Chapter XV: In Which Rebecca's Husband Appears for a Short Time

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Every reader of a sentimental turn (and we desireno other) must have been pleased with thetableau with which the last act of our littledrama concluded; for what can be prettier thanan image of Love on his knees before Beauty?

　　But when Love heard that awful confession fromBeauty that she was married already, hebounced up from his attitude of humility on the carpet,uttering exclamations which caused poor little Beauty tobe more frightened than she was when she made heravowal. "Married; you're joking," the Baronet cried, afterthe first explosion of rage and wonder. "You'remaking vun of me, Becky. Who'd ever go to marry youwithout a shilling to your vortune?"

　　"Married! married!" Rebecca said, in an agony of tears--her voice choking with emotion, her handkerchief upto her ready eyes, fainting against the mantelpiece afigure of woe fit to melt the most obdurate heart. "0Sir Pitt, dear Sir Pitt, do not think me ungrateful for allyour goodness to me. It is only your generosity that hasextorted my secret."

　　"Generosity be hanged!" Sir Pitt roared out. "Who isit tu, then, you're married? Where was it?"

　　"Let me come back with you to the country, sir! Letme watch over you as faithfully as ever! Don't, don'tseparate me from dear Queen's Crawley!"

　　"The feller has left you, has he?" the Baronet said,beginning, as he fancied, to comprehend. "Well, Becky--come back if you like. You can't eat your cake and haveit. Any ways I made you a vair offer. Coom back asgoverness--you shall have it all your own way." Sheheld out one hand. She cried fit to break her heart; herringlets fell over her face, and over the marblemantelpiece where she laid it.

　　"So the rascal ran off, eh?" Sir Pitt said, with a hideousattempt at consolation. "Never mind, Becky, I'll takecare of 'ee."

　　"Oh, sir! it would be the pride of my life to go backto Queen's Crawley, and take care of the children, andof you as formerly, when you said you were pleased withthe services of your little Rebecca. When I think of whatyou have just offered me, my heart fills with gratitudeindeed it does. I can't be your wife, sir; let me--let me beyour daughter."

　　Saying which, Rebecca went down on her knees in amost tragical way, and, taking Sir Pitt's horny blackhand between her own two (which were very pretty andwhite, and as soft as satin), looked up in his face with anexpression of exquisite pathos and confidence, when--when the door opened, and Miss Crawley sailed in.

　　Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs, who happened by chanceto be at the parlour door soon after the Baronet andRebecca entered the apartment, had also seen accidentally,through the keyhole, the old gentleman prostratebefore the governess, and had heard the generous proposalwhich he made her. It was scarcely out of his mouthwhen Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs had streamed up thestairs, had rushed into the drawing-room where MissCrawley was reading the French novel, and had giventhat old lady the astounding intelligence that Sir Pittwas on his knees, proposing to Miss Sharp. And if youcalculate the time for the above dialogue to take place--the time for Briggs and Firkin to fly to the drawing-room--the time for Miss Crawley to be astonished, andto drop her volume of Pigault le Brun--and the time forher to come downstairs--you will see how exactlyaccurate this history is, and how Miss Crawley must haveappeared at the very instant when Rebecca had assumedthe attitude of humility.

　　"It is the lady on the ground, and not the gentleman,"Miss Crawley said, with a look and voice of great scorn."They told me that you were on your knees, Sir Pitt: dokneel once more, and let me see this pretty couple!"

　　"I have thanked Sir Pitt Crawley, Ma'am," Rebeccasaid, rising, "and have told him that--that I never canbecome Lady Crawley."

　　"Refused him!" Miss Crawley said, more bewilderedthan ever. Briggs and Firkin at the door opened the eyesof astonishment and the lips of wonder.

　　"Yes--refused," Rebecca continued, with a sad,tearful voice.

　　"And am I to credit my ears that you absolutelyproposed to her, Sir Pitt?" the old lady asked.

　　"Ees," said the Baronet, "I did."

　　"And she refused you as she says?"

　　"Ees," Sir Pitt said, his features on a broad grin.

　　"It does not seem to break your heart at any rate,"Miss Crawley remarked.

　　"Nawt a bit," answered Sir Pitt, with a coolness andgood-humour which set Miss Crawley almost mad withbewilderment. That an old gentleman of station shouldfall on his knees to a penniless governess, and burst outlaughing because she refused to marry him--that apenniless governess should refuse a Baronet with fourthousand a year--these were mysteries which Miss Crawleycould never comprehend. It surpassed any complicationsof intrigue in her favourite Pigault le Brun.

　　"I'm glad you think it good sport, brother," shecontinued, groping wildly through this amazement.

　　"Vamous," said Sir Pitt. "Who'd ha' thought it! what asly little devil! what a little fox it waws!" he mutteredto himself, chuckling with pleasure.

　　"Who'd have thought what?" cries Miss Crawley,stamping with her foot. "Pray, Miss Sharp, are youwaiting for the Prince Regent's divorce, that you don't thinkour family good enough for you?"

　　"My attitude," Rebecca said, "when you came in,ma'am, did not look as if I despised such an honour asthis good--this noble man has deigned to offer me. Doyou think I have no heart? Have you all loved me, andbeen so kind to the poor orphan--deserted--girl, andam I to feel nothing? O my friends! O my benefactors!may not my love, my life, my duty, try to repay theconfidence you have shown me? Do you grudge me evengratitude, Miss Crawley? It is too much--my heart istoo full"; and she sank down in a chair so pathetically,that most of the audience present were perfectly meltedwith her sadness.

　　"Whether you marry me or not, you're a good littlegirl, Becky, and I'm your vriend, mind," said Sir Pitt, andputting on his crape-bound hat, he walked away--greatlyto Rebecca's relief; for it was evident that her secretwas unrevealed to Miss Crawley, and she had theadvantage of a brief reprieve.

　　Putting her handkerchief to her eyes, and noddingaway honest Briggs, who would have followed herupstairs, she went up to her apartment; while Briggs andMiss Crawley, in a high state of excitement, remainedto discuss the strange event, and Firkin, not less moved,dived down into the kitchen regions, and talked of itwith all the male and female company there. And soimpressed was Mrs. Firkin with the news, that she thoughtproper to write off by that very night's post, "with herhumble duty to Mrs. Bute Crawley and the family at theRectory, and Sir Pitt has been and proposed for to marryMiss Sharp, wherein she has refused him, to the wonderof all."

　　The two ladies in the dining-room (where worthyMiss Briggs was delighted to be admitted once more toconfidential conversation with her patroness) wonderedto their hearts' content at Sir Pitt's offer, and Rebecca'srefusal; Briggs very acutely suggesting that there musthave been some obstacle in the shape of a previousattachment, otherwise no young woman in her senses wouldever have refused so advantageous a proposal.

　　"You would have accepted it yourself, wouldn't you,Briggs?" Miss Crawley said, kindly.

　　"Would it not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley'ssister?" Briggs replied, with meek evasion.

　　"Well, Becky would have made a good Lady Crawley,after all," Miss Crawley remarked (who was mollified bythe girl's refusal, and very liberal and generous now therewas no call for her sacrifices). "She has brains in plenty(much more wit in her little finger than you have, mypoor dear Briggs, in all your head). Her manners areexcellent, now I have formed her. She is a Montmorency,Briggs, and blood is something, though I despise it formy part; and she would have held her own amongst thosepompous stupid Hampshire people much better than thatunfortunate ironmonger's daughter."

　　Briggs coincided as usual, and the "previous attachment"was then discussed in conjectures. "You poorfriendless creatures are always having some foolishtendre," Miss Crawley said. "You yourself, you know,were in love with a writing-master (don't cry, Briggs--you're always crying, and it won't bring him to life again),and I suppose this unfortunate Becky has been sillyand sentimental too--some apothecary, or house-steward,or painter, or young curate, or something of that sort."

　　"Poor thing! poor thing!" says Briggs (who was thinkingof twenty-four years back, and that hectic youngwriting-master whose lock of yellow hair, and whoseletters, beautiful in their illegibility, she cherished inher old desk upstairs). "Poor thing, poor thing!" saysBriggs. Once more she was a fresh-cheeked lass of eighteen;she was at evening church, and the hectic writing-masterand she were quavering out of the same psalm-book.

　　"After such conduct on Rebecca's part," Miss Crawleysaid enthusiastically, "our family should do something.Find out who is the objet, Briggs. I'll set him up in ashop; or order my portrait of him, you know; or speakto my cousin, the Bishop and I'll doter Becky, andwe'll have a wedding, Briggs, and you shall make thebreakfast, and be a bridesmaid."

　　Briggs declared that it would be delightful, and vowedthat her dear Miss Crawley was always kind and generous,and went up to Rebecca's bedroom to console herand prattle about the offer, and the refusal, and thecause thereof; and to hint at the generous intentions ofMiss Crawley, and to find out who was the gentlemanthat had the mastery of Miss Sharp's heart.

　　Rebecca was very kind, very affectionate and affected--responded to Briggs's offer of tenderness with gratefulfervour--owned there was a secret attachment--adelicious mystery--what a pity Miss Briggs had notremained half a minute longer at the keyhole! Rebeccamight, perhaps, have told more: but five minutes afterMiss Briggs's arrival in Rebecca's apartment, Miss Crawleyactually made her appearance there--an unheard-ofhonour--her impatience had overcome her; she could notwait for the tardy operations of her ambassadress: soshe came in person, and ordered Briggs out of the room.And expressing her approval of Rebecca's conduct, sheasked particulars of the interview, and the previoustransactions which had brought about the astonishingoffer of Sir Pitt.

　　Rebecca said she had long had some notion of thepartiality with which Sir Pitt honoured her (for he wasin the habit of making his feelings known in a very frankand unreserved manner) but, not to mention privatereasons with which she would not for the present troubleMiss Crawley, Sir Pitt's age, station, and habits weresuch as to render a marriage quite impossible; andcould a woman with any feeling of self-respect and anydecency listen to proposals at such a moment, whenthe funeral of the lover's deceased wife had not actuallytaken place?

　　"Nonsense, my dear, you would never have refusedhim had there not been some one else in the case," MissCrawley said, coming to her point at once. "Tell me theprivate reasons; what are the private reasons? There issome one; who is it that has touched your heart?"

　　Rebecca cast down her eyes, and owned there was."You have guessed right, dear lady," she said, with asweet simple faltering voice. "You wonder at one sopoor and friendless having an attachment, don't you?I have never heard that poverty was any safeguardagainst it. I wish it were."

　　"My poor dear child," cried Miss Crawley, who wasalways quite ready to be sentimental, "is our passionunrequited, then? Are we pining in secret? Tell me all,and let me console you."

　　"I wish you could, dear Madam," Rebecca said in thesame tearful tone. "Indeed, indeed, I need it." And shelaid her head upon Miss Crawley's shoulder and weptthere so naturally that the old lady, surprised intosympathy, embraced her with an almost maternalkindness, uttered many soothing protests of regard andaffection for her, vowed that she loved her as a daughter,and would do everything in her power to serve her. "Andnow who is it, my dear? Is it that pretty Miss Sedley'sbrother? You said something about an affair with him.I'll ask him here, my dear. And you shall have him:indeed you shall."

　　"Don't ask me now," Rebecca said. "You shall knowall soon. Indeed you shall. Dear kind Miss Crawley--dear friend, may I say so?"

　　"That you may, my child," the old lady replied, kissingher.

　　"I can't tell you now," sobbed out Rebecca, "I amvery miserable. But O! love me always--promise you willlove me always." And in the midst of mutual tears--forthe emotions of the younger woman had awakened thesympathies of the elder--this promise was solemnly givenby Miss Crawley, who left her little protege, blessingand admiring her as a dear, artless, tender-hearted,affectionate, incomprehensible creature.

　　And now she was left alone to think over the suddenand wonderful events of the day, and of what had beenand what might have been. What think you were theprivate feelings of Miss, no (begging her pardon) ofMrs. Rebecca? If, a few pages back, the present writerclaimed the privilege of peeping into Miss AmeliaSedley's bedroom, and understanding with the omniscienceof the novelist all the gentle pains and passions whichwere tossing upon that innocent pillow, why should henot declare himself to be Rebecca's confidante too,master of her secrets, and seal-keeper of that youngwoman's conscience?

　　Well, then, in the first place, Rebecca gave way tosome very sincere and touching regrets that a piece ofmarvellous good fortune should have been so near her,and she actually obliged to decline it. In this naturalemotion every properly regulated mind will certainlyshare. What good mother is there that would notcommiserate a penniless spinster, who might have beenmy lady, and have shared four thousand a year? Whatwell-bred young person is there in all Vanity Fair, whowill not feel for a hard-working, ingenious, meritoriousgirl, who gets such an honourable, advantageous, provokingoffer, just at the very moment when it is out of herpower to accept it? I am sure our friend Becky'sdisappointment deserves and will command everysympathy.

　　I remember one night being in the Fair myself, at anevening party. I observed old Miss Toady there alsopresent, single out for her special attentions and flatterylittle Mrs. Briefless, the barrister's wife, who is of agood family certainly, but, as we all know, is as pooras poor can be.

　　What, I asked in my own mind, can cause thisobsequiousness on the part of Miss Toady; has Brieflessgot a county court, or has his wife had a fortune left her?Miss Toady explained presently, with that simplicitywhich distinguishes all her conduct. "You know," shesaid, "Mrs.Briefless is granddaughter of Sir John Redhand,who is so ill at Cheltenham that he can't last sixmonths. Mrs. Briefless's papa succeeds; so you see shewill be a baronet's daughter." And Toady asked Brieflessand his wife to dinner the very next week.

　　If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daughtercan procure a lady such homage in the world, surely,surely we may respect the agonies of a young womanwho has lost the opportunity of becoming a baronet'swife. Who would have dreamed of Lady Crawley dyingso soon? She was one of those sickly women thatmight have lasted these ten years--Rebecca thought toherself, in all the woes of repentance--and I might havebeen my lady! I might have led that old man whither Iwould. I might have thanked Mrs. Bute for herpatronage, and Mr. Pitt for his insufferable condescension. Iwould have had the town-house newly furnished anddecorated. I would have had the handsomest carriage inLondon, and a box at the opera; and I would havebeen presented next season. All this might have been;and now--now all was doubt and mystery.

　　But Rebecca was a young lady of too much resolutionand energy of character to permit herself much uselessand unseemly sorrow for the irrevocable past; so, havingdevoted only the proper portion of regret to it, she wiselyturned her whole attention towards the future, whichwas now vastly more important to her. And shesurveyed her position, and its hopes, doubts, and chances.

　　In the first place, she was married--that was a greatfact. Sir Pitt knew it. She was not so much surprised intothe avowal, as induced to make it by a sudden calculation.It must have come some day: and why not nowas at a later period? He who would have married herhimself must at least be silent with regard to her marriage.How Miss Crawley would bear the news--was the greatquestion. Misgivings Rebecca had; but she rememberedall Miss Crawley had said; the old lady's avowedcontempt for birth; her daring liberal opinions; hergeneral romantic propensities; her almost doting attachmentto her nephew, and her repeatedly expressed fondness forRebecca herself. She is so fond of him, Rebecca thought,that she will forgive him anything: she is so used to methat I don't think she could be comfortable withoutme: when the eclaircissement comes there will be ascene, and hysterics, and a great quarrel, and then agreat reconciliation. At all events, what use was therein delaying? the die was thrown, and now or to-morrowthe issue must be the same. And so, resolved that MissCrawley should have the news, the young persondebated in her mind as to the best means of conveying itto her; and whether she should face the storm that mustcome, or fly and avoid it until its first fury was blownover. In this state of meditation she wrote the followingletter:

　　Dearest Friend,

　　The great crisis which we have debatedabout so often is come. Half of my secret is known, andI have thought and thought, until I am quite sure thatnow is the time to reveal the whole of the mystery. SirPitt came to me this morning, and made--what do youthink?--a declaration in form. Think of that! Poorlittle me. I might have been Lady Crawley. How pleasedMrs. Bute would have been: and ma tante if I had takenprecedence of her! I might have been somebody'smamma, instead of--O, I tremble, I tremble, when Ithink how soon we must tell all!

　　Sir Pitt knows I am married, and not knowing towhom, is not very much displeased as yet. Ma tante isactually angry that I should have refused him. But sheis all kindness and graciousness. She condescends to sayI would have made him a good wife; and vows thatshe will be a mother to your little Rebecca. She will beshaken when she first hears the news. But need we fearanything beyond a momentary anger? I think not: I amsure not. She dotes upon you so (you naughty, good-for-nothing man), that she would pardon you anything:and, indeed, I believe, the next place in her heart ismine: and that she would be miserable without me.Dearest! something tells me we shall conquer. You shallleave that odious regiment: quit gaming, racing, and bea good boy; and we shall all live in Park Lane, and matante shall leave us all her money.

　　I shall try and walk to-morrow at 3 in the usual place.If Miss B. accompanies me, you must come to dinner,and bring an answer, and put it in the third volume ofPorteus's Sermons. But, at all events, come to your own

　　R.

　　To Miss Eliza Styles,At Mr. Barnet's, Saddler, Knightsbridge.

　　And I trust there is no reader of this little story whohas not discernment enough to perceive that the MissEliza Styles (an old schoolfellow, Rebecca said, withwhom she had resumed an active correspondence of late,and who used to fetch these letters from the saddler's),wore brass spurs, and large curling mustachios, and wasindeed no other than Captain Rawdon Crawley.