Chapter XLIV: A Round-about Chapter between London and Hampshire

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Our old friends the Crawleys' family house, in GreatGaunt Street, still bore over its front the hatchment whichhad been placed there as a token of mourning for SirPitt Crawley's demise, yet this heraldic emblem was initself a very splendid and gaudy piece of furniture, andall the rest of the mansion became more brilliant than ithad ever been during the late baronet's reign. The blackouter-coating of the bricks was removed, and theyappeared with a cheerful, blushing face streaked with white:the old bronze lions of the knocker were gilt handsomely,the railings painted, and the dismallest house in GreatGaunt Street became the smartest in the whole quarter,before the green leaves in Hampshire had replaced thoseyellowing ones which were on the trees in Queen's CrawleyAvenue when old Sir Pitt Crawley passed under themfor the last time.

　　A little woman, with a carriage to correspond, wasperpetually seen about this mansion; an elderly spinster,accompanied by a little boy, also might be remarkedcoming thither daily. It was Miss Briggs and little Rawdon,whose business it was to see to the inward renovationof Sir Pitt's house, to superintend the female bandengaged in stitching the blinds and hangings, to pokeand rummage in the drawers and cupboards crammedwith the dirty relics and congregated trumperies of acouple of generations of Lady Crawleys, and to takeinventories of the china, the glass, and other propertiesin the closets and store-rooms.

　　Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was general-in-chief over thesearrangements, with full orders from Sir Pitt to sell, barter,confiscate, or purchase furniture, and she enjoyed herselfnot a little in an occupation which gave full scope to hertaste and ingenuity. The renovation of the house wasdetermined upon when Sir Pitt came to town in Novemberto see his lawyers, and when he passed nearly a week inCurzon Street, under the roof of his affectionate brotherand sister.

　　He had put up at an hotel at first, but, Becky, as soonas she heard of the Baronet's arrival, went off alone togreet him, and returned in an hour to Curzon Streetwith Sir Pitt in the carriage by her side. It was impossiblesometimes to resist this artless little creature's hospitalities,so kindly were they pressed, so frankly and amiablyoffered. Becky seized Pitt's hand in a transport ofgratitude when he agreed to come. "Thank you," shesaid, squeezing it and looking into the Baronet's eyes,who blushed a good deal; "how happy this will makeRawdon!" She bustled up to Pitt's bedroom, leadingon the servants, who were carrying his trunks thither. Shecame in herself laughing, with a coal-scuttle out ofher own room.

　　A fire was blazing already in Sir Pitt's apartment (itwas Miss Briggs's room, by the way, who was sentupstairs to sleep with the maid). "I knew I should bringyou," she said with pleasure beaming in her glance. Indeed,she was really sincerely happy at having him for a guest.

　　Becky made Rawdon dine out once or twice on business,while Pitt stayed with them, and the Baronet passedthe happy evening alone with her and Briggs. She wentdownstairs to the kitchen and actually cooked littledishes for him. "Isn't it a good salmi?" she said; "Imade it for you. I can make you better dishes than that,and will when you come to see me."

　　"Everything you do, you do well," said the Baronetgallantly. "The salmi is excellent indeed."

　　"A poor man's wife," Rebecca replied gaily, "mustmake herself useful, you know"; on which her brother-in-law vowed that "she was fit to be the wife of anEmperor, and that to be skilful in domestic duties wassurely one of the most charming of woman's qualities."And Sir Pitt thought, with something like mortification,of Lady Jane at home, and of a certain pie which she hadinsisted on making, and serving to him at dinner--amost abominable pie.

　　Besides the salmi, which was made of Lord Steyne'spheasants from his lordship's cottage of Stillbrook, Beckygave her brother-in-law a bottle of white wine, somethat Rawdon had brought with him from France, and hadpicked up for nothing, the little story-teller said; whereasthe liquor was, in truth, some White Hermitage fromthe Marquis of Steyne's famous cellars, which brought fireinto the Baronet's pallid cheeks and a glow into his feebleframe.

　　Then when he had drunk up the bottle of petit vinblanc, she gave him her hand, and took him up to thedrawing-room, and made him snug on the sofa by thefire, and let him talk as she listened with the tenderestkindly interest, sitting by him, and hemming a shirtfor her dear little boy. Whenever Mrs. Rawdon wishedto be particularly humble and virtuous, this little shirtused to come out of her work-box. It had got to be toosmall for Rawdon long before it was finished.

　　Well, Rebecca listened to Pitt, she talked to him, shesang to him, she coaxed him, and cuddled him, so thathe found himself more and more glad every day to getback from the lawyer's at Gray's Inn, to the blazing firein Curzon Street--a gladness in which the men of lawlikewise participated, for Pitt's harangues were of thelongest--and so that when he went away he felt quite apang at departing. How pretty she looked kissing herhand to him from the carriage and waving her handkerchiefwhen he had taken his place in the mail! She putthe handkerchief to her eyes once. He pulled hissealskin cap over his, as the coach drove away, and,sinking back, he thought to himself how she respectedhim and how he deserved it, and how Rawdon was a foolishdull fellow who didn't half-appreciate his wife; andhow mum and stupid his own wife was compared to thatbrilliant little Becky. Becky had hinted every one of thesethings herself, perhaps, but so delicately and gently thatyou hardly knew when or where. And, before theyparted, it was agreed that the house in London should beredecorated for the next season, and that the brothers'families should meet again in the country at Christmas.

　　"I wish you could have got a little money out ofhim," Rawdon said to his wife moodily when the Baronetwas gone. "I should like to give something to old Raggles,hanged if I shouldn't. It ain't right, you know, that theold fellow should be kept out of all his money. It may beinconvenient, and he might let to somebody else besidesus, you know."

　　"Tell him," said Becky, "that as soon as Sir Pitt'saffairs are settled, everybody will be paid, and give him alittle something on account. Here's a cheque that Pittleft for the boy," and she took from her bag and gaveher husband a paper which his brother had handed overto her, on behalf of the little son and heir of the youngerbranch of the Crawleys.

　　The truth is, she had tried personally the ground onwhich her husband expressed a wish that she shouldventure--tried it ever so delicately, and found it unsafe.Even at a hint about embarrassments, Sir Pitt Crawley wasoff and alarmed. And he began a long speech, explaininghow straitened he himself was in money matters; howthe tenants would not pay; how his father's affairs, andthe expenses attendant upon the demise of the oldgentleman, had involved him; how he wanted to pay offincumbrances; and how the bankers and agents wereoverdrawn; and Pitt Crawley ended by making acompromise with his sister-in-law and giving her a verysmall sum for the benefit of her little boy.

　　Pitt knew how poor his brother and his brother's familymust be. It could not have escaped the notice of such acool and experienced old diplomatist that Rawdon's familyhad nothing to live upon, and that houses and carriagesare not to be kept for nothing. He knew very well thathe was the proprietor or appropriator of the money,which, according to all proper calculation, ought to have fallen to his younger brother, and he had, we may be sure, somesecret pangs of remorse within him, which warnedhim that he ought to perform some act of justice,or, let us say, compensation, towards these disappointedrelations. A just, decent man, not without brains,who said his prayers, and knew his catechism, anddid his duty outwardly through life, he could not beotherwise than aware that something was due to hisbrother at his hands, and that morally he was Rawdon'sdebtor.

　　But, as one reads in the columns of the Times newspaperevery now and then, queer announcements fromthe Chancellor of the Exchequer, acknowledging the receiptof 50 pounds from A. B., or 10 pounds from W. T., asconscience-money, on account of taxes due by the saidA. B. or W. T., which payments the penitents beg theRight Honourable gentleman to acknowledge through themedium of the public press--so is the Chancellor nodoubt, and the reader likewise, always perfectly sure thatthe above-named A. B. and W. T. are only paying avery small instalment of what they really owe, and thatthe man who sends up a twenty-pound note has verylikely hundreds or thousands more for which he oughtto account. Such, at least, are my feelings, when I seeA. B. or W. T.'s insufficient acts of repentance. And Ihave no doubt that Pitt Crawley's contrition, or kindnessif you will, towards his younger brother, by whomhe had so much profited, was only a very small dividendupon the capital sum in which he was indebted to Rawdon.Not everybody is willing to pay even so much. To partwith money is a sacrifice beyond almost all men endowedwith a sense of order. There is scarcely any man alivewho does not think himself meritorious for givinghis neighbour five pounds. Thriftless gives, not from abeneficent pleasure in giving, but from a lazy delight inspending. He would not deny himself one enjoyment; nothis opera-stall, not his horse, not his dinner, not eventhe pleasure of giving Lazarus the five pounds. Thrifty,who is good, wise, just, and owes no man a penny, turnsfrom a beggar, haggles with a hackney-coachman, ordenies a poor relation, and I doubt which is the mostselfish of the two. Money has only a different value inthe eyes of each.

　　So, in a word, Pitt Crawley thought he would do somethingfor his brother, and then thought that he would thinkabout it some other time.

　　And with regard to Becky, she was not a woman whoexpected too much from the generosity of herneighbours, and so was quite content with all that Pitt Crawleyhad done for her. She was acknowledged by the headof the family. If Pitt would not give her anything, hewould get something for her some day. If she got nomoney from her brother-in-law, she got what was as goodas money--credit. Raggles was made rather easy in hismind by the spectacle of the union between the brothers,by a small payment on the spot, and by the promise of amuch larger sum speedily to be assigned to him. AndRebecca told Miss Briggs, whose Christmas dividendupon the little sum lent by her Becky paid with an air ofcandid joy, and as if her exchequer was brimming overwith gold--Rebecca, we say, told Miss Briggs, in strictconfidence that she had conferred with Sir Pitt, who wasfamous as a financier, on Briggs's special behalf, as tothe most profitable investment of Miss B.'s remainingcapital; that Sir Pitt, after much consideration, hadthought of a most safe and advantageous way in whichBriggs could lay out her money; that, being especiallyinterested in her as an attached friend of the late MissCrawley, and of the whole family, and that long beforehe left town, he had recommended that she should beready with the money at a moment's notice, so as topurchase at the most favourable opportunity the shareswhich Sir Pitt had in his eye. Poor Miss Briggs was verygrateful for this mark of Sir Pitt's attention--it came sounsolicited, she said, for she never should have thought ofremoving the money from the funds--and the delicacyenhanced the kindness of the office; and she promised tosee her man of business immediately and be ready withher little cash at the proper hour.

　　And this worthy woman was so grateful for thekindness of Rebecca in the matter, and for that of hergenerous benefactor, the Colonel, that she went out andspent a great part of her half-year's dividend in thepurchase of a black velvet coat for little Rawdon, who, bythe way, was grown almost too big for black velvet now,and was of a size and age befitting him for the assumptionof the virile jacket and pantaloons.

　　He was a fine open-faced boy, with blue eyes andwaving flaxen hair, sturdy in limb, but generous and soft inheart, fondly attaching himself to all who were good tohim--to the pony--to Lord Southdown, who gave himthe horse (he used to blush and glow all over when hesaw that kind young nobleman)--to the groom who hadcharge of the pony--to Molly, the cook, who crammedhim with ghost stories at night, and with good things fromthe dinner--to Briggs, whom he plagued and laughed at--and to his father especially, whose attachmenttowards the lad was curious too to witness. Here, as hegrew to be about eight years old, his attachments maybe said to have ended. The beautiful mother-vision hadfaded away after a while. During near two years she hadscarcely spoken to the child. She disliked him. He hadthe measles and the hooping-cough. He bored her. Oneday when he was standing at the landing-place, havingcrept down from the upper regions, attracted by the soundof his mother's voice, who was singing to Lord Steyne,the drawing room door opening suddenly, discovered thelittle spy, who but a moment before had been rapt indelight, and listening to the music.

　　His mother came out and struck him violently a coupleof boxes on the ear. He heard a laugh from the Marquisin the inner room (who was amused by this free andartless exhibition of Becky's temper) and fled down belowto his friends of the kitchen, bursting in an agony ofgrief.

　　"It is not because it hurts me," little Rawdon gaspedout--"only--only"--sobs and tears wound up thesentence in a storm. It was the little boy's heart that wasbleeding. "Why mayn't I hear her singing? Why don'tshe ever sing to me--as she does to that baldheadedman with the large teeth?" He gasped out at variousintervals these exclamations of rage and grief. The cooklooked at the housemaid, the housemaid lookedknowingly at the footman--the awful kitchen inquisition whichsits in judgement in every house and knows everything--sat on Rebecca at that moment.

　　After this incident, the mother's dislike increased tohatred; the consciousness that the child was in the housewas a reproach and a pain to her. His very sightannoyed her. Fear, doubt, and resistance sprang up, too,in the boy's own bosom. They were separated from thatday of the boxes on the ear.

　　Lord Steyne also heartily disliked the boy. When theymet by mischance, he made sarcastic bows or remarksto the child, or glared at him with savage-looking eyes.Rawdon used to stare him in the face and double hislittle fists in return. He knew his enemy, and this gentleman,of all who came to the house, was the one whoangered him most. One day the footman found himsquaring his fists at Lord Steyne's hat in the hall. Thefootman told the circumstance as a good joke to LordSteyne's coachman; that officer imparted it to LordSteyne's gentleman, and to the servants' hall in general.And very soon afterwards, when Mrs. Rawdon Crawleymade her appearance at Gaunt House, the porter whounbarred the gates, the servants of all uniforms in the hall,the functionaries in white waistcoats, who bawled outfrom landing to landing the names of Colonel and Mrs.Rawdon Crawley, knew about her, or fancied they did.The man who brought her refreshment and stood behindher chair, had talked her character over with the largegentleman in motley-coloured clothes at his side. BonDieu! it is awful, that servants' inquisition! You see awoman in a great party in a splendid saloon, surroundedby faithful admirers, distributing sparkling glances,dressed to perfection, curled, rouged, smiling and happy--Discovery walks respectfully up to her, in the shape ofa huge powdered man with large calves and a tray of ices--with Calumny (which is as fatal as truth) behindhim, in the shape of the hulking fellow carrying the wafer-biscuits. Madam, your secret will be talked over by thosemen at their club at the public-house to-night. Jeameswill tell Chawles his notions about you over their pipesand pewter beer-pots. Some people ought to have mutesfor servants in Vanity Fair--mutes who could not write.If you are guilty, tremble. That fellow behind your chairmay be a Janissary with a bow-string in his plush breechespocket. If you are not guilty, have a care ofappearances, which are as ruinous as guilt.

　　"Was Rebecca guilty or not?" the Vehmgericht of thoservants' hall had pronounced against her.

　　And, I shame to say, she would not have got credithad they not believed her to be guilty. It was the sight ofthe Marquis of Steyne's carriage-lamps at her door,contemplated by Raggles, burning in the blackness ofmidnight, "that kep him up," as he afterwards said, thateven more than Rebecca's arts and coaxings.

　　And so--guiltless very likely--she was writhing andpushing onward towards what they call "a position insociety," and the servants were pointing at her as lostand ruined. So you see Molly, the housemaid, of a morning,watching a spider in the doorpost lay his thread andlaboriously crawl up it, until, tired of the sport, sheraises her broom and sweeps away the thread and theartificer.

　　A day or two before Christmas, Becky, her husbandand her son made ready and went to pass the holidaysat the seat of their ancestors at Queen's Crawley. Beckywould have liked to leave the little brat behind, andwould have done so but for Lady Jane's urgent invitationsto the youngster, and the symptoms of revolt anddiscontent which Rawdon manifested at her neglect of herson. "He's the finest boy in England," the father said in atone of reproach to her, "and you don't seem to care forhim, Becky, as much as you do for your spaniel. Heshan't bother you much; at home he will be away fromyou in the nursery, and he shall go outside on the coachwith me."

　　"Where you go yourself because you want to smokethose filthy cigars," replied Mrs. Rawdon.

　　"I remember when you liked 'em though," answered thehusband.

　　Becky laughed; she was almost always good-humoured."That was when I was on my promotion, Goosey," shesaid. "Take Rawdon outside with you and give him a cigartoo if you like."

　　Rawdon did not warm his little son for the winter'sjourney in this way, but he and Briggs wrapped up thechild in shawls and comforters, and he was hoistedrespectfully onto the roof of the coach in the.dark morning,under the lamps of the White Horse Cellar; and withno small delight he watched the dawn rise and madehis first journey to the place which his father still calledhome. It was a journey of infinite pleasure to the boy, towhom the incidents of the road afforded endless interest,his father answering to him all questions connected with itand telling him who lived in the great white house to theright, and whom the park belonged to. His mother, insidethe vehicle, with her maid and her furs, her wrappers, andher scent bottles, made such a to-do that you would havethought she never had been in a stage-coach before--much less, that she had been turned out of this very oneto make room for a paying passenger on a certainjourney performed some half-score years ago.

　　It was dark again when little Rawdon was wakened upto enter his uncle's carriage at Mudbury, and he sat andlooked out of it wondering as the great iron gates flewopen, and at the white trunks of the limes as they sweptby, until they stopped, at length, before the light windowsof the Hall, which were blazing and comfortable withChristmas welcome. The hall-door was flung open--a bigfire was burning in the great old fire-place--a carpet wasdown over the chequered black flags--"It's the old Turkeyone that used to be in the Ladies' Gallery," thoughtRebecca, and the next instant was kissing Lady Jane.

　　She and Sir Pitt performed the same salute with greatgravity; but Rawdon, having been smoking, hung backrather from his sister-in-law, whose two children cameup to their cousin; and, while Matilda held out her handand kissed him, Pitt Binkie Southdown, the son and heir,stood aloof rather and examined him as a little dog doesa big dog.

　　Then the kind hostess conducted her guests to the snugapartments blazing with cheerful fires. Then the youngladies came and knocked at Mrs. Rawdon's door, underthe pretence that they were desirous to be useful, but inreality to have the pleasure of inspecting the contents ofher band and bonnet-boxes, and her dresses which, thoughblack, were of the newest London fashion. And they toldher how much the Hall was changed for the better, andhow old Lady Southdown was gone, and how Pitt wastaking his station in the county, as became a Crawley infact. Then the great dinner-bell having rung, the familyassembled at dinner, at which meal Rawdon Junior wasplaced by his aunt, the good-natured lady of the house,Sir Pitt being uncommonly attentive to his sister-in-law athis own right hand.

　　Little Rawdon exhibited a fine appetite and showed agentlemanlike behaviour.

　　"I like to dine here," he said to his aunt when he hadcompleted his meal, at the conclusion of which, andafter a decent grace by Sir Pitt, the younger son andheir was introduced, and was perched on a high chairby the Baronet's side, while the daughter took possessionof the place and the little wine-glass prepared for hernear 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," repliedRawdon Minor, "or else with Briggs." But Becky was soengaged with the Baronet, her host, pouring out a flood ofcompliments and delights and raptures, and admiringyoung Pitt Binkie, whom she declared to be the mostbeautiful, intelligent, noble-looking little creature, and solike his father, that she did not hear the remarks of herown flesh and blood at the other end of the broadshining table.

　　As a guest, and it being the first night of his arrival,Rawdon the Second was allowed to sit up until the hourwhen tea being over, and a great gilt book being laid onthe table before Sir Pitt, all the domestics of the familystreamed in, and Sir Pitt read prayers. It was the firsttime the poor little boy had ever witnessed or heard ofsuch a ceremonial.

　　The house had been much improved even since theBaronet's brief reign, and was pronounced by Becky to beperfect, charming, delightful, when she surveyed it inhis company. As for little Rawdon, who examined it withthe children for his guides, it seemed to him a perfectpalace of enchantment and wonder. There were longgalleries, and ancient state bedrooms, there werepictures and old China, and armour. There were the roomsin which Grandpapa died, and by which the childrenwalked with terrified looks. "Who was Grandpapa?" heasked; and they told him how he used to be very old, andused to be wheeled about in a garden-chair, and theyshowed him the garden-chair one day rotting in theout-house in which it had lain since the old gentleman hadbeen wheeled away yonder to the church, of which thespire was glittering over the park elms.

　　The brothers had good occupation for several morningsin examining the improvements which had been effectedby Sir Pitt's genius and economy. And as they walkedor rode, and looked at them, they could talk withouttoo much boring each other. And Pitt took care to tellRawdon what a heavy outlay of money these improvementshad occasioned, and that a man of landed and fundedproperty was often very hard pressed for twenty pounds."There is that new lodge-gate," said Pitt, pointing toit humbly with the bamboo cane, "I can no more pay for itbefore the dividends in January than I can fly."

　　"I can lend you, Pitt, till then," Rawdon answered ratherruefully; 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 manylong years, had tight doors, sound roofs, and wholewindows.