Chapter LXV: Full of Business and Pleasure

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　The day after the meeting at the play-table, Jos hadhimself arrayed with unusual care and splendour, andwithout thinking it necessary to say a word to anymember of his family regarding the occurrences of the previousnight, or asking for their company in his walk, he salliedforth at an early hour, and was presently seen makinginquiries at the door of the Elephant Hotel. In consequenceof the fetes the house was full of company, thetables in the street were already surrounded by personssmoking and drinking the national small-beer, the publicrooms were in a cloud of smoke, and Mr. Jos having, inhis pompous way, and with his clumsy German, madeinquiries for the person of whom he was in search, wasdirected to the very top of the house, above the first-floorrooms where some travelling pedlars had lived, and wereexhibiting their jewellery and brocades; above the second-floor apartments occupied by the etat major of thegambling firm; above the third-floor rooms, tenanted by theband of renowned Bohemian vaulters and tumblers; andso on to the little cabins of the roof, where, amongstudents, bagmen, small tradesmen, and country-folks comein for the festival, Becky had found a little nest--as dirtya little refuge as ever beauty lay hid in.

　　Becky liked the life. She was at home with everybodyin the place, pedlars, punters, tumblers, students and all.She was of a wild, roving nature, inherited from fatherand mother, who were both Bohemians, by taste andcircumstance; if a lord was not by, she would talk to hiscourier with the greatest pleasure; the din, the stir, thedrink, the smoke, the tattle of the Hebrew pedlars, thesolemn, braggart ways of the poor tumblers, the sournoistalk of the gambling-table officials, the songs and swaggerof the students, and the general buzz and hum ofthe place had pleased and tickled the little woman, evenwhen her luck was down and she had not wherewithal topay her bill. How pleasant was all the bustle to her nowthat her purse was full of the money which little Georgyhad won for her the night before!

　　As Jos came creaking and puffing up the final stairs,and was speechless when he got to the landing, and beganto wipe his face and then to look for No. 92, the roomwhere he was directed to seek for the person he wanted,the door of the opposite chamber, No. 90, was open,and a student, in jack-boots and a dirty schlafrock, waslying on the bed smoking a long pipe; whilst anotherstudent in long yellow hair and a braided coat, exceedingsmart and dirty too, was actually on his knees at No. 92,bawling through the keyhole supplications to the personwithin.

　　"Go away," said a well-known voice, which made Josthrill, "I expect somebody; I expect my grandpapa. Hemustn't see you there."

　　"Angel Englanderinn!" bellowed the kneeling studentwith the whity-brown ringlets and the large finger-ring,"do take compassion upon us. Make an appointment.Dine with me and Fritz at the inn in the park. We willhave roast pheasants and porter, plum-pudding andFrench wine. We shall die if you don't."

　　"That we will," said the young nobleman on the bed;and this colloquy Jos overheard, though he did notcomprehend it, for the reason that he had never studiedthe language in which it was carried on.

　　"Newmero kattervang dooze, si vous plait," Jos saidin his grandest manner, when he was able to speak.

　　"Quater fang tooce!" said the student, starting up, andhe bounced into his own room, where he locked the door,and where Jos heard him laughing with his comrade onthe bed.

　　The gentleman from Bengal was standing, disconcertedby this incident, when the door of the 92 opened ofitself and Becky's little head peeped out full of archnessand mischief. She lighted on Jos. "It's you," she said,coming out. "How I have been waiting for you! Stop!not yet--in one minute you shall come in." In that instantshe put a rouge-pot, a brandy bottle, and a plate of brokenmeat into the bed, gave one smooth to her hair, andfinally let in her visitor.

　　She had, by way of morning robe, a pink domino, atrifle faded and soiled, and marked here and there withpomaturn; but her arms shone out from the loose sleevesof the dress very white and fair, and it was tied roundher little waist so as not ill to set off the trim little figureof the wearer. She led Jos by the hand into her garret."Come in," she said. "Come and talk to me. Sit yonderon the chair"; and she gave the civilian's hand a littlesqueeze and laughingly placed him upon it. As forherself, she placed herself on the bed--not on the bottleand plate, you may be sure--on which Jos might havereposed, had he chosen that seat; and so there she satand talked with her old admirer.

　　"How little years have changed you," she said with alook of tender interest. "I should have known youanywhere. What a comfort it is amongst strangers to seeonce more the frank honest face of an old friend!"

　　The frank honest face, to tell the truth, at thismoment bore any expression but one of openness andhonesty: it was, on the contrary, much perturbed andpuzzled in look. Jos was surveying the queer little apartmentin which he found his old flame. One of her gowns hungover the bed, another depending from a hook of the door;her bonnet obscured half the looking-glass, on which,too, lay the prettiest little pair of bronze boots; a Frenchnovel was on the table by the bedside, with a candle, notof wax. Becky thought of popping that into the bed too,but she only put in the little paper night-cap with whichshe had put the candle out on going to sleep.

　　"I should have known you anywhere," she continued;"a woman never forgets some things. And you were thefirst man I ever--I ever saw."

　　"Was I really?" said Jos. "God bless my soul, you--you don't say so."

　　"When I came with your sister from Chiswick, I wasscarcely more than a child," Becky said. "How is that,dear love? Oh, her husband was a sad wicked man, andof course it was of me that the poor dear was jealous.As if I cared about him, heigho! when there wassomebody--but no--don't let us talk of old times"; and shepassed her handkerchief with the tattered lace acrossher eyelids.

　　"Is not this a strange place," she continued, "for awoman, who has lived in a very different world too, to befound in? I have had so many griefs and wrongs, JosephSedley; I have been made to suffer so cruelly that I amalmost made mad sometimes. I can't stay still in anyplace, but wander about always restless and unhappy.All my friends have been false to me--all. There is nosuch thing as an honest man in the world. I was the truestwife that ever lived, though I married my husband out ofpique, because somebody else--but never mind that. Iwas true, and he trampled upon me and deserted me. Iwas the fondest mother. I had but one child, one darling,one hope, one joy, which I held to my heart with a mother'saffection, which was my life, my prayer, my--myblessing; and they--they tore it from me--tore it fromme"; and she put her hand to her heart with a passionategesture of despair, burying her face for a moment on thebed.

　　The brandy-bottle inside clinked up against the platewhich held the cold sausage. Both were moved, no doubt,by the exhibition of so much grief. Max and Fritz were atthe door, listening with wonder to Mrs. Becky's sobs andcries. Jos, too, was a good deal frightened and affected atseeing his old flame in this condition. And she began,forthwith, to tell her story--a tale so neat, simple, andartless that it was quite evident from hearing her that ifever there was a white-robed angel escaped from heavento be subject to the infernal machinations and villainy offiends here below, that spotless being--that miserableunsullied martyr, was present on the bed before Jos--onthe bed, sitting on the brandy-bottle.

　　They had a very long, amicable, and confidential talkthere, in the course of which Jos Sedley was somehowmade aware (but in a manner that did not in the leastscare or offend him) that Becky's heart had first learnedto beat at his enchanting presence; that George Osbornehad certainly paid an unjustifiable court to her, whichmight account for Amelia's jealousy and their littlerupture; but that Becky never gave the least encouragementto the unfortunate officer, and that she had never ceasedto think about Jos from the very first day she had seenhim, though, of course, her duties as a married womanwere paramount--duties which she had always preserved,and would, to her dying day, or until the proverbially badclimate in which Colonel Crawley was living shouldrelease her from a yoke which his cruelty had renderedodious to her.

　　Jos went away, convinced that she was the most virtuous,as she was one of the most fascinating of women,and revolving in his mind all sorts of benevolent schemesfor her welfare. Her persecutions ought to be ended:she ought to return to the society of which she was anornament. He would see what ought to be done. Shemust quit that place and take a quiet lodging. Ameliamust come and see her and befriend her. He would goand settle about it, and consult with the Major. She wepttears of heart-felt gratitude as she parted from him, andpressed his hand as the gallant stout gentleman stoopeddown to kiss hers.

　　So Becky bowed Jos out of her little garret with asmuch grace as if it was a palace of which she did thehonours; and that heavy gentleman having disappeareddown the stairs, Max and Fritz came out of their hole,pipe in mouth, and she amused herself by mimicking Josto them as she munched her cold bread and sausage andtook draughts of her favourite brandy-and-water.

　　Jos walked over to Dobbin's lodgings with greatsolemnity and there imparted to him the affecting historywith which he had just been made acquainted, without,however, mentioning the play business of the night before.And the two gentlemen were laying their heads togetherand consulting as to the best means of being useful toMrs. Becky, while she was finishing her interrupteddejeuner a la fourchette.

　　How was it that she had come to that little town?How was it that she had no friends and was wanderingabout alone? Little boys at school are taught in theirearliest Latin book that the path of Avernus is very easyof descent. Let us skip over the interval in the history ofher downward progress. She was not worse now than shehad been in the days of her prosperity--only a littledown on her luck.

　　As for Mrs. Amelia, she was a woman of such a softand foolish disposition that when she heard of anybodyunhappy, her heart straightway melted towards thesufferer; and as she had never thought or done anythingmortally guilty herself, she had not that abhorrence forwickedness which distinguishes moralists much moreknowing. If she spoiled everybody who came near herwith kindness and compliments--if she begged pardonof all her servants for troubling them to answer the bell--if she apologized to a shopboy who showed her a pieceof silk, or made a curtsey to a street-sweeper with acomplimentary remark upon the elegant state of his crossing--and she was almost capable of every one of thesefollies--the notion that an old acquaintance was miserablewas sure to soften her heart; nor would she hear ofanybody's being deservedly unhappy. A world under suchlegislation as hers would not be a very orderly place ofabode; but there are not many women, at least not of therulers, who are of her sort. This lady, I believe, wouldhave abolished all gaols, punishments, handcuffs,whippings, poverty, sickness, hunger, in the world, and wassuch a mean-spirited creature that--we are obliged toconfess it--she could even forget a mortal injury.

　　When the Major heard from Jos of the sentimentaladventure which had just befallen the latter, he was not,it must be owned, nearly as much interested as thegentleman from Bengal. On the contrary, his excitement wasquite the reverse from a pleasurable one; he made use ofa brief but improper expression regarding a poor womanin distress, saying, in fact, "The little minx, has shecome to light again?" He never had had the slightest likingfor her, but had heartily mistrusted her from the veryfirst moment when her green eyes had looked at, andturned away from, his own.

　　"That little devil brings mischief wherever she goes,"the Major said disrespectfully. "Who knows what sort oflife she has been leading? And what business has shehere abroad and alone? Don't tell me about persecutorsand enemies; an honest woman always has friends andnever is separated from her family. Why has she left herhusband? He may have been disreputable and wicked, asyou say. He always was. I remember the confoundedblackleg and the way in which he used to cheat andhoodwink poor George. Wasn't there a scandal about theirseparation? I think I heard something," cried out MajorDobbin, who did not care much about gossip, and whomJos tried in vain to convince that Mrs. Becky was in allrespects a most injured and virtuous female.

　　"Well, well; let's ask Mrs. George," said that arch-diplomatist of a Major. "Only let us go and consult her.I suppose you will allow that she is a good judge at anyrate, and knows what is right in such matters."

　　"Hm! Emmy is very well," said Jos, who did nothappen to be in love with his sister.

　　"Very well? By Gad, sir, she's the finest lady I evermet in my life," bounced out the Major. "I say at once,let us go and ask her if this woman ought to be visitedor not--I will be content with her verdict." Now thisodious, artful rogue of a Major was thinking in his ownmind that he was sure of his case. Emmy, he remembered,was at one time cruelly and deservedly jealous ofRebecca, never mentioned her name but with a shrinkingand terror--a jealous woman never forgives, thoughtDobbin: and so the pair went across the street to Mrs.George's house, where she was contentedly warbling ata music lesson with Madame Strumpff.

　　When that lady took her leave, Jos opened the businesswith his usual pomp of words. "Amelia, my dear,"said he, "I have just had the most extraordinary--yes--God bless my soul! the most extraordinary adventure--an old friend--yes, a most interesting old friend ofyours, and I may say in old times, has just arrived here,and I should like you to see her."

　　"Her!" said Amelia, "who is it? Major Dobbin, if youplease not to break my scissors." The Major was twirlingthem round by the little chain from which they sometimeshung to their lady's waist, and was thereby endangeringhis own eye.

　　It is a woman whom I dislike very much," said theMajor, doggedly, "and whom you have no cause to love."

　　"It is Rebecca, I'm sure it is Rebecca," Amelia said,blushing and being very much agitated.

　　"You are right; you always are," Dobbin answered.Brussels, Waterloo, old, old times, griefs, pangs,remembrances, rushed back into Amelia's gentleheart and caused a cruel agitation there.

　　"Don't let me see her," Emmy continued. "I couldn'tsee her."

　　"I told you so," Dobbin said to Jos.

　　"She is very unhappy, and--and that sort of thing,"Jos urged. "She is very poor and unprotected, and hasbeen ill--exceedingly ill--and that scoundrel of ahusband has deserted her."

　　"Ah!" said Amelia

　　"She hasn't a friend in the world," Jos went on, notundexterously, "and she said she thought she might trust inyou. She's so miserable, Emmy. She has been almost madwith grief. Her story quite affected me--'pon my wordand honour, it did--never was such a cruel persecutionborne so angelically, I may say. Her family has beenmost cruel to her."

　　"Poor creature!" Amelia said.

　　"And if she can get no friend, she says she thinks she'lldie," Jos proceeded in a low tremulous voice. "God blessmy soul! do you know that she tried to kill herself? Shecarries laudanum with her--I saw the bottle in her room--such a miserable little room--at a third-rate house,the Elephant, up in the roof at the top of all. I wentthere."

　　This did not seem to affect Emmy. She even smiled alittle. Perhaps she figured Jos to herself panting up thestair.

　　"She's beside herself with grief," he resumed. "Theagonies that woman has endured are quite frightful tohear of. She had a little boy, of the same age as Georgy."

　　"Yes, yes, I think I remember," Emmy remarked."Well?"

　　"The most beautiful child ever seen," Jos said, whowas very fat, and easily moved, and had been touched bythe story Becky told; "a perfect angel, who adored hismother. The ruffians tore him shrieking out of her arms,and have never allowed him to see her."

　　"Dear Joseph," Emmy cried out, starting up at once,"let us go and see her this minute." And she ran into heradjoining bedchamber, tied on her bonnet in a flutter,came out with her shawl on her arm, and orderedDobbin to follow.

　　He went and put her shawl--it was a white cashmere,consigned to her by the Major himself from India--overher shoulders. He saw there was nothing for it but toobey, and she put her hand into his arm, and they wentaway.

　　"It is number 92, up four pair of stairs," Jos said,perhaps not very willing to ascend the steps again; but heplaced himself in the window of his drawing-room, whichcommands the place on which the Elephant stands, andsaw the pair marching through the market.

　　It was as well that Becky saw them too from her garret,for she and the two students were chattering and laughingthere; they had been joking about the appearance ofBecky's grandpapa--whose arrival and departure theyhad witnessed--but she had time to dismiss them, andhave her little room clear before the landlord of theElephant, who knew that Mrs. Osborne was a great favouriteat the Serene Court, and respected her accordingly, ledthe way up the stairs to the roof story, encouragingMiladi and the Herr Major as they achieved the ascent.

　　"Gracious lady, gracious lady!" said the landlord,knocking at Becky's door; he had called her Madame theday before, and was by no means courteous to her.

　　"Who is it?" Becky said, putting out her head, and shegave a little scream. There stood Emmy in a tremble,and Dobbin, the tall Major, with his cane.

　　He stood still watching, and very much interested atthe scene; but Emmy sprang forward with open armstowards Rebecca, and forgave her at that moment, andembraced her and kissed her with all her heart. Ah, poorwretch, when was your lip pressed before by such purekisses?