's diamonds, "which Jews might kiss and
infidels adore."
"But I hope your lordship is orthodox," said the little
lady with a toss of her head. And many ladies round
about whispered and talked, and many gentlemen nodded
and whispered, as they saw what marked attention the
great nobleman was paying to the little adventuress.
What were the circumstances of the interview between
Rebecca Crawley, nee Sharp, and her Imperial Master,
it does not become such a feeble and inexperienced pen
as mine to attempt to relate. The dazzled eyes close
before that Magnificent Idea. Loyal respect and decency tell
even the imagination not to look too keenly and audaciously
about the sacred audience-chamber, but to back away
rapidly, silently, and respectfully, making profound
bows out of the August Presence.
This may be said, that in all London there was no
more loyal heart than Becky's after this interview. The
name of her king was always on her lips, and he was
proclaimed by her to be the most charming of men. She
went to Colnaghi's and ordered the finest portrait of him
that art had produced, and credit could supply. She chose
that famous one in which the best of monarchs is
represented in a frock-coat with a fur collar, and breeches
and silk stockings, simpering on a sofa from under his
curly brown wig. She had him painted in a brooch and
wore it--indeed she amused and somewhat pestered her
acquaintance with her perpetual talk about his urbanity
and beauty. Who knows! Perhaps the little woman
thought she might play the part of a Maintenon or a
Pompadour.
But the finest sport of all after her presentation was to
hear her talk virtuously. She had a few female acquaintances,
not, it must be owned, of the very highest reputation
in Vanity Fair. But being made an honest woman of,
so to speak, Becky would not consort any longer with
these dubious ones, and cut Lady Crackenbury when the
latter nodded to her from her opera-box, and gave Mrs.
Washington White the go-by in the Ring. "One must, my
dear, show one is somebody," she said. "One mustn't be
seen with doubtful people. I pity Lady Crackenbury from
my heart, and Mrs. Washington White may be a very
good-natured person. YOU may go and dine with them,
as you like your rubber. But I mustn't, and won't; and
you will have the goodness to tell Smith to say I am not
at home when either of them calls."
The particulars of Becky's costume were in the newspapers
--feathers, lappets, superb diamonds, and all the
rest. Lady Crackenbury read the paragraph in bitterness
of spirit and discoursed to her followers about the airs
which that woman was giving herself. Mrs. Bute Crawley
and her young ladies in the country had a copy of the
Morning Post from town, and gave a vent to their honest
indignation. "If you had been sandy-haired, green-eyed,
and a French rope-dancer's daughter," Mrs. Bute said
to her eldest girl (who, on the contrary, was a very
swarthy, short, and snub-nosed young lady), "You might
have had superb diamonds forsooth, and have been
presented at Court by your cousin, the Lady Jane. But you're
only a gentlewoman, my poor dear child. You have only
some of the best blood in England in your veins, and
good principles and piety for your portion. I, myself,
the wife of a Baronet's younger brother, too, never
thought of such a thing as going to Court--nor would
other people, if good Queen Charlotte had been alive."
In this way the worthy Rectoress consoled herself, and
her daughters sighed and sat over the Peerage all night.
A few days after the famous presentation, another
great and exceeding honour was vouchsafed to the
virtuous Becky. Lady Steyne's carriage drove up to Mr.
Rawdon Crawley's door, and the footman, instead of driving
down the front of the house, as by his tremendous
knocking he appeared to be inclined to do, relented and only
delivered in a couple of cards, on which were engraven
the names of the Marchioness of Steyne and the
Countess of Gaunt. If these bits of pasteboard had been
beautiful pictures, or had had a hundred yards of Malines lace
rolled round them, worth twice the number of guineas,
Becky could not have regarded them with more pleasure.
You may be sure they occupied a conspicuous place in
the china bowl on the drawing-room table, where Becky
kept the cards of her visitors. Lord! lord! how poor
Mrs. Washington White's card and Lady Crackenbury's
card--which our little friend had been glad enough to
get a few months back, and of which the silly little
creature was rather proud once--Lord! lord! I say, how soon
at the appearance of these grand court cards, did those
poor little neglected deuces sink down to the bottom of
the pack. Steyne! Bareacres, Johnes of Helvellyn! and
Caerylon of Camelot! we may be sure that Becky and
Briggs looked out those august names in the Peerage,
and followed the noble races up through all the
ramifications of the family tree.
My Lord Steyne coming to call a couple of hours
afterwards, and looking about him, and observing
everything as was his wont, found his ladies' cards already
ranged as the trumps of Becky's hand, and grinned, as
this old cynic always did at any naive display of human
weakness. Becky came down to him presently; whenever
the dear girl expected his lordship, her toilette was
prepared, her hair in perfect order, her mouchoirs, aprons,
scarfs, little morocco slippers, and other female
gimcracks arranged, and she seated in some artless and
agreeable posture ready to receive him--whenever she
was surprised, of course, she had to fly to her apartment
to take a rapid survey of matters in the glass, and
to trip down again to wait upon the great peer.
She found him grinning over the bowl. She was
discovered, and she blushed a little. "Thank you,
Monseigneur," she said. "You see your ladies have
been here. How good of you! I couldn't come before
--I was in the kitchen making a pudding."
"I know you were, I saw you through the area-railings
as I drove up," replied the old gentleman.
"You see everything," she replied.
"A few things, but not that, my pretty lady," he said
good-naturedly. "You silly little fibster! I heard you in
the room overhead, where I have no doubt you were
putting a little rouge on--you must give some of yours to
my Lady Gaunt, whose complexion is quite preposterous
--and I heard the bedroom door open, and then you
came downstairs."
"Is it a crime to try and look my best when YOU come
here?" answered Mrs. Rawdon plaintively, and she rubbed
her cheek with her handkerchief as if to show there was
no rouge at all, only genuine blushes and modesty in her
case. About this who can tell? I know there is some
rouge that won't come off on a pocket-handkerchief,
and some so good that even tears will not disturb it.
"Well," said the old gentleman, twiddling round his
wife's card, "you are bent on becoming a fine lady.
You pester my poor old life out to get you into the
world. You won't be able to hold your own there, you
silly little fool. You've got no money."
"You will get us a place," interposed Becky, "as quick
as possible."
"You've got no money, and you want to compete with
those who have. You poor little earthenware pipkin, you
want to swim down the stream along with the great cop-
per kettles. All women are alike. Everybody is striving
for what is not worth the having! Gad! I dined with the
King yesterday, and we had neck of mutton and turnips.
A dinner of herbs is better than a stalled ox very often.
You will go to Gaunt House. You give an old fellow no
rest until you get there. It's not half so nice as here.
You'll be bored there. I am. My wife is as gay as Lady
Macbeth, and my daughters as cheerful as Regan and
Goneril. I daren't sleep in what they call my bedroom.
The bed is like the baldaquin of St. Peter's, and the
pictures frighten me. I have a little brass bed in a
dressing-room, and a little hair mattress like an anchorite.
I am an anchorite. Ho! ho! You'll be asked to dinner next
week. And gare aux femmes, look out and hold your
own! How the women will bully you!" This was a very
long speech for a man of few words like my Lord Steyne;
nor was it the first which he uttered for Becky's benefit
on that day.
Briggs looked up from the work-table at which she
was seated in the farther room and gave a deep sigh
as she heard the great Marquis speak so lightly of her sex.
"If you don't turn off that abominable sheep-dog," said
Lord Steyne, with a savage look over his shoulder at
her, "I will have her poisoned."
"I always give my dog dinner from my own plate,"
said Rebecca, laughing mischievously; and having
enjoyed for some time the discomfiture of my lord, who
hated poor Briggs for interrupting his tete-a-tete
with the fair Colonel's wife, Mrs. Rawdon at length had
pity upon her admirer, and calling to Briggs, praised the
fineness of the weather to her and bade her to take out
the child for a walk.
"I can't send her away," Becky said presently, after
a pause, and in a very sad voice. Her eyes filled with
tears as she spoke, and she turned away her head.
"You owe her her wages, I suppose?" said the Peer.
"Worse than that," said Becky, still casting down her
eyes; "I have ruined her."
"Ruined her? Then why don't you turn her out?" the
gentleman asked.
"Men do that," Becky answered bitterly. "Women are
not so bad as you. Last year, when we were reduced
to our last guinea, she gave us everything. She shall
never leave me, until we are ruined utterly ourselves,
which does not seem far off, or until I can pay her the
utmost farthing."
--it, how much is it?" said the Peer with an oath.
And Becky, reflecting on the largeness of his means,
mentioned not only the sum which she had borrowed from
Miss Briggs, but one of nearly double the amount.
This caused the Lord Steyne to break out in another
brief and energetic expression of anger, at which Rebecca
held down her head the more and cried bitterly. "I could
not help it. It was my only chance. I dare not tell my
husband. He would kill me if I told him what I have
done. I have kept it a secret from everybody but you
--and you forced it from me. Ah, what shall I do, Lord
Steyne? for I am very, very unhappy!"
Lord Steyne made no reply except by beating the
devil's tattoo and biting his nails. At last he clapped
his hat on his head and flung out of the room. Rebecca
did not rise from her attitude of misery until the door
slammed upon him and his carriage whirled away. Then
she rose up with the queerest expression of victorious
mischief glittering in her green eyes. She burst out laughing
once or twice to herself, as she sat at work, and
sitting down to the piano, she rattled away a triumphant
voluntary on the keys, which made the people pause
under her window to listen to her brilliant music.
That night, there came two notes from Gaunt House
for the little woman, the one containing a card of
invitation from Lord and Lady Steyne to a dinner at Gaunt
House next Friday, while the other enclosed a slip of
gray paper bearing Lord Steyne's signature and the
address of Messrs. Jones, Brown, and Robinson, Lombard
